Hey guys~ Apparently this was a locked chapter, so there's no chapter title for this :))

Ah, btw guys, I just wanted to say - if you compared our translation to the original, you'd see that there are slight deviations; this is especially noticeable in this chapter. The plot and what's happening at the moment are still the same, of course; the changes are only trying to make certain phrases or paragraphs more impactful. Comment down below if you'd like it to stay this way, or if you'd rather us make it as close to the original as possible ^^


October 1943

Harry didn't hope for reversal.

Alright, fine, he did. He hoped that the child, in fear of Dumbledore and his presence, would stop searching for the Chamber of Secrets; he hoped that the child would suddenly remember his angry expression when he opened the Chamber of Secrets, and turn away from it. So maybe not reversal. Something erring on the side of… prevention.

But how could that be possible? Such thoughts, even Harry felt absurd.

But when he caught the dark-eyed teenager not far from the girls' lavatory, there was a ringing in his ears as two words screamed at him from the inside of his skull - too late.

What could Harry do? Face pale, he could do nothing but forcibly grip the Ravenclaw girl by her arm and whisper his warning with vehemence, "Don't. Don't go to the girls' lavatory on the second floor."

"Assistant Potter!" The Ravenclaw recognised the young man quite clearly; the girl with thick glasses screamed, the students around them unable to do anything but look.

Harry licked his chapped lips, his beautiful, bright eyes staring into the girl's; he lowered his voice, and warned her word-by-word, "Never go to the girls' lavatory on the second floor."

Myrtle Shirley felt it was very strange, but spooked by the young man's pale conviction, she quickly nodded.

But humans are such flawed creatures; the more forbidden the fruit, the sweeter the taste. Any warning, so long as the connotation of 'forbidden' is crowned before it, immediately seemed more desirable.

Myrtle Shirley was no exception.


October 31; Halloween, a Carnival of Festivity.

The costume-party was very lively, flooding the Hogwarts Great Hall with laughter and warmth; the heat breathed from the children's eager shrieks blanketed the hall and continued to cloak it in ambience as the bustling party gradually warmed up, almost like alcohol had fueled their brains.

But there would always be those who remain calm at this time, no matter how enthusiastic their facade appears or how they seem to merge with the laughing crowd; their souls would be out of touch with their body, sneering, watching, waiting for the best opportunity to take action, and ready to leave at any time.

"Mr Potter, I toast you for my cousin Charles!" No matter which country, no matter magical or muggle, they always liked to show their respect with wine. To Cygnus' toast, Harry was naturally unable to refuse. Of course, Cygnus drank fruit juice with a low alcohol percentage whilst Harry had a glass of mead in his hands.

In a blink of an eye, the glass of mead entered his belly.

"Harry, you're adapting pretty well, huh?" Old, slippery Slughorn raised his glass towards him and winked, "You're very fine; Tom's also very fine."

An elder's toast, though its purpose was a blessing, in this situation, came across as distasteful and unfortunately unavoidable.

Then, as if on cue, the professors all raised their arms cheerfully and toasted him repeatedly with good faith and mischief; the unbridled Gryffindors who got along well with him and loved to join in the fun were even more accommodating, each and every one of them wearing strange clothing as they walked up to him and stumbled over their congratulatory messages before excitedly watching him drink, making Harry feel dumbfounded.

They seemed to take pleasure in getting the newcomer drunk.

Was this a hoax?

Fate covered its mouth and chuckled, weaving its fingers, making the puppet rope quiver and the whole world tremble.

No, this was deliberately planned by some higher power. It will not allow history to change; when history's about to change, it'll make a stone appear under your feet to completely trip you over, and make all your previous efforts come to naught.

Tom looked at the already half-drunk and crimson-faced Harry seated in his staff seat, and the corners of his lips vaguely quirked up; he removed the ridiculous costume he wore to the party and its outlandish embellishments. Using the lively crowd as his cover, he stepped out of the Hall and closed the doors, sealing the noisy chatters within.

With the moonlight as his witness, the Slytherin smiled and unbuttoned the tightly bound neckline, walking step-by-step towards his coveted pride and joy; his source of power.

Fate loomed over its chessboard it's shadow casting a long line over its mortal player. With just a twist of its fingers, it could control the outcome of all its pieces; bishops, queens, and kings alike, it mattered not. They were all pawns in this game.

There was no fairness to be found here. There is no hope of victory. This was a rouse, a game set up by Fate!


Myrtle Shirley covered her mouth, choking on the cries about to overflow as she stood at the fork of the corridor, not knowing where to go. On her right is the path to her dormitory, but the girls who slept with her hated the sound of her crying the most; not only were they not comforting, they were instead keen on listening to her increasingly sad cries. On her left is the path to the bathroom she was used to visiting. The area was remote and quiet, and she could cry there with an absolute peace of mind.

"Never go to the girls' lavatory on the second floor!" She could still vaguely remember the young teaching assistant's warning, but more memorable still was his pale limestone complexion. But how profound those words were.

Could there possibly be man-eating monsters present?

Myrtle took off her thick beer bottles glasses, wiped at the tear tracks running down her cheeks, pursed her lips, and walked through the doors and into the familiar bathroom.

She didn't want to leave the party.

But Olive Hornby had ridiculed her in a loud voice, saying how she looked like a corpse that crawled out of an ancient tomb! She picked on her front teeth, the freckles on her face, her out-of-fashioned braids, her glasses that were thick enough to hide her eyes; she ridiculed her everything, as if she was some stain in her eyes, and criticised her severely, without even considering the fact that she was also a girl!

No girl would be able to stand this, not to mention the particularly sensitive and fragile Myrtle.

The more the girl thought about it, the more victimized she felt; so she finally ran to the bathroom, slammed the door closed, locked herself in a compartment, and began to cry fiercely.

Crying also exhausted her, and soon enough, Myrtle was leaning against the stone wall of her stall, tired from crying, and gradually fell asleep.


Tom entered the girls' lavatory, and rubbed the tap carved into the shape of a snake's body before taking a step back; his vocal cords vibrated, driving the surrounding air to vibrate with, and a hissing sound efferented.

The washbasin gradually spread out, revealing a thousand-year secret hidden behind the mirror.

Tom licked the corner of his lips; within his dark eyes, the pleasure of controlling power was compressed to the extreme.

This was different from the pretence of joy at the costume party; this was a pleasure similar to madness and shared the same name as ferociousness.

From the discovery of the Chambers to the present, it had been more than a week's time; it was enough for him to thoroughly explore the structure of the underground chamber, to find Slytherin's greatest inheritance, and for him to wake up and release his power!

Today, he wanted to release the Basilisk from the hole, and try using his power!

"Talk to me! Slytherin, the greatest of the Founding Four!" Tom had no intention of going down; he just stood by the entrance, chuckling as he muttered in Parseltongue. Although his voice was soft, once magic was used it could spread far away; so far away, even the Basilisk living in the Chambers could clearly hear it.

The Basilisk spat, and slowly stuck it's head out from the cave; its pair of yellow eyes were capable of making one shudder. Soon after, an appallingly long body came into view.

"Master." The Basilisk took the initiative to close its eyes; it could never hurt the successor of Slytherin.

*Fun fact (in case you guys don't already know lmao): The Basilisk is a female. I'll just keep the pronouns the author used tho.

"This really is… A perfect creature." Tom gazed almost obsessively at the smooth and hard draconian-like skin, his almost-scarlet eyes caused by his mood swings betting on the power he had dreamt of; he chuckled unconsciously, like an antique collector appreciating an ancient artefact, and lowered his voice in praise.

"Master, two days ago, a man opened the Chamber of Secrets." The Basilisk couldn't understand human language and truthfully recounted the anomaly from the previous two days. "He even went down to the Chamber. I hid in the mouth of Slytherin's statue; before I even came out, he'd left."

The Slytherin, who was originally in a good mood, made a dark expression; his eyes narrowed until his sight almost materialised. "Who?!"

"Someone with black hair."

He didn't even need to guess; black-haired and knew where the Chamber of Secrets was, among so many people to choose from, it could only be Harry from the future. But what made Tom narrow his eyes was… Harry, was a Parselmouth?

Nobody knew the stipulation of being a Parselmouth better than him - one needed the bloodline of Slytherin. If he could open Slytherin's chamber, it meant that he was a Parselmouth. Because he was a Parselmouth and from the future, that could only mean… Harry Potter was his descendant. But that's preposterous.

As Tom turned the thought over in his head, he grudgingly had to acquiescent. They did look somewhat similar, with the same black hair and lithe figure. If they were to put on the same clothes, probably nobody would doubt the idea of them being related by blood.

But it didn't matter. Regardless of blood restrictions, he was doomed to never escape Tom Riddle's influence. He was even a bit happy by this turn of events.

Though the world was so large; at this moment, only you and I carry the legacy of Parseltongue.

This unique series of events gave the twisted child a strange sense of satisfaction.

You see, this was irrefutable proof! Harry was meant to belong in the same world as Tom. Harry was always meant to be his. A twisted smile marred his otherwise handsome features. How could others, like Hagrid, even think to get involved?

To her great irritation, Myrtle was awoken by what seemed to be hissing, almost like a conversation. She wrinkled her pug nose, feeling incensed in the violation. "This is the girls' lavatory, go away!" She was almost certain that the one speaking was a boy. He had no business here! She threw open the door, her already-sour mood bleeding onto her expression. Her intentions were geared towards driving the boy out, but when the creaking of her stall door suddenly ceased, the last thing Myrtle Shirley saw was a large pair of yellow eyes.

Similarly, Tom never expected anyone to be hiding here at this time. Getting caught out of bounds was the least of his worries. Apparently, a student getting killed by the Basilisk before his very eyes provided for the most inconvenient turn of events.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, incensed. The usually calm and collected Prefect couldn't resist viciously cursing under his breath, blue veins protruding from the pale back of his clenched hands. "Damn it!"

That swine! He would have done her in if the basilisk hadn't beat him to it.

Tom hadn't expected such an event, and all because of an ordinary, weeping boor of a lass, he had all of this to deal with.

The Slytherin forced his breathing to slow in an attempt to calm himself down, his eyes which gazed upon the girl's corpse became cold.

This girl, making six years of effort come to naught!

Such an accidental loss, not even giving him the time to plan; this most certainly would bring a team of Aurors for extensive investigation. This could force him to stall his plans and lose out on his greatest accomplishment yet.

He didn't even have time to consider whether he could practice this power he just obtained. His current and most difficult task was now to wash away any suspicion that befell him. Harry may have predicted this situation's outcome, but thankfully he had no proof. Unfortunately, Dumbledore wasn't a naive fool either.

With a stormy expression, Tom stood beside the girl's lifeless body and kicked it pitilessly.

If it wasn't because of restrictions, he would have already thrown her into his cave so that she'd always be bound to him in the form of an Inferi, never to find peace. She didn't deserve peace, even in the afterlife. Useless thing.

Tom took a deep breath, blocked out all his excitable emotions, and began to think about possible follow-up actions calmly.

He had a rather large rapport and was already seen as trustworthy. If he were to suggest an alternate possible perpetrator, who would possibly suspect the truth?

No one. Outside of Harry and ever-suspicious Dumbledore, no one could even hope to guess. But he needed a scapegoat. Someone dispensable. Someone forgettable, not well-liked; an easy target, maybe. Someone Tom already hated.

The Slytherin's mind immediately called forward an image of a great lumbering idiot, one who's undeserving company was easily greeted by Harry's winsome smile.

Tom's eyes flashed, his sharp white teeth slicing through wicked lips in a mock smile.

Rubeus Hagrid, the half-blood menace.