The rainy night slipped away to the steady, rhythmic drumming of water against the castle's ancient stone walls.
By lunchti the following day, Sean spotted Harry and Ron returning to the Great Hall.
"I thought the weekend was supposed to be for good news... I didn't expect to be spending it polishing silver in the Trophy Room for Filch," Ron grumbled. He was holding a brand-new wand, but his face, which should have been beaming with joy, was clouded with misery. "No magic allowed—I had to do it all by hand!"
"I'd swap with you in a heartbeat," Harry replied listlessly. "I've had plenty of practice with scrubbing at the Dursleys. But replying to Lockhart's fan mail... that was a proper nightmare..."
As they spoke, Sean listened quietly, as was his habit.
Everything was proceeding according to his plan. Harry was about to start hearing the Basilisk's voice. It was at this mont that he would begin to understand the language of snakes and gradually realize the truth of his nature as a Parselmouth.
"Is that a new invention?" Hermione asked, leaning over to look at the object in Sean's hand.
It was a small, toad-like creature that shimred with a tallic, alchemical luster. It wore a pair of oversized, goggle-like lenses, giving it the appearance of a tiny, chanical aviator.
"Mmm," Sean humd in affirmation.
Given that Sean was... well, himself, Hermione didn't find it surprising that he had invented sothing new. Her only curiosity was what the little thing actually did.
Sean pulled out his "Project Map," and a specialized marker appeared on the parchnt, representing the toad. This was one of the features that distinguished his Project Map from the Marauder's Map. On the original Marauder's Map, the Chamber of Secrets was not marked; that was why Ginny's dot would suddenly vanish and reappear elsewhere.
To solve this, Sean had crafted these alchemical constructs, which he called Alchem-Toads.
Their primary purpose was to act as surrogates to test the effectiveness of his Refraction Spectacles. Considering that the Alchem-Toads might be classified as "inanimate objects," Sean had also packed a few small enchanted beetles inside them as a biological backup.
Once Harry discovered his Parseltongue abilities, Sean would be able to use the boy to gain access to the Chamber.
Of course, the utility of the Alchem-Toads didn't end there. They were essentially alchemical Swiss Army knives. They carried tracking buttons to relay their location to the Project Map, a miniature paper airplane chard to fly straight to the Headmaster's office in an ergency, and several "high-impact" biscuits designed to cause a massive distraction.
The Alchem-Toads were the final insurance policy in Sean's plan. If things spiraled out of control, all seven toads would activate their failsafes: stall the Basilisk and summon Dumbledore.
He had made seven because he only had seven chard paper airplanes.
I hope it doesn't co to that... Sean thought.
The afternoon bled into evening. At five minutes to eight, Harry reluctantly dragged his feet out of the warmth of the Room of Requirent and headed down the third-floor corridor toward Lockhart's office.
He gritted his teeth and knocked. The door swung open instantly, revealing a beaming Lockhart.
Unnoticed by either of them, a black cat remained perched in the deep shadows of the corner.
"Ah, here's the young scallywag! Co in, Harry, co in," Lockhart chirped.
The office walls were plastered with countless frad photographs of Lockhart, illuminated by the bright light of dozens of candles. Several of the photos bore his flamboyant signature, and a massive stack of fresh glossies sat on the desk.
"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as if he were offering a magnificent prize. "The first one is for Ms. Gladys Gudgeon—bless her—an ardent admirer of mine."
Ti crawled at a snail's pace. Harry endured Lockhart's incessant babbling, offering only the occasional "Mmm," "Right," or "Yes."
The black cat in the corner twitched its whiskers.
As the candles burned low, the cat's ears suddenly swiveled. It heard a sound—a voice entirely distinct from the crackling of the wicks or the droning of the two people in the room.
The cat looked toward Harry, who had just jumped in his seat. A large blot of lilac-colored ink had blossod across the address he was writing for a Ms. Veronica Sthley.
"What?" Harry said loudly.
"I know!" Lockhart said. "Six months at the top of the bestseller list! An unprecedented record!"
"No," Harry said, looking frantic. "That voice!"
"I beg your pardon?" Lockhart asked, looking confused. "What voice?"
"That—that voice that said—didn't you hear it?"
Lockhart stared at Harry with an expression of profound astonishnt.
"Whatever are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a bit drowsy? Good heavens—look at the ti! We've been here nearly four hours! I can't believe it—ti flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?"
Harry didn't answer. He strained his ears to catch the voice again, but it was gone. He walked out of the office in a daze, only for a figure to step out from a nearby alcove.
"You heard it too, Harry?"
A calm, grounding voice broke his spiraling thoughts.
"Sean! How did you—" Harry gasped, before his urgency took over. "You heard it too?"
Sean nodded.
"Oh, thank rlin. Then you must know..." Harry tried to mimic the sounds he had heard. He thought he was speaking English, but all that ca out was a series of sharp, low hisses as his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth.
He was so imrsed in the mory of the sound that he didn't even realize he was flicking his tongue like a serpent.
"How much of it did you catch?" Sean asked.
"Hiss-sss-sss..." Harry replied.
"Mmm. And how do you say 'Open'?" Sean guided him.
"Hiss-ss..." Harry repeated, looking confused.
"Right. I've got it. Take this," Sean said, pressing one of the Alchem-Toads into Harry's hand. "By the way, Harry... you weren't speaking English just then. It sounded much more like... Parseltongue."
Harry was left alone in the corridor. As he replayed the sounds he had made in his mind, he broke into a cold sweat.
The Girls' Bathroom, Second Floor.
Sean stood before the specific row of sinks.
"Hiss-ss (Open)," he mimicked, focusing his intent.
A mont later, the copper tap erupted with a brilliant white light and began to spin rapidly. Then, the entire sink began to move. It sank slowly out of sight, revealing the opening of a massive pipe, large enough for a man to slide into.
Five Alchem-Toads hopped into the dark abyss, one after another.
Outside, the rain continued to lash against the castle. Sean waited by the entrance, staring at the serpent etched into the tap, lost in thought.
His goal was to fulfill his plan while ensuring the school remained safe—to subdue the Basilisk, not kill it, in order to harvest the materials for his biscuits.
He knew for a fact that not a single professor would ever agree to such a reckless, hair-brained sche. Killing a Basilisk wasn't that difficult; a "Rooster-infused" biscuit would do the trick in seconds. But subduing it, especially under the watchful eye of Tom Riddle, was a different level of danger entirely.
The splintered soul of the modern Voldemort was insane, but the seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle was still that cold, calculating, and ambitious Heir of Slytherin.
"What are you doing?"
Moaning Myrtle poked her head out of a stall, watching curiously as Sean stroked the smooth, rounded head of an Alchem-Toad.
The Refraction Spectacles worked. This ant that the day Sean would have to face the Basilisk was drawing very, very near.
☆☆☆
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