The friends sat together, enjoying a pre-meal selection of fruits and desserts. They watched the House-elves showcasing their culinary acrobatics and chatted about lighthearted topics—it was a wonderful respite from the year's chaos.
However, the conversation inevitably drifted toward the Chamber's victims.
"Why was Penelope petrified near the library basement, though?" someone asked. "That was just before the Quidditch match."
Penelope Clearwater, seated nearby at the Ravenclaw table, simply smiled enigmatically and remained silent.
Percy Weasley, however, wasn't quite as subtle.
"Penelope was waiting for me," Percy stated bluntly, adjusting his Prefect badge. "We arranged to meet there."
In an instant, the gears turned in the heads of the sharper students—Harley, Hermione, and Ted exchanged a knowing look.
The basement? A secluded corridor? Before a match?
Then, they saw Penelope blush and shyly take Percy's arm.
Oh.
Hermione's eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if she were trying to process a complex Arithmancy equation.
It wasn't just her; the realization rippled through the gathered friends.
There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by Ron, who looked up from his chicken leg with genuine confusion. He had been busy exchanging glances with Lavender Brown at the next table and had missed the revelation entirely.
"What? What happened?" Ron asked, his mouth full.
Jerry leaned in and whispered the translation: "Your brother is dating... Penelope!"
Ron choked.
"Penelope!" he gasped, coughing. "I thought we were friends! And you... you're trying to steal my brother?!"
It was a bit shocking, but considering they were British teenagers in a co-ed boarding school, it wasn't exactly scandalous. Still, Ted decided to steer the conversation away from his friends' romantic entanglements before Ron choked on a bone.
"Speaking of romance and weird locations," Ted interjected smoothly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Did you realize that Tom Riddle found the entrance to the Chamber in a girls' bathroom?"
Since he avoided using the name 'Voldemort,' the nearby students didn't flinch.
"The conclusion," Ted whispered, "is that the Dark Lord was a pervert who enjoyed sneaking into girls' lavatories."
Neville and Harley clapped their hands over their mouths, shaking with suppressed laughter. For the two of them, who held a blood feud with Voldemort, this mockery was cathartic.
Ted's casual disrespect had a purpose: it diminished the fear Voldemort held over them. Last year, the mere mention of the Dark Lord had them trembling. Now? They were making jokes about his questionable hobbies.
'Tom died the first time in 1981,' Ted mused silently. 'Voyager 2 launched in 1977.'
'If Riddle had been smart enough to turn a golden record on Voyager 2 into a Horcrux, that piece of his soul would be outside the solar system by now. Voldemort really suffered from a lack of muggle education.'
'Imagine the eighth book: Harley Potter and the Star Trek. Or Tom Riddle and the Sith Lords. A Horcrux lost in the Delta Quadrant? Good luck summoning that back.'
'Or perhaps Voldemort and the Three-Body Problem? The Trisolarans looking at the Horcrux going, "What is this dehydrated soul? Get it away!"'
As magical stars twinkled into existence on the enchanted ceiling, the main courses appeared. The banquet officially began.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood up, tapping his goblet with a spoon. The hall fell silent.
"This has been a difficult year," Dumbledore began, his voice grave but warm. "But we, the students of Hogwarts, braved all hardships. Under the guidance of the faculty, the Basilisk within the Chamber of Secrets has been slain. It proves that even the darkest shadows can be dispelled by light."
He didn't dwell on the platitudes. Dumbledore was old, wise, and knew hungry teenagers didn't want a lecture.
He cut straight to the chase. "The monster in the Chamber abducted Mr. Draco Malfoy. It was Neville Longbottom, Ted Epifani, Harley Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Jerry—along with our unfortunately injured Professor Lockhart—who ventured down to rescue him!"
Ted suppressed a smirk. He had already anonymously mailed the evidence of Lockhart's plagiarism to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. Dumbledore, however, tactfully omitted that part. After all, Dumbledore had hired the man; admitting Lockhart was a fraud was admitting a hiring mistake.
"Now that the monster is eliminated, the terror is over."
"To recognize the extraordinary bravery of these six students, the school awards them the Special Award for Services to the School!"
Thunderous applause erupted, shaking the dust from the rafters.
Percy Weasley looked like he might faint from pride. "Oh my god! Ron! You've received the highest honor a student can get! The Special Award!" He ruffled Ron's hair aggressively.
Ron rubbed his bruised backside—the price of his heroism. "I earned it," he muttered. "Paid for it in blood and bruises."
"Furthermore," Dumbledore's voice cut through the noise, "I award one hundred points to each of them for their respective Houses!"
The hall gasped. That was 600 points total.
Neville and his three Gryffindor teammates just dropped 400 points into the hourglass. The Ravenclaw lead evaporated instantly.
'Well,' Ted thought, shrugging. 'I didn't really do any House Point farming this year. The House Cup is a rotating trophy anyway. Let the Lions have their roar.'
The Gryffindor table exploded. Students were jumping up and down, hugging each other, screaming like banshees. It wasn't until Professor McGonagall shot a withering glare at the Weasley twins that the noise subsided to a dull roar.
But Dumbledore wasn't finished.
"Given the... unique disruptions of this academic year," he said, eyes twinkling, "the school has decided to cancel all final examinations."
"WHOAAAAAA!"
If the roof hadn't been enchanted, the sound wave would have blown it off. The cheer was primal, ecstatic, hysterical. It was better than Christmas.
Hermione Granger, however, looked devastated. She slumped onto the table, burying her face in her arms.
"Why?" she moaned tragically. "Why cancel them? I've been reviewing for three months!"
Ron and Jerry cackled, high-fiving over her head. "Serves you right for overachieving! Freedom!"
The revelry lasted until nearly midnight.
Just as the clock approached eleven, the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall creaked open. A massive silhouette filled the frame.
It was Hagrid.
He looked tired, pale, but he was free. Minister Fudge had likely delayed the release to minimize the PR damage, hoping to slip Hagrid back in quietly.
"Hagrid!" Neville shouted.
The trio—Neville, Harley, and Ron—sprinted down the aisle and collided with the half-giant, hugging his waist.
Hagrid patted their heads with hands the size of dustbin lids, tears streaming into his beard. Then, he looked up and caught Ted's eye.
"Thank yeh, Ted," Hagrid whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "If it weren't fer yer bracelet, I... I don't know if I'd have made it out of that place sane."
He tapped the thick leather cuff on his wrist. It was a spatial storage device Ted had crafted, filled to the brim with special "Euphoria Chocolate."
The true horror of Azkaban was the Dementors—creatures that drained all happiness, leaving prisoners in a state of permanent, crushing depression. Chocolate was the only known antidote to the symptoms, and Ted's specially brewed, high-potency chocolate had been Hagrid's lifeline in the darkness.
As the banquet wound down and the exhausted students began to drift toward their dormitories, the group of friends walked together.
Suddenly, Neville stopped.
"By the way," Neville said, lowering his voice. "Yesterday, when I returned the Sword of Gryffindor to the Headmaster's office, the Sorting Hat spoke to me. It said I had qualified for a 'Trial' to find the legacy treasure left by Godric Gryffindor."
"Treasure?" Ron's eyes lit up like lamps. Jerry's ears practically twitched.
Neville scratched his head, looking puzzled. "But the Hat gave me a clue I don't understand. It said: 'Gryffindor's secret lies behind Slytherin.'"
"What does that mean?" Harley asked, frowning.
"I don't know," Neville admitted. "I was going to ask—"
"Ted?"
A calm voice interrupted them. Albus Dumbledore was standing at the end of the corridor, his robes shimmering in the torchlight.
"Could you spare a moment for an old man?"
"Of course, Headmaster," Ted replied, his expression polite and unreadable.
"Please, come to my office."
Ted nodded to his friends. "I'll catch up with you lot later."
He turned and followed the greatest wizard of the age toward the gargoyle on the eighth floor.