Hello you all!

I’m on the road again, work and school keep sending me all over the place, so I couldn’t reply to some of the comments lately.

As I promised, by the end of the year all your doubts will be answered, including how Lockhart got the Diary, and where (and how) the Diadem found him. Yup, I worded that right.

The ending might resemble the original a bit, honestly, it does, but as I’ve said before, from the end of the third year onward, the changes will be major. So there’s that.

All in all, love you all, and thanks for the constant support!🫀🫀🫀

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“Oh, Gilderoy.” Cassian shook his head, almost impressed. “Why?”

The man standing before him, if he could still be called that, smiled faintly, as if pleased to be recognised. His posture wasn’t his own. The expression on his face didn’t sit right. There was no sparkling smile, no sudden heroics. Gilderoy Lockhart, for all his vanity, had always been approachable. This, this was something else wearing his skin.

Cassian’s jaw tightened, looking at the diary, “Well. That answers that.” He shifted fully in front of Harry, wand raised. “You look bloody ridiculous in that tiara, by the way.”

Lockhart tilted his head. His smile didn’t move, but something about it deepened, sharpened. “Cassian Rosier.” His voice was smooth. “We meet at last.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. “So you’re Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Lockhart, or whatever was sitting behind his face, tilted his head, lips twitching into a scoff.

Cassian gave a dry chuckle. “Or should I say Voldemort?”

Harry’s sharp gasp echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the snake-carved columns. Cassian didn’t turn. He kept his wand trained forward, the light trembling slightly as he adjusted his grip.

“So you figured it out,” Riddle said, too casual, as though everything that was happening was part of his plan. “Or was it the old goat who finally spilled his secrets?”

Cassian shrugged lazily. “I worked it out. Honestly, not the toughest riddle I’ve come across. Still… seriously, what’s with the tiara? Bit much, isn’t it?”

Lockhart laughed. “You still mock. How I hate you, Rosier! You and Babbling, both of you, always sneering, always thinking you’re cleverer than everyone else.”

Cassian stepped back, one arm sweeping Harry with him. “Look, the stupid Diary was just too easy to bully.” It slipped out before he could stop it, and frankly, he didn’t regret it.

Lockhart’s grin stretched wider. “Mockery. Is that how you mask your fear?”

“No,” Cassian said flatly. “It’s how I mask my utter boredom with wannabe Dark Lords playing princess.”

His eyes flicked to the diary in Riddle’s hand.

“So, what is your angle here?” Cassian went on, tone light, searching for an exit.

Behind Riddle, the serpent stirred again. Harry pressed in closer, fingers curled tight into Cassian’s robe.

Riddle didn’t blink. He stepped forward, “You don’t even understand what this is,” he said. He lifted the diary slightly. “This… is power. Memory, will, purpose. You’re standing in my legacy.”

“Your legacy smells like wet stone and snake piss,” Cassian said dryly. “And you’ve got a pet that’s one bad mirror away from a heart attack. Impressive.”

The basilisk let out a hiss, tongue flicking.

“Careful, Rosier,” the man answered, his eyes squinting, “You’re not half as untouchable as you pretend. You want to know how I got free, don’t you? Dying to hear how Lockhart stumbled across me?”

Cassian dragged Harry further back, making distance. “Not particularly. I’d rather skip to the part where I bash your smug face into the floor. But do keep going, it is at least entertaining.”

Riddle’s smile thinned. “This is far beyond your comprehension.”

“Of course it is,” Cassian said. “Please, do carry on stroking your ego. Maybe the snake’ll be too embarrassed to kill us.”

There wasn’t a flicker of humour in Riddle’s face now. His smile tightened. “Kill them.”

The basilisk surged forward.

Cassian grabbed Harry by the collar and yanked him sideways just as the serpent lunged. Its head struck the floor where they’d stood, shattering tile and flinging debris as shrapnel.

His wand whipped up. A shimmer of light flared, and a flock of glowing roosters burst into existence, wings beating and feathers flashing like they’d just clawed their way out of a cursed sunrise.

“Crow for me, lads,” Cassian muttered.

They did. Deafening. A wall of sound that hit hard, bouncing off the stone like a dozen banshees had joined the school choir. The basilisk reeled back with a violent jerk, coils tightening, head thrashing as it tried to get away from the noise.

“Shame your little murder noodle doesn’t like poultry,” Cassian called.

The basilisk recoiled fully now, scales rasping against stone, movements jerky and desperate. It smashed into one of the pillars, gouging a chunk from the side, but still kept pulling back from the sound.

Riddle raised Lockhart’s wand, his grip white-knuckled. “Avada Kedavra!”

The spell snapped out like a whip, bright and fast. Cassian yanked Harry hard, dragging them both sideways. The green jet tore past, so close it burned a hole through his robe. No time to swear.

They hit the ground, Cassian rolling to shield the boy. “Hide behind a column and don’t come out!” he snapped, pushing Potter towards the nearest column.

Another curse flared green.

“Stay down, Potter,” he snapped without looking back. “You pop your head out and I will hex you.”

Harry’s answer was a muffled, “Yes, sir.”

Cassian swore under his breath as a crack of magic lit the air again. He shoved himself up and rolled across the damp stone, flinging his own curse in return. It hit the column behind Riddle and showered him in chips of stone.

“Missed,” Riddle said coolly.

“Did I?” Cassian flicked his wand again, and one of the glowing roosters swooped straight at the basilisk’s head. The massive snake recoiled, hissing in fury as the bird’s screech battered its senses.

Riddle looked at the birds, eyes narrowing. “These are not illusions.”

Cassian chuckled. “Of course not. This is Avis.”

The basilisk thrashed, tail slamming down and sending a shockwave through the floor. Cassian staggered, boots sliding.

“You are really leaning on the snake, aren’t you?” he called. “Is that your whole strategy? Send the overgrown belt to do your work while you play dress-up?”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed. “You talk too much.”

“Comes with the job,” Cassian shot back, circling wide. He caught a glint of movement out the corner of his eye. Harry, crouched behind the column, fumbling with something in his lap.

A hat.

Cassian squinted. A blade flashed faintly as the boy dragged it free. A sword.

“Is that…?”

Riddle turned, sensing the movement, and raised his wand—

Cassian fired again.

The hex collided with the ceiling just above, and dust and stone rained down. Not enough to crush, but enough to obscure to cover.

Shaking his head, Cassian snapped his wand to the side. A phantom version of himself burst out in a sprint, robes flaring, boots slapping against the stone. The illusion dashed through the corridor like a man with a death wish, weaving left and right. Riddle’s curses crackled through the air, green light whipping after the decoy.

Cassian dropped low where he stood, coat brushing the wet floor as he muttered under his breath. “Tempestas Verto.”

This was an ancient knockback variant he’d unlocked last year, one he’d never had to use till now.

Air twisted in front of him, a brief cyclone tearing the damp chamber air into a spiralling force. Dust and grit shot up, whipping around the room with a guttural roar. Riddle staggered as the diary nearly flew from his hand, Lockhart’s borrowed body faltering.

“Let’s pry you two apart, shall we?” Cassian muttered. His wand sliced down.

The cyclone expanded in a sudden burst, a spiralling blast that caught Lockhart full in the chest. The force wrenched him back, heels scraping uselessly across stone. His fingers locked around the diary like claws, but the spell pulled harder.

The diary wrenched loose with a sickening tear of magic. It hit Riddle’s borrowed body square on. He let out a sharp gasp as he slammed into a column, cracking the stone behind him.

The diary tumbled end over end through the air, landing with a wet slap in a puddle at Cassian’s feet.

“Got you,” he said, crouching, grabbing the diary.

“Professor!” Harry’s voice cracked from behind the column.

Cassian hurled the diary straight at Harry. “Stab it!”

Harry fumbled with the sword, the blade glinting in the dim wandlight. He drove it down, hard, but the diary barely flinched. Ink oozed in a thin line, then stopped as if mocking them.

“It’s not working!” Harry between gritted teeth, panic slipping in.

“Well, try harder, Potter!” Cassian barked, stepping to the side as a flash of green screamed past his shoulder.

“Kill the boy. Now.”

Riddle’s voice came cold and sharp. The basilisk let out a shrill screech, the sound almost drowning the roosters still crowing above. Despite their cries, the beast began to move, its massive head weaving as it zeroed in on Harry.

Cassian cursed loudly and lunged forward. Another Killing Curse streaked across the chamber, slamming into a column where he’d been a second ago. Stone exploded in a burst of dust and shards.

“Bloody hell!” Cassian spat. “What the hell is that diary?”

The thing pulsed like it had a heartbeat, ink oozing sluggishly from the slice Harry had made with the sword.

Harry staggered back, chest heaving, the sword slipping in his sweaty palms. “It- it’s not dying!” he gasped.

“Of course it isn’t,” Cassian snapped, darting a look at the basilisk as it coiled, scales rasping against stone. “Nothing in this bloody castle ever dies easy.”

Before Cassian could bark another order, Harry’s jaw clenched. His eyes darted up at the massive serpent looming over them.

“Potter. Don’t do anything…” Cassian started, but too late.

Harry bolted.

“Potter!”

The boy’s trainers slapped wet stone as he sprinted straight for the basilisk’s gaping mouth. The blade gleamed, raised awkwardly high as the serpent lunged.

Cassian’s stomach lurched. “You absolute…”

The sword slammed upwards with a wet crunch, burying itself in the roof of the basilisk’s mouth. The creature shrieked, thrashing violently. Its jaws snapped shut on reflex, but Harry didn’t pull back fast enough.

There was a sickening crack as a basilisk fang punched clean through his forearm. Harry screamed, the sound raw and jagged.

“Shit…” Cassian shoved forward.

Harry dangled for a split second, pinned by his arm, before the basilisk reared back, trying to throw him off. The sword was lodged deep in its skull now, and the monster thrashed harder, scales ripping into stone pillars with a sound like tearing metal.

“Potter, hold on!”

Harry didn’t.

(Check Here)

I’ve learned timing from you, how to let meaning sit until it cools.

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