The Tenth Weasley - CH - 76

The chaos of the Chamber of Secrets had finally come to a bitter end, but the aftermath left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. Though the monster had been slain and the victims revived, there was one truth that weighed heavily on his chest—the truth that he had not been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets.

It had been Tracy Davis.

And yet, he was forbidden to speak it.

When Harry brought the matter to Dumbledore, expecting at last some clarity, some justice, he was met with an unexpected and unsettling response. Dumbledore, with his twinkling eyes dimmed and voice low, told Harry that revealing Tracy's involvement would do more harm than good. “She is a child, Harry,” Dumbledore had said gently. “Exposing her now would bring unnecessary ruin to her future. She was misguided, used.”

Harry stared at the headmaster with disbelief. “So was I,” he said coldly. “I was attacked. I was blamed. I was shunned by nearly the whole school. By the professors. By you. But none of you cared then.”

Dumbledore had no answer for that. He only sighed and closed his eyes.

The silence in the office was stifling.

Later, when the staff gathered to discuss the matter, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick both looked visibly ashamed. McGonagall’s lips were pressed into a firm line as she glanced at Harry, unable to meet his eyes for long. Flitwick wrung his hands quietly and gave a small, guilty nod. They remembered how they had watched Harry walk through the halls with suspicion in their hearts, how they had turned away when he passed, whispering with the rest.

“I am a Slytherin,” Harry said in front of them all. “But that never meant I was a monster. You all treated me like one anyway.”

No one objected. No one could.

In the end, Harry made his final demand. “I will keep Tracy’s name out of it. I’ll say nothing. But I want the Basilisk carcass. Every fang. Every inch of its hide. Everything.”

Some murmurs broke out in surprise, but Professor Snape, who had remained silently at Harry’s side throughout the meeting, finally spoke up.

“It already belongs to him,” Snape said, his voice clear and steady. “He’s the one who killed the beast. The school owes him that much.”

With that, the matter was closed. The staff gave their assent.

Harry didn’t bother staying for the end-of-term feast. He didn’t care for the hollow smiles or half-hearted congratulations. He had no desire to see the other students, no urge to walk those halls again—not now.

Dumbledore gave his blessing for Harry to leave Hogwarts ahead of the Hogwarts Express, and Harry accepted immediately. He had no friends to say goodbye to. Not one soul had stood by him during the dark days of suspicion and fear. And he no longer felt the need to stand around pretending otherwise.

He left the castle the next morning with the Weasleys by his side, his trunk packed, his owl quiet. Arthur held the Portkey while Molly pulled him into a warm hug, whispering, “You’re safe now, dear. We’re taking you home.”

They returned to the Weasley Manor, where green fields and quiet magic welcomed them with open arms.

The Potters had also decided to leave early, taking their children, Charlie and Rose, along with them. Neville Longbottom, still shaken but proud, traveled with the Potters. He too had found no reason to remain behind.

As the group disappeared in a shimmer of magical light, Harry took one final glance at the towering spires of Hogwarts.

Let Dumbledore deal with the mess, he thought.

He was done.


For the first time in a long while, Harry felt at ease.

The Weasley Manor was nothing short of a sanctuary. Its walls, warm with magic and memories, offered Harry the comfort Hogwarts had so thoroughly denied him over the past year. Towering bookshelves filled with old tomes, worn novels, and forgotten magical texts lined the reading room, and Harry devoured them with quiet enthusiasm. Here, he could read for hours without glares or whispered rumors. Here, he could practice spells in the wide, open garden without eyes watching for signs of darkness.

Here, he was safe. Wanted.

Letters had begun arriving soon after his return—some addressed in fine script, sealed with expensive family crests. Two in particular were from Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass.

Harry stared at them for a long time as they sat unopened on his desk. He didn’t need to read them to know what they said.

They had always known.

It was clear Harry had not been the Heir of Slytherin, neither Blaise nor Daphne supported him to the end of the line. They had known the truth and remained silent because aligning with Harry during the storm would have been inconvenient. Dangerous. Uncomfortable.

Harry didn’t bother with a reply.

He lit a match.

The wax seals melted. The parchment curled. The flame consumed the fine script in seconds. Harry watched silently until only ashes remained.

When Blaise and Daphne tried to reach him through the Floo Network, hoping to fluke into the Weasley Manor to speak in person, they were met with hard stone and silence. Harry had blocked them. The fireplaces of the Zabini Estate and Greengrass Manor were no longer connected to the manor’s network. Their messages never came through again.

And life, without them, was surprisingly good.

Charlie Weasley and Bill arrived a few days later, both grinning and ruffling Harry’s hair like older brothers who were proud beyond words. “So,” Charlie said with a gleam in his eye, “you fought a bloody basilisk. That’s insane.”

“And lived to tell the tale,” Bill added. “I’m starting to think you’re more Griffindor than Slytherin.”

Harry laughed, a sound that hadn’t come freely in a long time.

The Mini-Marauders, as they called themselves—Ron, Charlie Potter, and Neville—were constant presences in the manor, their adventures often leaving trails of exploded potions, enchanted garden gnomes, or mysteriously levitating furniture. Molly scolded them often but never too harshly. After all, it was the first summer in a long time that laughter rang through every corridor.

One afternoon, while lounging beneath the shade of an old apple tree in the garden, the three boys gathered around Harry.

Neville was the first to speak, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, Harry. I… I wasn’t sure back at school. I know it looked bad. But I’m sorry.”

Charlie Potter added quickly, “We should’ve known better. We should’ve trusted you. You’re not just another Slytherin.”

Neville nodded earnestly. “We want to make it right, Harry. We’d like to be your friends again… properly this time.”

Harry looked at them, expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Peace settled over the Weasley Manor like a gentle enchantment. For now, the war was far away, Hogwarts was just another castle, and the past was slowly being buried.

And Harry, for the first time, allowed himself to look forward—not just to tomorrow, but to the many tomorrows that might finally belong to him.


Charlie Weasley’s unexpected visit from Romania had brought more than just cheerful greetings and roaring laughter—it brought opportunity.

Harry had spent the first few days of summer in peace, but the question of the Basilisk carcass loomed large in his thoughts. It was his, granted by the school in a rare moment of fairness, but what was he to do with it? It wasn’t a pile of gold or a stack of books. It was a magical beast the size of a train, coiled in a dark, ancient chamber beneath Hogwarts.

And he hadn’t the faintest idea how to process it.

That’s when the idea struck him—Charlie.

A dragon handler. A trained expert in magical creatures. If anyone knew how to deal with something as dangerous and valuable as a Basilisk corpse, it was him.

Harry found Charlie in the manor’s back field, where he was amusing Ginny and the twins with tales of a Hungarian Horntail he’d once dodged mid-flight. Harry waited until the laughter subsided before approaching.

“Charlie,” he said, “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Charlie turned, his interest piqued at once. “What’s on your mind, little brother?”

“I need help processing a Basilisk. The one from the Chamber of Secrets.”

Charlie blinked—and then a wild grin spread across his face. “You mean the Basilisk? The one you killed?”

Harry nodded.

“I’ve read about Basilisks in old scrolls, but I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes,” Charlie said, practically vibrating with excitement. “That thing is a goldmine of magical parts! Fangs, hide, bones, venom—it’s a treasure trove. And you’ve got the whole carcass?”

“Every inch of it,” Harry confirmed. “But I don’t want to mess anything up. If you’re willing to help…”

“Willing?” Charlie barked a laugh. “I’m thrilled. When are we going?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry suggested.

“I’ll start packing,” Charlie said with a grin.

Bill, who had overheard the conversation from the kitchen doorway, strolled in with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t think you’re going without me,” he said. “If you’re going into the Chamber of Secrets, I’m coming too.”

“You?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

Bill grinned. “Curse-breaker, remember? If there’s anything hidden down there—any wards, traps, or sealed relics—I’ll be the one to spot them. Besides,” he added, glancing at Harry, “I’ve heard stories about Salazar Slytherin since I was a kid. Seeing his chamber? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

Harry smiled, genuinely pleased. “All right, then. The three of us. We’ll head to Hogwarts first thing in the morning.”

They made arrangements quickly. Dumbledore, informed via Floo, didn’t object. Perhaps he still bore guilt for his failure to protect Harry, or perhaps he simply saw no harm in letting Harry claim what was rightfully his. Either way, he granted them temporary access to the castle and use of the staff Floo.

That night, the three sat around the fireplace, going over plans. Charlie drew a rough sketch of the Basilisk’s anatomy on parchment, pointing out the glands that stored venom and the proper technique to skin the hide without destroying its natural magical properties.

Bill, meanwhile, speculated about what the Chamber might contain beyond the creature. “Slytherin was one of the most powerful wizard of his time,” he mused. “A man like him wouldn’t just make a beast and a lair. He’d leave secrets. A legacy.”

The next morning, they rose with the sun, dressed in enchanted robes for protection, and Flooed directly into the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.

The castle was quiet without students. Dumbledore greeted them briefly, offering directions and a key that opened the sealed path beneath the girl’s bathroom. “Do be careful,” he said, eyes resting briefly on Harry. “The Chamber may no longer hold a monster, but it was designed by one.”

The three nodded and departed, walking the familiar, echoing corridors of the school with determined steps.

When they reached the bathroom, Myrtle was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she’d fled, knowing what lay beneath.

Harry activated the entrance and descended first, with Charlie and Bill close behind. The long, winding pipe led to the ancient stone tunnel—and beyond it, the Chamber of Secrets.

The moment they stepped into the chamber, their eyes widened.

There, lying in the gloom, was the Basilisk.

Its body stretched across the floor like a collapsed temple, massive coils resting on stone, fangs longer than swords glinting faintly in the low light. Its scales, even in death, shimmered with a greenish sheen. Its eyes were closed.

Charlie whistled under his breath. “This… is magnificent.”

Bill pulled out his wand, scanning the walls and floor. “If Slytherin left anything behind, I’ll find it.”

And Harry stood still, just for a moment, soaking in the strange new reality—he was not alone. He had help. He had brothers. And they had work to do.