Assailant Candidate

The rumors that Harry was the Heir of the Chamber of Secrets spread rapidly throughout the castle.

The next morning at breakfast, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, the previously boisterous crowd fell silent as if under a silencing charm.

Countless gazes—inquisitive, fearful, even filled with naked hatred—wrapped around Harry like icy spiderwebs.

Wherever he went, students scrambled away as if avoiding Dementors. At the Ravenclaw table, a few younger girls whispered in terror, huddled together.

"How could they do this!" Harry slammed his plate down, the metal cutlery scraping harshly against the table.

"I was saving someone! I stopped the snake!"

"We know, Harry, we completely believe you." Hermione urgently held his arm, trying to calm him, but her own furrowed brow betrayed her inner anxiety.

Ron forced down a piece of bacon, his voice muffled. "We understand, Harry. But in everyone else's eyes, when you made that 'hissing' sound, they'll just think you were ordering it to do something more terrible. Now everyone is convinced you're the Heir, and the next petrified victim could appear at any moment."

This feeling of being misunderstood by the whole world gnawed at Harry like venom. Anger and grievance churned in his chest, unable to find an outlet.

Their previous investigation had hit a dead end, and their surveillance of Professor Lin Du yielded nothing. Frustration threatened to drown the three of them.

However, not everyone was avoiding them.

Fred and George Weasley swaggered over and clapped Harry heartily on the back.

"Ignore those idiots, Harry!" Fred said loudly, ensuring everyone around could hear.

"We think it's wicked cool! Parseltongue! What a rare talent!"

"Exactly," George chimed in, casting a provocative glance at the shying eyes, "Next time, can you talk to the eels in the kitchens for us? Get them to jump into our pies willingly?"

Their exaggerated jokes were like a faint glimmer, temporarily dispelling the gloom in Harry's heart.

Even Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff stopped as he passed their table and said gently to Harry, "Don't pay too much attention, Potter. Many people are just scared and need a target."

His trust, though subtle, was precious.

This little bit of warmth made Harry feel a little better, but the core problem remained unsolved.

"Maybe... we've been focusing on the wrong thing." Hermione put down her pumpkin juice cup, her voice tinged with helplessness.

"We've been following Professor Lin for days, and all he does is prepare lessons, do research, and interact normally with other professors. With his abilities, if he were truly the Heir of the Chamber, he probably would have targeted me, someone of Muggle descent, long ago."

Ron slumped onto the table dejectedly. "So our surveillance was completely useless?"

"At least it proves he's unlikely to be the Heir of the Chamber," Hermione rallied. "But we have another clear suspect."

Ron blinked in confusion. "Who?"

"Malfoy." Hermione lowered her voice, leaning forward, almost over the table. "Not only can he use 'Serpent's Unleashed,' but he's also been spreading rumors that he's the Heir. If we could get close to him, become someone he trusts to gather information..."

Harry and Ron stared at her blankly, clearly not following her train of thought.

"How do we get close? Malfoy blows up if he sees us approaching," Ron said, confused.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I read about a recipe... a very complex, extremely dangerous potion strictly forbidden for students—Polyjuice Potion. If you drink it, you can transform into someone else's appearance for a period of time."

"Polyjuice Potion?" Harry repeated. "Where did you read about it? In 'Moste Potente Potions'? Isn't that book in the Restricted Section?"

A barely perceptible hint of smugness flashed across Hermione's face, but it was quickly replaced by seriousness. "Yes. I... I asked Percy to help me borrow it."

"Percy?!" Ron nearly knocked over his milk in shock. "He'd help you borrow a book from the Restricted Section? He's usually as strict as a second Professor McGonagall with his own brothers!"

"That's the... understanding between good students, Ron." Hermione tilted her chin slightly. "When you say you need to consult materials for 'in-depth academic research,' Percy is quite happy to help. He probably thinks I'm preparing some groundbreaking paper."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "Hypocrite."

"That's not the point," Hermione brought the conversation back. "The brewing process for Polyjuice Potion is very complex, taking a month, and many ingredients are rare. One of the most crucial—the African Tree Snake skin—there's only one person in all of Hogwarts who keeps a large stock of it..."

Harry and Ron's faces turned pale simultaneously. They both knew what that name meant.

"Snape," Harry said, his voice dry. "His private storeroom."

"Exactly," Hermione nodded heavily. "We have to steal it from Snape's office."

Ron's face instantly turned as white as the milk and oats in front of him:

"Think about yesterday! Think about how he was at the Duelling Club! If he catches us, he'll throw all three of us into a cauldron and brew us into a potion! I bet he wouldn't even bat an eye!"

Mentioning Snape and his terrifying power, the three of them shivered simultaneously.

The eerie memories from the dungeons and Snape's ghost-like speed last night exponentially increased the danger of this plan.

A silence descended upon them.

Braving Snape's territory was undoubtedly suicidal.

But...

Harry looked around at the avoiding gazes, the whispers, and Justin's fleeing figure...

If they did nothing, things would only get worse.

He looked up, a determined light rekindled in his eyes. "We don't have any other choice, do we?"

Hermione nodded heavily.

Ron wailed and buried his face in his hands, but ultimately did not object further.

Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore peered through his half-moon spectacles, calmly observing a silver instrument on the table. The smoke rising from it faintly reflected the image of Harry and his two companions whispering secrets in the Great Hall.

"Appropriate pressure can sometimes be the best catalyst, allowing a seed to break through hard soil," he said gently to Lin Du, who sat opposite him.

"You see, they haven't been defeated; they're looking for a new way out."

Lin Du took a sip of his black tea noncommittally. "The resilience of the young is certainly admirable. However, they've diverted some of that energy spent 'looking for a way out' onto me. It's resulted in a few inconspicuous little tails following me around the castle these past few days."

A hint of playful amusement flickered in Dumbledore's eyes.

Lin Du put down his teacup, his expression turning serious. "Headmaster, although the diary has been dealt with, we can't just let the threat of a Basilisk lurking in Hogwarts' pipes continue indefinitely. When do you plan to resolve this issue completely?"

"Christmas break."

Dumbledore answered without hesitation. "Once most students have left and the castle is empty, it will be the best time for Harry to act. But before then..."

A sly glint flashed in his blue eyes. "We'll need a few more 'victims' to maintain the necessary tension."

Lin Du raised an eyebrow. "Do you already have candidates? Surely no one would volunteer to be petrified by a Basilisk? That's not a pleasant experience."

A mysterious smile touched Dumbledore's lips. Without answering directly, he turned towards the ornate oak door of his office and raised his voice slightly.

"I believe it's time. Please come in, Sir Nicholas."

Lin Du turned his head back with a touch of curiosity.

The office door slid open silently, and a pearly white, semi-transparent figure drifted in elegantly—

He wore a ruff around his neck and a plumed hat, though his head was tilted at an awkward angle.

It was Nearly Headless Nick.