Ron came barreling down the corridor, lungs burning, and practically crashed into Professor McGonagall.
"P-Professor! It's bad!" He was panting so hard he could barely get the words out, face red from sprinting and sheer panic. "Lucien—"
"WHAT?!"
McGonagall swayed on the spot, going white as parchment. She had to grab the wall to keep from keeling over.
"Lucien… he went after the basilisk alone?!"
Her voice cracked, high and sharp with shock and retroactive terror.
At that moment an absolutely ridiculous (yet weirdly fitting) thought slammed into her brain:
The Sorting Hat had clearly made a terrible mistake.
With that kind of reckless, lion-hearted bravery, Lucien Grafton should've been in Gryffindor!
"And of course the basilisk picks the exact moment Dumbledore's off campus…"
Without a second's hesitation, McGonagall strode toward the stairs, wand already out. A sharp flick of her wrist sent several sleek silver messenger-birds streaking from the tip, darting through the corridors toward every professor in the castle.
Out on the grounds, after the lightning storm and the basilisk's thrashing, the lawn looked like a war zone.
Charred craters and churned-up mud everywhere, the air thick with the stench of ozone and blood.
The basilisk lay limp in the puddles like a dead thing.
Lucien stood motionless, eyes spinning with tiny whirlpools that cut straight through the rain and the monster's hide to watch the flow of magic inside its body.
"Quit playing dead."
A faint, wheezing hiss answered him. The snake could barely lift its head.
"W-wait… please…"
Lucien kept his wand trained on it.
A thousand-year-old King of Serpents, and it had still survived a direct lightning barrage. Impressive.
It kept begging in broken, terrified Parseltongue.
"I just need to borrow your heart for a minute…"
Before he even finished the sentence, the "corpse" suddenly exploded into motion.
But it didn't lunge at Lucien or the castle.
It bolted straight for the Forbidden Forest.
The basilisk was having a full existential crisis. Had it slept too long? Why were the humans outside suddenly this terrifying?
That soft-looking little wizard had nearly scared it to death!
It just needed to reach the forest, hide in the thick trees, eat something to regain strength…
It hadn't gotten far when a wall of pure golden fire, radiating holy warmth, rose out of nowhere and blocked its path like an unbreakable barrier.
At the same moment, a perfect circle of the same golden flame flared into existence around Lucien and the snake, trapping them inside.
The fire looked calm, almost gentle, yet every instinct screamed at the basilisk never to touch it.
"All right," Lucien said, voice low and casual, "once I'm done with you, I've got other things to take care of."
The words echoed directly inside the basilisk's mind like a demon whispering sweet nothings.
Lucien started walking toward it.
"Cheep!"
A familiar burst of crimson flame bloomed in the downpour. Baby Fawkes flapped over on still-clumsy wings and dropped something into Lucien's waiting hand: the patched, battered Sorting Hat.
"Oh? Fawkes, you didn't leave with Dumbledore?"
The second the Hat touched Lucien's fingers, its brim ripped open like a mouth and belted out in full bard mode:
"Behold! Thunder smites the wicked, the treasured sword cleaves the demon snake!"
Where did this thing even learn poetry?
Lucien reached inside the Hat (way deeper than should've been possible) until his fingers closed around something cold and solid.
He drew it out.
A magnificent silver sword gleamed in his grip, its hilt studded with egg-sized rubies that caught every flash of lightning.
The Sword of Gryffindor.
——————
Inside the castle, pure pandemonium.
Every single window facing the grounds was jammed with terrified and fascinated students, telescopes pressed to their eyes. Those without telescopes were on tiptoes trying to see anyway.
"I can see it! I can see it!"
"There's fire! The flames are lighting everything up!"
Thanks to the glowing wall of fire, they could just make out the monstrous silhouette and the lone figure standing in front of it.
"Lucien Grafton!"
The name rang out. For one heartbeat the corridors went dead quiet.
Then the shouting doubled.
"Merlin's beard, he's facing that thing alone?!"
"He's going to die!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had just sprinted to the front doors, only to find them sealed tight and two suits of armor standing guard with crossed halberds. The professors had locked the place down.
"Upstairs!" Hermione snapped, already running for the nearest staircase.
At one window, Cho Chang felt her heart squeeze so hard she could barely breathe. The fire and steam blurred everything, but she could still see him out there.
"Lucien…" Her voice shook.
Marietta tried to comfort her. "Look, the professors are on their way! All the Heads of House, the statues, the suits of armor, everything—he'll be fine…"
It didn't help. Cho knew Lucien was brilliant, but he was still just a twelve-year-old kid.
She'd recognized the snake from the books. A basilisk. She couldn't even imagine facing something like that…
"Please hurry…" was all she could whisper.
At another window with a perfect view, Draco reluctantly let Daphne yank his expensive telescope away. Half her body was hanging out the window, blonde hair whipping in the storm.
"Hey! Careful, you lunatic!"
"Draco! Where's your broom?!"
He gave her the most exhausted look known to mankind. "You do remember the anti-flight wards around the castle, right?"
"Oh come on, Lucien's out there fighting that monster, he's got to have a plan. He's Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor!"
Draco paused, staring at the distant figure flickering in the firelight. "You weren't here earlier. You didn't see the forest of lightning bolts. Not a single one touched him. I'm pretty sure Lucien called the storm himself."
"If that's even possible, it's insane. Whoever steps into that radius is toast. I wonder how many textbooks I'd have to bribe him with to teach me…"
Daphne rounded on him, furious. "Draco! This is not the time! Even if he's pulling off insane magic, how long can his stamina last? If anything goes wrong—"
Draco, who'd actually witnessed the full lightning apocalypse, wasn't quite as worried. He just rolled his eyes at her yelling (classic "helpless rage," as Lucien called it) and muttered under his breath, "Shame I don't have a sister, otherwise I could try marrying into that kind of power…"
Either the storm was too loud or Daphne was too frantic to hear him.
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered up just then. Draco snatched Goyle's spare telescope and looked again.
"Aha, told you!" Relief crept into his voice. "That snake's toast. It's literally smoking…"
He adjusted the focus. "When did Lucien get a sword? It's all shiny…"
"…Kinda pretty, actually."
The collective gasps and camera shutters of terrified second-years formed a chaotic soundtrack.
Harry lowered his telescope for a second, confused by the rapid-fire clicking. Colin Creevey was next to him, gleefully snapping photos with a massive black camera pointed at the lawn.
"Colin, what on earth—"
Colin didn't even look up. "My old camera got wrecked, remember? Lucien lent me this one. The wizarding world is amazing! Turns out the thing that petrified me was that giant snake!"
"This is going to be front-page news! Lucien told me ages ago I should think about becoming a reporter…"
Harry shook his head, weirdly comforted by the absurdity, and went back to watching the battlefield.
Pouring rain. Dancing walls of fire. Swirling steam.
It all formed a hazy, trembling barrier between one boy and one monster.
Then, in one heart-stopping moment every telescope in the castle caught the same image:
Lucien charged.
The silver blade carved through the rain as he brought it down toward the basilisk's roaring head.
Magical flames, white-hot and blinding, erupted along the sword, purple-and-blue lightning crackling inside them.
One unstoppable slash.
BOOM!!!!
White thunder crashed from the heavens.
Golden fire roared up from the earth.
Lightning blinded, flames roared, and for several endless seconds no one could see a thing.
Only the thunder, the storm, and the frantic pounding of every heart in the castle.
…
Deep beneath the school, in the cold, dark Chamber.
Glug glug glug…
Gilderoy Lockhart tipped the final ingredient into the bubbling cauldron.
"Finally done."
Tom had warned him the potion that super-charged magical power didn't keep long, so he'd had to brew it fresh.
Lockhart took a few deep breaths and stared up the dark pipe.
"The basilisk is already rampaging through the school. Harry should be petrified by now. Once I drink this…"
Once he drank it, Gilderoy Lockhart would burst onto the scene as the hero!
He'd dazzle everyone with beautiful, flawless magic, defeat the monster with courage and genius, and everyone would love him forever.
It would be easy. After all, he controlled the basilisk. The only tricky part was making the snake put on a convincing performance.
Defeat the beast, save the petrified students, protect Harry Potter, secure the future of the wizarding world…
He could already see the medals and parades waving at him.
"Maybe even a First-Class Order of Merlin," he whispered dreamily. He already had a Third-Class; Second required major contributions, but First? First was for stopping world-shaking crises.
And here was his crisis, gift-wrapped!
Lockhart's smile turned manic, nothing like his usual polished grin. He looked down at the open, worn diary, ready to share his triumph with his "friend."
But new words were already bleeding across the page in scarlet ink:
"No… you forgot one ingredient."
The red was the color of fresh blood. Lockhart frowned, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.
He pulled out his peacock-quill pen, about to write, I'm sure I added everything—
Next second his eyes went wide.
Black smoke poured from the parchment like a nest of vipers, twisting and coiling until it formed the shape of a person.
A black-haired, black-eyed teenage boy stood there, handsome in a cold, aristocratic way, lips curved in a faint, mocking smile. His eyes, though, were empty, looking down at Lockhart like he was an insect.
"You…"
Lockhart's heart stuttered. That entrance did not scream "good guy." That was straight out of the darkest chapters of the adventures he'd stolen.
No, this boy looked more inhuman than any ugly dark creature he'd ever pretended to fight.
"Don't recognize me anymore, 'friend'?" the boy asked softly.
Lockhart swallowed hard and took half a step back. "Oh, ha ha, Tom, my dear chap! First time seeing you in the flesh. Very… impressive."
He casually slipped the quill into his pocket (right next to his wand).
"So, uh, Tom, you said I missed an ingredient. Which one?"