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The choice was a farce. Option one: Lockhart "heroically" resigns to pursue a political career, thus vacating the Defense post before the second year, fulfilling the curse. Option two: Lockhart "heroically" dies, thus also vacating the post, fulfilling the curse.
So, either way, Dumbledore gets his man out and the jinx holds, Hermione thought, a flicker of grudging respect for the old man's ruthless pragmatism. He was giving Lockhart a choice, but the outcome was already decided.
She shook her head and turned her attention to the real prize. The Basilisk's head, shattered and frozen, lay in a glittering, gruesome pile. She knelt and began her harvest, her movements quick and practiced. She snapped off a few of the longest, venom-slick fangs and carefully collected several vials of the potent, blackish-green blood.
[Magical Creatures]
Basilisk (Collected)
King of Serpents. Born from a chicken's egg hatched beneath a toad. Gaze is instantly fatal. Indirect gaze causes Petrification. Venom is one of the few substances capable of destroying a Horcrux.
She then looked at the two diaries—the ruined, bleeding one she had created, and the original, dark, and still-humming Horcrux. She picked up the ruined one and handed it to Luna. "You know what to do," she said.
Luna nodded, her dreamy eyes full of a new, sharp, and slightly terrifying excitement. Being part of the conspiracy, Hermione mused, is clearly much more fun than just theorizing about it.
Hermione, meanwhile, tucked the real diary—Tom Riddle's diary—safely into her own enchanted bag. Her original plan had been to let Harry destroy it, to let the plot play out. But Ginny's confession had changed everything. A Horcrux that she could command, a young, brilliant, and utterly sociopathic Dark Lord bound to her will? It was a resource too valuable to destroy.
"Alright," she said to the ghostly, translucent form of Tom Riddle, who was now bound to her, rather than the book. "Let's get out of here. Luna, you handle the clean-up crew."
She looked at Lockhart, who was still trembling in the corner. "Professor," she said, her voice full of a false, bright cheer, "you're with me. Time to prepare you for your big debut."
Outside, in the dimly lit, moss-covered tunnels beneath the school.
"So," Tom's disembodied voice echoed in the silence, his translucent form gliding beside her. "You send the fraud to the Ministry. Why? What's your angle?"
"Think about it, Tom," Hermione said, her voice a low murmur. "What was your original body's ultimate failing? He was a terrorist. He tried to conquer the wizarding world with fear and brute force. It was messy, inefficient, and it made him an enemy of everyone. It was… stupid."
Tom was silent, but she could feel his grudging agreement.
"Grindelwald," she continued, "now he was smart. He didn't use an army of masked thugs. He used charisma. He used politics. He tried to win the hearts and minds of the people before he ever cast a single curse. If he hadn't been so obsessed with Dumbledore, he would have won. You don't seize power by blowing up villages, Tom. You seize it by taking control of the Ministry. And a vain, idiotic, but incredibly popular puppet like Lockhart is the perfect tool to get a foot in that door."
Tom looked at the small, unassuming girl beside him. The sheer, cold, and beautiful cynicism of her plan was breathtaking. She was, he realized with a jolt of profound admiration, even more of a Slytherin than he had ever been.
"Alright," she said, changing the subject. "Tell me about Ancient Magic. And what really happened at this school a hundred years ago?"
"Ancient Magic?" Tom's form flickered, a flicker of a memory. "I… I do recall the former Headmaster, Dippet, mentioning it. Something about a great tragedy, a student's death, all covered up. I was already deep into my research on Horcruxes at the time. It seemed… irrelevant. Trivial, compared to true power."
"Was it?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow raised. "The magic that rebounded my Killing Curse, the magic that protected Potter, the magic that just killed you… that was Ancient Magic, Tom. The very thing you dismissed as useless."
The ghost of the Dark Lord stared at her, a new, cold, and horrifying understanding dawning in his spectral eyes.
"Now," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument, "tell me. Everything you remember."
He led her to a place deep in the castle, a forgotten, circular chamber beneath the Astronomy Tower.
"It's here," he whispered. "The old Headmaster spoke of a hidden space, a place where all records of the incident were kept. But I never found the entrance."
Hermione looked at the smooth, seamless stone floor. She remembered this. A memory from a game, from a life long past. She walked to the very center of the room, raised her new wand, and pointed it at the flagstones. "Alohomora."
It was a laughably simple spell for such a profound secret. A faint, blue light glowed, and with a low, grinding groan of ancient machinery, the stone bricks under her feet began to move, pulling apart to reveal a dark, winding, spiral staircase leading down into the earth.
"Well," she said with a smirk. "Let's go."
They descended for what felt like an age, the air growing colder, thicker, until they reached a massive, circular, rune-carved door. It pulsed with a faint, magical light. Hermione reached out and touched it.
The world dissolved. It was not the violent, lurching teleportation of Apparition. It was a smooth, instantaneous transition. She was no longer in a dark tunnel. She was in a vast, cavernous, and utterly magnificent chamber.
Her breath caught in her throat. She knew this place. This was the Map Chamber.
A massive, holographic, three-dimensional map of Hogwarts and its surrounding grounds floated in the center of the room, a swirling galaxy of light and magic. But the four massive portraits that should have dominated the walls, the portraits of the four guardians, were empty. Their subjects were gone.
And on a high, stone dais in the center of the room, a single, massive, leather-bound book lay open.
She walked towards it, her footsteps echoing in the vast, silent chamber. The book was not a normal book. It was a penseive, a collection of memories. She looked down, and the pages began to turn, showing her a long-forgotten, and deliberately erased, chapter of Hogwarts' history. A story of a fifth-year student with a rare and powerful gift. A story of a goblin rebellion, of a cruel and power-hungry Headmaster, and of a great, terrible secret that lay buried even deeper beneath the school.
She closed the book, a new, profound, and dangerous understanding dawning in her eyes. The power Lily had used, the magic the Ancient One possessed… it was all connected. And the source of it all… was right here, under her feet.
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