November 15, 1992, Sunday
I woke up, as usual, at dawn. A man of my stature cannot afford to begin his day in disarray.
A bit of light stretching first, nothing strenuous, of course, just enough to keep the limbs limber and the posture impeccable. Then a refreshing shower, followed by my tried-and-true sequence of cosmetic charms: Dentis Lucentia for a flawless smile, Capillus Perfectus for the golden locks (one mustn't underestimate the persuasive power of radiant hair), and Aura Purificare for that subtle air of lavender and confidence.
When all was in order, I gave the mirror a satisfied nod. "Hello there, handsome, looking dashing this morning as well," I told my reflection, which winked back approvingly.
Aurora, predictably, was still asleep at this hour, so I didn't bother with picking her up from her quarters.
I made my way down to the Great Hall, fully expecting the usual tranquil Sunday breakfast: the hum of quiet conversation, the scent of coffee, and perhaps a word or two of praise for my splendid performance on the Quidditch pitch yesterday.
Instead, the hall felt… off.
Only a handful of students were present, whispering in low voices. The few professors seated at the High Table looked grim, huddled over their cups. And strangely, no Minerva.
That was odd. McGonagall was usually the first to arrive, alert, composed, and ready to judge my choice of attire (lavender robes this time) before even greeting me.
I poured myself a cup of tea, then scanned the table for someone who might provide answers.
Severus Snape caught my eye briefly, his expression dripping with the usual disdain. He promptly turned away.
"Good morning, Severus," I said pleasantly, but he didn't respond. Typical.
I tried Professor Babbling next. "Bathsheda, you're looking radiant this morning, new earrings?"
She gave me a tight-lipped smile that said please vanish.
Right, not her either.
Finally, I leaned toward the one friendly face available, Professor Flitwick, who was buttering his toast with precise, wand-assisted motions. "Good morning, Filius," I said, keeping my tone light. "Quick question, do you happen to know where Minerva's gone off to? I've yet to see her this morning."
Flitwick froze mid-motion, his tiny brow furrowing. "You don't know?"
That got my attention. "Know what?"
He blinked, looking quite startled. "Gilderoy, there was an incident last night."
"An incident?" I repeated carefully. "I went to bed early and slept like a baby. Is something the matter?"
Flitwick sighed, setting down his toast. "A student was found petrified on the second floor."
My cup nearly slipped from my fingers. "Petrified?"
"Yes," he said gravely. "Colin Creevey. First-year Gryffindor."
For a long moment, I couldn't speak. Colin Creevey, of course it was him.
I felt my stomach twist as the pieces fell into place. That shouldn't have happened, not this time. In the original timeline, the boy had been attacked on his way to visit Harry in the infirmary, but Harry never went to the infirmary this time. I'd healed him on the spot. That was supposed to have changed things.
So why hadn't it?
I swallowed, forcing my voice into something resembling composure. "Merlin's beard… dreadful business," I said softly, aware that Flitwick was watching me closely. "Poor child. Always so eager with that camera of his."
Flitwick nodded solemnly. "Headmaster's called an emergency meeting after breakfast. He asked me to inform you."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
I sipped my tea mechanically, though it tasted like ash now.
Inside, I wanted to curse fate, or myself for not taking precautions. I had thought Colin was safe, thought I could ignore this one small event since I had already changed the cause, that it wouldn't happen.
…
By the time I was ushered into Dumbledore's office, the air already felt thick with unease. The usual warmth of the room, the ticking instruments, the faint scent of lemon drops, felt smothered beneath tension.
Flitwick sat on the edge of a chair, legs swinging anxiously. Sprout looked pale and tired, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Snape stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, his expression suggesting he was personally offended that the world hadn't yet ended.
And in the center of it all, Dumbledore, calm and quiet, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the early light.
It dawned on me that this was meant to be a meeting between the Headmaster and the Heads of House only, but I was somehow also included, perhaps because of my knowledge on the matter.
"Ah, Gilderoy," he said as I stepped in, "thank you for coming on short notice."
"Always a pleasure, Headmaster," I said, flashing my best smile, though the atmosphere made it feel strangely hollow. "I heard there was… an incident?"
Before Dumbledore could answer, the door opened again, and Professor McGonagall entered. She looked as if she hadn't slept at all. Her tartan robes were still travel-creased, her hair slightly loosened from its usual bun.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said softly.
She nodded wearily and sank into the empty chair beside Flitwick. "I've just returned from visiting Mr. and Mrs. Creevey. It… wasn't easy."
There was a heavy pause. Even Snape glanced toward her, his usual sneer subdued.
"I can imagine," Dumbledore said gently.
McGonagall's voice was tight, her usual composure strained. "They were beside themselves. I had to convince them not to withdraw Colin from the school entirely. They wanted to see him, of course, but as you know, Hogwarts can't be seen by Muggles, not even from the road. The protections… well, they prevent any of that."
She exhaled slowly. "I'll be sending them regular reports on Colin's condition instead. It's the least we can do."
Flitwick fidgeted. "The poor boy," he murmured.
I found myself unable to speak at first, partly out of genuine discomfort, partly because my mind was already spiraling elsewhere. If Colin hadn't gone to visit Harry who wasn't in the infirmary this time around, what was he doing out there?
Dumbledore turned his gaze to me, sharp despite his calm demeanor. "You hadn't heard before breakfast, Gilderoy?"
"Not a whisper," I said, carefully adjusting the cuffs of my robe. "I turned in early last night, I had no idea something like this had happened."
Flitwick piped up, "Mr. Filch found him just after midnight, near the second-floor corridor. Colin was holding his camera. The film was ruined, completely melted."
My stomach tightened.
I forced a thoughtful hum. "Interesting… a melted film. That suggests a magical discharge, maybe a creature whose magic interferes with mechanical devices? A basilisk, perhaps?"
The room fell into uneasy silence.
I didn't know if Dumbledore was going to reveal that detail, but I decided it was best if a few more people knew of it, so they could be prepared in case things went off script.
Snape's eyes flicked to me, cold and glittering. "How insightful," he drawled. "I wasn't aware our celebrity professor had suddenly become an expert on dark creatures."
I smiled, though it took effort. "Well, my dear Severus, Voyage with Vampires was a best-seller for a reason."
McGonagall gave me a look that could have frozen molten lava. "This isn't the time for self-promotion, Lockhart."
"Of course not," I said quickly, bowing my head slightly. "I merely meant that if such a beast is within the castle, I'll lend whatever assistance I can. I do have field experience, you know."
Dumbledore folded his hands. "And you may need it. If this truly is the same creature that attacked before, it's growing bolder. We'll increase patrols and ensure no student walks alone."
Sprout nodded grimly. Flitwick squeaked his agreement. Snape said nothing, though the faint smirk on his lips suggested he was already imagining me being eaten by the creature in question.
McGonagall's gaze softened slightly as she looked toward Dumbledore. "What do we tell the students?"
"The truth," Dumbledore said. "That another attack has occurred, and that we will do everything in our power to keep them safe."
He paused, then looked directly at me. "And Gilderoy, I trust your talents will be put to good use if the need arises."
There was something in his tone, not quite doubt, not quite faith, that made my stomach twist further.
I stood, straightening my robes with practiced grace. "You can count on me, Headmaster. I'll ensure this castle remains safe and calm. But I suggest we don't reveal the possibility of the culprit being a basilisk, fear is a dangerous thing to let spread."
Dumbledore gave me a small nod. "Quite right."
As I left the office, I caught sight of McGonagall resting her forehead briefly in her hand, weary and heartbroken. For a moment, I hesitated, wanting to say something, anything reassuring, but what could I offer? Empty words? Another well-practiced smile?
No. Better to walk away while I still looked confident.
But as the spiral staircase carried me down, I couldn't shake the echo of her voice.
…
As I walked towards my quarters, I found myself oddly relieved that Dumbledore hadn't announced the school's closure.
By all rights, he should have. The confirmed presence of a basilisk was enough to warrant evacuating every student from the castle immediately. Any sensible man would shut Hogwarts down and call for the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
But Dumbledore wasn't just sensible. He was strategic.
No, he wouldn't close the school, not yet. Doing so would scatter the students, alert the press, and give the one responsible for unleashing the creature the perfect chance to disappear.
He wanted to end this here, within the castle walls, before it could happen again.
And truth be told, I couldn't blame him.
Still, the thought sent a chill down my spine. For all my confidence, I knew just how dangerous a basilisk could be. Every moment the school remained open was a gamble with hundreds of lives.
But this was Hogwarts, and if Albus Dumbledore was choosing to gamble, then perhaps I was foolish enough to bet with him.
But I refuse to leave the safety of my students to fate, so it's time to take a more hands-on approach.
…
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