The corridor was dead quiet. Four figures slipped through patches of moonlight, their footsteps echoing messily on the stone floor.
Lockhart was sandwiched in the middle, flanked by Harry and Ron, with Hermione leading like they were escorting some flashy prisoner.
"Why are we back here?" Ron asked, spotting the girls' bathroom they'd visited before.
"Why do you say 'back'? You hang out in girls' bathrooms often?" Lockhart shot back.
"I get it," Harry said, like it just clicked. "Moaning Myrtle was killed here fifty years ago—that's why she's stuck haunting the place. Penelope got petrified here too last time. The entrance has to be nearby."
"But where exactly?" Hermione scanned around as they walked.
"Oh, three more annoying brats—wait, make that four, with a big one too." Moaning Myrtle's voice burst from a toilet stall, startling them.
"You think ghosts don't need sleep? That you can just keep interrupting me over and over? Waaah..." The crying ghost wailed again.
"Why 'again'? Someone else was here before?" Hermione zeroed in on the key word.
"Just now—three kids already woke me up. Waaah..."
"Who were they?" Harry demanded.
"Don't know—one guy, two girls. The guy's kinda cute, handsomer than you even, hee hee." Harry figured Myrtle wasn't all there in the head when she was alive.
"Probably Julien and his crew. Which way did they go?" Hermione pressed.
"Julien?" Ron felt like he was losing the plot.
"Over there." Myrtle pointed casually to the second sink in the circle.
Harry leaned in close. A tiny snake was etched on the faucet. He fiddled with it—no mechanism.
"Use Parseltongue! Julien said he wanted to learn it from you," Hermione suggested.
"But he hasn't learned it yet?"
"Just try!"
"Hiss... sss... (Open it)" Harry's face twisted weirdly as he hissed in snake-speak.
"Eek, hey." Lockhart flinched.
"Stay put, don't move!" Ron wasn't pulling punches with Lockhart anymore.
The sinks slid apart one by one, revealing a pitch-black hole in the middle.
"So the Chamber entrance is right here."
"Move—you first!" Ron jabbed his wand, herding Lockhart to the edge.
"Whoa, that's a long drop, buddy." Lockhart balked at jumping.
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"Hurry up—time's money, buddy." Harry stepped up and booted Lockhart down.
The three exchanged a look and jumped after.
---
The air in the underground pipes was thick as congealed potion, heavy with centuries of damp and some indescribable stink.
Julien's wand tip glowed faintly, lighting the twisting stone passage ahead. The walls were slick with moss, and massive, translucent snake sheds dangled from jutting rocks, shimmering like mother-of-pearl in the wandlight.
"Left here," Liriya called from up front, her silver-white hair almost glowing in this underworld. "The Tear of Evernight's resonance is getting stronger... it's close, right ahead."
Julien nodded. The eagle-headed hound totem on his inner right wrist throbbed under his skin, the burn spreading through his veins to his heart.
He could feel it again—some ancient power calling him.
"Put on the goggles," Rosier stopped short, pulling out the protective specs made from Hungarian Horntail lenses. "I can smell it... the basilisk passed through here, no more than ten minutes ago."
Her ice-gray eyes sharpened behind the lenses. The world took on a pale yellow tint as the three slipped them on.
Rosier fished out three hair-thin black threads, tying them quick around their wrists. "Rosier family blood-guard—made from my hair. If we get split up..."
"We can follow the black to find each other." Liriya finished, touching the cool strand—it was super stretchy, could pull long.
Julien noticed Rosier's fingertips trembling—not fear, but some bottled-up thrill.
"Thousand-year-old family—got some serious tricks up your sleeve," Julien complimented.
"If your grandpa hadn't been kicked out, the Blacks would've had plenty too," Rosier smirked.
"Sigh, maybe next term... see if there's a shot..." Julien sighed.
Rosier and Liriya swapped glances—both figured this guy had more secrets.
The pipes were a maze, but the wrist threads kept them on track.
"It's getting deeper—we're almost there." The path sloped sharp downward; Julien's boots slipped on the steps, forcing him to brace against the slimy walls.
Then, a massive "boom" echoed from above, like rocks crumbling.
"Think that's Harry and them coming down?"
Sure enough, voices drifted faintly from the upper pipes:
Harry yelling: "Ron, you okay?"
"I'm fine! Lockhart's spell backfired—he's a total idiot now." Ron's voice faded in and out. "But the passage is blocked—I can't get through."
"You stay out there with Lockhart—we'll save Ginny!" Harry shouted.
"What about us?" Liriya looked at Julien.
"We push ahead, faster," Julien whispered. "Gotta grab the meteorite before the basilisk fully wakes."
The three hustled down the spiraling passage; the air grew hotter, like a giant furnace churned ahead.
Finally, the steps ended in a stone hall.
At the far end, a door carved with coiling serpents loomed—already cracked open by someone, spewing eerie green mist.
Slytherin's statue towered, its wrinkled old face half-hidden in shadow, stone beard dangling into the pool below.
At the statue's base, in a crescent-shaped slot, sat a fist-sized black crystal, dust-covered—easy to miss if you weren't looking.
But Julien and Liriya felt it—this rock pulsed with ancient power.
In the pool, Ginny Weasley lay sprawled on a jutting rock, face pale as death, like all her life had been sucked out.
Her fingers clutched the black diary tight; its pages lay open, ink wriggling like living things.
"Ginny!" Julien started forward instinctively, but Rosier yanked him back.
"Wait," she pointed at the pool's surface. "Look there."
Ripples spread—not from wind, but something massive stirring below.
A huge outline covered in yellow-green scales rose slowly from the depths, scales scraping stone with a teeth-grinding screech.
The basilisk.