Hogwarts' Golden Glory

The girls' washroom on the second floor of the castle was filled with a damp, musty smell, and the broken faucet dripped.

Kane Malfoy's dragon-skin boots rippled through the puddles.

His grey-blue eyes swept over the scratches on the wall, and a cold smile appeared on his lips.

"She's in the innermost compartment," Kane said softly, twirling his silver-blue wand between his fingers. "Ever since Riddle killed her, Myrtle Warren has—"

"Who's saying my name?!" A transparent figure suddenly jumped out of the toilet, and Myrtle's swollen eyes stared at them through the broken lens.

"Oh! It's the handsome Mr. Malfoy and...and..." She choked when she saw Dumbledore, her mouth agape like a fish out of water.

"Good evening, Miss Warren," Dumbledore said gently, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles reflecting Moaning Myrtle's fleeting figure. "You've kept this secret for fifty years, haven't you?"

Myrtle's sobs suddenly rose eight octaves: "Nobody cares about me! They only care how I died!"

She plunged into the reservoir, splashing dirty water onto the hem of Kane's robe.

Kane frowned and flicked the water off his face. "We don't have time to play along with Ghost's melodrama."

He turned to the sink in the center of the bathroom, carved with a snake-shaped faucet. "The entrance is right here."

Dumbledore stepped forward slowly, his aged fingers tracing the bronze snake scales: "I need Parsleyan... I remember you said you could speak it?"

"I will say it, but it's not mandatory."

Kane took out a small crystal bottle from his pocket, inside which silver threads of memory swirled.

"Riddle's memories extracted from the diary. Just play—"

"Let me try."

Suddenly, Dumbledore spoke, and to Kane's astonishment, the headmaster let out a strange hissing sound from his throat.

The serpentine relief on the pool suddenly glowed green, and the entire pool began to rotate and sink, revealing dark pipes.

Kane nearly dropped his wand: "You speak Parsley?"

Dumbledore blinked. "I learned it during my archaeological work in Egypt in 1892. You know, dealing with the curse of mummies requires mastering several languages."

He peered into the pipe. "But I don't think we need to slide down like Tom did..."

He waved the Elder Wand, and a series of crystalline ice steps immediately formed on the inner wall of the pipe.

Myrtle peeked half her face out from the toilet rim: "Are you all going to your deaths too? I died without even finding my eyes..."

Kane suddenly turned around: "Did you see what killed you?"

"I only saw a pair of yellow eyes..." Myrtle's voice suddenly became dazed, "In...in the water..."

Dumbledore and Kane exchanged a glance.

The old headmaster asked softly, "Why were you in this restroom back then?"

"Olive Honbey is laughing at my glasses!"

Myrtle started crying again, "I said I was going to commit suicide and she ran away, then I heard a boy's voice... he said he was going to find someone to help him..."

Kane nodded and said, "Riddle tricked you into staying here to die."

He turned to the pipes. "We should go down."

As soon as Kane's dragon-skin boots stepped onto the first ice step, Dumbledore's Elder Wand was held across his chest.

"I'll go down alone."

The old principal's voice was unusually firm, and the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were no longer gentle. "These are the terms that were agreed upon at the time."

Kane's fingers tightened on his silver-blue wand: "Our agreement is to investigate the Chamber of Secrets together, Headmaster."

His voice was as cold as ice. "Or are you worried that I'll discover something I shouldn't be seeing?"

Myrtle floated above their heads, her sobs turning into curious whimpers.

Water dripped from the rusty pipe, making a crisp "drip-drip" sound in the silence.

Just as Dumbledore was about to speak, the bathroom door was suddenly pushed open.

Gilderoy Lockhart stood in the doorway, wearing that peacock blue cloak. His blond hair was no longer shiny, and his signature smile looked somewhat stiff.

"Albus! Thank goodness, you're really here! I've been looking for you—"

His voice trailed off, his gaze shifting between Kane and the open entrance to the secret chamber. "Merlin...you really found him..."

Dumbledore withdrew his wand: "What is it, Gilderoy?"

Lockhart's fingers nervously rubbed the handle of his wand. "It's like this... I received urgent news, um... the International Confederation of Wizards needs me to go to Vienna immediately for... uh... the Anti-Dark Magic Summit."

His eyes never dared to look into the depths of the pipe. "I might have to leave for a few days..."

Kane sneered, "What a coincidence, leaving as soon as the secret room opened?"

Lockhart's forehead was beaded with sweat: "This...this was all planned long ago! My fans—"

"Giddon," Dumbledore suddenly interrupted him gently, "since you're here, why don't you come down with us? Your experience with defense against the Dark Arts will be very helpful."

Lockhart's face instantly turned even paler than Myrtle's.

He took two steps back, his back hitting the broken mirror. "Y-Of course! But... I need to get some equipment first! My dragon-skin gloves and... and... my snake-proof goggles are in the office!"

Kane leaned lazily against the sink: "I can lend you a pair; they're in my pocket."

"No! I mean..." Lockhart's voice rose an octave, "It's specially made! Imported from Romania! I'll be right back!"

As he turned around, his peacock blue cloak knocked over the mop bucket, splashing water all over the floor. He didn't even bother to wipe it up; he practically fled in panic.

A series of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a thud and a painful groan.

Myrtle floated to the doorway and peered out: "He ran faster than a Niffler saw a Bowtruckle."

Kane looked at Dumbledore: "You still insist on acting alone? Even Lockhart senses the danger."

The old headmaster gazed into the depths of the tunnel: "Precisely because it is dangerous, it is all the more appropriate for me to go."

He turned to Kane, his voice suddenly turning heavy, "You know what's waiting down there, don't you?"

Kane's grey-blue eyes flickered. "There's a basilisk down there, and possibly other traps left by Voldemort. I suspect he opened the Chamber of Secrets last year."

Lockhart stumbled into the third-floor corridor, his peacock blue cloak catching on a candlestick on the wall with a tearing sound.

He didn't bother to check, his trembling fingers pulling a handful of gold powder from his pocket—a little trick he used to create a sparkling effect at his autograph sessions.

"It's time to show my true acting skills..." he muttered to himself, then suddenly hurled gold dust into the air, "Explosion!"

Guided by the magic wand, the gold dust transformed into a blinding flash, followed by a deafening explosion.

The armor throughout the corridor rattled and clattered, and several wizards in the paintings screamed and fled from their frames.

"Attack!" Lockhart yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice laced with just the right amount of terror. "The monster in the locked room is in the girls' restroom on the second floor! Run!"

His plan was perfect—take advantage of the chaos to slip away to the owl's hut, have the snowy owl deliver a letter to the publisher saying he needed an "emergency leave," and then Apparate away from England.

But the instant he turned around, a beam of red light shot from behind and struck his knee with pinpoint accuracy.