At night, Harry sat quietly, staring at a ring on his finger.
A few days ago, he had been prepared to kill the Basilisk—but to his surprise, he had discovered that this ring could actually control the Basilisk's soul.
Through it, he could communicate with the creature mentally and even share its vision.
Plans never keep up with changes.
With this new development, he no longer needed to kill the Basilisk.
After all, this was something Salazar Slytherin had left for his heir. Unfortunately for Voldemort, he had never discovered it and could only communicate with the Basilisk on a shallow level through Parseltongue.
Only with this ring could one truly command the creature.
He didn't even need to speak; he could transmit commands clearly from a distance.
That's what gave Harry the idea to collaborate in Voldemort's performance.
For example, today Voldemort had communicated with the Basilisk, ordering it to first kill Mrs. Norris, then later harm wizards and spread fear across the school. As long as fear swept the campus and the Ministry of Magic took notice, they would surely deem Dumbledore incompetent and temporarily dismiss him—at which point Harry wouldn't have to act so cautiously anymore.
But knowing Voldemort's orders, Harry quietly overrode them, commanding the Basilisk to merely petrify Mrs. Norris.
Voldemort hadn't suspected a thing. To him, the Basilisk lacked the intelligence to fully understand commands. As long as the results matched his goals, he wouldn't look deeper.
Harry's plan had gone smoothly so far. But one question still nagged at him.
Why was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets located in the second-floor girls' lavatory? And why was Moaning Myrtle killed there by the sudden appearance of the Basilisk?
Hogwarts had stood for over a thousand years without being renovated. The dormitories remained dormitories. The pitch remained the pitch. The girls' bathroom had always been a girls' bathroom.
In other words, when Slytherin created the Chamber, he knew the entrance was beneath the girls' bathroom.
And now, given Harry could share the Basilisk's vision...
Tsk tsk. Harry couldn't help but entertain a bold thought. He began to doubt Salazar Slytherin's true intentions.
Was it… a peeping hole for spying on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls?
That night, Harry had a nightmare.
Many scenes flashed through his mind: Filch's hateful eyes, his mouth seemingly cursing him… the look in Mrs. Norris's eyes before she died… even fragments of Voldemort's memories, from the orphanage days when children feared and loathed him for his magic…
It was a deeply unsettling dream.
But Harry had never had nightmares before.
Muggles believed nightmares were due to stress or mental strain.
Wizards, however, did not see it that way.
And so, early in the morning, Harry sat examining a turtle shell that had just finished burning. Several jagged cracks ran across it in a crisscross pattern.
He compared the shell's divination marks against his book of Seer symbols.
"There it is."
Harry pointed to a passage in the book.
"It means someone has cursed me," he read.
Who would cast a spell on him? And just to give him a nightmare?
When in doubt—ask Divination. Harry lit another fire and tossed in a piece of animal bone.
Crackle crackle.
The fire gradually died down, leaving behind mysterious marks on the bone.
Harry resumed flipping through his books.
He hadn't expected to get much useful information. After all, a wizard's magic naturally interferes with Divination. Even Voldemort would struggle to divine clear answers about a first-year student. But Muggles were another story—they were easy targets for such readings.
Surprisingly, the results pointed quite clearly.
"The one who cursed me has very weak magical power, which is why the Divination worked. An old man… who recently lost his only loved one… yet the reading also says that loved one hasn't really left him." A dangerous glint flashed in Harry's eyes.
Heh…
All that hate over such a petty reason? Just because he was grieving?
Did he look easy to bully?
Harry didn't care about the pain—what he cared about was intent. Someone had cursed him with malice, and although it hadn't harmed him, that was only because the caster's magic was too weak. He would bet anything that Filch had cursed him with hatred in his heart, wishing him dead.
So what should he do about it?
Let it slide? Or…
The next day was Halloween.
The incident from yesterday had begun to ferment. Students who hadn't seen it firsthand now knew all about it through secondhand accounts.
Of course, every person who shared the story added their own spin, pretending to have insider information. They exaggerated for effect.
And when others re-shared it with their own embellishments, the story spiraled.
Eventually, the original storyteller would overhear a version of the tale being told that matched their own exaggerations—except now it seemed completely real.
Thus, the truth became even more elusive.
At Hogwarts, this was a delightful bit of spice added to their otherwise mundane lives. If you didn't join in the gossip, it was as if you weren't even a student.
Even though it had been confirmed that the writing on the wall was done with chicken blood, not human blood, and all the professors kept reassuring everyone in class that the Chamber of Secrets was a myth and not worth discussing…
The topic refused to die down.
Some students, driven by curiosity and the spirit of inquiry, were determined to uncover the truth behind the Chamber.
Hermione was one of them.
She vaguely remembered reading something about it in a biography once, but when she went back to the library to find the book again, it was gone.
That convinced her the school was covering it up.
But where else could she find information?
Her eyes lit up as she glanced at the next class on the schedule—History of Magic.
The most boring subject of all.
The teacher, Professor Binns, was a ghost—the only ghost professor at Hogwarts. He was ancient, with shriveled skin and a raspy monotone voice. Some said he hadn't even realized he'd died. On his last day alive, he got up to teach, accidentally left his body behind by the staffroom fireplace, and had been teaching ever since—exactly the same way.
But he was old enough to know nearly everything. Though his lectures were insufferable, few wizards alive knew more about magical history than Binns did.
Today's class began as usual. Binns opened his notes and droned on like a broken vacuum cleaner. Within minutes, the entire class was drifting into sleep. Occasionally, a name or date jolted someone awake just long enough to scribble it down before drifting off again.
Half an hour in, Hermione finally couldn't take it anymore.
She raised her hand eagerly.
Professor Binns blinked in confusion. "You… what is it?"
Hermione got straight to the point. "Professor, I'd like to ask about the Chamber of Secrets. Could you tell us something about it?"
And just like that…
Dean, who had been staring blankly out the window with his mouth hanging open, suddenly snapped out of his daze. Lavender Brown lifted her head from her arms. Neville dropped his elbow off the desk.
The entire class came to life, all eyes sparkling with interest.
Professor Binns looked annoyed at first—clearly intending to scold Hermione—but when he noticed everyone else eagerly staring at him…
He realized, for the first time, that the class was actually interested in something he was about to say.
"Well then…" he sighed, wheezing slightly. "Let me think… about the Chamber of Secrets…"
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THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER
⚡🦉 THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER 🦉⚡
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📢 MAGIC REBORN! 📢
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The wizarding world is changing.
Old destinies twist, familiar names return under new shadows, and magic itself may follow a different path this time.
🪄 A second chance.🌙 A different fate.⚡ A wizarding world reborn.
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