Wizard World and the Ambitious Girl

"This was done by a girl who was only twelve years old?" McGonagall's voice trembled with disbelief.

"I can hardly believe it myself, Minerva. Yet the evidence lies before us." Dumbledore's usually calm demeanor showed cracks of deep concern.

The Basilisk lay defeated in the blood-soaked corridor, but its condition spoke of something far more disturbing than a mere victory. The ancient serpent had been methodically dismembered, its massive eyes gouged out with surgical precision, every deadly fang extracted, scales scraped away in patches to reveal pale flesh beneath. Chunks of meat and internal organs were missing entirely, and even sections of bone had been carved away like trophies.

This wasn't the work of someone defending themselves. This was the systematic harvesting of a creature by someone who saw it not as a living being, but as valuable components.

McGonagall pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting back nausea. "How is Miss Granger?"

"In the hospital wing, wrapped in blankets and trembling. She witnessed everything but refuses to speak." Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually twinkling with warmth, were clouded with worry. "I fear the trauma runs deeper than we can imagine."

The headmaster waved his wand, and the pools of basilisk blood rose from the stone floors like crimson water balloons, floating through the nearest window to splash harmlessly into the lake below. The metallic stench lingered, but at least students wouldn't have to walk through the carnage.

"Albus, that girl must be expelled immediately." McGonagall's voice carried a desperate edge. "What she did to that creature, it's inhuman."

"And send her where, Minerva? Durmstrang? Beauxbatons? Do you think other schools will handle her better than we can?" Dumbledore approached the basilisk's mutilated form, his footsteps echoing in the now-clean corridor. "If we abandon her now, she'll embrace the darkness completely. She could become the next Voldemort—or something far worse."

McGonagall felt tears prick her eyes. "I'm terrified of her, Albus. That level of calculated cruelty in someone so young..."

"Fear is natural. But we are educators, Minerva. We don't abandon children, no matter how lost they seem." Dumbledore knelt beside the basilisk's massive head, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Perhaps this was an act of rage after seeing her friend nearly killed. Mirabelle may be capable of terrible things, but she clearly values certain relationships. That gives me hope."

"You truly believe she can be saved?"

"I have to believe it. Because if I'm wrong, and we give up on her now, the wizarding world will face a threat unlike any we've seen."

Victory and New Terror

News of the basilisk's death spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. Slytherin house erupted in celebration, 200 points awarded for Mirabelle's "heroic deed" had secured them a commanding lead, even over Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup victory.

But the celebration proved short-lived.

"Ginny Weasley has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets," Professor McGonagall announced to the assembled faculty, her face pale with fresh worry.

The monster was dead, but its master—the mysterious Heir of Slytherin—remained active. And now they had claimed their most vulnerable victim yet.

Into the Chamber

Harry's voice echoed with serpentine hisses as he spoke to the carved snake on the bathroom faucet. "Open."

The ancient mechanism groaned to life, stone grinding against stone as the washbasin slid aside to reveal a pipe large enough for an adult to crawl through. Darkness yawned below, carrying the musty scent of centuries-old secrets.

"Right then, you first," Ron said, shoving the pale-faced Lockhart toward the opening.

"This is madness! Pure recklessness!" Lockhart protested, but Harry and Ron had already lost patience with their supposed guide.

"Just go!" Harry gave Lockhart a firm push, sending the Defense teacher tumbling into the pipe with a fading shriek.

Hermione winced. "That seemed excessive."

"After a year of his incompetence? Not nearly enough," Harry muttered, then jumped in after him. Ron followed, and finally Hermione, one hand holding down her skirts as she disappeared into the ancient passage.

The slide seemed endless, carrying them past the dungeons and deep into the castle's foundations. A small rat tumbled past them in the darkness, an odd detail that none of them noticed in their desperate descent.

They landed in a heap on a pile of small bones, the impact jarring but not harmful. Harry immediately lit his wand, casting dancing shadows on the damp stone walls.

"Lumos."

The tunnel stretched ahead, lined with moisture-slicked stones and littered with the skeletal remains of the basilisk's meals. The air hung thick with the smell of decay and ancient magic.

"Harry, look at this," Hermione whispered, pointing to a massive shed skin that lay crumpled against one wall—easily sixty feet long and gleaming with an oily sheen.

"The basilisk's old skin," Harry confirmed, though he knew its owner would shed no more. Mirabelle had ensured that with brutal efficiency.

Behind them, Lockhart sat heavily on the ground, overwhelmed by the enormity of the empty skin. Ron kept his borrowed wand trained on the cowering professor, though his grip betrayed his nervousness.

In a flash of movement, Lockhart sprang forward, wrestling the wand from Ron's surprised grasp. His famous smile returned as he aimed the weapon at the three students.

"Adventure's over, children! I'll return with this skin as proof that I arrived too late to save the girl. Such a tragedy, you three lost your minds at the sight of her mangled corpse."

"The monster's already dead!" Harry protested. "No one will believe your story!"

"They'll believe me. My reputation ensures that. Though you're right, one monster won't suffice. I'll simply claim there were two." Lockhart's eyes gleamed with desperate cunning. "Now, say goodbye to your memories! Obliviate!"

"Protego!" Hermione's shield charm shimmered into existence, but Lockhart's memory charm struck with unexpected force, far more powerful than his previous bumbling attempts.

Ron saw the protective barrier beginning to crack and made a split-second decision. He threw himself forward, placing his body between the spell and his friends just as Hermione's shield shattered.

The memory charm hit Ron full-force, sending him crashing into the tunnel wall.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry's disarming spell tore the wand from Lockhart's grip, and Hermione followed up with a more powerful version that sent the false hero slamming into the stone wall. He crumpled unconscious to the tunnel floor.

"Ron!" Hermione rushed to their friend's side, her heart pounding with dread.

Ron blinked slowly, confusion clouding his features. "I... I think I'm Ronald Weasley? But everything's so hazy... Are you Harry Potter? Or was it... Puppy Potty? Maybe Honeytucker?"

Hermione burst into tears while Harry stood frozen in horror. Ron's memories hadn't been completely erased, but they were severely damaged—a cruel twist of fate that left him childlike and confused.

The Puppet Master's Disappointment

Deep in the Slytherin dormitory, Mirabelle Beresford clicked her tongue in annoyance. Through her network of enchanted rats, all linked through her surgically modified pet, Pyotr—she had witnessed the entire scene in perfect detail.

"Ronald Weasley," she muttered with disgust. "What a waste."

The memory charm hitting Ron instead of Harry or Hermione represented a significant failure in her carefully laid plans. She had orchestrated Lockhart's downfall and arranged for either Harry or Hermione to lose their memories, making them perfect candidates for recruitment as loyal servants.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would have been an invaluable asset against both Dumbledore and Voldemort. Hermione's brilliant mind, wiped clean and ready for reprogramming, could have become the poster child for Mirabelle's vision of a pure magical society.

Instead, she was left with Ron Weasley, hardly different from the dozens of Slytherin sycophants already under her influence.

"No matter," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Let's see how they handle Tom Riddle without their full strength."

The Chamber's Heart

Harry and Hermione left the bound Lockhart with the confused Ron, venturing deeper into the tunnel system. The ancient stonework grew more elaborate as they progressed, carved with serpentine motifs that seemed to writhe in their wandlight.

Hermione's anger boiled over as they walked. "I can't believe I ever admired that fraud! All those books, all those supposed adventures—stolen from the real heroes! I want to go back and hex him into next week!"

"Save your energy," Harry advised, though he shared her fury. "We'll need it for whoever's controlling the basilisk."

They emerged into a vast chamber lined with towering pillars carved to resemble intertwined serpents. Dim magical light emanated from hidden sources, casting eerie shadows that danced across the ancient walls.

In the center of the chamber lay a small figure in black robes, Ginny Weasley, her red hair stark against the dark stone, her face pale as death.

"Ginny!" Harry dropped his wand and ran to her, gathering the unconscious girl in his arms. Her skin felt cold and clammy, but her chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"Move aside, Harry." Hermione gently pushed him away and laid Ginny flat, checking her pulse and breathing with practiced efficiency. "She's alive, but barely. We need to get her out of here immediately."

Harry reached for his wand but found empty air. Searching frantically, he spotted it in the hands of a tall, dark-haired boy who stood beside one of the pillars, spinning the weapon casually between his fingers.

The stranger's form shimmered slightly, translucent as a ghost but more solid than any spirit Harry had encountered.

"Tom Riddle?" Harry breathed.

"Indeed," the boy replied with a charming smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've been waiting quite some time to speak with you, Harry Potter."

Hermione turned at the sound of voices, and her blood ran cold. Those eyes, she had seen that predatory gleam before, in the midst of blood and carnage as Mirabelle Beresford systematically butchered the basilisk. The same cruel intelligence, the same calculating hunger.

"Harry," she whispered, raising her wand toward Tom, "that person is dangerous."

"His eyes," she continued, her voice trembling with recognition. "They're exactly like hers—like Mirabelle's when she was tearing apart the basilisk. The same look of someone who's found their prey."

Tom's smile widened, revealing teeth that gleamed too white in the chamber's dim light. "How perceptive of you, Miss Granger. Though I'd hardly compare myself to that... enthusiastic young lady."

The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop several degrees as Tom's true nature began to show through his handsome facade. The game was about to begin, and Harry found himself unarmed against a memory that had been waiting fifty years for this moment.

***

[Power stones and reviews please]

Support link: www.patr eon.com/Well_being

[10 Advanced Chs] [7 Chapters/week]