Chapter 308: Enigmas
Harry found himself wandering through a bizarre, colorless void.
Everything around him was a blinding, stark white. Occasionally, kaleidoscopic vapors drifted toward him, swirling around his temples as if trying to seep directly into his brain. He darted left and right, avoiding the mist-clusters—instinct told him these were not things to be trifled with.
He kept moving, kept dodging, until he came upon a massive, dilapidated Victorian house. Standing before the gates was a creature with fur as dark as ink: a magnificent black Kneazle.
Harry had never experienced a dream this vivid. It wasn't until the Kneazle appeared that he realized this wasn't reality. After all, the creature before him was the legendary "Castle Kneazle," a being spoken of in hushed, reverent tones within the Hogwarts Kneazle Society—a creature Harry had never actually seen in the flesh.
"Mr. Castle Kneazle?" Harry ventured, trying to offer a greeting.
Just then, a wisp of mist managed to slip past his guard and sink into his forehead.
His vision blurred instantly... He saw a Basilisk so large it blotted out the sun, devouring Ron in a single gulp. At the serpent's feet lay the petrified form of Sean Green, beside the shattered remains of the Sword of Gryffindor... The monster, having finished with Ron, turned its yellow gaze toward Harry. He saw those hideous eyes, and then—
"Awaken from your terror, Harry."
A familiar, grounding voice rang out.
"Gah—!"
Harry's face was deathly pale. He looked as though he had been fished out of the Black Lake, drenched in a cold sweat and gasping for air. He stared, trembling, at the black Kneazle. The creature had used a paw to nudge Harry's head aside, allowing the invasive cloud of mist to drift harmlessly away.
"Thank you, Mr. Kneazle... You know me? No—wait—do you know where the Basilisk came from?" Harry asked, his mind flooded with a desperate need for answers.
"It was bred by Salazar Slytherin and has dwelled within the Chamber for a thousand years... the entrance lies in the second-floor girls' bathroom," the Kneazle replied, its vivid green pupils fixed on him. It seemed satisfied with the question.
Harry was shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. He felt as though he had stumbled into a realm of ancient secrets. The legends were true; the Kneazle really did guard the castle... perhaps it was the very personification of Hogwarts' consciousness.
In the Wizarding World, owls got cross, flying cars had temperaments, and Mandrakes were notoriously moody. Even curtains and statues possessed a level of sentience. It made perfect sense that the castle itself would have a soul.
"May I ask..." Harry paused, remembering something he'd read. "Parseltongue can command a Basilisk to enter a deep hibernation, stopping its growth and inducing a state of suspended animation..."
Parseltongue must have kept it asleep for centuries, but who had woken it? And what did they want? Could it really be Lockhart?
"Mr. Kneazle, who woke the monster? My friend has been fighting it in the dark all this time—how can I help him?" Harry's face was a mask of supplication.
The Kneazle tilted its head slightly. His friend? Someone else has been in the Chamber?
Surely he doesn't mean me... Sean thought behind the feline mask.
"Tom Riddle, Harry. You must retrieve Tom Riddle's diary from Ginny Weasley, then use a Basilisk fang to destroy it immediately," the Kneazle commanded.
"Who is Tom Riddle? What diary? And where am I supposed to find a Basilisk fang?" Harry asked urgently.
But the Kneazle only looked up. The mist began to rise, thick and impenetrable.
The dream didn't last much longer; that initial wisp of invasive mist had destabilized Harry's presence in the realm. But Sean wasn't overly concerned. He had identified the diary as the primary target. The rest would follow.
Night draped itself over Hogwarts like a heavy velvet shroud. Suddenly, there was movement in the second-floor girls' bathroom. Something was attempting to crawl out of the pipes.
In the dim light, a long, serpentine shape emerged. Its eyes were tightly shut, and it was wearing a pair of rather comical, oversized goggles. Before the Basilisk had closed its eyes, an Alchem-Toad—missing its own lenses—had been petrified, falling into one of the sinks with a dull clink.
A moment later, the Basilisk vanished into thin air.
The Forbidden Forest.
Deep beneath the dense canopy, various phials and jars were lined up on a mossy log. Relying on the strength of his potions, Sean could keep the Basilisk in a magical slumber for at least a week.
As the creature settled into its sleep, Sean flicked his wand. The earth churned and rose, burying the serpent beneath the forest floor. He was particularly careful with the head, wrapping the eye area in layer upon layer of enchanted soil.
Snowy—currently transfigured into a magnificent, puffed-out rooster—stood atop the mound, watching the ancient trees with a sharp, regal gaze.
Sean remained nearby, consulting his Project Map. He was waiting for Harry to make his move on the Chamber. His job now was to ensure the slumbering "King of Serpents" didn't become a problem for the rest of the school.
Hogwarts roused itself to the sound of birdsong.
The Great Hall.
The atmosphere was buzzing with talk of the upcoming Halloween feast. Third-years and above were particularly excited about the first Hogsmeade visit of the term on the Saturday before the holiday.
However, the mood at Harry's end of the table was the complete opposite.
"You're saying you met the Lucky Kneazle in a dream, and it told you a monster is being controlled by someone called 'Tom Riddle,' and you need a snake fang to stab a diary?" Ron asked, swallowing hard.
"Exactly," Harry said. Now that he was saying it out loud, he realized how mental it sounded.
"I've never heard of magic like that—dream-walking..." Hermione looked fascinated but skeptical. "First Ginny, now you... but wait, if the Kneazle is a guardian, does that mean it isn't Sean?"
"Does anyone know why this Riddle fellow wants to control a Basilisk in the first place?" Ron asked, his hand nervously tapping his History of Magic homework—a three-foot-long essay on the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.
The bell rang for class.
History of Magic was as mind-numbing as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a dry, wheezy drone that sounded like an ancient vacuum cleaner. Within minutes, the class was in a stupor, occasionally waking up to scribble down a name or a date before sinking back into a semi-comatose state.
Half an hour into the lecture, something unprecedented happened.
Hermione Granger raised her hand.
Professor Binns, who was in the middle of a particularly tedious point about the International Wizard Conference of 1289, looked up in genuine shock.
"Miss... er...?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione said, her voice clear and ringing through the room.
"The Chamber of what?" Dean Thomas blurted out. He had been staring blankly out the window and snapped back to attention.
"Where did the Know-It-All hear about that?" Ernie Macmillan muttered, lifting his head from his arms.
Professor Binns blinked. "My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, breathless voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends."
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