"Kent, could you hand me the box you're holding?"
Dumbledore looked toward Avada. "I need to have a proper 'chat' with that diary—get it to tell me where the Chamber of Secrets is, and how to open it."
"You can do that?"
Avada passed the box over with anticipation. He was genuinely curious what Dumbledore meant by a "proper chat." After taking the box, Dumbledore poked the several thick loops of tape wrapped around it with a finger. The reinforcing magic attached to the enchanted tape instantly dissipated like smoke.
He then lifted the box, examining it from every angle—up, down, left, right—making several slow passes before finally locating the end of the tape. He reflexively tried to pry at it with his fingernail…
It didn't budge.
"Ahem."
He cleared his throat, tapped the box lightly, and the tape obediently flew off on its own, producing a series of satisfying ripping sounds.
With his wand in one hand, Dumbledore flipped the lid open with the other—and the instant the diary was exposed to the air, he struck it with a spell so fast no one could see it clearly. The diary, which had been trembling and seeping wisps of black mist from between its pages, instantly went still.
Only then did Dumbledore allow the diary to float before him. Eyes closed, wand pointed at it, he fell completely silent, like a magical statue. The onlookers stared at one another, utterly confused about what was happening.
Only Snape watched the diary with open tension, his wand already clenched tightly in his hand.
And Avada—Avada was utterly mesmerized.
In the world revealed by his magical perception, Dumbledore's Legilimency was brutally tearing apart the diary's mental defenses, forcibly reading its memories in the most direct and violent way imaginable.
Avada could hardly believe it.
He had studied the Horcrux diary's mental defenses himself. His conclusion had been that even with continuous magical perception, breaking through that barrier would take him at least half a day.
And Dumbledore?
Had he even spent thirty seconds?
Forget thirty—ten seconds hadn't even passed.
As Avada focused intensely on Dumbledore's spellwork and Voldemort's defenses—which were exquisite in his eyes, yet laughably fragile before Dumbledore—he was just about ready to chug an entire bottle of Wit-Sharpening Potion when someone suddenly poked him.
"Tch. Who is it now…"
He turned around irritably—and met a sea of curious stares.
"Um, Kent…"
Luna Lovegood, who had just poked him, whispered, "Is it really true that you're a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald?"
"…"
Avada swept his gaze across the room. Everyone except Baron and Snape was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. A terrible realization dawned on him.
This rumor was never coming off.
In his own eyes, he was just a transmigrator who'd read the original story, saddled by the Ministry with a ridiculous name, possessing average talent—but with a cheat.
In everyone else's eyes?
A mysterious figure whose full name Dumbledore concealed. A prodigy of staggering talent. A seer comparable to Grindelwald. Someone judged by Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy—of all people—to be Grindelwald's descendant…
"Hiss…"
Even Avada himself was starting to believe it.
"Of course it's fake. I have absolutely nothing to do with Grindelwald. My name being hidden is for entirely different reasons…"
He rolled his eyes and added, "Though the Seer part is true—at least, it used to be."
"Used to?"
"Do you remember before the petrification incidents began, when I collapsed during Divination class?"
Avada chuckled as he explained. "Back then, I probably did glimpse something forbidden, just like Professor Trelawney said—and suffered a severe backlash. I don't have prophetic abilities anymore."
That part was completely true.
He really had suffered a terrible backlash. And he really couldn't foresee anything now—how could he, when the plot had been completely derailed by his interference? If he truly still had prophecy, would he have been screwed over by the Horcrux diary so badly?
"What? You lost your prophetic power…"
The others were just beginning to show concern when Dumbledore's voice suddenly rang out.
"All right."
He lowered his wand and placed the now-limp diary back into the box. For some reason, his eyes looked a little dim. "I've obtained the information I needed. So that was the truth from fifty years ago…"
"Oh—but that's not what matters right now."
He shook his head, his tone still heavy. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in the abandoned girls' bathroom. It must be opened by speaking the correct command in Parseltongue. The original command was 'Open'—but it has since been changed to 'Long live Voldemort.'"
"That place?!"
Harry stared at Avada in shock. "Isn't that where you first taught me Parseltongue? You knew where the Chamber was from the very beginning?!"
Avada looked at Harry in pain.
Please—just stop talking.
Couldn't you see that everyone else's expressions were already running out of doubt?!
At this rate, Grindelwald himself was going to crawl out of prison just to hunt him down.
"Fawkes,"
Dumbledore raised his head, as if speaking to himself. "Bring them all here."
A massive blaze of fire erupted out of thin air before everyone's eyes. From within it emerged a crowd—Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Kettleburn, and Hagrid.
Well… technically only a few people. But Hagrid's misleadingly enormous size made it feel like far more.
"Is it over?"
McGonagall blinked, looking at Dumbledore and the crowd behind him with hesitation.
"Almost," Dumbledore smiled at her. "All that remains is killing the basilisk. I know where the entrance is now—follow me."
"I'll have Fawkes blind the basilisk first, and then—"
"Don't do that, Albus!"
Professor Kettleburn stepped forward urgently, waving his wooden arm. "Those are basilisk eyes! You might not see one for centuries! They're the most valuable research material on its body!"
"If we can obtain intact basilisk eyes," Professor Sprout nodded in agreement, "we might even develop a method to rapidly cure petrified students."
The other professors showed varying degrees of expectation as well. After all, basilisks were unimaginably rare—and practically every part of them was priceless. Damaging even a fraction was enough to make top-tier researchers wince.
"…Very well."
Dumbledore finally sighed and nodded. "Then we'll close our eyes and kill it using extrasensory spells or blind casting… Take these."
With a flick of his wand, a pile of pitch-black glasses appeared in midair. "Put them on—block your vision so you don't accidentally meet the basilisk's gaze."
"Professor, can we come watch?"
The Weasley twins bounced over excitedly, even pulling out two pairs of transparent glasses. "We can wear these—we've always wanted to experience petrification!"
"Mr. Weasley,"
McGonagall attempted to scare them back with a fearsome glare—but Dumbledore cheerfully stopped her. "If you're willing, of course you may. But be warned—your missed coursework during petrification will be made up in full afterward."
Fred and George exchanged looks. After a long moment, they forced out a word through clenched teeth:
"…Go!"
"Very well, Mr. Weasley. Anyone else want to tour the Chamber of Secrets? If you don't face the basilisk directly and just look around, there's no real danger."
Every single hand shot up.
"Excellent. Professor Snape, please take Lockhart to the Ministry first. Bring along the recordings Mr. Shafiq made so they can handle the matter. Then meet us at the bathroom entrance."
"Mm."
Snape nodded, took the recording equipment from Baron, and summoned the ashen-faced Lockhart over with a flick of his hand. Grabbing Lockhart by the collar with one hand, and reaching for Fawkes with the other, he vanished in a burst of flame.
(End of Chapter)