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[Hogwarts] Ch 181: Penelope Clearwater Awakens
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 20:36:59 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
By the time Tom stepped out of the Headmaster's office, it was nearly noon.
Dumbledore had spent the morning talking about magical theory—enough that Tom walked away with plenty to think about.
To Dumbledore, whether in learning or in combat, one's mindset was always the most important factor. Magic shouldn't be rushed, and raw power wasn't the point. The best spell was the one that suited you, and above all, he valued love as a force. "Faith in what you cared about,'' he said, "could make you stronger."
That wasn't exactly wrong. From the start, Andros had hammered home how critical emotions were to spellcasting.
Love was one kind of strength, but it wasn't the only one.
So Tom only listened selectively. Dumbledore, Andros, even Grindelwald—they all had lessons worth hearing, but in the end, only he could decide what path to take. If he made mistakes, then he'd fix them later. Better that than being a puppet who just absorbed other people's philosophies without question.
"Tom..."
A soft voice called out from around the corner on the second-floor corridor.
Cho Chang appeared, walking with Marietta Edgecombe.
Seeing the direction they'd come from, Tom guessed immediately. "You went to check on Penelope Clearwater?"
"Mm." Cho nodded, her face heavy with worry. Marietta looked just as unsettled.
"We wanted to see her," Cho said. "But Madam Pomfrey won't let anyone in. We could only peek through the door. She looked like she was.....sigh"
"Like she was dead?" Tom finished for her.
Both Cho and Marietta froze, their expressions tangled with irritation and embarrassment. Did he have to be so blunt? They'd stopped talking precisely because they didn't want to use that word.
"Riddle, you really have a way with words," Marietta muttered, half laughing out of exasperation.
"You're focusing on the wrong part," Tom said calmly, shaking his head. "I emphasized the like. She isn't dead. Clearwater will be fine in a few days. Don't let this get to you."
The reassurance wasn't just for them. All of Ravenclaw was on edge. Their house had been the target of the attack, and worse—it had been one of their prefects.
"But the culprit still hasn't been caught," Cho said, her voice small. "What if it happens again?"
Tom could hardly blame her. They were just teenage girls. Faced with something that could kill, fear was natural.
Still, he didn't think they had much to worry about.
The Founders' enchantments had always protected the castle, especially the students. In all of Hogwarts' thousand-year history, the number of students who'd actually died inside the school could be counted on two hands.
Even in the "original" sequence of events, the basilisk had attacked four or five times this year. Not one student had been killed—all were only petrified.
Were they all ridiculously lucky? Hardly.
The truth was, Salazar Slytherin's order to the basilisk had never been to kill. And the castle's magic offered its own protection.
Moaning Myrtle had just been the unluckiest exception. She'd been crying alone in the bathroom when the basilisk was first awakened—still groggy, barely under Voldemort's control—and died in the crossfire.
Now, with Voldemort only manipulating events through a diary, his grip on the basilisk was even weaker. But It won't kill.
Of course, none of this could be explained to Cho. She'd never believe it.
Instead, Tom decided to comfort them another way.
With a flick of his hand, he conjured two necklaces. Each held a small iron pendant.
"What's this?" Cho asked, curious.
"Protective charms I made. They ward off curses. If you're in danger, the iron plate will crack. Once it shatters, it's used up."
In truth, they were just tools that could block the basilisk's gaze—but "amulet" sounded much more reassuring.
"I get one too?" Marietta's eyes lit up.
"Of course. Friends share." Tom handed one to each of them.
Yes, this was the same Marietta who would one day betray Dumbledore's Army to Umbridge. But Tom didn't hold that against her.
Umbridge had threatened her parents' jobs. Any seventh-year would understand what that meant. To sacrifice your family's future for a bit of schoolyard loyalty—that would've been the real stupidity.
Tom also hadn't missed her backing Cho up earlier. A friend that loyal was worth keeping close.
The girls thanked him and slipped the necklaces on immediately.
...
In the days that followed, rumors about the Chamber of Secrets spread like wildfire.
Every copy of {Hogwarts: A History} in the library was checked out, students desperate to uncover some hidden clue.
And after one of Hermione's pointed questions in History of Magic—and Professor Binns' unusually sharp answer—the gossip became even more intense.
The "Heir of Slytherin," it was said, would purge the school of those unworthy to study magic.
Slytherin House, already isolated, now found itself treated like pariahs.
And within the house itself, students were just as confused. Who was this supposed Heir? What kind of criteria had the Founder left behind?
Several pure-blood families became the center of suspicion—Malfoy, Rosier, Avery...
But each of them swore up and down they had nothing to do with it. None of them had opened the Chamber, and they wanted no part in it.
This wasn't admiration—it was framing. If Tom decided they were the Heir and came after them, who would save them then?
Two days ago, a fifth-year named Flett mocked some of the Muggle-born Hufflepuffs for being so skittish. He even tossed out a word he definitely shouldn't have.
Yesterday, his mouth twisted sideways, his limbs went rigid, and he was carted off to the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey diagnosed it as a curse. Whether he stayed there or was sent to St. Mungo's, he'd be bedridden for two weeks.
A curse?
Plenty of people had overheard Tom correcting Dumbledore's remarks the other day.
But no one dared suspect him. If anything, they figured Flett had just insulted the wrong person and paid for it.
---
"Tom, do you think Malfoy could be the Heir of the Chamber?"
Inside the Room of Requirement, Hermione hugged a heavy copy of {Hogwarts: A History}, curiosity written all over her face.
Tom shook his head. "From what I've observed, no. If Malfoy were really the Heir, he wouldn't be able to keep it quiet. With his brains and his arrogance? He'd be strutting about it. Yesterday he practically groveled at my feet to prove his loyalty."
"Malfoy as the Heir?" Daphne gave a derisive little snort. "If he were, the first one petrified wouldn't have been Clearwater. It would've been Weasley."
"Ron?" Hermione tilted her head, puzzled. "Why him? Wouldn't Harry be the obvious target?"
"No," Daphne said with certainty. "Weasley's the biggest obstacle between him and Potter. Get rid of Weasley and he'd have free rein to annoy Potter every day. Well, "annoy" is just another word for "wooing" here."
Tom tapped her lightly on the head. "You've been reading too much cheap fiction. It's rotting your brain."
Daphne stuck out her tongue playfully. Astoria just sighed, watching her sister's antics with a look of resignation. Honestly, her big sister was getting more immature by the day. Clearly, she was the more sensible one.
"Malfoy doesn't even have the time frame for it," Astoria pointed out. "At the feast that night, he was with his two goons the entire time."
"So who do you think it is, then? Which Slytherin?"
Daphne bit into a slice of cake and shrugged. "If you ask me, Tom is the most likely candidate. No one else even comes close."
Astoria nodded almost reflexively in agreement.
Even Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "Honestly… if nobody had been attacked yet, I might have suspected Tom too."
"..."
Tom stared at them flatly.
"Ahem..." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I heard Gryffindor's been hit hard with the flu." He changed the subject as if nothing had happened. "Half the house is coughing."
"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "Percy's been running himself ragged. Madam Pomfrey's medicine tastes awful, so most students won't drink it. Yesterday he practically forced Ginny to choke down an entire cup."
"Ginny? The youngest Weasley? She's sick too?"
Astoria cut in. "Her case is pretty bad. She's been zoning out in class, and even got scolded by a professor yesterday."
Tom's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'So the diary really did end up in Ginny's hands.'
— — —
Three days later
The Mandrake Restorative Draught was finally ready. Snape personally carried it to the hospital wing, and Dumbledore hurried over as well.
Neither of them, however, got to stay long.
"If you've got questions, ask tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, practically herding them out. "What the patient needs now is rest. She hasn't eaten in three days. Even with nutrient potions, her body's at its limit."
The professors could only leave, looking somewhat defeated.
The students, on the other hand, were overjoyed. The news that someone had finally woken up swept through the castle, lifting the heavy shadow of fear.
— — —
The next day
Tom was in Herbology when a breathless upper-year boy burst into the greenhouse.
"Professor Sprout—Headmaster Dumbledore wants Riddle, right away."
"I see," Professor Sprout nodded. "You may go, Mr. Riddle."
"Yes, Professor."
Tom packed his things and followed the boy out.
"Riddle, thank you for the mandrakes. Clearwater's awake now—and she's fine. No side effects at all." The boy's voice was full of relief.
He wasn't some secret admirer of Penelope, just another Ravenclaw. Watching one of his housemates struck down had shaken him badly.
Tom only smiled. "No need to thank me. Just make sure when people start ranking 'suspected Heirs,' you don't put me on the list. I'm really not."
The boy's expression went a little stiff—he hadn't expected Tom to know about that.
Every house had been speculating. Plenty of people knew Tom hadn't shown up to the feast that night, and with his talent, suspicion had naturally turned his way. His background was the only reason he ranked lower on the list.
"Well, I believe you, Riddle," the boy said awkwardly when they reached the infirmary doors. Then he slipped away.
Tom pushed inside.
The first thing he saw was Flett—still with his mouth twisted and eyes rolling, limbs jerking uncontrollably. The moment he spotted Tom, his pupils widened in terror, and he let out a garbled, muffled cry.
Tom didn't even acknowledge him. He just brushed past, pulling back the curtain to enter the ward.
Inside, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Snape were gathered around a bed.
Penelope Clearwater was awake at last. She was still pale, but alive—and that was what mattered.
"Ah, Tom. You've finally come." Dumbledore smiled warmly and beckoned him closer. "Miss Clearwater and Professor Flitwick both insisted on thanking you in person."
Tom stepped behind the Headmaster and gave a polite nod.
"Riddle, we truly owe you for this," Professor Flitwick said, hopping down from his stool to shake Tom's hand vigorously.
From the bed, Penelope's voice was soft but steady. "Thank you for the mandrakes, Riddle."
"Thank Mr Scamander instead," Tom said, dragging a chair closer. "He's the one who sent me the materials. Without him, you'd have been stuck here for the whole term."
"Now if I may ask... what exactly happened that night?" he asked.
Penelope frowned, frustration clouding her features. "I'm sorry. I really can't remember. I'd just come back from the courtyard. It was raining, and I was soaked through.
"I wanted to change clothes in the dorm before heading to the feast. That's when I ran into Mrs. Norris. She wouldn't stop following me. I was trying to shoo her away when suddenly this bright yellow light filled my vision… and then nothing."
"When I woke up again, I was already here."
.
.
.
