Outside the school, the storm was raging. Gilderoy Lockhart was like a tiny skiff tossed about on the vast ocean, not knowing when the towering waves would overturn him and drown him in the boundless sea of public outrage.
The world had long suffered under Lockhart's vanity—no one offered a helping hand now. Instead, people rushed to throw stones at him while he was down, eager to smash him at the bottom of the well so he would never rise again.
Those who had criticized him from the beginning, as well as many onlookers who simply wanted to join in, all stepped forward to condemn him, demanding that the Ministry of Magic investigate the matter thoroughly and return justice to the wizarding world.
As the Ministry continued to take no visible action, some radicals publicly expressed strong dissatisfaction through the newspapers. They called for others to petition the Ministry or even stage demonstrations in Diagon Alley.
And if that didn't work, they didn't mind taking a stroll around places like Big Ben or Westminster Abbey either.
Lockhart had never imagined he would fall to such a state. The letters he now received each day were all filled with hostility and malice.
Some people stuffed dead rats into their packages; others smeared bubotuber pus on the envelopes—all intended to harm him.
This "passion" left Lockhart utterly miserable. Even his favorite pastime—reading fan mail—was now impossible. He could no longer use his fans' adoration to comfort or deceive himself.
Faced with the overwhelming tide of accusations, Lockhart remained stubbornly defiant. He couldn't admit anything. The moment he confessed to his misdeeds, everything would be over for him—his fame, his reputation, and his life as he knew it.
Taking other wizards' experiences and erasing their memories—either one of those crimes alone would be enough to earn Lockhart a long stay in Azkaban.
But Lockhart couldn't let go of his fame and fortune, nor did he want to go to Azkaban, so he would never admit to any of it, not even if his life depended on it.
Everyone knew that human memory was unreliable—people quickly and selectively forgot things.
Lockhart pinned all his hopes on that. He believed that as long as he could release another "brilliant" book, people would forget all these so-called "slanders" against him. He would once again be the wizarding world's bestselling author, still the proud recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class.
As for the content of his new book, Lockhart already had an idea. He wanted to write about the Chamber of Secrets—and perhaps use it as a way to clear his name in the process. The only problem was that he knew absolutely nothing about the Chamber, so he couldn't even begin writing. He needed someone who understood it inside and out.
Meanwhile, Eda—one of the few people closest to uncovering the Chamber's secrets—was happily "eating melon" (watching the drama unfold). And this time, she could enjoy the spectacle in peace, without worrying about getting dragged into it herself.
If she didn't know for certain that she wasn't a sleepwalker, Eda might've thought that she was the anonymous author behind those articles herself. Still, the details in Rita Skeeter's reports were far beyond anything she knew—almost as if the woman had witnessed everything firsthand.
Eda had no idea that Lockhart had now set his sights on the Chamber of Secrets. If she had known, she probably would've been delighted enough to go chat with him—and if he wanted to explore the Chamber himself, she certainly wouldn't have minded giving him a little push in that direction.
So understanding, so helpful—that was Esmeralda Twist.
She still couldn't get over the fact that she hadn't managed to deal with Lockhart on March 15th—a day that would've been so perfectly fitting for the occasion.
Outside the castle, the winds of chaos were howling. But inside Hogwarts, everything was eerily calm—so different from just a few months before. Yet beneath that calm surface, unseen undercurrents were already beginning to stir.
In early April, Fred and George had just celebrated their fifteenth birthday—one step closer to adulthood.
They were still basking in that bit of happiness when something happened in the Gryffindor common room—something that could be called either minor or major, depending on how you looked at it.
Another theft had occurred in Gryffindor Tower. But unlike before, this time something was actually stolen. Harry Potter's diary—the one he had found earlier, the diary Tom Riddle had written in during his student years—was gone.
That day, after Quidditch practice, Harry dragged his exhausted body back to the dormitory. The moment he stepped inside, he found the room in complete disarray—someone had clearly searched through everything. But aside from that diary, nothing else was missing.
Hogwarts really seemed to have no shortage of stupid thieves. Breaking into a dorm just to steal a blank diary? Even the dullest person would realize that the diary must be something special.
And Harry was hardly dull. He already knew how the diary worked—he had even spoken with Tom Riddle through it. So when it went missing, his alertness spiked instantly. A terrible feeling welled up inside him.
No matter how he tossed and turned that night, he couldn't fall asleep. Deep down, he felt certain that another attack was coming soon.
By April, Hogwarts had begun to warm up; the trees were budding, bursting with new life.
But Harry had no heart to appreciate the arrival of spring. He, Ron, and Hermione hurried out of the castle, across the sloping lawns, and down toward the Black Lake.
Having not slept a wink, Harry's eyes were bloodshot—if Snape had seen them, who knew how much "concern" he might've shown!
As soon as the trio reached the edge of the lake, a cream-colored Labrador came bounding toward them.
Harry had guessed correctly—Eda and the twins were indeed there.
Garlon ran up to the trio, wagging his tail happily. When Harry and Hermione reached out to pet him, he stuck out his tongue and licked their palms affectionately.
Ron, however, didn't receive such a warm welcome. Garlon circled him once, sniffing carefully; only after confirming that there was no scent of that stinky old rat on him did the pup finally allow Ron to touch him.
By the lakeside, Fred and George were busy imitating an angry, shouting Oliver Wood.
Their mimicry was spot-on—both in expression and tone—making Eda, who sat on a large rock nearby, laugh uncontrollably.
The Black Lake shore was still quiet that morning, so it didn't take long for Eda to notice the three approaching figures. Smiling, she called out, "Good morning! What brings you three here so early?"
Normally, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't come to this side of the lake—certainly not at this hour—which was why Eda asked.
Harry didn't bother with small talk. "The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was broken into last night," he said bluntly. "Did you hear about it?"
"Of course!" Fred replied. "I was there when the news spread. Did you find something missing?"
"Yes," Harry said seriously. "I lost a diary."
The twins exchanged confused looks. Losing a diary didn't sound like such a big deal—why was Harry being so serious about it?
"What diary?" George asked, half teasing. "Is it something important? Or maybe one of your fans just wanted to sneak a peek at your private life?"
Harry sighed helplessly. The twins always loved to tease him—sometimes even joking that he was "eager to have tea with the fanged servant from the Chamber of Secrets."
He went on, "The diary isn't mine. I picked it up by accident. It belonged to Tom Riddle. Do you know that name?"
"!!"
At the mention of that name, Eda and the twins fell silent at once.
The playful expressions on their faces vanished, replaced by a heavy seriousness. Harry immediately knew he had asked the right people.
"You've heard that name before, haven't you?" he asked anxiously. He was desperate to know who Tom Riddle really was—only then could he figure out what the diary's true purpose might be besides simply showing visions.
Hermione added, "I've looked it up too, but didn't find much. All I know is that he was once a Head Boy and received a Special Services to the School award."
"...Tom Riddle," Eda said quietly as she jumped down from the rock. "You should be very familiar with him, Harry—or rather, with another name of his... He's the one who gave you that scar."
Harry felt as if he had been struck by lightning; his mind went completely blank. The person he had once trusted so much… was actually his mortal enemy. The words escaped his lips before he could stop them: "Voldemort!"
At that name, Ron and Hermione both shuddered. Fred and George's faces darkened too, though the two brothers—after spending so much time with Eda—were no longer frightened just by hearing it.
"When did you get hold of Tom Riddle's diary?" Eda asked. "He's Slytherin's heir—the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago!"
Harry stood frozen, utterly stunned. The revelation came so suddenly, and the sheer amount of information hit him all at once—it was as if his brain had momentarily crashed.
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