My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 93 The Washroom and Lockhart

The Weasleys' eyes followed Dumbledore.

Molly's tears fell silently. She almost threw herself at Ginny's side, kneeling on the carpet. Her trembling fingers hovered above her daughter's pale cheek, but she dared not touch her, as if afraid that her raw grief would awaken this imposed nightmare.

Arthur held her shoulders. This usually optimistic man was now ashen-faced, his eyes behind his glasses fixed on the sleeping little face, his voice hoarse.

"Albus—that thing—that 'Tom Riddle'—it's still in the castle, still in some student's hands, isn't it?"

Dumbledore did not answer immediately.

He walked to the fireplace, the flames dancing on his silver beard and half-moon glasses, but unable to warm his somber profile.

After a moment, he turned around and his gaze swept over everyone present.

"The diary has its own will, Arthur. It won't stay idly in some corner waiting to decay. It yearns to be written on, yearns to be connected, yearns to—absorb." Dumbledore's voice was low, each word like it was soaked in ice water. "Ginny abandoned it, but that was more like interrupting a feeding." When it's hungry, it will go looking for its next—host.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and clenched her robes tightly.

"We must conduct a school-wide search immediately! Curfew, lock down common rooms, and check every student's belongings."

“That would alert them, Minerva,” Dumbledore interrupted her calmly, but his eyes were sharp. “If the owner realizes we’re looking for the diary, they might hide it even deeper, or even do something more unpredictable out of desperation. We’re not dealing with an ordinary student prankster, but a cunning, ancient, and malicious creation of dark magic. It knows how to hide, how to manipulate, and how to exploit the loneliness and curiosity of young people.”

Victor stepped forward, and Tom on his shoulder seemed to sense the tense atmosphere, raising the hairs on his neck.

"The principal is right. Blindly conducting large-scale searches will cause panic and make it easier for the real danger to hide. But we need a line of action."

His gaze fell on the Pensieve, where the silvery substance had returned to calm, but the fragmented yet terrifying images from before were still vivid in his mind.

"The last place the diary appeared was where Ginny threw it away. This is the most definitive clue so far."

We need to immediately and discreetly search all areas nearby, and all students who might have had access to that broomstick room.

"I'll take charge," Professor McGonagall said immediately, her jawline taut. "I can lead a few prefects to investigate, under the guise of 'checking for security risks in the castle' or 'taking stock of unused classrooms.' The focus will be on the area on the east side of the fifth floor, and all the paths leading there."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. But be careful, Minerva. The diary may have been moved, but there might be traces left—residual magic, or witnesses." He turned to Victor.

"Victor, your playground is now one of the most popular places for students to gather after school, with a large and mixed crowd."

The diary's next target is likely there. I need you to intensify your observations there, not as a professor intimidating figure, but—to blend in. Watch out for students exhibiting unusual isolation, sudden personality changes, or excessive interest in "secrets" or "power." Especially those who seem—

People who need friends.

Victor understood Dumbledore's meaning, his expression solemn. "I'll adjust the focus of the patrols and advisors. George and Fred are quite influential over there; they might be able to spot anything unusual without attracting attention."

Arthur held his wife tightly, looked at Dumbledore, his eyes filled with a fatherly determination, a mixture of fear and pleading: "What can we do, Albus? For Ginny, and for the other children?"

Dumbledore walked up to them and gently placed his hand on Arthur and Molly's clasped hands. The warmth of his hand seemed to carry a strange, comforting power.

"Stay here and stay with Ginny. Her lucidity may be painful; the recovery of her memories and the weakness after her life force has been drained will require the support of her closest loved ones. Madam Pomfrey will soon take her to the special ward in the school hospital, and Severus's potion will be ready. You are her anchor."

He then looked at McGonagall and Victor: "Go ahead, but walk on thin ice. We're facing a shadow that successfully hid itself and manipulated others fifty years ago. This time it will be more cautious and more dangerous."

Professor McGonagall turned around without hesitation, her black robes tracing a decisive arc as she strode out of the office. The sound of her high heels clicking on the ground quickly faded into the distance, carrying with it a sense of urgency akin to hunting prey.

Victor nodded, glanced at the sleeping Ginny, and whispered, "I'll go check on the playground first. We need to process the news Fox brought, but we can't stop our daily activities; that would seem strange." He patted Tom's head, and the little guy rubbed against his cheek, as if trying to offer some comfort.

Only Dumbledore and the Weasley family remained in the office.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a soft sofa appeared out of thin air, gesturing for Arthur and Molly to sit down.

He then conjured up a pot of steaming hot flower tea with a calming and soothing aroma, and poured a cup for each of them.

"Arthur, Molly," Dumbledore's voice regained some of its usual gentleness, but the underlying heaviness was still clearly discernible.

"Ginny was brave. She chose to discard the diary in fear and ultimately chose to speak out. Many adult wizards would not be able to do that when faced with such temptation and corruption. Her soul was much stronger than the diary tried to convince her."

Molly held the warm teacup, her fingertips still icy, but Dumbledore's words eased the despair in her eyes slightly, replacing it with a deep maternal resilience.

"We'll be with her, Albus. No matter how long it takes." Her voice was still hoarse, but no longer trembling.

Just then, Ginny let out a soft groan.

Her long eyelashes fluttered a few times, and she slowly opened her eyes.

At first, the brown eyes were filled with confusion and lingering fear, but when they focused, they saw their parents' faces, which were full of worry.

"Mom—Dad?" Her voice was weak and hoarse. Then, the immense fear and self-blame she felt before losing consciousness surged back like a tidal wave, and her eyes quickly filled with tears. "I—did I—do something terrible? That diary—monster—"

"No, darling, no!" Molly could no longer hold back. She gently broke free from Arthur's arms, stepped forward, and carefully hugged her daughter, avoiding the binding spell, and rested her head against her chest.

"You're a brave and good child. You threw it away and told us. It's alright now. Mom's here, Dad's here, and Professor Dumbledore is here too. No one can hurt you anymore."

Ginny trembled and cried in her mother's arms, finally finding an outlet for months of repression, fear, and loneliness.

Arthur leaned down and gently patted his daughter's back with his large hand. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he couldn't speak, only repeating over and over, "Okay, okay, Ginny, okay—"

Dumbledore watched this scene quietly, his eyes softening for a moment, but then returning to their clear gaze.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the completely dark sky and the distant, indistinct sounds of noise coming from the direction of the playground.

Dumbledore sighed softly, his white beard appearing frosty in the dim starlight.

"Minerva, I hope you've made a discovery," he whispered silently, gazing out at the pitch-black night.

On the east side of the fifth floor of the castle, Professor McGonagall, with Percy Weasley and Penelope Crivart, was "inspecting the distribution of fire-fighting magical items" with a serious expression but a normal tone. Her gaze swept over every corner like a hawk, especially the empty, dusty broom room.

There was nothing there except a few broken brooms and a pile of junk.

After wandering around the battle royale area, Victor arrived at the abandoned baptismal room in the building.

The air was filled with the musty smell of limescale and a faint musty odor. Several faucets dripped water, and from the innermost cubicle came intermittent, sorrowful sobs—it was Peach Blossom Girl, who seemed particularly down today.

Victor's gaze swept quickly over the rows of mottled pools.

He quickly spotted his target—a particularly old-looking pool of brass that had long lost its luster, with a blurry decoration on its side that was almost completely obscured by water stains and grime.

He approached, bent down, and gently brushed away the grime with the tip of his wand. A small, exquisitely carved serpent pattern gradually emerged, its head slightly raised, as if silently hissing.

right here.

Ginny remembers where she was standing.

Viktor breathed even softer.

Instead of immediately attempting any spells or actions, he slowly extended his magical perception, like a pebble thrown into still water, probing for any hidden magical mechanisms or remnants in the faucet and surrounding pipes.

Meanwhile, he kept an eye on the doorway and the entire space out of the corner of his eye.

Tom sat crouching on the edge of the pool, his tail tip swaying gently, his bright green eyes darting around alertly, and his ears perked up, catching every subtle sound.

Just as Victor's magical tentacles were about to touch an unusually tight magical node inside the faucet, Tom's ears snapped back, almost touching his head, and his entire body tensed instantly.

It made no sound, but quickly raised its paw and gently, but definitely not insignificantly, poked Victor's calf.

Victor's investigation was abruptly interrupted, and his magic receded into his body like a tide.

There was nothing unusual on his face, and he didn't even take his eyes off the faucet. He just nodded almost imperceptibly.

Tom understood, and lightly and silently jumped off the edge of the pool, his paws making no sound as they landed on the damp tiles.

Like a gray-blue shadow, it suddenly slipped into a half-closed toilet stall next to it, the door quietly closing, leaving only a sliver of almost invisible darkness.

Almost simultaneously, footsteps sounded outside the restroom door. They weren't the light or sluggish steps of students, but rather the deliberate, rhythmic footsteps of adults, approaching from afar and sounding exceptionally clear in the empty corridor.

The door was pushed open.

Gilderoy Lockhart walked in with his signature, seemingly calculated, radiant smile.

Today he was wearing his favorite blue robe with forget-me-not flowers, his hair was styled in perfect curls as always, and the various medals pinned to his chest still tried to gleam in the dim light.

Upon seeing Victor standing in front of the snake-shaped faucet, Lockhart was clearly taken aback. A fleeting, elusive emotion—surprise, perhaps something else—flashed in his blue eyes, but it was immediately covered by an even wider smile.

"Professor Victor!" he greeted warmly, his voice ringing out in the empty chapel. "I never expected to run into you here! It seems you've noticed too—"

He didn't finish his sentence.

The moment he uttered the words "discovered," the perfect smile on his face suddenly froze, and the feigned surprise in his eyes was instantly replaced by a cold decisiveness.

His wrist, hidden beneath the sleeve of his magnificent robe, suddenly rose with a movement so fast it was almost imperceptible!

"Forget everything, and all is emptiness!"

A dazzling milky-white light burst forth from the tip of his hawthorn wand, pointing without hesitation straight at Victor's back, who was facing away from him and seemed completely unprepared!

The light of the incantation illuminated Lockhart's face, which suddenly became ferocious and anxious—a desperate ferocity that was completely different from the carefully maintained image he usually possessed.

However, when faced with this sudden, powerful Oblivion Curse that could be described as a sneak attack, Victor seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

He didn't turn around, or even make any big movements; he just gave an extremely slight tremor in his wrist holding the wand.

"Armor for protection!"

A solid, almost tangible, silver-blue light shield instantly unfolded behind him. The shield was covered with intricate patterns that resembled both water ripples and scales, radiating a stable and powerful magical energy.

Lockhart's Oblivion Spell, which he was determined to use, slammed hard into the edge of the light shield!

"Bang!"

A muffled burst of magical energy.

The milky-white spell light did not penetrate Viktor's defenses and erase his memories as Lockhart had expected. Instead, it seemed to have hit an invisible yet incredibly tough wall. The spell energy suddenly spread and twisted at the point of impact, and was then cleverly deflected to the side by the light shield, hitting an empty pool next to it with a soft "hiss" sound, leaving a light white mark.

Lockhart's expression instantly shifted from brimming confidence to utter shock and disbelief.

His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth gaping open involuntarily, as if he had witnessed the most improbable event in the world. All his calculations, all his pretense, shattered before this unexpectedly sturdy shield.

He didn't have time to think, or even to make a next reaction.

Because Viktor had already turned around. His movements were fluid and calm, as if the thrilling scene just now was something he had rehearsed countless times.

As he turned, his wand rose steadily, its tip pointing firmly at the terrified Lockhart.

There was no incantation, only a sudden surge of magical power.

He collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious!

A condensed, swift, and powerful red beam shot out from the tip of Viktor's staff, slicing through the damp air and striking Lockhart's chest with perfect accuracy.

"Ugh!" Lockhart only managed to let out a short, muffled groan, a mixture of pain and confusion, before the powerful impact sent him flying backward, like a large blue bird being flung away, crashing heavily into the wooden door of a toilet stall behind him.

"Crack!" The not-so-sturdy wooden door groaned, and Lockhart's body slid softly to the ground, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed, and the horrified expression still lingering on his face. He had completely lost consciousness.

His wand fell to the damp floor tiles with a "thud".

Almost at the same moment Lockhart fell to the ground, the door to the cubicle where Tom was hiding slid open silently.

Tom darted out, clutching a thick rope that looked unusually tough and whose origins were unknown, his movements so fast that he was just a blur.

It leaped to Lockhart's side and, with dazzling speed and astonishing skill, bound the unconscious Lockhart tightly from head to toe, tying several intricate sailor's knots to ensure that the "famous adventurer" would be completely immobile even if he woke up immediately.

Having done all this, Tom didn't stop. He sniffed carefully at Lockhart's magnificent blue robe adorned with forget-me-nots, a hint of disgust flashing in his emerald eyes, but mostly focused intently.

Suddenly, its ears twitched again, as if it had sensed something.

It turned around and pulled out an old but sturdy pair of fire tongs with jaws on the top from behind it.

Tom gripped the tongs with his paws and carefully reached into a pocket inside Lockhart's robe. The tongs precisely slipped into the pocket, clamped onto something, and then steadily pulled it out.

It was a black-covered, old-looking, and ordinary-looking diary.

The cover was blank, but the moment Tom pulled it out, Victor clearly felt the surrounding light dim for a moment, and a cold, slippery, and malicious magical aura emanated from the diary. Although faint, it was extremely unsettling, as if touching a tombstone on a cold winter night.

Tom clearly sensed it too; his fur stood on end slightly, and he let out a low, warning growl.

But instead of loosening the tongs, it handled the diary with the utmost care, as if dealing with some extremely dangerous contaminant, trying to keep it from touching its own body, and handed it to Victor.

Victor did not reach out to catch it.

His expression was cold and stern, his gaze sweeping over the diary like an icy blade before landing on Lockhart, who was bound like a dumpling and unconscious.

He quickly took out a specially made dragonskin pouch from his pocket, which was enchanted with powerful isolation and protection spells. This was what he usually used to temporarily store samples of dangerous magical creatures or unstable magical materials.

He gestured for Tom to put the diary in the bag.

Tom loosened his diary and it fell into the bottom of the bag with a "thud".

Victor immediately tightened the bag's opening and cast three different sealing and shielding spells until the unpleasant, chilling aura was completely blocked.

Then, he walked over to Lockhart, squatted down, and carefully checked the other man's vital signs. He was only unconscious and there was nothing seriously wrong.

But his gaze lingered on Lockhart's face for a moment; the perfect smile had vanished, replaced by a complex expression that lingered from his unconsciousness, a mixture of fear, panic, and some twisted ambition.

"Giddon Lockhart—" Victor murmured to himself, his voice carrying little surprise, but rather a cold confirmation and a heavy tone. He picked up Lockhart's wand from the ground and cast the same spell to seal it.

Just then, in the innermost cubicle of the washroom, Tao Jinniang's weeping stopped at some point.

A semi-transparent, bespectacled ghost girl floated out from above the cubicle, looking at them timidly.

After arriving in Victor's room, Mahogany shouted angrily.

Then he saw Lockhart lying unconscious on the ground, and immediately turned into a lovesick fool.