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Ginny Weasley clutched the scorching diary alone, fleeing through the mirror-crossed corridors like a startled rabbit.

Innumerable frantic figures were reflected in the mirror maze.

She needed to throw the diary somewhere no one would ever see it.

"Yes.. that place!"

Myrtle's bathroom was perfect; it was perpetually deserted and covered in cobwebs.

Wearing her glasses, she walked quickly, head down, holding the diary.

Suddenly, an office door opened, and a figure emerged.

Bang! Ginny collided squarely with a violet robe adorned with golden stars, and the diary flew from her grasp.

"Ouch!" Lockhart cried out dramatically. "Be careful, child… Wait, this flaming red hair — you didn't do that on purpose, did you?"

Lockhart looked at the little witch who had bumped into him, flashing what he thought was a charming smile.

Ginny's pupils suddenly constricted—the diary lay beside Lockhart's gleaming leather boots.

"N-No, I didn't.." She frantically bent down to pick it up. "I'm… I'm sorry, Professor..."

"Haha! No need to apologise! Wait a moment!" Lockhart suddenly interjected, nudging the diary with his toe. Ginny's heart nearly stopped.

"Why are you wandering alone in the Castle?" He bent down and picked up the diary. "You know, this is a special time, and acting alone violates school rules..."

Ginny stammered, unable to respond. Just then, Lockhart opened the blank diary, revealing a smile that said, I knew it.

"Ha, you're a fan of mine, aren't you?" Lockhart gave her a reassuring look, but Ginny only grew more flustered. "I understand—it's not easy to meet me. After all, I'm a writer, and usually very busy..."

Ginny said nothing, eyes wide, as Lockhart pulled out his enormous, flamboyant peacock quill.

"You want my autograph, don't you?"

"Well, professor—"

"I bet you do!" Lockhart said, half to himself. "But you really didn't have to pretend to bump into me. This little stunt may be dramatic, but it's far too cliché!"

Ginny raised her hand and opened her mouth, trying to say something to stop him, but in the end, no words came out.

"No need to be shy, I understand you little girls..."

The quill scratched an ear-piercing rustle across the page. "To my loyal reader ~ Gilderoy Lockhart," he wrote, his ornate signature perfectly inscribed on the flyleaf.

"No—" Ginny's scream caught in her throat. She stood frozen, staring in shock.

Lockhart, satisfied, closed the diary. Ginny turned and fled without looking back, leaving a bewildered Lockhart standing alone in the corridor.

"Ha, shy? Are all Weasley girls this peculiar?" he muttered, shrugging and humming a tune as he tucked his 'trophy' under his arm. "Her mother, though—now she knows good taste. She's a true fan of mine!"

Lockhart shook his head and returned to his office.

…

…

The screening operation was carried out using several magical devices.

Four translucent crystal balls were placed at the head of the four House tables. Every morning, all teachers and students had to place their palms on them in turn.

The array of Magic Mirrors on the Great Hall's dome reflected eerie light, which interplayed with the glow from the crystal balls.

Sagres privately told the Professors, "If a second soul is parasitic within... the crystal ball will turn black when touched."

But in truth, this was just a ruse; they were ordinary crystal balls Sagres had conveniently 'taken' from Trelawney.

Of course, no one knew this except himself... not even Trelawney.

The real trump card stood beneath the Great Hall's archway—the Mirror of Erised, now covered with magical silk. He had borrowed it from Dumbledore and temporarily modified it with a monitoring spell.

When Sagres waved his wand and lifted the silk, the surface of the altered Magic Mirror shimmered like liquid mercury. Then, with a flick of his wand, he used Transfiguration to turn it into a mirrored corridor.

"Now you don't reflect desires," he tapped the mirror with his wand. "Now you only reflect souls."

"Soul Tracing"—an extremely obscure and rarely used detection spell that Sagres had once thought he'd never have reason to use—had unexpectedly become useful.

This temporary "dark soul-revealing mirror" would silently scan everyone. If anyone who walked past it harbored two souls, the mirror would emit a shriek.

The real trap, therefore, was hidden in plain sight. If Lord Voldemort really did rely on old methods, then regardless of whom he possessed, as long as that person passed the mirror, he would be immediately exposed.

In the following days, Sagres also revisited Myrtle's bathroom to investigate further.

But since he hadn't helped her teach Peeves a lesson, she kept her head submerged in the toilet, sulking and refusing to offer any information.

"You said you'd teach Peeves a lesson!" Her wet voice echoed up from the pipes.

But Sagres couldn't really be blamed—he was quite helpless about it. Peeves's whereabouts were notoriously unpredictable.

As Hogwarts' resident poltergeist, Peeves had a particularly vexing nature—the more deliberately one searched for him, the more he vanished; but once you let your guard down and stopped thinking about him, he would suddenly appear to pull pranks.

So, Sagres adjusted his strategy—he began patrolling the Castle with Harry, systematically inspecting the underground pipe system.

Kitchens, bathrooms, drains—Sagres paid special attention to areas frequently used by students, as any trace of the Basilisk in such places could have catastrophic consequences.

"Say that pronunciation again," he instructed in a low voice, stopping before a mottled wall.

Harry swallowed nervously, then hissed out a rough, low syllable.

Nothing happened.

Only Sagres narrowed his eyes, closely imitating the strange sound.

Scenes like this had become common lately—while searching for the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, they were also undergoing informal language lessons.

Sagres could now accurately repeat several simple Parseltongue commands such as "open," "stop," and "obey." But this communication was one-way—he couldn't understand snake speech; he could only speak, not listen.

Meanwhile, the "dark soul-revealing mirror" at the Great Hall entrance remained still. Sagres often paused in front of it, calmly studying its undisturbed surface.

Sometimes doubts crept into his mind—had the enemy been too clever, already seeing through his preparations?

Or had he been searching in the wrong direction from the beginning?

Yes, Sagres questioned himself.

But whenever he did, he would gently stroke his wand and patiently move on to the next suspicious corner.

His patience, after all, was always abundant…