Chapter 158: Overcoming Fear
Harry beamed. He simply could not keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward into a dopey, thoroughly satisfied grin. He completely glossed over the fact that Tamara was practically grinding her teeth to dust, entirely misinterpreting her eerie, venomous tone as some sort of uniquely awkward Slytherin attempt at endearment. To the Boy Who Lived, earning her supposed approval felt infinitely more rewarding than snagging fifty house points for Gryffindor.
Tamara stared at his foolish, starry-eyed expression. A sharp throb pulsed behind her temples.
'Idiots. I am surrounded by absolute, irredeemable idiots.'
Refusing to entertain this ridiculous misunderstanding for a single second longer, she pivoted on her heel. Her expression chilled into a mask of pure, unadulterated malice as her crimson-flecked gaze locked onto Gilderoy Lockhart, who was currently cowering against the damp cavern wall like a frightened rat.
"Since our esteemed Professor enjoys practical field exercises so much..." Tamara let the sentence hang, her voice dropping an octave. She looked down at the pathetic man groveling in the muck, a cruel, razor-thin smile curling at the edges of her lips. "Then please, do continue to fulfill your duties."
She didn't even look at the Gryffindor beside her. "Potter. Pick up his wand. Do not hand it back to him."
Raising her own wand, Tamara gestured gracefully toward the yawning, pitch-black maw of the tunnel ahead. Her tone shifted instantly, dripping with the sugary sweetness of a hostess inviting a guest to a lavish dinner party.
"Our brave Professor must walk at the very front. After all, as a celebrated hero, one must always look the part, mustn't they?"
"No... I'm not going in there! You can't do this to me!" Lockhart shrieked.
Staring into the abyssal depths of the pipe, where the thick, suffocating stench of rot and ancient decay wafted out, his terror entirely eclipsed whatever shred of reason he had left. Abandoning any pretense of his carefully cultivated image, the man scrambled backward on all fours, his expensive robes dragging through the slime.
"I am Gilderoy Lockhart!" he wailed, his voice cracking hysterically. "I am a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class! This is kidnapping! I'm going to report you to the Board of Governors—"
"Obliviate."
The incantation slipped from Tamara's lips—bored, casual, and utterly precise.
A flash of light struck the back of Lockhart's head with a soft thud. The hysterical screaming ceased in an instant. It was as if someone had simply snipped the wires in his brain. Lockhart slumped forward, his eyes glazing over into a dull, vacant stare. He blinked slowly, the sheer panic draining from his face, replaced by the empty confusion of a newborn calf.
"Oh dear, Professor, whatever is the matter?" Tamara gasped, her features instantly morphing into a mask of deep, angelic concern. She stepped forward, tilting her head in faux innocence. "You were perfectly fine just a moment ago. Why did you suddenly fall down in the dirt? Were you perhaps a little too excited?"
"I... fell down?" Lockhart mumbled, clutching his perfectly coiffed hair with mud-stained fingers. He looked around the dark, dripping pipe, utterly bewildered.
"Of course you did!" Tamara lied smoothly, not a single muscle in her face betraying the deception. Her voice took on a hypnotic, convincing allure. "Have you forgotten already? You were just asking us to help you gather material."
She leaned in slightly, her tone conspiratorial. "You told us that this underground cavern is an unmatched spot for exploration. You said that as long as you capture a few exclusive photographs inside, your upcoming book, 'Voyaging with the Basilisk', will surely double its sales. You even mentioned it might surpass your most famous works."
"Sales... double?"
The word acted like a magical trigger. Lockhart's vacant, glassy eyes instantly ignited with a greedy, bone-deep vanity. He slowly pushed himself up from the muck.
"Surpassing... my famous works?"
"That is exactly right. This is Hogwarts' greatest hidden secret in a thousand years," Tamara continued to weave her silken web of utter nonsense. "As long as you take the lead and bravely march forward, tomorrow's front page of The Daily Prophet will undoubtedly feature a massive, heroic photograph of you."
"Front page headline!"
Lockhart gasped. It was as if someone had injected a potion of pure adrenaline directly into his veins. He sprang to his feet, vigorously brushing the slime from his robes and frantically adjusting his messy blonde hair. That sickening, trademark smile plastered itself back onto his face.
"Ah! Yes! I remember now! I am here for material! That is right! For art! For my devoted readers!" He puffed out his chest, striking a dramatic pose in the gloom. "Follow me, children! Let the great Professor Gilderoy Lockhart lead you to witness a miracle!"
With a dramatic flourish of his ruined cape, he spun around and strode boldly into the suffocating depths of the dark tunnel. The pathetic, weeping coward from thirty seconds ago had vanished entirely, replaced by a strutting peacock marching toward his own potential doom.
Watching this surreal display unfold...
Harry and Ron stood frozen, their jaws practically unhinged.
"This..." Harry swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet cavern. He leaned closer to his friends, whispering nervously. "Is this really okay? Will his brain be permanently damaged?"
"His brain wasn't exactly useful to begin with," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes as he stared at the back of the man strutting ahead like a proud, oblivious rooster. "It wouldn't make much difference if it's a bit broken, right? Besides..." Ron paused, tilting his head. "Don't you think he's actually much more tolerable like this?"
On the other side of the tunnel, Draco Malfoy was staring at Tamara with an expression bordering on religious worship. His grey-blue eyes practically sparkled in the gloom. He looked as though he wanted to conjure a quill and parchment right then and there to take furious notes.
'This is the true Slytherin art of manipulation!'Draco thought, thoroughly awestruck.'Without spilling a single drop of blood, using only a few honeyed words and a basic memory charm, she turned an enemy into a perfectly obedient puppet!'
However, Lockhart's manufactured bravery had a rather short expiration date.
A few minutes later, the damp tunnel widened. As the group rounded a massive, curving bend in the stone, the faint light from their wands illuminated the path ahead. Coiled across the cavern floor lay a massive, twenty-foot-long, vividly green shed skin of a Basilisk. It gleamed with a sickening, translucent sheen in the darkness.
Lockhart let out a high-pitched, blood-curdling shriek.
"Merlin's smelly socks!"
The primal terror, buried just beneath the surface of his freshly modified memory, violently breached his vanity.
"That's... that's a monster! That is a real, live monster!"
He spun on his heel and bolted. He ran even faster than his first attempt at desertion, his expensive leather shoe slipping off and flying into the darkness.
"I'm done! I want to go home! I'm going to forget I ever saw any of you—"
Tamara didn't even break her stride. She merely raised her wand with the casual grace of someone swatting away a mildly annoying fly.
"Obliviate."
The cold, bored incantation echoed against the damp stone.
Lockhart froze mid-sprint. One foot hovered awkwardly in the air. The screaming died in his throat, and his eyes washed over with that familiar, foolish clarity.
"Professor?" Tamara asked, her voice carrying the sharp, chilling edge of shattered ice. "Exactly where do you think you are going?"
"I..." Lockhart lowered his foot, looking around the cavern with a blank, empty stare.
"Didn't you just say you were stepping back to find a better angle for the photograph?" Tamara pointed her wand directly at the terrifying, towering husk of snake skin, lying through her teeth without a single blink. "That is merely a prop we prepared for you. A dramatic backdrop designed specifically to highlight your heroic stature."
She crossed her arms, her tone turning slightly chiding. "If you leave now, tomorrow's headline won't be about your bravery. It will read: 'Gilderoy Lockhart Fleeing in Terror from a Fake Snake Skin'."
"A prop? It's... fake?" Lockhart squinted suspiciously at the massive, scaly husk, then looked back at Tamara. Her face was a perfect portrait of innocent sincerity.
"Of course it is fake," Tamara smiled warmly. Behind that smile, her dark eyes were as cold as a frozen lake. "How could Hogwarts possibly harbor such a monstrous thing beneath the school? It is purely here to add dramatic tension to your photoshoot."
She gestured toward the skin. "Go ahead, Professor. Your adoring fans are waiting to see your heroic bearing."
"Oh... I suppose that makes sense." Lockhart nodded slowly, a look of deep realization washing over his features. His chest puffed out as his misplaced confidence came rushing back. "I knew it! How could there possibly be such a large snake in a school! Haha! I must admit, this prop is quite realistic! I am going to go touch it!"
With a giddy laugh, the shoeless man excitedly trotted back toward the terrifying remnant of the Basilisk.
[Ding! The System has detected that the Host is frequently using the Memory-Modifying Charm to mind-control a Hogwarts Professor!]
That grating, overly perky electronic voice finally couldn't hold back any longer, chiming directly into her brain.
[Warning! This behavior seriously violates the core principles of 'Respecting Teachers'and'Honoring the Truth'! Host, how can you treat a respected Professor in such a manner? This completely contradicts your kind, angelic image!]
Tamara sneered internally, her mental voice dripping with absolute contempt.
'Respect? Is this useless, preening fool even worthy of the word?'She didn't merely want Lockhart to serve as convenient cannon fodder for whatever traps lay ahead. More, she was exacting her revenge. Revenge against this incompetent, simpering waste of magic for daring to steal the Defense Against the Dark Arts position—a position that rightfully belonged to her!'If I were teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,'she fumed silently,'the students of Hogwarts would have long since mastered the Avada Kedavra curse. They would be molding themselves into my elite Death Eater reserves! Instead, they are forced to sit in a classroom and listen to this absolute clown prattle on about knitting sweaters for snowmen!'But when facing the System's annoying moral interrogations, Tamara was never caught off guard. She had already prepared a flawless set of high-sounding, righteous rhetoric.'System, this is exactly where your rigid programming fails to understand the nuances of human empathy,'Tamara replied smoothly in her mind, following the group deeper into the tunnel.'I am simply helping him overcome his fear.'
[Overcoming... fear?]
The System's cheerful voice clearly glitched, a burst of static echoing in her head as it tried to process the sheer audacity of her claim.
'Exactly,'Tamara purred mentally, laying the nonsense on thick.'Although Professor Lockhart is a bit... timid on the surface, deep down in his heart, he desperately desires to be a true hero. I am merely using a specialized exposure therapy. By temporarily blocking out those unnecessary, paralyzing memories of fear, I am allowing him to focus entirely on completing his heroic mission.'She let out a soft, mental sigh of faux martyrdom.'Is this not the absolute highest tier of psychological counseling? Am I not doing this so that he can finally stand tall at the critical moment and protect his students? I am helping this poor man achieve his lifelong dream, System.'
[This...]
There was a long pause. After what felt like a series of incredibly complex, overheating logical calculations, the System's naive AI actually concluded that the Host's twisted words made a bizarre kind of sense.
[Although the methods employed are highly radical... if the Host's true, original intention is to inspire the Professor's Courage attribute... Judgment: Barely passed.]
[However, please be extremely careful with the magical dosage, Host! Do not actually turn the Professor into a permanent fool!]
'Oh, do not worry your little digital heart,'Tamara replied. She stared at the back of the man who was currently striking a heroic pose next to the shed Basilisk skin, a truly demonic smile curling at the edges of her lips.'I know exactly what I am doing.'
And even if she did accidentally scramble his brains into porridge, what did it matter? At worst, she would just have him tossed into the permanent ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. After all, for a pathetic fraud whose entire life was built on stolen valor and falsehoods, perhaps living forever in a delusional dream of his own making was the most merciful ending he deserved.
"We're here."
Harry, who had taken the lead once more, suddenly stopped in his tracks.
The damp tunnel had finally come to an end. Standing before them was a solid, circular stone wall. Carved directly into the ancient rock were two massive, intertwined serpents. Their sculpted scales looked terrifyingly real, and their emerald eyes shimmered with a faint, eerie luminescence in the suffocating darkness.
It was the true entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Tamara took a slow, deep breath. The heavy, damp air tasted of ancient magic. That deeply familiar, intoxicating Slytherin magical resonance pulsed through the stone, causing the dark, sleeping power within her very soul to boil in response.
"Go on, Potter," she spoke softly. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it carried a dangerous, imperceptible thrill of anticipation. "Open it."
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