Aftermath

Tuesday, 5:30 p.m.

Zhang Wen and Artoria had showered, changed into clean clothes, and arrived at the Great Hall right on time.

The roast leg of lamb was still there.

As Artoria sat down, her gaze locked precisely onto the largest roast leg of lamb on the table. She picked up her knife and fork 0.3 seconds faster than usual—Zhang Wen could already distinguish that difference with the naked eye.

"Aren't you tired?" Zhang Wen watched her demolish the food at textbook-level elegance and speed. "You killed a twenty-meter snake less than an hour ago, and now you're eating roast lamb."

"Eating is the best way to restore physical strength."

"How much physical strength did you use in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Approximately fifteen percent."

"Fifteen percent," Zhang Wen repeated. "You killed a thousand-year-old Basilisk using fifteen percent of your strength."

"The Basilisk's combat ability was overestimated. Large creatures in enclosed spaces have restricted movement, slow reactions, and little real combat experience. If it fought me in open terrain, it might have required twenty percent."

Zhang Wen decided not to continue this topic. Discussing combat assessments with Artoria always made him seem very weak.

He noticed that Artoria was eating faster than usual today. Her movements remained elegant, but the frequency had clearly increased.

She really had expended physical strength. She said fifteen percent, but her body's response was more honest.

Silently, Zhang Wen pushed the roast potatoes from his plate toward her.

Artoria looked at the potatoes, then at Zhang Wen.

"You're not eating?"

"I didn't move around much this afternoon. I'm not very hungry."

That was a lie. He had been nervous all afternoon, and his stomach had long been empty. But Artoria needed more replenishment.

She did not refuse. The potatoes vanished as quickly as the roast lamb.

Zhang Wen pushed his Yorkshire pudding over as well.

Artoria's chop—fork paused.

"You're feeding me," she said.

"I'm allocating food resources reasonably."

"You're feeding me," she repeated. Her tone did not change, but Zhang Wen noticed that the angle at which she cut her steak was off by two degrees.

For Artoria, being off by two degrees while cutting steak was equivalent to an ordinary person's hands trembling.

"Eat," Zhang Wen said, pretending not to notice. "Dessert hasn't been served yet. Save some room."

Artoria fell silent for three seconds.

Then she ate the Yorkshire pudding.

A little slower than before.

Zhang Wen felt that the meaning behind that "a little slower" was more worthy of research than a Basilisk Fang.

After dinner, Zhang Wen took the wooden box containing Basilisk Fangs to the Headmaster's Office.

When Dumbledore saw the fangs, his white eyebrows rose high.

"You've already acted?"

"This afternoon. The Basilisk has been dealt with."

Dumbledore was silent for several seconds. Then he stood, took the Diary from an iron box, and placed it on the table.

"You're destroying it now?" Zhang Wen asked.

"The sooner, the better," Dumbledore said. "Every extra second something like this exists is a hidden danger."

He picked up a fang and aimed it at the Diary's cover.

"Professor Zhang, you may want to take a step back."

Zhang Wen took two steps back.

Dumbledore drove the fang into the Diary.

A piercing scream erupted from within it. Black ink gushed from the puncture wound and spread across the tabletop. The Diary's pages flipped violently, like a dying creature making its final struggle.

The screaming lasted about five seconds.

Then everything fell silent.

The Diary lay limp on the table, no longer moving. The black ink slowly faded into ordinary brown.

Tom Riddle's fragment of soul had perished.

Dumbledore pulled out the fang and set it aside. He stared at the Diary, now nothing more than an old notebook, for a long time.

"One Horcrux," he finally said, his voice very soft. "You said he made more than one."

"At least six," Zhang Wen said.

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

Zhang Wen knew what he was thinking. Six Horcruxes meant Voldemort had torn his soul into seven pieces. To destroy him completely, they had to find and destroy every Horcrux.

It would be a long and difficult task.

But tonight, at least one had been dealt with.

"Keep the remaining fangs," Dumbledore said, opening his eyes. "They may be useful later."

"Okay."

"Also—" Dumbledore picked up a Lemon Sherbet. "When do you plan to tell the entire school?"

"I think you should announce it."

"Oh, no." Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "You did all the work—preparation, planning, execution. The credit is yours."

"I only made the plan. Artoria was the one who actually killed the Basilisk."

"Then the two of you can announce it together. How does tomorrow morning at breakfast sound?"

Zhang Wen considered it. Announcing the Chamber of Secrets Incident to the whole school would have an enormous impact. The students would learn that the Basilisk existed and had been killed. The parents would learn. The Ministry of Magic would learn. Lucius Malfoy would learn.

Lucius Malfoy.

He was the one who had slipped the Diary to Ginny.

Once the Chamber of Secrets Incident became public, it would only be a matter of time before they traced the Diary's origin.

"Tomorrow," Zhang Wen said with a nod.

Wednesday morning.

The Great Hall. Breakfast time.

Dumbledore stood up.

The entire hall fell silent.

"Students, I have important news to tell you," Dumbledore's voice echoed through the hall. "Yesterday afternoon, Professor Zhang Wen and Assistant Pendragon discovered and eliminated a serious hidden threat beneath Hogwarts—a Basilisk."

The Great Hall was deathly silent at first.

Then it exploded.

"A Basilisk?!"

"The Chamber of Secrets was real?!"

"They killed the Basilisk?!"

Cries of alarm and discussion erupted from the tables of all four houses at once. Some were excited, some frightened, some confused. Fred and George both stood and began applauding. Harry, Ron Weasley, and Hermione exchanged a glance—Harry had already told them what happened last night.

Neville Longbottom's mouth hung open, and the fork in his hand fell into his bowl of porridge.

Ginny sat midway down the Gryffindor table, her face pale but expression calm. Hermione sat beside her, holding her hand.

Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.

"The Basilisk has been completely eliminated, and the Chamber of Secrets has been sealed. Hogwarts no longer faces any safety threats. I would especially like to thank Professor Zhang and Assistant Pendragon for their courage and professional skill."

Applause began at the Gryffindor table, then spread to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The applause from Slytherin was thinner, but Malfoy was clapping too—though his movements were small.

The reactions at the staff table were even more interesting.

Professor McGonagall applauded vigorously, her expression carrying obvious approval and a trace of I knew you two were no ordinary people.

Filius Flitwick bounced out of his chair, nearly falling over, shouting, "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"

Professor Sprout smiled and applauded, gentle and sincere.

Snape did not applaud.

He sat in his seat with his arms folded across his chest, his black eyes fixed on Zhang Wen for a full ten seconds.

That look was complicated. There was scrutiny, confusion, reassessment—and something incredibly faint that Snape would never admit to.

Perhaps it was approval.

Or perhaps it was merely indigestion.

Anything involving Snape was forever impossible to determine.

After breakfast, Zhang Wen was mobbed.

First came the students.

"Professor Zhang! What did the Basilisk look like?"

"Professor Zhang! How did you defeat it?"

"Professor Zhang! What magic did Assistant Pendragon use?"

"Professor Zhang! Can I have your autograph?" The last one was Colin Creevey.

It took Zhang Wen twenty minutes to escape the students' encirclement.

Then came the professors.

Filius Flitwick intercepted him in the corridor and fired off fifteen technical questions about the Basilisk like a machine gun—how high was its magical resistance? How did the hardness of its scales compare to a dragon's? What was the mechanism behind death from directly meeting its gaze?

Zhang Wen answered three of them and brushed off the remaining twelve with, "Further research is required."

Professor Sprout gave him a new potted plant—Heroes' Applause Flower, a small magical plant that automatically applauded for its owner.

Zhang Wen felt that the things in his office were becoming increasingly strange. A cactus that sprayed water, a flower that applauded. Next time, he would probably receive a mushroom that sang.

The truly important reactions came from three people.

The first was Snape.

Around noon, he knocked on the door to Zhang Wen's office.

After entering, he said nothing. He sat down in a chair, glanced at Artoria, then looked at Zhang Wen.

"The Basilisk," he said. "You knew from the beginning."

It was not a question.

"Yes," Zhang Wen said.

"The mirrors, the roosters, the map of the pipes. All that preparation was for this day."

"Yes."

"Ginny Weasley's Diary—it was a Horcrux."

Zhang Wen was startled. Snape knew about Horcruxes?

"Dumbledore spoke with me this morning," Snape said in a lower voice than usual. "He wanted me to understand certain things."

Dumbledore had begun expanding the circle of those who knew. After the Chamber of Secrets Incident, he needed more people to join the core team against Voldemort. Snape was the first to be brought in.

"You should have told me sooner," Snape said.

"At the time, I wasn't sure how much I could trust you," Zhang Wen said frankly.

Snape looked at him. Zhang Wen could not read what lay in those black eyes, but at least there was no hostility.

"If something similar happens in the future," Snape said, standing, "do not exclude me."

He left.

There was no thanks, no praise, no unnecessary words.

But "do not exclude me" was itself the greatest expression of trust Snape could offer.

The second was Harry.

At the after-class tutoring session, the Golden Trio and Neville Longbottom were all present.

But today, they did not practice the Disarming Charm. The four sat in a circle around Zhang Wen and listened as he explained the entire chain of events surrounding the Chamber of Secrets Incident—naturally, an abridged version, with the parts about the "original plot" and "transmigration" removed.

"The Basilisk had been moving through the pipes for at least several weeks," Zhang Wen said. "When you practiced reflective observation with mirrors in the corridors, those mirrors were originally intended as protection against the Basilisk."

Hermione abruptly looked up. "So the mirrors were from the very beginning—"

"Yes."

Hermione's expression went through three rapid stages: shock, realization, and I knew it wasn't that simple.

"The roosters too?" Ron Weasley asked.

"A rooster's crow can kill a Basilisk. I placed six of them around the castle."

"Six..." Ron Weasley's eyes went round. "You used roosters to fight a Basilisk?"

"The roosters were a backup plan. Assistant Pendragon was the main force."

All four of them turned to Artoria at once. She stood by the window, drinking tea.

"Assistant Pendragon," Neville Longbottom asked cautiously, "how did you defeat the Basilisk? Its eyes—"

"Close your eyes," Artoria said.

"With your eyes closed?" Neville Longbottom's voice rose half a pitch.

"With your eyes closed," Artoria repeated, taking a sip of tea.

The four looked at one another.

"This is why I've always trained your physical fitness and evasive movement," Zhang Wen concluded at the right moment. "When you cannot rely on your sight, your body's senses become your lifeline."

Neville Longbottom's expression changed. For the first time, he probably truly understood why Artoria had thrown rocks at him—the training had never merely been "exercise."

Harry had not said anything. After everyone else left, he remained behind.

"Professor Zhang."

"Yes?"

"About Ginny—you had been protecting her from the beginning. Having Hermione become friends with her, having Fred and George keep an eye on her, having Neville smile at her. It was all to help her resist the Diary."

Zhang Wen looked at the twelve-year-old boy.

Harry Potter's instincts were sometimes frighteningly accurate.

"Yes."

"Why not just tell her? Tell her there was something wrong with the Diary?"

"Because she wouldn't believe it," Zhang Wen said. "The Diary has already earned her trust. If an outsider suddenly came up and said, 'Your friend is evil,' she would only become more dependent on it."

"So you used another method."

"Give her real friends. Let her discover for herself that something was wrong with the Diary. Let her find the courage to ask for help."

Harry fell silent.

"I'll do the same in the future," he said. "If my friends ever run into something like that."

Zhang Wen smiled.

"You already do. With Ron Weasley, Hermione, and Neville Longbottom—you've been doing the same thing all along. You just never realized it."

Harry's ears turned a little red. He muttered, "Not really," then hurried away.

The third person's reaction caught Zhang Wen by surprise.

On Wednesday afternoon, Professor McGonagall came.

When she knocked and entered, her expression was different from usual. There was less of her usual sternness and sharpness, and something Zhang Wen had never seen on her face before—hesitation.

When Minerva McGonagall hesitated, it meant the matter was troublesome.

"Professor Zhang." McGonagall sat down in a chair. Her gaze behind her square glasses flicked toward Artoria before turning to Zhang Wen. "First, congratulations on resolving the threat of the Chamber of Secrets. The entire school owes you both a debt of gratitude."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

"But I didn't come to thank you today." McGonagall took a letter from her pocket. "I came because of this."

She handed the letter to Zhang Wen.

The handwriting on the envelope was crooked, and the ink had bled in several places, as though the writer had been in a hurry—or afraid.

Zhang Wen unfolded the letter.

It was not long.

"Dear Aunt Minerva:

Please forgive me for writing so suddenly. I don't know who else to ask for help.

Something has happened in the Northern Scottish Highlands. An unknown creature has appeared in the lake near the village. Three sheep have already gone missing, and the sheepdog disappeared last week. The villagers said they saw a huge black shadow moving beneath the surface of the lake.

Someone from the Ministry of Magic came by once and said it was an ordinary water monster, nothing to worry about. But I don't think they took it seriously. Last night, that thing came ashore—I saw the traces it left behind. The claw marks in the mud were deep, at least twice the size of my palm. And all the grass around the mud had withered and turned black.

Water monsters don't make grass wither.

I'm afraid it might hurt someone. There are children in the village.

Can you help me? Or do you know any experts—

Your niece, Angus McGonagall"

Zhang Wen set the letter down.

"Your niece?"

"Angus is my brother's daughter." There was a trace of barely restrained worry in McGonagall's voice. "She married a Muggle farmer and lives in a small village north of Inverness. She is a witch herself, but rarely uses magic—after marrying into a Muggle family, she began living an ordinary life."

"The creature she described—large claw marks in the mud, plants withering and blackening after contact." Zhang Wen looked at Artoria.

Artoria had already set down her teacup.

"Corrosive bodily fluids," she said. "Fluids capable of killing plants indicate magical contamination. An ordinary water monster could not do that."

"What do you think it is?"

"We need more information. But based on the description, it could be a deep-water Dark Magical Creature. A Kelpie, a variant of Water Sprite, or—"

She paused.

"A cursed creature."

Zhang Wen looked at McGonagall.

"The Ministry of Magic said it was an ordinary water monster?"

"A junior official went there, looked around for ten minutes, and left." McGonagall's lips pressed into a tight line. "They did not investigate seriously at all. Inverness is too remote, and the Ministry does not want to waste resources over a few missing sheep in some isolated region."

Zhang Wen understood her anger. The Ministry's bureaucracy had always been a major problem in the original story—they did not face the threat seriously until Voldemort was practically at their doorstep.

"Professor McGonagall," Zhang Wen said, "do you want me to take a look?"

McGonagall looked at him.

"I know you've only just finished dealing with the Chamber of Secrets, and this request may be rather—"

"I'll go," Zhang Wen said. "We can leave this weekend."

McGonagall's expression relaxed slightly.

"Thank you, Professor Zhang. But you need to know—the climate in the Northern Scottish Highlands is harsh in late October. If that creature really is some kind of Dark Magical Creature, it could be dangerous."

"I have experience," Zhang Wen said. Then he thought for a moment and added, "And I have help."

Artoria gave a slight nod.

McGonagall glanced at her and seemed considerably more reassured. Having someone who could kill a Basilisk with her eyes closed as backup was indeed comforting.

"I have an additional idea," Zhang Wen said. "If you don't object—I would like to bring two students along."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"Which two?"

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

The office fell silent for two seconds.

Artoria glanced at Zhang Wen.

Professor McGonagall looked at him, her expression shifting from surprise to scrutiny.

"Potter and Malfoy," she repeated slowly. "Those two together—"

"I know they don't get along," Zhang Wen said. "But that's exactly why I want to bring them together."

"Explain."

"Potter needs practical experience. He is highly gifted, but all his training has been in classrooms and at the Dueling Club. He needs to face real Dark Magic threats beyond the classroom before he can truly grow."

"And Malfoy?"

"Malfoy needs to leave his comfort zone," Zhang Wen said. "Everything he has been taught since childhood is 'pure-bloods above all, the Malfoy family is the finest.' He needs to see the real world—a place where wizards and Muggles live together, a place without his family's prestige protecting him. He needs to see that when danger comes, bloodline and money cannot help him."

McGonagall was silent for a while.

"You want to use a field mission to teach two twelve-year-old boys."

"Yes."

"One is my most promising Gryffindor student. The other is Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Yes."

"If Malfoy gets hurt during this mission, Lucius will tear you to pieces."

"Then I will make sure no one gets hurt," Zhang Wen said. "Artoria and I will be present the whole time. The two students will only observe and assist; they will not take part in direct combat. This is a teaching exercise. The focus is on learning."

Professor McGonagall tapped her fingers against her knee three times.

"You will need Lucius Malfoy's consent."

"Malfoy will find a way to settle that himself."

McGonagall watched him with a sharp gaze.

"You know more about the Malfoy boy than I thought."

"I've spent two months observing every student," Zhang Wen said. "Malfoy wants to prove himself—in his own way, not his father's way. Give him an opportunity, and he'll seize it."

McGonagall remained silent for a long time.

"All right." She rose to her feet. "I'll write back to Angus and tell her someone will be there this weekend. Confirm the final plan with me before you leave."

She walked to the door, then paused.

"Professor Zhang, you killed a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Now you're going to the Scottish Highlands to catch an unknown creature. Did you come to Hogwarts to be a professor or a demon hunter?"

"A professor," Zhang Wen said. "Demon hunting is just a side job."

McGonagall shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, then left.

After McGonagall left, Artoria set down her teacup.

"If you take Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy won't agree."

"Lucius Malfoy will agree," Zhang Wen said. "The Diary matter has him completely tied up right now. Once the Chamber of Secrets Incident becomes public, it will only be a matter of time before they trace the Diary's origins. He urgently needs to repair his relationship with the school. If his son takes part in a field mission led by a professor, it shows that he still trusts Hogwarts and still supports the school's educational activities."

"He will use his son as a political bargaining chip."

"He has always used his son as a political bargaining chip," Zhang Wen said. "But this time, Malfoy himself will want to go too."

"Are you sure?"

"He just witnessed the most sensational Chamber of Secrets Incident in the entire school, and his professor and teaching assistant killed a thousand-year-old Basilisk. Do you think a highly competitive twelve-year-old boy wouldn't want to join the next adventure?"

Artoria thought about it.

"He would."

"Then that's enough."

Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair and glanced out the window. The sun was setting, painting the surface of the Black Lake orange.

The Chamber of Secrets Incident was over. But a new incident was already knocking at the door.

The Northern Scottish Highlands. A remote village. An unknown Dark Magical Creature.

And two twelve-year-old boys who needed to grow.

"Artoria."

"Yes?"

"Are you familiar with the Scottish Highlands?"

"I have traveled all of Britain's lands," she said. "The terrain of the Scottish Highlands is complex, and the winter climate is harsh. If the target is in the lake, the operation will be more difficult—underwater combat comes with major limitations."

"Can you fight underwater?"

"Yes. But it is not recommended. Excalibur is only one-third as effective underwater as it is on land."

"Then we'll lure it ashore."

"We need bait."

Zhang Wen thought for a moment.

"Three sheep and a sheepdog have gone missing. This creature hunts living beings. If we put a—"

"Don't use living creatures as bait." Artoria's tone suddenly turned colder.

Zhang Wen looked at her.

She took animals as seriously as she took food. By her knightly code, using innocent creatures as bait was probably the equivalent of conduct unworthy of a knight.

"All right. No living creatures," Zhang Wen said. "We'll use magic to simulate one. I can create a false living target—one that imitates the appearance and smell of a real animal. We'll see whether it can fool the creature."

Artoria nodded in satisfaction.

"We leave this weekend." Zhang Wen stood and stretched. "Tomorrow, we'll inform Potter and Malfoy."

"There are classes tomorrow."

"Right. There are classes tomorrow."

Life went on.

The Basilisk was dead, but a professor's work was not over.

Grading assignments, preparing lessons, physical training, after-school tutoring, the Dueling Club—all the daily routines were waiting for him.

Along with a weekend adventure in the Scottish Highlands.

Zhang Wen suddenly felt that being a professor was busier than fighting in the Holy Grail War.

"Time for a midnight snack," Artoria said.

"You just finished dinner."

"Using Excalibur accelerates my metabolism. I need additional energy."

"Can't you just say you're hungry?"

"...The house-elves said there was leftover apple pie tonight."

Zhang Wen sighed and followed her toward the kitchen.

Some things never changed.

Like the King of Knights' devotion to food.

Like how he could never refuse her.

Like how, after every battle and crisis, the most important thing was still—

Eating together.