Chapter 77: The Third Attack

“Your memory is far better than I imagined, Gao Er,” Malfoy said. “There are indeed rumors that the Board of Governors strongly supports Professor Snape as the next headmaster—but now it seems that’s still far from certain.”

“We’ve been too calm for too long,” Malfoy concluded. “Let’s look on the bright side: if the first attack was a prank, and the second was Zhang Qiu’s countermove, then perhaps there won’t be any more attacks, and we won’t have to keep discussing the Chamber of Secrets—we can finally talk about magic instead.”

“That’s enough for today. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Cui Ge and Luna were the first to leave, followed by Ginny and Ivy.

Harry and Neville, playing Crabbe and Gao Er, stood dumbly in place. After several rounds of words churned in Gao Er’s mind, he finally spoke cautiously.

“By the way, Malfoy,” Harry asked, “weren’t we originally talking about Harry? Why did we end up forgetting him entirely?”

Harry had considered this strategy beforehand—it was meant to test whether Malfoy knew Harry was present.

“Now it seems Harry is merely Dumbledore’s pawn,” Malfoy said. “Once we understand the broader power struggles behind these attacks, the specific attacker and their methods don’t matter—we don’t need to concern ourselves with them.”

“But what about the innocent victims?” Harry couldn’t help saying. “Take Colin—he did nothing wrong and lost an entire semester. Do you think that’s fair?”

“That’s how society works, Gao Er,” Malfoy sneered. “You should thank me for encountering you—otherwise, I truly worry whether you and Crabbe could even survive in this school.”

In Gao Er’s confused gaze, Malfoy continued slowly. “True, Slytherins know better how to weave conspiracies, but Gryffindors have no sense of restraint when they play dirty. My father told me that in his year, a student was tricked by Gryffindors into contacting a werewolf and nearly died.”

“This Chamber is the same,” he said coldly as he walked out. Harry strained to listen, feeling Malfoy was about to reveal something crucial. “I’m almost certain Ginny opened the Chamber—she and Ivy both dream of killing Zhang Qiu.”

“Then why don’t you expose her?” Harry’s confusion was amplified by Gao Er’s intelligent tone. “If you already know.”

“Because it benefits us nothing, idiot!” Malfoy snapped. “Let that old bee go. Look at what he did last year—on the final day, he found an excuse to award Gryffindor a hundred and fifty points. Is that what a headmaster should do?”

Harry had originally thought Dumbledore’s decision was brilliant, giving Neville exactly what he wanted. But now, looking back, that impromptu point bonus must have enraged Slytherin greatly—even this mild version. If he’d openly declared that Neville had stopped Voldemort—the resurrection of your proxy—Slytherin would have hated him even more.

“Let Ginny keep attacking,” Malfoy said cheerfully. “Harry will never suspect her. Once Dumbledore is driven out and Snape becomes headmaster, our good days are coming.”

“I’m going to have my father write to Headmaster Snape,” Pansy began to fantasize. “Double the size of the dormitories—I think four to a room is still too cramped.”

“I still want to know,” Neville, as Crabbe, said, “how are you so certain Ginny opened the Chamber? I just can’t figure it out.”

“If I had opened the Chamber, that annoying Granger would already be in the hospital. If Cui Ge had opened it, Colin would be perfectly fine,” Malfoy said casually. “As for you two, I never suspect you—you couldn’t even find the Chamber if it stared you in the face.”

Harry clearly remembered the conflict between Malfoy and Hermione on the Quidditch pitch. He was right—if given the chance, Malfoy would have sought revenge against Hermione. As for Cui Ge and Luna, Harry could see they were lost in their own worlds and wouldn’t attack an unrelated Colin. Eliminate the impossible, and what remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

Perhaps Malfoy’s conspiracy was simple: the answering diary knew how to open the Chamber. He only needed to let it circulate and leave the rest to fate. In fact, their current plan was nearly successful—the Ministry and the Board of Governors were cooperating to undermine Dumbledore, giving Voldemort ample time to lay his plans outside the school.

“I need to go to the kitchen,” Harry said. He felt the Polyjuice Potion’s effect was wearing off—he needed to find a way to escape.

Malfoy snorted in dismissal, granting permission.

After walking a short distance, Harry suddenly felt his mind clear. He glanced sideways and saw Neville had already returned to his true form.

“Harry, do you think Malfoy figured it out?” Neville asked.

“He must have noticed Ron,” Harry recalled Malfoy’s expression. “He saw an extra butt print in the dust on the table—he realized someone invisible had been sitting there. He assumed it was me, so he was hinting at me.”

“You mean—?”

“I think he didn’t realize we used Polyjuice Potion, so he told us some truths,” Harry said. “Let me break it down for you.”

“Voldemort did return, but not with the Philosopher’s Stone—he used my blood, which Quirrell tricked me into giving him last Halloween. The result may not have been perfect, but he still dares not announce his return openly,” Harry began, drawing from what he’d learned over the summer. “So Voldemort is secretly contacting former supporters. He needs to delay Dumbledore from interfering with his plans.”

“Meanwhile, because Dumbledore’s influence is too great, the Ministry also wants to weaken him,” Harry repeated the meeting’s conclusion. “So the Ministry has allied with the Death Eaters to set a conspiracy against Dumbledore at Hogwarts—even at the cost of innocent students.”

“The plan itself is simple: Malfoy brings the diary to school. The diary contains instructions on how to open the Chamber—and may even nudge students to do so,” Harry explained his thoughts. “The Chamber opens, Dumbledore is forced to face the Board’s onslaught, leaving him unable to monitor Voldemort’s activities outside.”

“Our job,” Harry sighed, “is this: since Dumbledore has bet on us, even if Ginny truly opened the Chamber, we must still stop her. This isn’t just a battle over the headmaster’s chair—it’s about whether we can contain Voldemort before he regains full strength.”

“I don’t think so,” Neville said. “We’re not Dumbledore’s decisive move—we’re just a casual pawn he played in his busy schedule. Even if the Death Eaters succeed and Dumbledore is driven out, it’s not terrifying. Doesn’t Dumbledore now have the freedom to disrupt Voldemort’s plans from outside? And if we solve the Chamber mystery after he’s gone, won’t he be able to return?”

“That makes sense,” Harry mused. “In fact, Dumbledore might be waiting for them to drive him out—so he can temporarily step down from his position to deal with Voldemort’s other schemes. And when we resolve the Chamber, he can return at just the right moment.”

“Exactly,” Neville said, gazing at Harry with deep meaning. “So we don’t need to rush to expose Ginny—let’s assume, for now, that she truly opened the Chamber. Because this is all part of Dumbledore’s plan.”

“Oh, speaking of Malfoy,” Harry remembered something he’d just realized but hadn’t yet said. “He probably didn’t fully understand the plan at first. But once he did, as he himself said, disrupting it wouldn’t benefit him. Still, perhaps out of conscience, he decided to subtly hint at me—so that Harry stops the subsequent attacks. That’s a good solution for both sides.”

“But I can’t figure out why he kept emphasizing that you’re a Parselmouth,” Neville’s gaze turned strange. “Could Harry Potter possibly have opened the Chamber?”

“I don’t know—but it probably doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “All I know is, it wasn’t me.”

They dragged Gao Er and Crabbe out of the cupboard again and placed them near the kitchen, pretending they’d fallen asleep from overeating, then slipped quietly back to their dormitory. Though they hadn’t caught Malfoy red-handed, Harry believed he was closer to the truth than ever.

If their analysis was correct, there was nothing to worry about regarding the Chamber for now—Harry could shift his focus to Avalon.

The very next day, on the last night before the Christmas break, Harry was returning to his dormitory from the library.

He absentmindedly stepped onto the stairs, then turned down another corridor—pitch black. The torches had been extinguished by a fierce, icy wind blowing through broken windows. Halfway down, he tripped over something lying on the floor.

When he turned to see what it was, he froze.

Justin lay on the ground, cold and stiff, his eyes vacant, fixed on the ceiling, his face twisted in utter shock.

Harry stood up. His breathing came fast and ragged; a buzzing hum filled his ears.

He looked around the deserted corridor—only a line of spiders crawled across the floor.