HP: The Beast God

A month had passed since Hermione was released from the medical wing, having tricked Lucas into believing she had drunk his Forgetfulness Potion by claiming she had no recollection of what happened in the Chamber. She scoffed at the memory of his relieved grin, glancing at his now-empty bed as she sat inside the hospital wing once again, waiting for the petrification potions to take effect on Ron and Chiara alongside Harry.

Hermione gasped in excitement when she heard Chiara groan. She and Harry both smiled as they watched Chiara slowly stretch herself awake. As soon as Chiara opened her eyes and looked at Hermione, a spark of recognition triggered her memory. She suddenly shot upright in bed.

"W-What day is it? I saw—! I saw something in the lake! Is everyone else okay?"

Hermione giggled, having missed Chiara and finally seeing her awake again, unchanged—still her usual nervous yet caring self.

"Everything's fine, Chiara. Hermione took care of the Basilisk, stopped Voldemort, and Ron's going to wake up soon as well."

"Ron?" Chiara asked, sitting up straighter as she glanced at the nearby bed, where Ron lay stiff with a surprised expression. She turned to Hermione with shock.

"Y-You fought...? H-How? Are you okay? What happened?"

She began poking and prodding Hermione in concern, checking for injuries. Hermione giggled—it tickled—and playfully pushed Chiara's hands away.

"I'm fine. I just can't remember much of it," she lied with a shrug.

"Can't—"

"AH!!" Chiara was about to respond when a sharp yelp of fear pierced the room. They all turned to see Ron gasping for air, wide-eyed as he looked around in confusion.

"Oh… I had the worst bloody nightmare…" he muttered with a sigh.

Harry laughed. "Ron, you've been petrified for over two months," Hermione said gently.

Ron stared at Hermione and Harry like a fish out of water, then pulled the covers back over his head.

"Two months of school makeup work… I'm still sick…" he mumbled.

Harry chuckled and promised to help him catch up.

Hermione and Harry explained what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.

"H-How much did you forget?" Chiara asked, still worried.

Hermione thought of the dose Lucas had tried to give her—it would've erased a day of her memory. She decided to lie again.

"It's all fuzzy, but I remember going into the Chamber after Lucas."

Chiara squirmed uncomfortably. "Umm… D-Did Dumbledore explain how you lost your memories?"

Hermione nodded, layering more lies onto the others. She didn't like lying to her friends, but she understood that werewolves were already hated. Add in Lucas being a Slytherin, and the bias would only deepen. She couldn't live with herself knowing her loose lips had turned his life upside down even more.

She now understood he was, more or less, a good person—and didn't deserve further torment.

"Dumbledore said the diary of You-Know-Who was affecting someone's mind to open the Chamber. When it was destroyed, it wouldn't be uncommon for slight memory loss to occur," she said with a slightly forced smile, quickly shifting focus back to Chiara and Ron's recovery.

At the same time Chiara and Ron woke up, I was in the Chamber once again. I'd woken beside Gaynor, still processing her fondness for my other half—one I hadn't even seen myself. The idea that a beast lived inside me, awakened every full moon to do whatever it pleased, still felt surreal.

But it seemed to hunt for Gaynor's sake, bringing her meals from the forest. My research on werewolves had revealed that such behavior was abnormal—my other form was supposed to be a rabid beast, killing anything nearby. Yet mine showed signs of higher thought: sparing Gaynor and feeding her.

It brought me some relief, but also unease. I couldn't trust my other half. Not entirely. That was a concern for another day. For now, I was mourning the Basilisk's death with Gaynor and Valdemar. Gaynor, shrunken thanks to a potion I'd brewed for her, had been smuggled into school via my hair.

Gaynor had been anxious, but after touching the creature's scales, she relaxed—she knew it was truly dead.

"Food…?" she asked, skittering around the Basilisk, leaving trails of webbing behind.

Val slithered close, tapping at the thick scales. "I prefer my normal food…"

I scoffed at both of them, though I wasn't surprised. I felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving the creature to rot, especially after its lifetime of brainwashed servitude.

The least we could do to honor her life was to ensure nothing went to waste.

At my request, Dumbledore had lent me the Sword of Gryffindor. I used it to shear the scales from the beast, exposing the pink flesh beneath. Gaynor wrapped the meat in her webbing, preserving it for future meals. I removed the fangs, keeping the one that still had traces of Hermione's blood. With the empty space now over my chest, I placed that fang in the necklace as a reminder of her heroism.

It took the whole day, but eventually I packed everything into an enchanted sack—another favor from Dumbledore. Gaynor, full from the night before, drank more of my medicine and returned to her cozy room.

"Do you want to come with me when I leave for summer, or stay here and make this your second home?" I asked her.

I could barely hear her palps twitching in thought. I chuckled—she was putting so much thought into it.

"You don't have to answer now. I still have a few months here."

"It could be fun with us… but always having to hide when mom and dad come in is scary…"

I patted Val's head, offering a silent apology. He nuzzled against my finger, chirping quietly in joy.

Outside the Chamber, Pansy waited at the top of the stairs. Her hands clutched her robes, head down, hair hiding her face. After that night, I'd grown worried about her reaction to who I really was, and over the past month I'd begun pulling away from her. She noticed.

"…I'm sorry…" she muttered, apologizing again for unleashing the beast Hermione and I had to slay.

"It's alright. I don't blame you—I've told you that."

As I walked past her with a sigh, she grabbed my shoulder—her grip a vice.

"Then why… why are you still avoiding me!? I'm sorry! I've said it so many times, and every time I do, you pull away further!"

She huffed. Her grip faltered, then tightened again.

"I… I won't let go until you give me an answer!" she shouted, her conviction rooting her in place.

Time froze. My mind spun. Val slithered beneath my clothes, chirping softly as he patted me with his tail like a child comforting a parent.

"…Fine. But not here."

I took her wrist and led her to my room, sitting her on the bed and closing the door. Her eyes darted to a vial of orange liquid on my desk. Before she could speak, I asked, "What do you want?"

"I-I want you to forgive me…"

"I have. What do you want?"

Her eyes dropped. "I… I want things back to the way they were…"

I sighed. Was that even possible? I'd always been hiding something from her. I glanced at the vial—part of me tempted to reveal the truth, then erase her memory. But I couldn't. I didn't want to make a habit of playing with people's memories.

I swallowed my fear and focused on our friendship—one born from a shared secret and now teetering on uncertainty.

I wrapped my arms around her, patting her back the way my mother used to do when I was sad.

"Perhaps this friendship started oddly… but there's no doubt we're friends," I said.

Pansy hugged me back, sniffling. I buried my fear of her eventual hatred deep in my heart. I didn't want to lose her.

"We'll be normal again soon enough… I just need some time." Another lie. One meant for both of us.

Pansy nodded eagerly, instantly believing me. She didn't question why I'd fought for a Mudblood or my strange appearance that night. We both chose to accept the lies to stay close.

"Yeah…" she murmured happily.

After our talk, I resigned myself to the path we were walking. It's what she wanted—and part of me wanted it too. I knew it would hurt later, but I ignored that uneasiness when I saw her smile for the first time in a month.

Even if this house was built on sand, I wanted to enjoy it—before it inevitably crumbled.