Chapter 207: The Sword of Gryffindor, Lockhart Meets Tom
Ron was panting hard when he finally found Professor McGonagall.
"P... Professor! Something's wrong!" His face was flushed from sprinting and fear. "Leonardo…"
"What?" Professor McGonagall swayed the moment she heard him out. Her face went deathly pale, and she had to brace a hand against the wall to steady herself, as if she'd nearly lost the breath in her lungs.
"Leonardo, he… he went after the basilisk on his own? How could he, how could he do that?"
Her voice went sharp with shock and lingering dread. And at the same time, an absurd, utterly fitting thought barged into her mind.
The Sorting Hat must have made a mistake back then.
With that kind of reckless, outrageous courage, Leonardo belonged in Gryffindor.
"And the basilisk, of all times, it chooses when Dumbledore isn't even in the school…"
Without a second's hesitation, Professor McGonagall strode towards the exit. As she walked, she drew her wand and flicked her wrist.
Several swift, thin little birds made of pure silver light burst from her wand tip, like arrows loosed from a bow. They split and scattered through the corridors, racing towards different professors.
…
The lawn, after being scourged by violent lightning and churned by the basilisk's desperate thrashing, was almost unrecognisable.
Charred craters and overturned mud lay in a tangled mess. The air reeked of something scorched, mixed with blood.
The basilisk sprawled in the mud like a corpse, limp and motionless.
Leonardo stood where he was. The miniature vortex in his eyes spun at high speed, piercing rain and scale alike as he watched the movement of magic within its body.
"That's enough. Stop playing dead."
A thin, breathless hiss came from the basilisk's direction. It sounded like it didn't even have the strength to lift its head.
"W wait… wait…"
Leonardo's wand stayed level, unwavering, aimed at the basilisk.
A thousand-year serpent king really was hard to kill. Even after taking that lightning head-on, it was still alive.
The basilisk begged in broken hisses, threaded with fear.
Leonardo's tone did not change. "I only need to borrow your heart."
But before he could finish the sentence, the basilisk's limp body erupted with sudden force. It launched itself forward in a violent burst.
Not at Leonardo.
Not at the castle.
Straight towards the Forbidden Forest.
It had been asleep too long. Since when had humans become this terrifying?
That soft-looking little wizard was going to scare a snake to death.
The castle could wait. First, the forest. Hide there. The terrain was complicated, and there was plenty of "food" to restore its strength.
It had barely slithered a short distance when a wall of nearly pure gold flame appeared out of nothing, radiating a sacred presence. It stood like an unbridgeable chasm, sealing its escape.
At almost the same moment, rings of golden fire snapped into existence, enclosing both Leonardo and the basilisk inside a blazing circle.
The fire was strangely calm. It gave off no heat at all, like warm light made solid.
But instinct screamed at the basilisk. It did not dare touch that flame with so much as the tip of a scale.
"All right. Once I'm done with you, I've still got other things to deal with."
That voice came again, like a devil murmuring, and this time it echoed directly inside the basilisk's mind.
Leonardo stepped towards it.
"Cheep!"
A familiar red fireball flared to life in the rain.
Fawkes, still young, flapped his not-yet-strong wings and darted to Leonardo's side. In his claws, he gripped a battered, patched, pointed hat.
The Sorting Hat.
"Oh?" Leonardo was surprised. He reached out and took it. "Fawkes, you didn't leave with Headmaster Dumbledore?"
The moment the hat touched his hand, the tear that served as its mouth split wide, and it sang in a dramatic, minstrel's cadence.
"Behold! Thunder cleanses the wicked, and the sword strikes down the demon snake!"
Where had it picked that up?
Leonardo slid his hand into the hat's seemingly shallow interior.
It felt like reaching into bottomless space. His fingers brushed something cold and solid.
A hilt.
He drew it out in one steady motion.
A long sword appeared in his hand, magnificent and commanding. A ruby the size of a pigeon's egg blazed in the pommel, and the silver blade shone with a cold, ruthless gleam, as if it could slice through darkness and evil with ease.
The Sword of Gryffindor.
Inside the castle, it was bedlam, like a boiling pot about to spill over.
Nearly every window facing the battlefield was packed with frightened, fascinated students. They raised telescopes, craned their necks, and fought for a glimpse of the distant lawn.
"I can see it! I can see it!"
"There's fire! The fire's lighting the place up!"
By the glow of that burning wall, they could just make out the monstrous outline of the giant serpent and the lone figure standing before it.
"Leonardo Grafton!"
The name, once shouted, created a heartbeat of silence around the windows.
Then the noise came back even louder.
"Merlin's wand, he's facing that thing alone!"
"He's going to die!"
At the same time, Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the castle entrance.
The heavy doors were already locked tight. Two suits of armour stood guard with weapons in hand, blocking the way.
The professors had sealed the exits. No students were going outside to face a basilisk.
"Upstairs!" Hermione gritted out, spinning on her heel and charging for the nearest staircase.
…
At another window, Cho felt as if her heart were being squeezed in a fist. She stared out into the storm. Steam rose thickly where the fire met the rain, blurring the view.
"Leonardo, he…"
Her voice trembled, impossible to hide.
Marietta, standing beside her, hurried to soothe her. "Look, the professors are already on their way. The Heads of House are there, too. And those statues and suits of armour are moving with them. It'll be fine."
But it didn't ease Cho's fear. She knew Leonardo was brilliant. She knew he was capable. But he was still only twelve.
Cho had recognised that serpent the moment she saw it.
A basilisk.
And she could not even begin to imagine what it meant to stand before something like that.
"Please… hurry. Please…"
All she could do was pray that the professors reached him in time.
…
At a different window with an excellent view, Draco Malfoy watched helplessly as Daphne Greengrass yanked his telescope out of his hands and leaned so far out that half her body was over the sill, her blonde hair whipping in the wind and rain.
"Oi! Watch it!" Malfoy snapped. If she got too worked up and slipped, he would have to grab her, and the last thing anyone needed was an accident on top of a basilisk attack.
"Draco, where's your broom?" Daphne demanded, eyes fixed on the distant firelight.
Malfoy pulled a face. "Have you forgotten there are wards around the castle that interfere with flying magic?"
"Honestly. If Leonardo dares fight a monster like that, he must be confident. He's Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor."
Malfoy paused, staring at the figure that flickered in and out of view behind steam and fire. His tone turned oddly solemn.
"You came late. You didn't see the lightning earlier, a whole forest of it. I'm telling you, Leonardo was right in the middle and didn't get touched once. I'm reasonably sure that lightning was his."
"If that's magic, it's ridiculous. Anyone else would've been struck dead. I wonder how many spellbooks it'd take for Leonardo to teach me that trick…"
Daphne flared at once. "Draco! Is that what you're thinking about right now? Even if he can do magic like that, how long can his magic last? What if something goes wrong?"
Because Malfoy had seen that lightning with his own eyes, he wasn't as frightened for Leonardo as Daphne was. He thought her scolding looked exactly like what Leonardo called "helpless rage".
He pouted and muttered under his breath, "Shame I don't have a sister. Otherwise, I could try marrying into the Graftons…"
Maybe the wind and rain swallowed his words. Maybe Daphne's worry was too loud in her own head. She didn't seem to catch it.
Just then, Crabbe and Goyle shoved their way over clumsily.
Malfoy's eyes lit up. He snatched a second telescope from Goyle and aimed it back towards the lawn.
"Oh, I knew it," he said, relief creeping into his voice. "That snake looks like it's nearly finished. It's smoking all over, like it's been roasted…"
He froze, adjusted the focus, and squinted harder.
"Since when did Leonardo have a sword? It's shining, bright as anything."
"And, er, it looks pretty nice."
Around them, gasps and frantic chatter blended into a constant roar.
Against that noise, a sharp, repetitive click-click stood out.
Harry lowered his telescope, frowning, and followed the sound.
Nearby, Colin Creevey was holding up a squat, dark "short barrel" of a camera, aiming towards the lawn, hammering the shutter again and again.
"Colin, what are you…"
Colin didn't look away from the viewfinder. His fingers kept moving. "My camera broke before, remember? This one's lent to me by Leonardo. The wizarding world is brilliant. So that huge snake was what attacked me last time!"
"This is going to be massive. Leonardo's been telling me to think about becoming a reporter…"
It was ridiculous, but somehow it loosened the tight knot in Harry's chest.
He shook his head and lifted the telescope again.
On the ruined lawn, the rain poured. The fire wall leapt. Steam boiled up.
It all formed a wavering veil, as if sealing one boy and one serpent away from the world.
Then everyone with a telescope saw something they would never forget.
Leonardo surged forward, charging the basilisk. His sword cut through the rain as he swung with all his strength towards the basilisk's roaring head.
The slender silver blade erupted in dazzling magical flame. Thick arcs of purple and green lightning raced through that fire, crackling and exploding.
The strike came down with unstoppable resolve.
A thunderous blast followed.
White lightning fell from the sky.
Golden fire burst up from the earth.
Light blinded them. Flame rose like a tide.
For a moment, no one could see anything at all.
There was only thunder, the storm wind, and the pounding of their own hearts.
…
Deep beneath the castle, in the dark, cold Chamber of Secrets.
"Glug, glug…"
Lockhart tipped the final ingredient into the boiling cauldron.
"At last. It's finished."
Tom had told him that the potion that stimulated magic couldn't be stored for long. There was no choice but to brew it fresh.
Lockhart tilted his head back towards the black pipe overhead and took several deep breaths.
"Now the basilisk is already attacking people all over the castle. Harry should be petrified too. Once I drink this potion…"
Once he drank it, Gilderoy Lockhart would make his entrance as a "hero".
He would cast brilliant, exquisite magic. He would drive back the basilisk with unmatched courage and wit.
None of it would be difficult, because the basilisk's control was in his hands. The only bother was directing it to cooperate, to put on the right show.
Defeat the basilisk. Save the Petrified students. Protect Harry Potter. Preserve the future of the wizarding world.
Lockhart could already see glory and praise waving him closer.
"I might even earn an Order of Merlin, First Class. With an achievement like this… it should be enough."
Lockhart already held an Order of Merlin, Third Class, and he knew the rules well. Third wasn't too difficult. Second required meaningful contributions to progress, the simplest route being a major breakthrough in a field.
First was far harder. You needed the perfect convergence of timing and circumstances because true crises that affected the whole wizarding world were rare.
Stopping one was rarer still.
And now the opportunity sat right in front of him. A horrifying monster, nearly running rampant at Hogwarts, where young witches and wizards were raised. But it would be stopped by a "hero".
Lockhart's smile stopped looking polished and composed. It grew exaggerated in a way he would never normally allow.
He turned to the old diary lying open in his hands, ready to share his imminent triumph with Tom.
Then a new line appeared.
"No, you still missed some materials…"
It wasn't written in the usual black ink. It was blood-red, and Lockhart frowned despite himself.
A cold unease stirred in his gut.
He pulled out his peacock-feather quill and began to write, intending to ask Tom what he meant.
"I'm sure I added them…"
The next second, Lockhart's eyes went wide.
Thread after thread of black smoke forced its way out of the parchment, writhing like a nest of venomous snakes.
The smoke twisted, gathered, and in the space of a blink, became a person.
A teenage boy with black hair and black eyes, sharp-featured and coldly handsome. A faint smile rested at the corner of his mouth, almost mocking, yet his eyes were empty and indifferent, as if he were looking down from a great height at something beneath him.
"You…" Lockhart croaked.
He was genuinely frightened. That kind of entrance did not belong to a good man. It was the sort of thing he'd heard in the adventures he'd stolen, stories tangled up with Dark Magic and curses.
No, he thought, the boy before him was worse than the ugly, twisted creatures in those stories.
Beautiful, and less human than any of them.
"This is all it takes for you to forget me, 'friend'?"
At the word, Lockhart swallowed hard and backed up half a step.
"Oh, ha ha, Tom. Of course it's you. This is the first time I've seen you properly. Truly, truly astonishing."
He forced his hand to stay steady as he slipped the peacock-feather quill into his pocket, the same pocket where his wand was hidden.
"Er, Tom. You said I missed an ingredient. What is it?"