That night, Vincent Zhang closed his office door, confirmed the corridor was empty, and cast a Soundproofing Charm.
The charm was far more effective with his new wand.
The one cast with Gilderoy Lockhart’s old wand always leaked sound, like a window screen full of holes.
This one was airtight.
Artoria sat in the armchair, though she didn’t have a cup of tea in her hand this time.
She noticed the look on Vincent’s face.
When he was serious, she didn’t allow herself to be distracted.
“Speak,” she said.
Vincent sat behind his desk and organized his thoughts.
“First, I need to give you some background knowledge.
It’s about the greatest threat to this world.”
“Voldemort,” Artoria said.
“You’ve mentioned the name before.”
“Right.
Voldemort, born Tom Marvolo Riddle.
About fifty years ago, he was the most powerful and dangerous Dark Wizard in this world.
He started two wizarding wars, killed many people, and nearly overthrew the entire order of the magical world.”
“And now?”
“Eleven years ago, he tried to kill an infant.
The spell rebounded, and his body was destroyed.”
Artoria frowned slightly.
“Defeated by an infant?”
“The infant didn’t defeat him; it was an ancient protection spell cast by his mother’s sacrifice that reflected his Killing Curse,” Vincent explained.
“That infant was Harry Potter.”
Artoria was silent for a moment.
“So the scar on Potter’s forehead—”
“Was left there that night.”
Artoria nodded and didn’t press further.
She processed information quickly.
“Voldemort’s body was destroyed, but he didn’t die,” Vincent continued.
“Because he created something called a ‘Horcrux.'”
“A Horcrux?”
“It involves tearing the soul apart and sealing a fragment within an object.
As long as the Horcrux exists, his soul cannot perish.
Even if his body is destroyed, his soul remains, and he can be resurrected through specific means.”
Artoria’s expression shifted.
It wasn’t surprise; it was disgust.
“Tearing the soul,” she repeated, her voice low.
“Such methods…”
“Repulsive, I know,” Vincent said.
“And he didn’t just make one.
He made several.”
Artoria said nothing, but Vincent noticed her hand tighten on the armrest of the chair.
“Now for the main point.” Vincent took a deep breath.
“One of Voldemort’s Horcruxes is a diary.
He made it fifty years ago while he was still a student at Hogwarts.
This diary possesses a degree of autonomy; it can communicate with people, and—”
He paused.
“—it can control those who come into contact with it.”
Artoria’s gaze sharpened.
“Who has the diary now?”
“A first-year student,” Vincent said.
“Ginny Weasley.
Ron’s younger sister.”
The office fell silent for about three seconds.
“We go and take the diary now.” Artoria stood up.
Vincent raised a hand, signaling for her to sit back down.
“We can’t.”
“Why not?” Artoria’s tone dropped a degree in temperature.
“An eleven-year-old child is being eroded by a soul fragment, and you want me to sit idly by?”
“I didn’t say we’d do nothing.
I said we can’t just take the diary right now.”
“Reasons.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.
Vincent knew this conversation would be difficult, but he hadn’t expected it to be this taxing.
There was something in Artoria’s eyes he rarely saw—not anger, but something deeper.
The instinct to protect the weak.
the instinct of a King.
“First,” Vincent tried to keep his voice calm, “I have no logical reason to know the diary exists.
If I suddenly approach a first-year student to confiscate her private property, everyone will ask—how did you know?
Dumbledore will be suspicious, Snape will be suspicious, and even Ginny herself will be terrified.”
Artoria didn’t sit down, but she stopped moving toward the door.
“Second, this diary is Voldemort’s Horcrux.
Destroying a Horcrux requires specific means—Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, or the Sword of Gryffindor.
I have none of those right now.
Even if I got the diary, I couldn’t destroy it immediately.”
“Third—” Vincent hesitated but decided to say it.
“The diary will trigger the ‘Chamber of Secrets’ incident.
There is a Basilisk inside the Chamber, a massive serpentine magical creature.
Voldemort opened the Chamber fifty years ago, and this time, he will use the diary to control Ginny to open it again.”
“The gaze of a Basilisk can kill.
If you look it directly in the eye, you die on the spot.”
Artoria’s hand moved to her waist.
Petrification isn’t fatal and can be reversed with a Mandrake Restorative Draught.”
Vincent looked at Artoria.
“In the original story, no one died.
A few students and a cat were Petrified, but all were eventually cured.
Harry Potter killed the Basilisk in the Chamber, destroyed the diary, and saved Ginny.”
Artoria slowly sat back down.
Her expression was still cold, but logic was regaining control over her emotions.
“What is your plan?” she asked.
“Let the events unfold, but control the level of harm,” Vincent said.
“There were two reasons the Chamber of Secrets incident went out of control in the original timeline.
First, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor back then was Lockhart, a useless fraud.
Second, no one knew about the Basilisk beforehand.”
“Now both of those conditions have changed,” Artoria noted.
“Exactly.
I know the Basilisk’s location—it’s in the secret tunnels beneath the second-floor girls’ bathroom.
I know its weakness—the crowing of a rooster is fatal to a Basilisk.
I also know where the entrance to the Chamber is—it’s on a tap in that bathroom, and it requires Parseltongue to open.”
“Parseltongue?”
“The language of snakes.
The ability to communicate with them.
Voldemort has this gift, and so does Harry—because Voldemort accidentally transferred part of his power to him on the night he tried to kill him.”
Artoria’s brow furrowed deeper.
“You mean this child also carries a piece of Voldemort within him?”
Vincent nodded.
Artoria remained silent for a long time.
“The Dark Arts of this world…
are far more sinister than I imagined,” she finally said.
“Yes.”
“Then how do you plan to control the damage?”
Vincent pulled a piece of parchment from his drawer, covered in notes he had compiled over the last few days.
“Step one: secure roosters.
Hagrid has roosters in his coop.
In the original story, those roosters are killed by Ginny under the diary’s control—because Voldemort knows their crowing is the Basilisk’s weakness.
I need to protect those roosters in advance or get a few others and hide them away.”
“Using a rooster against a Basilisk.” Artoria’s expression was subtle.
“That weakness is…
remarkably humble.”
“Magical creatures are like that.
The more ancient the creature, the stranger the weakness.”
“Continue.”
“Step two: take preventative measures in the areas the Basilisk frequents.
I can’t seal the Chamber entrance—that would alert the soul fragment in the diary.
But I can place mirrors in the corridors.
The Basilisk moves through the plumbing system; if a student encounters it in the hall and sees its eyes through a mirror, they will only be Petrified, not killed.”
“Step three: closely monitor Ginny Weasley’s condition.
The diary will gradually drain her life force.
When her health visibly deteriorates, it’s the signal that the Chamber is about to be opened.”
“Step four: after the Chamber is opened, you and I will enter directly to deal with the Basilisk.
We won’t let Harry take the risk—he’s only twelve.”
Artoria listened to the entire plan.
“I have one question,” she said.
“What is it?”
“You said the Basilisk’s gaze is lethal.” She looked Vincent straight in the eye.
“How do you plan to fight it without looking at it?”
Vincent gave a small smile.
“That is where you come in.”
Artoria raised an eyebrow.
“The Basilisk has a deadly gaze, but fundamentally, it’s still a snake—an exceptionally large one.
Its body isn’t indestructible; it just has thick skin that ordinary spells can’t pierce.”
Vincent looked at Artoria.
“But you have Excalibur.”
Artoria was silent for a second.
“You want me to fight a giant serpent with my eyes closed.”
“With your combat instincts and sensory abilities, fighting with your eyes closed shouldn’t be an issue, right?”
Artoria paused for another second.
“It is not an issue,” she said, her tone as calm as if they were discussing what to have for lunch.
Vincent breathed a sigh of relief inwardly.
To anyone else, the plan of “fighting a lethal giant serpent with your eyes closed” would sound like madness.
But Artoria Pendragon was not just anyone.
She was the King of Knights who had ruled Britain and defeated countless formidable foes.
A snake, no matter how large, was merely prey before her.
“But I have one condition,” Artoria said.
“What is it?”
“Before the incident occurs, I want to participate in monitoring Ginny Weasley.”
“Of course.”
“If her condition worsens to a dangerous level, I will not wait for your orders.
I will act immediately.”
Vincent looked at her.
It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a notification.
“Fine,” he said.
“If you judge the situation to be an emergency, you have the authority to act on your own.”
“One more thing,” she said.
“Yes?”
“That diary—the soul fragment resides in the object and drains life force by communicating with people.”
“Right.”
“In my time, there was something similar,” Artoria’s voice dropped low.
“Cursed relics.
They would latch onto those who touched them and slowly erode their will.
The solution was to sever the connection between the person and the relic—not physically, but mentally.”
Vincent blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“If we can make Ginny Weasley stop depending on that diary mentally—for instance, by ensuring she has enough friends and enough people to trust—the diary’s control over her will weaken.”
Vincent stared at Artoria for several seconds.
He hadn’t considered this approach at all.
In the original story, a major reason the diary could control Ginny was that she was very lonely during her first year at Hogwarts.
She had a crush on Harry but was too shy to speak, her brothers all had their own social circles, and she felt lost in the new environment.
The diary stepped into that void and became her only “friend.”
What if Ginny wasn’t that lonely?
What if she had enough support around her?
The diary wouldn’t be completely neutralized—it was a Horcrux, after all, with powerful magic.
But the speed of its control would slow down, giving them more time to react.
“You’re right,” Vincent said.
“That’s an excellent line of thinking.”
“Basic strategy,” Artoria said.
“In Camelot, we handled cursed knights the same way—strengthen their will first, then deal with the curse itself.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair and re-evaluated his plan.
Protect the roosters, place mirrors, monitor Ginny, and intervene directly when necessary.
Combined with Artoria’s suggestion of “strengthening Ginny’s mental defenses”—
This plan was far better than the passive response in the original books.
But variables still existed.
The butterfly effect was unpredictable.
His presence had already changed many things—Ron’s wand, Harry’s tutoring, Neville’s physical training, the letter from Lucius.
Every change could cause the plot to deviate.
Would the Chamber incident still happen according to the original timeline?
Would Ginny still open the Chamber for the first time around Halloween?
He didn’t know.
He could only make the best preparations possible and adapt as things unfolded.
“That’s all for tonight’s briefing,” Vincent said, stretching.
“We start execution tomorrow.”
Artoria stood up.
“I am going to do a patrol.”
“A patrol?”
“To check the castle’s security.
If the entrance to the Chamber is in the second-floor girls’ bathroom, I need to familiarize myself with the terrain in that area beforehand.”
Vincent thought for a moment.
“A ghost lives in that bathroom,” he reminded her.
“Moaning Myrtle.
She cries easily, talks a lot, and is a massive gossip.
Don’t let her corner you.”
“I am not afraid of ghosts.”
“I know you aren’t.
What I’m afraid of is her asking you questions and then spreading your answers across the whole school.
Gossip travels faster through the ghost community than by owl.”
Artoria considered this and nodded.
“I will be careful.”
She reached the door and paused.
“Master.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for informing me of these matters in advance.”
Vincent was taken aback.
“For what?”
“In the Holy Grail War, you often took all the thinking and planning upon yourself, unwilling to let me share the burden.” Artoria didn’t turn around.
“I am glad you were willing to consult with me this time.”
She stepped out.
The door closed softly.
Vincent stared blankly at his empty office for a while.
Artoria Pendragon had said, “I am glad.”
Three simple words.
Coming from the King of Knights, that was probably the equivalent of a normal person hugging you and sobbing with gratitude.
Vincent rubbed his face.
Alright then.
It seemed he should consult her more often in the future.
He looked down at the notes on his desk and added one more line at the very bottom:
Step Five—Help Ginny Weasley make more friends.
Then he added a note in parentheses next to it:
(Ask Hermione)
Gryffindor girl social networks were best handled by a Gryffindor.
Vincent put away his notes and blew out the candle.
Outside the window, the Hogwarts night sky was quiet.
But beneath that silence, something was waking up.
A diary.
A serpent.
A storm that had not yet begun.