Chapter 183: A Secretly Pleased Filch, The Diary Sinking to the Bottom of the Lake
Confronted by Lockhart, who had suddenly popped in and interrupted Ron's explanation, Dumbledore lost his customary gentleness.
"Gilderoy, what are you doing here? Aside from the Heads of House, no other professors were invited."
Lockhart seemed completely oblivious to the displeasure in Dumbledore's voice. "At such an important moment, how could you manage without my help?
"I originally intended to assist Professor Sprout in harvesting the Mandrakes, but when I arrived at the greenhouses, I found them completely empty!
"So, I hurried down to the dungeons, only to be informed by a few Slytherin students that Professor Snape had already concluded his business.
"I naturally deduced that the Mandrake Restorative Draught must be complete! It seems you managed that step without my intervention.
"Finally, using simple logic, I concluded you must all be here in the hospital wing. And here I am!
"Given my vast and rich experience in the application of medicinal potions, I knew I could assist Madam Pomfrey in rescuing poor Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Norris."
Resplendent in a vibrant purple satin robe, Lockhart flashed a blinding smile, his unnaturally white teeth practically gleaming under the lantern light.
Ethan stole a quick glance at the expressions of the three experts Lockhart had just mentioned.
Madam Pomfrey was too far away for Ethan to read clearly, but the looks on Sprout and Snape's faces were murderous.
Incredible work, Lockhart. Belittling professionals in their own fields of expertise and offending three masters at once, Ethan thought, mentally giving the man a thumbs-up.
Ethan noticed the corners of Snape's mouth twitching violently; the Potions Master looked seconds away from exploding.
Go on, shred him to pieces, just like on Halloween, Ethan urged silently. He was deeply annoyed himself; he had been seconds away from hearing the parts of the story he didn't know before Lockhart ruined it.
Disappointingly, Snape restrained himself. After casting a withering look around the room, his eyes lingering on Dumbledore, he pressed his lips into a thin line and swallowed his venomous retort.
Thoroughly disappointed, Ethan shifted his gaze to Dumbledore, hoping the Headmaster's simmering irritation would be enough to banish the annoying professor.
"Oh my! Mr. Weasley is awake?!"
Completely blind to the room's hostility, Lockhart smiled and nodded at everyone before zeroing in on Ron. The boy was lying awake on the bed but had actively turned his head away, utterly refusing to look at him.
Lockhart lunged forward and grabbed Ron's hand, shaking it vigorously.
"Oh, marvelous! I'm so glad you're awake! I'm already writing my next book, you know. The title is My Year as a Hogwarts Professor.
"This little tragedy is simply too compelling to leave out. I'm already conceptualizing how to write it for maximum dramatic impact.
"I will use your real name, naturally. That way, when the book is published, you'll get a lovely slice of the fame!
"I'll make sure to send you a signed copy!"
The violent shaking sent a jolt through Ron's fragile, newly un-petrified body, causing him to let out an agonizing scream.
Abandoning Mrs. Norris instantly, Madam Pomfrey rushed over, shoved Lockhart aside, and began examining Ron.
"A dislocated shoulder," she hissed. "His body was immobile for six months; his joints are incredibly brittle. That violent shaking popped it right out of the socket. It's fine, it's a minor injury and easily fixed." Madam Pomfrey diagnosed the injury quickly, allowing the Weasleys to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
When Ron had screamed, Arthur had actually lunged forward to beat Lockhart to a pulp. Only Molly's frantic grip on his arm had stopped him.
"Allow me! I have treated this specific type of dislocation dozens of times. I am quite the expert!" Completely ignoring the murderous glares from the Weasley family, Lockhart flourished his wand.
"KEEP HIM AWAY FROM ME!" Ron shrieked, clearly recalling the horrific sight of Harry's boneless arm after Lockhart's "expert" healing.
"Professor Lockhart, I must ask you to leave immediately!" Madam Pomfrey roared, physically shoving the stunned man toward the doors.
"Well, do call for me if the situation deteriorates! I'll be in my office!" Lockhart shouted, craning his neck back around the doorframe as he was evicted.
"Get out!" the matron bellowed, finally slamming the doors in his face.
Several of the professors looked profoundly happy with this outcome, unable to hide their highly satisfied smiles.
"Brace yourself," Madam Pomfrey warned Ron.
She took hold of his limp arm, gave a sharp, precise twist, and popped the joint back into place.
"Argh!" Ron cried out again. This made Filch feel very joyful; he watched from the corner, silently hoping the boy would suffer a few more accidents to sate his desire for revenge.
"Done." The witch cast a few soothing charms over the joint, finalizing his treatment.
However, thanks to Lockhart's ridiculous interruption, their already limited window of time was rapidly closing.
"Right, time is up. The boy needs sleep," Madam Pomfrey announced, moving to herd the interrogators out. "Mr. Weasley is awake and out of danger; the truth will come out eventually. It can wait until morning."
"Poppy, I fear it cannot wait," Dumbledore pleaded softly. "If we act on the information tonight, we may catch the Heir off guard. If we wait until morning, the opportunity may be lost."
Reluctantly, the matron conceded the logic. "Very well. Mr. Weasley, shout immediately if you feel unwell."
She returned to Mrs. Norris's bedside. Because the cat had been petrified longer, and was a small animal, the matron administered the potion with extreme care to avoid a lethal overdose.
"Continue your story, Ron," Dumbledore prompted gently, though there was a clear trace of urgency in his voice. "How did you attack Mrs. Norris, and if you were the Heir, why were you targeted?"
"I don't really remember attacking Mrs. Norris," Ron said, shaking his head weakly. "Because I wasn't the real Heir. I was being controlled by the person inside the diary. He made me go to Myrtle's bathroom on Halloween and attack the cat."
"A diary? The real Heir? Whose diary?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Tom Riddle's. He's the real Heir."
"Tom Riddle?!" Everyone in the room old enough to recognize the name gasped. Snape unconsciously rubbed his own arm.
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened instantly. He had always known that the student who opened the Chamber fifty years ago, unleashing the Basilisk to kill Myrtle, was a young Voldemort.
Killing the Basilisk had proved that Hagrid and his Acromantula weren't the murderers back then, but there had never been any hard evidence to link the crime to Tom. Now, however, the proof had finally surfaced.
But how did Tom control the boy? By what dark mechanism? Dumbledore wondered. He felt he was standing on the precipice of uncovering the secret behind Voldemort's immortality.
He leaned in urgently. "Ron, what exactly was this diary, and how did it come into your possession? And how did it exert control over you?"
Ron's memories of the dark artifact were burned into his mind. "It looked like a normal, faded old diary. It had a black leather cover with a date stamped on it, though the ink was blurry. I could only tell it was from fifty years ago. There was a name and address printed on the back cover—a newsagent on Vauxhall Road in London.
"Other than a faded 'T. Riddle' on the first page, there was nothing in it. The pages were completely blank."
"Then how did you ascertain that it belonged to Tom Riddle?" Snape asked, his voice deathly dry.
"I wasn't sure who he was at first," Ron admitted. "The address didn't sound like any wizarding village I knew.
"Later, when I got detention for flying the car to school, I had to polish the silver in the trophy room. That's how I found out he won an Award for Special Services to the School fifty years ago.
"And... even though it was blank, if you wrote on the pages, ink would appear and write back to you. The person writing claimed to be the owner—Tom Riddle.
"He said he had found a way to preserve his memories inside the pages.
"Because I kept writing to him and pouring out my thoughts... he slowly took control of my mind without me even realizing it."
Dumbledore listened to the confession with profound intensity. He felt he was incredibly close to the truth. Just by reaching out, he could part the final layer of fog and solve the mystery he had pondered for over a decade.
"Ron!" Arthur Weasley exploded. "Have I not taught you?! Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain!
"Do you understand what was in that Chamber? A Basilisk! A single direct glance into its eyes brings instant death! The only reason you're alive is because you saw its reflection in the puddle on the floor!"
Arthur angrily interrupted his son. Thinking of how close Ron had come to death, he trembled uncontrollably with fear.
Dumbledore raised a hand to placate the frantic father. "Peace, Arthur. Do not berate him further. Thankfully, no permanent harm has been done.
"I believe Ron has suffered enough. He will certainly remember this lesson for the rest of his life."
"I know I was stupid, Dad," Ron choked out. "I swear, I'll never trust anything like that again!"
Looking back on how casually he had poured his soul into a dark artifact, Ron was gripped by an icy, lingering dread.
Realizing he had been mere millimeters away from instant death, all the remaining color drained from his face.
"It's alright, Ronnie. It's over now. Don't be afraid," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, gently stroking his forehead to calm him down. "Just promise you'll never do something so foolish again. We couldn't bear to lose you."
Arthur's anger deflated at the sight of his terrified son. Seeing the boy's genuine remorse, he softened. "Go on, then. Where did this diary come from? You didn't go anywhere strange over the summer."
"Wait," Dumbledore interrupted before Ron could answer. "Where is the diary now? Do you still possess it?"
Ron shook his head. "No. I threw it away right after Halloween. I chucked it into the Black Lake."
"The Black Lake?!" Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "Where exactly did you throw it? Have you checked to confirm if it is still down there?"
"I threw it near the edge, not far from the main castle doors.
"I never went looking for it. I have no idea if it's still in the lake. But... it probably isn't, right? If I was attacked, that means someone else summoned the monster again."
Ron gave a detailed description of exactly where he had thrown the diary.
"Minerva, would you be so kind as to make a trip down to the lake?" Dumbledore requested. "Speak with the Merpeople. See if the diary remains." Dumbledore also felt it likely wouldn't be there, so he didn't go verify it personally.
Ethan suddenly remembered a certain girl who loved to sit by the common room windows and stare out into the Black Lake. Highly suspicious of her, he deliberately asked Snape, "Professor, that spot... isn't that right near our common room window?"
"Indeed it is," Snape agreed, his posture stiffening.
"In that case, Minerva, take Severus with you," Dumbledore instructed, his expression turning grave. "Search the Slytherin common room while you are down there for any other clues."
"At once, Professor Dumbledore." Professor McGonagall left the ward, accompanied by Snape, who gave only a curt nod of agreement.
"Now, Ron, please continue," Dumbledore prompted. "How did you acquire this diary?"
"It was slipped into the books we bought in Diagon Alley," Ron explained.
"Because Lockhart's books were so expensive, Ginny and I had to buy second-hand textbooks to meet the class requirements.
"This diary was wedged inside my second-year Charms textbook. I didn't discover it until I went home." When Ron said these words, his voice was very soft and his expression was pained.
"Oh, my darling Ronnie," Mrs. Weasley wept. "When the new school year begins, you will have brand-new supplies, I promise! Fred and George have made some money, and they've offered to help the family. We have enough to get you what you need!"
Mrs. Weasley's tears fell freely. She desperately wanted to hug her son, but terrifying of hurting him like Lockhart had, she simply stood teary-eyed by the bed, gently holding his hand.
"Really? That's brilliant!" Ron cheered up immediately at the news. He instinctively tried to sit up, only to collapse back down in pain.
"It's true, mate. Your wand, your books—we've got it covered," Fred said, looking at his poor brother and showing a rare moment of protective affection.
"Wicked. A new wand and my own textbooks," Ron laughed giddily as George nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
Though he had no idea where the twins had gotten the money, being able to finally afford his own things was a dream come true.
Besides, once he was fully healed, he would have plenty of time to figure out their secret—and maybe even squeeze a little pocket money out of it.
But while the rest of the family shared this tender and affectionate moment, Mr. Weasley frowned deeply.
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