By late October, the weather finally cleared up for a change—
but it had become even colder.
Since attending the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry had never gone back again… in other words, he was skipping class.
Strangely, Lockhart didn't seem to care.
Hermione, still clinging to the belief that he couldn't really be that much of an idiot, had gone back a few more times.
But finally, after yet another Defense class, she stormed into the library and slammed her books down on the table.
"Harry, I think you were right. It really is a complete waste of time!"
"I'd rather listen to Professor Binns' sleep-inducing lectures on magical history than attend another one of Lockhart's classes."
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"We're already several weeks into the term, and he still hasn't taught us a single useful thing. Every class, he just opens his books and reenacts the scenes where he supposedly defeated magical creatures."
"Today, he had Neville play the part of a ghoul. I swear, it was the weakest ghoul in the history of ghouls."
"He kept jabbing Neville in the forehead with his wand while turning to the rest of us, smiling and explaining how to do it. I never imagined a teacher like this could exist."
"Arrogant, vain, ignorant, pompous, self-absorbed… he practically embodies every negative trait known to mankind!" Hermione fumed.
"I honestly can't understand how Dumbledore allowed him to teach us."
Harry said, "It's not like Dumbledore wanted to pick him. He was the only one who applied for the Defense post. Dumbledore didn't have any other choice. But yeah, even he probably didn't expect Lockhart to be this awful, haha."
…
Recently, a fat ghost dressed in noble attire from centuries ago had been roaming the castle, looking for people.
It was Nearly Headless Nick.
Apparently, a very prestigious ghost named Patrick was trying to form a club that only fully headless ghosts could join.
Since Nick wasn't entirely headless, he didn't qualify.
But Patrick had written to say that if Nick could prove he was scary enough, they might reconsider.
This year's Halloween marked the 500th anniversary of Nick's death, and he planned to hold a deathday party. Patrick would attend to evaluate him.
Nick was inviting students to attend the party—he just needed them to vouch for how frightening he was.
Most people turned him down, though a few students thought it might be fun to attend a ghost's party.
…
"…That's how it is," Nick said pitifully, standing before Harry.
If Harry could vouch for him, his chances of joining the Headless Hunt would skyrocket.
Harry offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Nick, I promised my friends I'd go to the school's Halloween feast." At the same time, he subtly kicked Hermione to keep her from speaking up.
"Sigh…" Nick turned and left with a lonely and pitiful air, clearly expecting the rejection.
His pleading eyes haunted Hermione. "Why didn't you help him?" she asked. "It's just a party, after all."
"And besides… a deathday party… I bet no living person has ever attended one," she added, her curiosity piqued.
"That's a world of the dead," Harry replied. "Not meant for us. Think about it—celebrating the anniversary of your own death? That's not exactly normal. You'd definitely regret going."
…
Two days before Halloween.
Harry heard the sound of a snake in the stairwell. It was a faint, rasping sound, like a slit windpipe letting out a hoarse whisper.
Harry knew: the basilisk hidden in the Chamber of Secrets had been awakened by Voldemort.
That night, he went to a certain place.
It was an abandoned corridor—dimly lit stairwells, puddles on the floor, trash scattered everywhere.
A white wooden door stood there, dirty and broken, with pieces of wood missing. A sign hanging on it read "Out of Order."
It was the girls' bathroom, unused for decades.
Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside.
It was dark and gloomy. Under a cracked and grimy mirror sat a row of stone sinks with peeling surfaces. The floor was damp, a few stubby candles flickering faintly in their holders, casting eerie shadows. The stall doors were scratched and flaking. One had a broken hinge and dangled unsteadily.
Creeeaaak.
The last stall creaked open, and a sharp laugh echoed through the empty space.
"Heeheehee…"
Any student who wandered in here by mistake would have bolted.
"Myrtle," Harry called toward the stall.
The eerie laughter stopped abruptly, and a translucent figure peeked her head out.
It was a ghostly girl, face obscured by long hair and her glasses.
"You're… Harry Potter. This is the girls' bathroom. You shouldn't be here!" she said defiantly, bolstered by the unexpected guest.
"I wanted to ask if anyone's been coming here lately," Harry said.
Unexpectedly, Myrtle burst into tears.
"People? No one ever comes! I'm always alone… no, I mean I'm dead… I should say I'm a lonely ghost, haunting this place…"
Ghosts are strange, Harry thought, watching her transparent tears fall and vanish on the floor.
She continued sobbing non-stop. "Everyone bullies me, especially Peeves! He throws trash at me, yanks my hair, calls me ugly and dirty… waaaah… though… he's suddenly disappeared… thank Merlin!"
"That's enough," Harry snapped, unable to take it anymore.
She gasped but then immediately cried even harder. "Even Harry Potter is bullying me now…"
But before she could wail again, a flash of blue light struck her.
She froze in place.
Harry walked up and curiously took off her glasses.
They didn't vanish in his hand—they felt soft and solid.
"Could her glasses be her true form?" he muttered.
"Now I'll ask, and you'll answer honestly," Harry said. "Otherwise, I'll…" he glanced at the glasses. "I'll strip your clothes and hang them over the Quidditch pitch."
Myrtle looked at him in terror. She had never met someone so terrifying—Harry instantly became the top dark lord in her mind.
Satisfied, Harry nodded. "Has anyone come here recently?"
Myrtle nodded meekly. "I haven't seen anyone, but I've haunted this place for decades. No one knows it better than me. I can feel when someone's been here."
"Can you tell how many times?"
"Of course. Three times."
Three times. So Voldemort was scouting before, and today he officially awakened the basilisk.
Harry had always wondered why Voldemort didn't just kill Myrtle—then he wouldn't need to wait for her to leave before acting, and he'd risk less exposure.
But then he thought of the perfect reason: Myrtle was his first victim fifty years ago. He saw her as his "work"—his proof.
It fit Voldemort's twisted logic perfectly.
Harry gave Myrtle a solid bonk on the head with his wand. She fainted on the spot.
Why can ghosts even faint? That's a question for future generations.
Thanks to Voldemort's memories, Harry knew exactly where the entrance to the Chamber was.
One of the sinks had a small snake symbol carved into the tap.
Harry hissed in Parseltongue: "Open Sesame."
RUMBLE…
The sink descended, revealing a massive tunnel entrance.
-
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THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER
⚡🦉 THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER 🦉⚡
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📢 MAGIC REBORN! 📢
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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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