Chapter 21

A/N: Thanks for all of your kind reviews! Please, please, please continue to review as you read it, even if it's a short one-word review! I cherish each review that I get (well, the nice ones as well as those that provide constructive criticism), and they really keep me motivated to continue writing this story. Anyway, thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"Is the coast clear?" Ron asked as he hid behind a decorative statue in the hallway.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Ron — I'm pretty sure the second year Slytherins have Herbology right now — so your chances of getting hexed by a pissed off Draco Malfoy are very slim right now," Harry reassured him. "Though — once you do inevitably encounter him — you better hope that I'm there with you — that way he'll primarily direct his anger towards me — since I was the one who suggested he get private lessons on fame from Lockhart," Harry snorted, still proud of himself for pulling off what he considered to be a brilliant prank.

Though Ron was still pale with fear, he cautiously stepped out from behind the statue and joined Harry, Neville, and Hermione as they headed towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

As the four Gryffindors took their seats, Harry whispered to Hermione, "I know you don't want to believe that your beloved celebrity crush could be a fraud — but this lesson will prove it. My dreams tell me that he's going to stupidly lose control of a bunch of Cornish Pixies due to his incompetence — then flee the room in panic, leaving you and I to solve the problem."

Hermione rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Lockhart's books detail his successful battles against some of the most lethal dark creatures in existence — there's no way he'd be unable to handle a creature as basic as a Cornish Pixie — don't be ridiculous, Harry," she admonished.

"Your reasoning behind your thinking would be sound if the achievements in his books were his own — and not the plagiarized words and feats of various accomplished wizards that he's Obliviated," Harry reminded her.

"Stop with the conspiracy theories, Harry," Hermione scoffed. "There's no way someone as successful as Lockhart could pull a stunt like that without being found out. Besides — performing a Memory Charm strong enough to withstand long periods of time without further reinforcements takes a lot of skill. I doubt the 'imcompetent fraud' in the false narrative that you are writing would be able to achieve not just one, but a multitude of successful long-term Memory Charms on wizards and witches across the world."

"While it pains me to admit it — though Lockhart is imcompetent in virtually every single branch of magic — he is adept in the art of Memory Charms. My guess is that his strong desire for fame gave him the push he needed to extensively study and master methods to Obliviate people. Even the most inept excuses for wizards have areas they excel — or at least — don't completely suck at," Harry reasoned.

Hermione shook her head at him and huffed loudly in annoyance. "Rubbish — that's absolute rubbish, Harry," she insisted stubbornly.

Shrugging, Harry replied, "whatever — you'll eventually find out that I was right all along — just like I always am."

Before Hermione could continue singing Lockhart's praise in a futile attempt to convince him he was wrong about the fraudulent author, the fraud in question cleared his throat loudly from the front of the classroom to gather the attention of the students.

Lockhart flounced through the rows of desks and flashed his signature smile at his pupils. As Lockhart strutted past the area where Harry and his friends were seated, he picked up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls, flipping it open so his portrait on the inside cover was showing, and held it up for everyone to see.

"As you all can see, due to my status as a world-renowned author, our textbooks for this class are written by none other than — you guessed it — yours truly," he boasted as he flashed the class a wink, pointing at himself pompously.

"I can't believe you're in love with this arsehole," Harry heard Ron mutter to Hermione. "You and my mum are both mental," he added, shaking his head.

"Shut up, Ronald," Hermione hissed, a tinge of red present on her cheeks.

"Why — are you mad that I'm distracting you from hearing your lover's speech? Don't worry — I don't think he's sereneded you yet," Ron teased. "He's probably too self-absorbed to even consider proclaiming his love for anyone but himself, anyway."

The tinge of red on Hermione's face darkened as she scowled at Ron. Though Hermione didn't riposte verbally, she managed to get her point across by kicking Ron in the shin from under the table.

"Ow! Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron exclaimed loudly as he bent down to rub his leg. His outburst caught the attention of all the students present in the classroom, and Ron's face burned bright red with embarrassment as everybody turned their eyes towards him with curiosity.

On the other hand, Lockhart seemed too entrenched in his encomium for himself to notice Ron's loud exclamation.

"— Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin,Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award — but I won't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her, after all!" Lockhart joked as he winked again.

Following an awkward silence as Lockhart waited for everyone to laugh, there were a few half-hearted scattered laughs throughout the room.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —" As Lockhart's eyes landed on the empty desk in front of Harry, he paused abruptly as a frown replaced the flashy smile on his face.

"Is there a problem, Professor Lockhart?" Harry inquired.

"I noticed that you have not brought your textbooks with you for this class, Mr Potter. Have you forgotten them in your dormitory? Or perhaps there was a shortage at Flourish and Blotts and you were unable to obtain the required course materials. If that's the case — I completely understand the frustration you must have — to be denied the pleasure of reading my harrowing, innovative publications due to a supply shortage. Not that I blame Flourish and Blotts, of course — the demand for such great writing is too high to keep up with," Lockhart theorized sententiously.

"No — the reason why I don't have any textbooks with me — is simply because I didn't buy any of them — not that the unbelievable, fanatical accounts of your alleged life experiences can even qualify as 'textbooks' in my humble opinion," Harry candidly replied, enjoying the dumbfounded expression etched on Lockhart's face.

Rather than dignify Harry's insulting assessment with a response, Lockhart turned away from Harry's intimidating gaze and changed the subject. "As I was saying before, we shall begin with a quiz," he said as he began passing out the test papers before returning back to the front of the room. "You have thirty minutes — start —now!"

"Let's see what load of cock and bull Lockhart's put together for us," Harry muttered to himself as he glanced down at his paper.

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

I don't know, probably something obnoxious and attention-seeking like neon orange.

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

To obliviate every accomplished wizard across the globe and take credit for the magical creatures they've vanquished. The secondary part of this ambition entails Lockhart plagiarizing said accomplished wizards' manuscripts and research papers to erase doubts of his falsified feats from the plethora of wizards who wonder how a blubbering idiot like Lockhart could defeat such formidable dark creatures.

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

Managing to hoodwink his brain-washed (mostly lust-driven straight female and gay male) fans into believing that all of his exploits have truly occurred, despite glaring inconsistencies throughout his published works.

Harry continued filling in snarky responses, sighing in relief when he finally reached the last question.

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

While I couldn't care less about his date of birth, I'd wager that his ideal gift would be another wizard's unpublished manuscript recounting the events surrounding their conquest of a mythical creature (obviously, said accomplished wizard would need to be Obliviated).

After Lockhart finished collecting the students' finished quizzes, he transitioned to the main lesson of the day — Cornish Pixies. The events leading up to Lockhart losing control of the creatures occurred exactly the same way they had last time.

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" Lockhart screamed in frustration, waving his wand wildly as the ear-splitting sounds of the Cornish Pixies filled the room.

Harry sat back in his chair comfortably as he munched on some buttered popcorn that he'd stashed in his robe earlier in preparation for the situation, letting out a few amused chortles as Lockhart ran across the room screaming as a Cornish Pixie tailed him closely.

"What did I tell you?" Harry said to Hermione. "He's exceptionally pathetic," he added as he pointed at Lockhart, who was now clutching his buttox and shrieking as a Cornish Pixie nipped his backside.

"I task you all with nipping the rest of them back into their cage," Lockhart grunted out as he ran to the exit, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron as a Pixie nipped him on the ear. "The moron lets these fucking buggeers go wild and after colossally failing to contain them — he runs away like a scared little girl and makes us do his fucking job!"

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience, Ronald," Hermione insisted. "It's quite obvious that the whole thing was an act — it's his brilliant way of testing our capabilities during a high-stress situation."

After one of the pixies pried the bag of popcorn out of his hands, Harry finally decided to step in, since the most entertaining part of the ordeal was over. He lazily pointed his wand at the pixies, casting several freezing charms wordlessly before easily levitating them all back into the cage.

"What the hell, Harry? Why didn't you do that earlier?" Neville complained.

Somehow during all the commotion, Neville had gotten stuck on the chandelier, hanging on by just his robe. Obviously, if Harry had noticed earlier, he would've come to Neville's aid immediately, and as such, he felt quite guilty about his failure to catch sight of his friend's dilemma.

After gently levitating Neville to the ground, Harry apologized profusely as he used magic to repair the rips on his friend's robe.

"So…basically, you could've stopped the problem at any time, but you chose to let Lockhart struggle because you love chaos?" Ron inquired incredulously as the four friends packed up and began walking out of the classroom.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Harry confirmed with a nod. "You have to admit — that shitshow was entertaining as fuck."

His three friends stared at him with disbelief, obviously not sharing his sentiment.

"You're insane," Neville declared as Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After serving detention with Snape that night, Harry made his way to the kitchen for a late night snack, since the time of his detention had fallen during the same time as supper in the Great Hall, much to the chagrin of Harry's grumbling stomach. While he could probably catch the end of the feast if he sprinted there, he elected to enjoy a peaceful meal of his choosing, courtesy of the hard-working House-elves instead. To his surprise, he wasn't the only student there. Luna Lovegood sat on the floor as she chowed down on a cookie, amicably conversing with one of the elves.

Just as Harry was about to verbally announce his arrival, Luna spoke up. "Hello, Harry Potter. I thought I might run into you here sometime — and I welcome your company, for you are one of the few inhabitants in this tower not overrun with a Nargle infestation," she greeted lucidly.

"Hey, Luna," Harry replied cordially. Not at all surprised by Luna's presence in the kitchens, despite the fact that many upper-classmen never managed to ascertain the location of the kitchens, yet here stood Luna, acting completely in her element and unphased by her discovery.

"A rather gruff-looking elf named Kreacher has been looking for you, Harry Potter. Apparently — he tried to contact you whilst you were in detention with Professor Snape — but the Potions Master thwarted any of his attempts to reach you — believing it to be one of your pranks," Luna informed him as she grabbed a cupcake that one of the elves offered her. "Thank you, Iggy," she said politely, smiling directly at the House Elf.

"Miss Luna no needs to thanks Iggy — for it is Iggy's job to keep Miss Luna and the rests of Hogwarts happy," the House Elf that Harry deduced was called 'Iggy' squeaked.

"Thanks for letting me know, Luna," Harry answered gratefully. "I'm sure Snape's antics scared the trouser's off Kreacher — well, I suppose in his case — pillowcase — seeing as House Elves don't wear clothes — and now he's too terrified to attempt to approach me again."

"Of course, Harry," Luna replied as her eyes wandered the ceiling.

"Kreacher!" Harry called out. "It's okay — you can come out now — Snape's horrifying face isn't here to hex you anymore!"

"Master Harry!" Kreacher wailed as he wrapped his arms around Harry hysterically. "Kreacher is so very, very sorry — for he has fails his task to you. After everything Master Harry has dones for Kreacher — Kreacher is ashamed to admit his failure. Would Master Harry like Kreacher to punish himself?"

"Calm down, Kreacher, it's okay," Harry reassured the overwrought House Elf. "And don't you ever, ever even think about punishing yourself ever again. You are my friend, Kreacher — and friends don't hurt each other — at least not on purpose."

"But Master Harry will not want to be Kreacher's friend once he has learns of what Kreacher has dones, sir," Kreacher sobbed.

"Kreacher — I want you to listen to me right now," Harry began as Kreacher nodded in acknowledgement. "Nothing short of murdering someone in cold blood will ever stop me from being your friend, okay? Why don't you start from the beginning, and we'll go from there. I promise you that no matter what happened — I won't be angry with you."

After some more incoherent mutterings engendered by the House-elf's lack of self-worth, Kreacher was finally able to inform Harry that while he'd been staking out the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in the girls' bathroom, he'd caught sight of somebody entering the chamber. Unfortunately, he'd been made just as he was about to Apparate to inform Harry of the person's identity.

"Okay, so you were found out…by whoever our culprit is…but not all is lost — at least you saw who it was!" Harry encouraged Kreacher.

Sadly, Kreacher shook his head. "Oh, great Master Harry, Kreacher is sorrys, but he cannot remember anythings after that. His mind is like a blank canvas every time Kreacher tries to thinks about the moment! Kreacher is sorrys for failings you, Master Harry," he wailed again.

"Kreacher…" Harry began as the gears began slowly turning in his head. "It sounds like you got hit by a Memory Charm…which means that whoever has the Diary is at least a sixth year. I think we can rule out all of the staff members, seeing as none of them would be gullible enough to fall for Riddle's trap — well, except maybe Filch — and he's a Squib — thereby rendering him useless as Riddle's pawn…" he trailed off thoughtfully.

"Master Harry, Kreacher promises to never lets yous down again! Kreacher will watch the toilets all hours of the days — Kreacher will not rests until he catches the bad wizard —" Kreacher began.

"Look, Kreacher," Harry interjected. "I am grateful for all you've done for me — truly — and let me make this absolutely clear that the next course of action I will be taking has nothing to do with your shortcomings — since none of what occurred was your fault. However, with this new development in the enigma at large — I cannot ask you to continue. If our culprit is powerful enough to perform a successful Memory Charm on you — it's too perilous for the state of your physical and mental well-being to carry on with pursuing the brain-washed malefactor."

As expected, Kreacher did not take the news well, believing that the true reason behind Harry relieving him of his duties was because of his deficiencies in the art of snooping. Finally, after nearly an hour of comforting the verklempt House-Elf, Kreacher finally seemed to understand that Harry held no ill will towards the elf.

"I swear to you, Master Harry. Kreacher wills not fails you again!" Kreacher declared before Apparating away with a POP!

While it appeared as though Kreacher would not be practicing the self-compassion techniques Harry had spent the last hour teaching him any time soon, his fears for the House Elf's safety were assuaged by Kreacher's assertion that he would no longer keep a weather eye on the entrance to the the Chamber of Secrets.

"Am I correct in my presupposition that you and Kreacher were discussing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?" Luna inquired a few moments after Kreacher's tearful departure.

Harry jumped in surprise. Luna had been so soundless during the duration of his exchange with Kreacher that he'd honestly forgotten about her presence.

Well, no point in denying it — for Luna inevitably figures out the truth behind every conundrum — it's destined to happen at some point, really.

"Yes, you are correct, Luna," Harry admitted.

"And your extensive knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets' whereabouts is derived from your knowledge of the future," Luna stated confidently.

"Well, yeah — I am a Dream Seer," Harry lied quickly.

Luna scoffed in disbelief. "Yes, and I'm a Nargle in disguise," she huffed sarcastically. "As if I'd be unimaginative enough to buy your hoax of a tale about being able to dream the future. How utterly preposterous, it saddens me deeply that no one else has discerned the obvious truth — you, Harry Potter — are from the future. Quite frankly, it worries me how the future of the world will fare when it's inhabitants are dim-witted enough to believe your pathetic parables in the art of nonexistent 'Dream Seering', no offense to you, of course. I admire anyone who is able to exploit the prosaic nature of the populace to their own advantage."

Harry's eyes widened, and splashes of pumpkin juice splattered the entirety of his immediate vicinity, his shock causing him to perform an embarrassing spit take. Of course, leave it to Luna to bewilder him, even after years of repeating his life had removed all traces of stupefaction from his brain — well, up until the current moment, anyhow.

"Wow, remind me to never underestimate your intellect again, Luna," Harry answered, still shell-shocked.

Before Luna could respond, they were interrupted by the sonorous voice of Sirius Black bellowing, "HARRY POTTER!" through Harry's two-way mirror.

Luna watched curiously as Harry grabbed the mirror out of his back pocket and greeted, "hey, Sirius."

As Harry glanced into the mirror, he discerned the presence of not just Sirius, but his parents as well. His eyes descried immense opulence as he took in the scene behind his parental figures. From top to bottom, the dwelling was covered in what appeared to be pure gold, and the furniture's design was clearly the result of no minor feat, as the intricately carved designs in the African Blackwood chairs and tables appeared to be custom-designed.

"Where the hell are you guys?" Harry wondered.

"Well — since I possess the title of 'Lord Black', I thought I might as well get around to disinheriting Bellatrix and all of my other evil relatives. I did keep Cissy after much deliberation, seeing as she seems to be coming around — albeit slowly — in her evil ways. Turns out — cleansing the family tree of all my ignoble kinsmen and kinswomen granted me access to a whole host of Black family heirlooms and properties I never knew existed. Apparently, this place is an old Black family property that has never actually been inhabited, which is why it doesn't look like Voldemort shat all over it," Sirius explained.

"What happened to you not wanting anything to do with your family's 'blood money' since they all disgraced you so horribly?" Harry inquired. "Because from my end of the screen, it looks like you're quite enjoying your newfound property."

"Don't be a killjoy, Harry! You have to admit — as far as Black family assets go, this isn't half-bad," Sirius riposted.

"Sirius, get your giant head out of the way so I can speak to my son!" James chimed in, playfully pushing Sirius aside, engendering Sirius to retort by sending a silent Shocking Hex at James. There was a loud sizzling noise as James yelped in pain before glaring daggers at Sirius.

"So — Harry, what mayhem have you caused since arriving at Hogwarts?" James asked eagerly. Besides, you know — the journey to the train," James added in a whisper, winking meaningfully at the mirror. "Lily still doesn't know," he hissed.

"I still don't know what?" Lily piped up suspiciously.

"Nothing!" Harry, Sirius, and James chorused with identical high-pitched voices.

"Mhmm…" Lily responded skeptically, raising her eyebrows at the boys' nervous glances at one another.

"Say, Harry," James butted in, promptly changing the subject. "Who's the beautiful dame you've got with you? You didn't get a new girlfriend, did you? Because I still have yet to give you 'the talk'! And there's a lot of shit to unpack in that arena — like contraceptive spells, birth control potions —"

Before Harry could turn any redder with embarrassment, he loudly cleared his throat to interrupt his father's sex education lesson — which, unbenownest to James, was long overdue, seeing as in the previous timeline, Harry had been married for nearly two years.

"I'm Luna Lovegood — and no, I do not nor will I ever wish to engage in sexual relations with Harry Potter," Luna answered blithely. "No offense," she added as an afterthought as she turned towards Harry.

If Harry hadn't been overcome with immense discomfiture as a result of the current subject matter of the conversation, he would've been amused by the flummoxed facial expressions his guardians wore in response to Luna's blunt candor.

In an attempt to escape the vilely inappropriate conversation at hand (especially considering the mental age difference between Luna and himself), Harry quickly cut the call short, spouting out some bullshit about making it back to the Gryffindor Common Room before curfew.

As Luna and Harry sauntered down the empty corridors in an enjoyable, companionable silence, their tranquil moment of quietness was uncouthly interrupted by the unmistakable hisses of a Basilisk.

"KILL! MUST FEED ON HUMAN BLOOD!" the Basilisk sibilated harshly.

"Do you hear that?" Luna asked, once again astounding Harry. "I cannot make out what she's saying — since I myself do not speak Parseltongue — but I can tell that she is in great agony."

Not quite comprehending everything Luna spouted in that moment, Harry blurted out the first question that popped into his bewildered mind. "How do you know it's a she?" he wondered.

"The inflections in her voice indicate a feminine speaking pattern," Luna stated matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes as though Harry had asked a both a ridiculously obvious and trivial question. "We should follow her voice — maybe we can find a remedy that will alleviate her pain without the need to terminate the lives of innocents," she suggested, pulling Harry along as she sprinted down the hall, his sequels of protest falling on death ears.

Luna let out a shocked gasp, the horror etched into her face atypical of the lucid, nonchalant expression she usually donned. "Look, Harry! Over there!" she shrieked as they turned a corner, pointing at an all too familiar sight.

On the shiny stone walls at the end of the corridor, ominous, large words shone brightly, practically protruding through the walls as the flaming torches that lit the hall emphasized the great pigmentation contrast between red-colored text and the silver walls. The blood used to compose the words dripped down the crevices of the stone bricks that composed the wall.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Harry and Luna curiously inched closer to the message, and upon further inspection, he noted the presence of a petrified mouse, frozen stiff as it laid afloat a large stream of water, likely a flood caused by yet another one of Moaning Myrtle's tantrums, seeing as they were mere feet away from the entrance to the bathroom she haunted.

"Shit, Luna — we should probably scram before anyone sees us here and accuses us of ungodly deed," Harry urged as he grabbed Luna by the arm.

Harry groaned at his misfortune, knowing that he would once again be found in a compromising position, as a large rumble indicating the end of the feast in the Great Hall, meant a horde of children and staff members were already on their way.

As if on cue, large throngs of students collided into one another as they gathered before the gnarly sight, with Harry and Luna were caught in center-stage, with no way to escape.

"Armand!" Zacharias Smith howled in distress as he elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. He wrapped the frozen mouse in his hands, and stroked it fiercely as tears streamed down his face. "Harry Potter murdered my pet mouse in cold blood!" he screamed as he lunged towards Harry.