Harry turned his head to look at Hermione.
Hermione had opened her eyes at some point; they were wide and fixed on the direction where Dumbledore had vanished.
"Go to sleep," Harry's voice was as soft as a falling snowflake, yet filled with a comforting warmth. "Dumbledore has dealt with it. The attacks should be over now."
Hermione hesitated, then nodded, but didn't immediately lie down. She quickly glanced at Draco, who was a short distance away.
The boy was still trembling with fear after witnessing everything up close.
Hermione then turned back to Harry, her lips moving a few times before she finally swallowed her words. She quietly retreated into her sleeping bag, leaving only her still-worried eyes visible.
In the Headmaster's office, a flash of fire suddenly appeared. Fawkes, carrying Dumbledore and Blaise, landed gracefully on the central rug like a burning maple leaf.
The silver instruments in the room were still buzzing with a constant, low hum, like countless tiny, fluttering insects.
Fawkes folded his wings and perched on the golden stand by the window, his ruby-like eyes fixed on Blaise, whom Dumbledore had carefully placed on the rug. A wary red light filled his pupils.
Blaise had just escaped his trance; his body was still shaking uncontrollably, his face was as pale as paper, and his lips trembled, unable to form a complete sentence.
When he looked into Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes, he suddenly flinched as if he'd been branded with a hot iron. He trembled and pulled an object from his robes.
It was a black, worn-out diary, its corners frayed. The gilded, serpentine pattern on its cover twisted and writhed in the firelight from the fireplace, shimmering with a cold, eerie glow.
"It's this! It did everything!" Blaise screamed, his voice hoarse, and with all his might, he flung the diary to the floor as if it were a burning piece of poison.
The moment the diary landed, a thick, black mist surged from its pages. It rolled and gathered on the luxurious rug like a living creature, slowly taking shape.
It was the form of a sixteen-year-old boy. His pale skin was taut like parchment, his dark hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes were the most horrifying part—they seemed innocent and harmless, but held the cold, predatory gaze of a viper.
It was Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Tom didn't even spare a glance for Blaise, treating him as nothing more than a speck of annoying dust.
His eyes were locked on Dumbledore, his voice filled with a tangible malice. "Dumbledore, you've come at the worst possible time. If you had been a bit later, by tomorrow morning, I would have completely taken over this body and unleashed the monster from the Chamber of Secrets..."
"Stupefy!" Dumbledore's face was as calm as a deep pond. His wand shot up, and a blinding red light, like a sword, pierced the air, striking Tom's form in an instant.
Tom let out a shrill shriek as his body was shattered into countless black fragments by the red light. The pieces fluttered onto the rug like shredded bat wings.
Blaise let out a sigh of relief, his chest heaving, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He thought the nightmare was finally over.
But in the next second, those black fragments, as if possessed by life, began to reassemble and knit together at a startling speed.
Tom's form reappeared, even more solid than before. The smile on his face became even more grotesque, filled with the sadistic glee of a cat toying with a mouse.
"Hahahaha!" He let out a grating laugh that echoed through the empty Headmaster's office. "You still don't understand my state, do you? And you're naive enough to think a Stunning Spell will work on me?"
Tom raised a hand and ran it along his neck, as if savoring the tingling sensation from the spell's impact. His tone was both flippant and cruel. "I'm just a memory, sealed away. Your spells work on physical beings, but against me? They're nothing more than a harmless puff of wind!"
Dumbledore slowly straightened up, the ripple on his face gradually fading, replaced by a profound and knowing composure. His eyes were as tranquil as a bottomless lake.
He gently tapped the handle of his wand, the rhythmic clicking sound echoing softly. "So that's it... a sealed memory, a fragment of a soul attached to a Horcrux. No wonder you could control Blaise, and no wonder you can't truly 'die'."
"A Horcrux?" The smile on Tom's face froze instantly, and a flicker of panic, almost imperceptible, flashed in his eyes as if his deepest secret had been exposed.
But Tom quickly curled his lips into an even colder sneer, his voice turning savage. "What does it matter if you know? The monster Salazar left behind has been fully awakened by me! If you dare sever my connection to this boy, all of Hogwarts will be sacrificed for my rebirth!"
Fawkes on his perch let out a clear, sharp cry, his golden-red wings spreading wide, ready to attack at any moment.
Dumbledore's gaze fell on the slightly trembling diary on the rug. The sharp edge from his blue eyes softened, replaced by a sense of sorrowful weight, almost like pity. "Tom, do you really believe that existence dependent on an external object can be considered true immortality?"
"Enough talk!" Tom's face twisted in agony at the truth of the words, and he abruptly waved his hand.
Blaise groaned in pain, his body seized by an invisible force. His face visibly turned ashen, as if his life force was being siphoned away from his body.
"Now tell me!" Tom's face was cruel, his voice full of both temptation and threat. "Will you choose to save this boy, or protect all the students at Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore raised his wand, its tip aimed steadily at the diary that was writhing on the rug. His voice was calm but held an unshakable power, as firm as bedrock. "Tom, you will never be able to threaten me, because I am never alone."
Tom's expression finally changed. A rare hint of panic flashed in his eyes—an emotion he had never shown before.
He lunged for the diary, his form dissolving into a plume of black smoke, seemingly trying to retreat into that final "sanctuary."
But Dumbledore's spell shot out first.
This time, it wasn't a red light, but a terrifying, eerie blue Fiendfyre. It was like a burning net, a destructive aura that instantly enveloped the entire diary.
"No—!" Tom's scream grew weaker in the Fiendfyre, filled with despair and indignation.
His form became transparent, then thin, like morning mist being chased away by the sun. He finally vanished completely in the dancing flames, not even leaving a wisp of ash behind.
Dumbledore gave a slight flick of his wrist, and the malevolent Fiendfyre obediently retreated like a tamed cat, dissolving into a few sparks in the air.
The diary, though scorched and curled, hadn't turned completely to ash. Its edges were a dark charcoal black, but it lay silently on the rug, stripped of its sinister aura, like a lifeless piece of rock.
At the same time, a shadowy figure in black robes slid silently through the Great Hall corridor like a bat.
Snape stopped in front of Harry, the hem of his robe brushing the floor.
Snape knew Potter wasn't asleep, because the boy was looking right at him.
"Potter, come with me," Snape's voice was flat, an undeniable command.
Harry frowned as he got up, the fabric of his sleeping bag rustling softly.
Hermione immediately poked her head out of her sleeping bag, her eyes filled with caution. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," Harry said, patting her shoulder to reassure her. He then gestured towards Snape. "I'll be right back."
They walked through the empty corridor, the flickering torches on the stone walls casting long, dancing shadows.
Snape led Harry to the higher parts of the castle, his pace faster than his usual style.
They stopped abruptly in front of a rusty wooden door with faint, serpentine carvings on its surface.
A damp, musty smell mixed with a hint of water hit them. There were still dark brown stains on the tiled walls, like dried blood. This was the same girl's lavatory where Moaning Myrtle had died fifty years ago, as Dumbledore had recalled.
"This is..." Harry began, his fingertips unconsciously touching the cold door.
"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets," Snape's voice was as cold as ice. He stepped aside, pointing his wand inside, and a faint green light illuminated a small area. "Dumbledore found this place a long time ago, but he couldn't get in."
As soon as he finished speaking, a grinding sound came from a faucet in the corner. Rust flaked off, like peeling skin.
The faucet visibly grew and twisted, eventually forming a dark, bucket-sized pipe.
The head of a giant snake slowly emerged from the pipe. Its scales, gleaming with a dark green, cold light in the moonlight, were like the coldest jade.
The basilisk's amber-colored vertical pupils were like two icy lamps. They slowly scanned the two of them, exuding an innate savagery and dominance that seemed to freeze the air.
Snape had already closed his eyes, but his wand-holding hand was trembling slightly.
Harry felt a sharp pain in his eyes, as if invisible needles were piercing them, yet he didn't turn to stone as he expected.
Nothing happened.
The basilisk's ferocity instantly froze on its face. Its amber pupils contracted slightly, then changed to a look of confusion.
Its mental link with its master had been completely severed in that instant, as if it had been cut by an invisible pair of shears.
The basilisk uneasily flicked its tongue, its forked tip trembling in the air, carrying a strong, musky odor.
Snape's hand was already on his wand, his knuckles white with tension. His shoulders, under the black robes, were slightly taut, like a fully drawn bowstring ready to fire a deadly arrow.
Just then, Harry spoke.
His voice was strange and hoarse, with an inhuman rhythm. Each syllable was like a snake's tongue scraping against a rough stone, cold and slimy. "Serve me."
It was Parseltongue.
The basilisk's movements stopped abruptly. Its massive head tilted slightly, as if it were carefully trying to understand this language, which was both strange and familiar.
After a few seconds of silence, it slowly retracted its exposed fangs, the dagger-like poison teeth shrinking back into its gums.
The giant snake's enormous head leaned forward slightly, letting out a low hiss. Its voice was full of confusion and curiosity. "Another descendant of Salazar. But why has the magical contract on your body disappeared?"
"Go back to your nest," Harry continued in Parseltongue, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. "Do not come out without my command."
But the basilisk still lingered at the mouth of the pipe, its amber pupils filled with hesitation, its forked tongue constantly flicking in and out.
Snape's voice suddenly broke the silence. "Tell it that its master is dead. Now, you are the only Parseltongue among the living descendants of Slytherin in the world."
Harry took a deep breath, unfamiliar syllables rolling in his throat. The hoarse Parseltongue sounded again, deeper and colder than before. "Since I carry the aura of Slytherin, you must obey my command! The one who was here before is dead."
The moment the words left his mouth, Harry could feel the basilisk's immense body stiffen. It stretched out its tongue, as if sensing something.
The next second, the giant snake turned its head and its massive body slid silently into the darkness, without a hint of hesitation.
Silence returned to the lavatory, broken only by the sound of dripping water echoing in the empty space, 'drip, drip, drip,' hitting the cold tiles.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly broke the silence.
Snape's gaze was as sharp as a scalpel. "Tell me, when you faced that murderous monster just now, did you feel fear, or the thrill of control?"
"What are you trying to say?" Harry shot back coldly, his voice laced with suspicion.
Snape turned and walked towards the door, his black robes making a faint rustling sound on the floor, leaving only one cold sentence behind him. "Dumbledore is waiting for you."