The silence was unexpected.
No sudden attack from a second Basilisk, no flash of cursed spells, nor any other unforeseen mishaps. As Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape walked along the long stone path, they reached the final pair of stone pillars and saw a statue as tall as the chamber itself.
Aged, wrinkled, with a sparse, long beard nearly dragging on the ground.
"Is this Slytherin?" Harry frowned. "Would anyone make such an ugly statue of themselves?"
"Hmm... From what I know, Slytherin wasn't this old when he left Hogwarts. By wizarding standards, he was middle-aged at most," Dumbledore mused.
"With the mindset of a pure-blood noble, even if they commissioned a statue, they'd only immortalize their most elegant and perfect image," Snape said. "I don't believe this is Slytherin's statue."
"Let's check it," Harry said seriously. "Be careful."
From every pillar to the chamber's pool, including the statue itself, Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape conducted a meticulous inspection.
Finding nothing else in the room and knowing none of them spoke Parseltongue, Harry decided to destroy the statue. At the point where its head connected to the wall, a hole large enough for a Basilisk's massive body to pass through was revealed.
After sending a transfigured rat to scout and confirm it was safe, Harry crawled into the hole—this was likely the Basilisk's true lair. Inside, he found two shed snakeskins and a floor littered with bones.
No human remains, just the skeletons of small animals or four-legged creatures, likely unfortunate denizens of the Forbidden Forest.
The Basilisk had slithered through a secret passage from the Black Lake, feeding on its fish and the forest's creatures, sleeping, shedding, and surviving intermittently for centuries.
Though the Chamber of Secrets had become the Basilisk's lair, Dumbledore found traces of human presence. The bookshelves were empty—not a single book or even a scrap of parchment decayed by time, as if someone had known they were coming and removed anything of value in advance.
Aside from confirming the Basilisk was indeed an experiment bred by Slytherin a thousand years ago, Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape found little else—no attacks, no traps.
In the end, Dumbledore sealed the chamber with his authority as Headmaster and a powerful enchantment. Fawkes then carried them back to the surface.
Hogwarts buzzed with life once more.
The ghosts, invited by Nearly Headless Nick, spread the tale of Halloween night's events to anyone who asked, retelling the story with enthusiastic embellishments.
There was no hiding it. Thirty or forty petrified ghosts were neatly stacked in an empty classroom near the hospital wing, and with the students' curiosity and resourcefulness, the truth couldn't be contained.
Within a day, the students learned that Harry had been attacked by a monster during Nick's Deathday Party, and at least two or three underground classrooms had been reduced to rubble.
By the second day, when the professors eased their patrols and vigilance, everyone knew the creature that attacked Harry was a thousand-year-old Basilisk.
This was Dumbledore's calculated move. Rather than letting students' imaginations run wild with fear, he gave them a concrete answer to calm their minds. He even displayed the Basilisk's preserved corpse in the Great Hall for all to see.
Dumbledore invited representatives from the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot to witness the Basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets. For many students, it was their first time seeing Minister Fudge in person.
Unsurprisingly, Rita Skeeter seized the moment, conducting interviews and publishing a special report. The Chamber of Secrets and the thousand-year-old Basilisk became the wizarding world's new obsession.
Nearly every British wizard was a Hogwarts graduate, yet none could fathom that they'd lived alongside a Basilisk for seven years. Most astonishingly, that Basilisk had been slain—by none other than Harry Potter, Hogwarts' youngest professor and the great Savior.
Among wizards, power varied starkly. For someone like Dumbledore, Voldemort, or even Snape, a thousand-year-old Basilisk was merely a challenge—tricky but manageable. For Snape, perhaps a bit tougher.
But for the vast majority of wizards—ninety-nine percent—a thousand-year-old Basilisk was an insurmountable foe. Its cursed eyes aside, its sheer physical strength and scales could shrug off most spells, crushing ordinary wizards with ease.
Its fangs and venom were another matter entirely—lethal beyond comprehension, the embodiment of the deadliest threat an ordinary wizard could imagine.
This realization hit the wizarding world hard: Harry Potter was that powerful?
Rita's photos in the Daily Prophet, showing the Basilisk's corpse severed into three gruesome pieces, only deepened this awe.
No one now saw Harry as a young wizard barely two years into the magical world. Even the Ministry stopped treating the boy, barely chest-high to most, as a child. He was a wizard of immense power.
People no longer said Harry would be the next Dumbledore or that he'd one day rival him. Instead, they spoke of Harry and Dumbledore as equals, occasionally debating who was stronger.
"The seven years I spent at Hogwarts were the best of my life, but I could never have imagined that such a dangerous, deadly dark creature lurked in the place I called home..."
"Like those petrified ghosts, if they hadn't already been dead, we might have mourned thirty or forty bodies lying before us when the Basilisk broke through the classroom walls..."
"We all know the legend of the Chamber, and many of us even searched for it during our school years, only to find nothing. Now, I'm grateful we didn't, for what tragedy it would have been for a young wizard to meet a Basilisk's gaze unprepared..."
"I cannot fathom why Salazar Slytherin would leave such a chamber in a school meant to protect young wizards, nor why he'd leave a Basilisk within it."
"Some might say it was Slytherin's final defense for Hogwarts, meant to protect the school—but is that truly protection?"
"If it was protection, why did the Basilisk break through walls to attack our professors and students unprovoked? My investigation reveals the Chamber was opened decades ago, resulting in a student's death! Below is an interview with the late Myrtle Warren..."
Fudge was in a miserable spot. The revelation of the Chamber and the Basilisk diverted some attention from the Ministry's recent blunders, giving him a moment to breathe. But that relief was short-lived. The narrative shifted to the Basilisk's killing decades prior and the Ministry's hasty scapegoating of Hagrid.
If those events hadn't predated Fudge's tenure, he might have considered drastic measures to prove his innocence.
Rita, however, did some good. Her reporting cleared Hagrid's name, prompting the Ministry to lift his ban on using a wand and casting magic. No longer would he need to hide his wand in an umbrella.
"Given the crimes this thousand-year-old Basilisk committed and the danger it posed to students, Professor Potter undoubtedly safeguarded the future of wizarding Britain by eliminating this hidden threat. His heroism unquestionably deserves a Merlin Medal..."
Crash!
A pristine newspaper, still smelling of fresh ink, was crumpled into a ball and hurled to the floor, its owner's fury palpable.
"A Merlin Medal?!" Lockhart's fist slammed onto his desk, his enraged voice echoing through the office. "For what?! A mere Basilisk?!"
"Perhaps a First-Class Medal, maybe a Second—but never one earned through scrounged gold and overblown fame, like your pathetic Third-Class Medal."
The Defense Against the Dark Arts office should have held only Lockhart, yet a second voice—a low, raspy male voice—answered his outburst.
"Pathetic Third-Class Medal?!" Lockhart's rage flared. "I worked hard to donate for that medal!"
"Exactly," the voice sneered. "You know why, don't you? Everyone knows how you got that medal and what it's worth. Did you think you could fool Dumbledore? You've said it so many times you've started believing it yourself."
"Enough! Shut up!"
Fury overtaking reason, Lockhart punched his own face. A second mouth had split open on his cheek, and it was from this mouth the words had come.
"Ha! Weak!" the mouth taunted. "Have you forgotten? I am you, and you are me. I'm part of your soul, your flesh, your darkest side, your last shred of conscience. No one knows you better than I do. Just like that feeble punch, you can't bring yourself to punish yourself because you know I'm right!"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
In a frenzy, Lockhart swept everything off his desk, stomping on the latest Daily Prophet as if it bore the faces of Harry and Dumbledore.
"A mere Basilisk! Those ignorant fools! Have they faced a banshee?! A vampire?! Traveled with a hag?! Or a werewolf?! A yeti in Tibet?! They know nothing!"
Lockhart trembled with rage.
"I don't know if they've seen those things, but I know you haven't, you filthy wretch," the voice mocked again. "A vile, pathetic insect, sidling up to true heroes, stealing their stories, ambushing them to make them forget, then claiming their deeds as your own. Ha! Lockhart, admit it—you're a worthless fool. Before Harry Potter, you're nothing but a clown!"
Boom!
Intending to strike the mouth on his face, Lockhart faltered, fearing the pain. Instead, he drew his wand and blasted his desk to pieces.
The voice laughed maniacally, reveling in Lockhart's impotent fury.
Only when Lockhart exhausted himself, collapsing into his chair, did the mouth cease its maddening laughter.
"Why be angry?" its tone softened, almost tender. "Why feel jealous?"
"No one knows you better than I do... I, Lockhart... I care too much about that medal..."
"I spent nearly every Galleon I earned from my books to buy that Merlin Medal, and that despicable boy did nothing to earn his so easily..."
"It's not fair."
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