Author's Note:
Thanks for reading and reviewing! For those who have been wondering: Yes, all the spells and curses Langdon mentions in this fic are real; they are taken from actual ancient texts. Don't try them at home.
My muse had a lot of egg nog this week. I assume no responsibility for the results.
...
~Chapter Four~
In which Langdon demonstrates some Muggle magic, writes a message in Middle Egyptian, and hears a strange prophecy.
...
"Where is Robert Langdon?" Septima Vector looked around the cheerful teachers' lounge with a frown. Over by the crackling fire, Dumbledore was watching Charity Burbage and Bathsheba Babbling play dragon snap, while Filius Flitwich was reading the joke section of Witch's Weekly aloud to a small group of teachers who were giggling and sipping Irish Fire Coffee.
Minerva McGonagall, who had been lounging in front of the wireless and listening to the captain of the Holyhead Harpies analyze the impact the new and faster Firebolt X was going to have on the Quidditch season, looked up in surprise.
"That's right, he's not here, is he? I hope he didn't get lost in the corridors. So many people do in the beginning. I'll go look for him if you want."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him." Over in the corner, Snape looked lazily up from his book. "I heard he was giving Harry Potter detention tonight."
"I know, but that was at eight o'clock. It's almost eleven now." Septima got up. "And Robert wouldn't get lost. He's got a very good memory for maps."
Snape put down The Mysteries of Udolpho and rose to his feet. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Septima. But if you like, I'll help you look. Let's ask the ghosts; they may have seen where he went." He put his arm comfortingly around Septima's shoulder.
...
When they returned half an hour later, Septima was pale. She flung herself down in one of the plump armchairs and refused to look up.
"What's the matter?" Dumbledore hastened over to her. "What happened, Septima? Where is Langdon?"
Without a word, Septima handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment. Dumbledore read it in silence. All the other teachers were watching him now.
"Where did you find this?" asked Dumbledore sharply.
It was Snape who answered. "The arithmancy classroom. He must have left it there for Septima to find. It seems that Langdon has already left the castle; the ghosts haven't seen him for hours. I am so very sorry, Septima."
"It doesn't matter." Septima stared past him.
"Are you sure this is his handwriting?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle now.
"Positive."
"I see." Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "How very unexpected. Well, I suppose there is no accounting for the the human heart, is there?"
...
Langdon stared, mesmerized, at the huge snapping jaws of the monstrous crocodile. The pressure of a crocodile's bite is 5000 pounds per square inch. The thought flashed into his head, uninvited. A trembling sigh escaped him. I wish I didn't know that. Sometimes having a photographic memory is a really, really bad thing. This monster will chomp me to death with a single bite.
He inched backwards, his heart hammering in his chest. Come on, think! Surely I must have read something, somewhere, about how to kill a forty foot crocodile with only my bare hands, a non-functional magic wand, and the diary of a juvenile delinquent.
He stared at the grotesque beast. It must have a weak spot somewhere. But what? Its skin is impossible to penetrate, its teeth are sharper than daggers, and its jaws are stronger than those of any beast alive.
Wait...
I have read something else about the jaws of crocodiles... Ah. Yes. That's it!
With trembling hands, Langdon reached under his robes and pulled his belt off. He rapidly fashioned the belt into a noose and stepped towards the petsuchos. Its yellow eyes glittered with malice, and a ferocious growl sprang from its throat as it lunged at him, snapping its terrifying jaws.
It missed. Langdon leaped aside at the last minute, just as the enormous jaws snapped together. Quick as lightning, he slipped his belt around the monster's closed jaws, pulled the belt tight and buckled it.
The petsuchos let out a horrendous snarl and began to thrash wildly. Langdon stepped back and watched its futile struggle. Try as it might, the beast could not open its jaws.
The muscles a crocodile uses for closing its jaws are immensely strong. But the muscles it uses to open its jaws are surprisingly weak, weak enough that a man can keep the jaws of a crocodile firmly closed with his bare hands. Or his belt.
Finally, the monster gave up and acquiesced to lying still on the damp floor of the chamber and glaring viciously at him. "Not used to Muggle magic, are you?" said Langdon cheerfully and turned toward the doorway. Time to get out of here!
This proved to be something of a problem, however. The heavy stone door did not budge. How was he going to get out? Calling for help was obviously pointless; if nobody had heard the ferocious roar of the petsuchos, it was pretty clear that the chamber was soundproof. And wasn't it unplottable as well? Langdon checked his mental map of Hogwarts - no, no Chamber of Secrets. Great. I'm trapped in a locked, soundproof, unplottable underground chamber. How will anyone find me here? Surely, they'll think to look for me down here once they've checked everywhere else?
Then he recalled the note he had written to Septima. Uh oh.
I must have been under some strange enchantment - the Imperius Curse? Oh, damn. No one will look for me, will they?
He tried the door again. No, it was impossible to open the door by force. Hadn't Septima told him that Harry had once opened the Chamber by speaking in Parseltongue? Parseltongue! He remembered the hissing sound someone had made behind him when the doorway had opened in the bathroom. The shadowy person who cast the Imperius curse on me opened the doorway by speaking Parseltongue.
Langdon stared at the ancient stone door before him. Could he replicate the hissing sound he had heard? Of course he could; he had a very good memory and an excellent ear for languages.
He cleared his throat and spoke to the door:
"SssssssSSSSssssSSssss."
The door did not move.
Perhaps the accent was wrong? He tried again: "SSSSSSSssssSSSSssSSSS."
No difference. He tried again and again, although he was quite certain that he actually had it right the first time. Why wouldn't the door open?
He sighed. Perhaps it wasn't enough to speak Parseltongue; perhaps it only worked if you had magical abilities as well?
He pulled the hawthorn wand out of his pocket and tried a few spells, just in case: "Alohomora? Expecto patronum? Avis? Scourgify? SssssssSSSSssssSSssss?"
Nothing.
Well, if he couldn't get out, was there a way he could send a message to let someone know that he was here? He reached into his pocket and smiled when he found that his cell phone was still there. He had meant to leave it at home since it wouldn't work at Hogwarts, but some habits are too hard to break; without realizing it, he had automatically slipped the phone into his pants pocket when heading out the door at home.
He turned the phone on. Yes, it had some residual charge left, but there was no signal. Who would I call anyway? 911? No, that would be 999 in Scotland, wouldn't it? Of course there is no signal. Magic in the air or not, I'm deep underneath a vast stone building.
No. No phone calls. No shouting at the top of his lungs, no hammering on the door. How else could he communicate with the outside world? By telepathy?
Snape is a legilimens. Perhaps I can try to send him a telepathic message?
It was worth a shot. For over an hour, Langdon concentrated as hard as he could on Snape and on the message: "Help! I'm trapped in the Chamber of Secrets", but finally he gave up. Perhaps mind-reading required closer proximity. Or perhaps Snape didn't care if he was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. Either way, it was evident that nothing was going to happen.
Is there no other legilimens in this school?
Harry Potter! He's apparently got some psychic abilities. But he is not a legilimens, is he? No, he can only read Voldemort's mind, and only if the Dark Lord is experiencing a strong emotion, like joy or anger.
Langdon glanced around the chamber. Now, if only I could find a way to piss off the Dark Lord...
...
"Sir Nicholas? What is wrong?" Dumbledore stared at the shimmering, insubstantial form of the agitated Gryffindor house ghost.
"It's Harry Potter, headmaster," whispered the spectral nobleman. "He asked me to come and find you. It's terribly urgent. Something very, very strange is happening, Professor Dumbledore."
The headmaster hurried after the ghost. Septima Vector, Snape, and McGonagall followed Dumbledore down to the dimly lit corridor below where Harry was waiting.
Harry looked pale and ill in the flickering torchlight. He was clutching his forehead, and green eyes glittered strangely.
Dumbledore grasped his shoulders. "Harry? What's wrong?"
Harry gazed up at him, an odd expression in his emerald eyes, something halfway between excruciating pain and... laughter?
"It's... It's Voldemort, Professor. My scar feels like it's on fire. I can sense his thoughts; Voldemort is beside himself with anger."
"The Dark Lord is angry?" Dumbledore studied Harry's haggard face intently. "Why, Harry? Can you sense why? What has happened to draw his ire?"
"It's..." Harry hesitated for a moment. "Er... What does kheruwi mean in Middle Egyptian?"
Dumbledore's gentle blue eyes widened in shock. "What?"
"Mr. Potter!" said Snape softly. "I will beg you to remember that there are ladies present."
"Oh." Harry blushed, hard. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... It's just that... well, Voldemort appears to be livid because he can sense that someone's been writing in his diary, really insulting things in Egyptian..."
"Someone's been writing in his diary?" Dumbledore stared at him. "You mean Tom Riddle's diary? The one you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. What does hes-tep mean?"
"Never you mind what that means, Mr. Potter," snapped McGonagall. She was a great deal paler than usual. "Merlin's beard! I cannot imagine that anyone would have the gall to call the Dark Lord a..." Her voice trailed off.
"Robert!" Septima Vector whispered the name softly. She turned to Dumbledore. "Where is the diary now, headmaster?"
"The diary?" Dumbledore frowned slightly. "The diary is merely an empty shell at this point, Septima. When Harry stabbed it with the basilisk fang, he expelled the dark magic that dwelled within its pages."
"Sometimes in the Muggle world," said Septima quietly, "a tiny bit of residual charge lingers in an electric device even after it's disconnected from its power supply. Could that be possible of dark magical objects as well? Could a small spark of residual magic linger in the diary?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles. He said in a low voice: "Minerva, what did we do with the diary?"
McGonagall stared at him with a growing look of horror on her face. "The diary? I put it back down in the Chamber of Secrets before we closed it up again for good. I didn't want anyone to find that damn thing ever again. I actually stabbed it with a basilisk fang again, too, just to be on the safe side."
"It's in the Chamber of Secrets?" Septima Vector's voice was barely audible. "Then someone must be down there, someone who would not hesitate to call the Dark Lord himself foul names in Middle Egyptian..."
The four teachers looked at each other.
"Come on, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "I think we are in need of a Parselmouth."
...
They found Langdon in the Chamber of Secrets. He sitting on the floor of the musty underground chamber, still writing away in the ragged old diary, with his back propped against what appeared to be a sleeping primordial chaos creature.
"Merlin's beard!" whispered Dumbledore.
"Robert!" Septima Vector flung her arms around Langdon. "You are still at Hogwarts, after all! How on earth did you end up down here? And.. er, what the hell is that?" She glanced at the dozing petsuchos with a shudder.
"A petsuchos," said Robert Langdon lightly. "An ancient monster from Egyptian legend. Apparently quite real."
McGonangall stared at the monster, aghast. "But how did it get down here? The chamber was empty when we closed it up again after the basilisk incident."
"Ah." Langdon got to his feet. "I suspect that whoever led me down here and opened the chamber was responsible for putting the petsuchos here as well. Listen, Septima, about that note - I think I was under the Imperius curse when I wrote that. I had no intention of leaving Hogwarts, and I would certainly not leave without saying a proper goodbye."
"Oh." She swallowed. "I thought for a moment... No, of course you couldn't have written that if you had been yourself, Robert. I should have known - " Her hand touched his cheek lightly.
"Pardon me," interrupted Snape irritably. "This is all very touching, I'm sure, but I have a few questions. To begin with, what happened to the petsuchos? It appears to have been vanquished with a ...belt?"
Langdon nodded. "Yes. Old Muggle trick."
"I see." Snape was silent for a moment, and it didn't take a legilimens to sense that he did not care much for Muggle magic. "Now, you say that someone led you down here while you were under the Imperius curse. Did you see who it was?"
Langdon shook his head slowly. "No, I'm afraid not. I couldn't even tell from the voice whether the person was male or female. All the person uttered was a phrase in Parseltongue that opened the entrance to the chamber."
"The person spoke in Parseltongue?" Dumbledore looked worried now. "Well, that certainly narrows it down..."
"...to Mr. Potter and the Dark Lord himself." Snape finished the sentence for him.
"Wait a minute!" Harry turned to Snape in indignation: "You actually believe that I had something to do with this?"
Snape regarded him thoughtfully. "Rumor has it that you and Professor Langdon already had a bit of a falling out, Mr. Potter."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Snape," snapped Langdon. "You don't have to be born a Parselmouth to speak a phrase in Parseltongue. Seriously. SssssssSSSSssssSSssss."
Harry jumped. He stared at Langdon, wide-eyed: "You speak Parseltongue?"
"No, Harry, I don't. I am merely repeating from memory the exact phrase I heard the person behind me utter a few hours ago. I tried to use it to get out, but it didn't work. But I daresay that if a person with magical abilities had memorized that phrase, they would be able to open the door."
They all looked at each other.
"In other words, anybody in this school could have opened the Chamber if Secrets," sighed McGonagall.
...
McGonagall and Dumbledore went off to find Hagrid; something had to be done about the petsuchos. Snape mumbled something sarcastic under his breath about the colonial agenda of white men subjugating Egyptian wildlife, but nobody was really listening, so he walked off, muttering darkly.
"Sorry about that, Harry," said Langdon softly, as he headed up the stairs with Harry and Septima. "I know that the Dark Lord's anger must have caused you pain, but I couldn't think of any other way to get someone's attention."
"Oh, that's all right." Harry grinned. "My scar hurt a bit, yes, but for once, I sort of enjoyed sensing Voldemort's thoughts. Boy, was he mad!" He looked hopefully at Langdon. "Could you please tell me what those words mean, Professor? The Egyptian ones you used?"
"Tell you? No, I'm afraid I can't do that, Harry. But I'd be willing to teach you hieroglyphs - you are a clever young man, so that should only take a year or so - and lend you my Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, and then you can look the words up for yourself."
Harry shook his head doubtfully. "That sounds like a lot of work, Professor."
Langdon smiled. "It's the Muggle way, Harry."
Somewhere nearby, footsteps echoed along a forlorn corridor. Who could be out walking the halls of the castle at this hour? A streak of silver moonlight fell through one of the tall arched windows and revealed a slight figure with unruly hair, face white in the light of the moon. Langdon drew his breath sharply.
"Hello, Hermione," said Septima. "What are you doing out of bed at this hour?"
Hermione. Of course it's just Hermione. Why am I so jumpy? This place is starting to get to me.
"There you all are!" Hermione sounded relieved. "Harry, you never came back to the Gryffindor common room, so I thought I'd better look for you. Is your scar still hurting? Did you tell Dumbledore about it?"
"Ah, yes. The scar. I'm afraid that was my fault." Langdon smiled ruefully, and Harry filled Hermione in on the night's events. Hermione glanced at Langdon with a tiny smile of approval. She did not, he noticed, ask what the Middle Egyptian words meant. Exactly how much Middle Egyptian do you know, Miss Granger?
Suddenly, a shimmering white-clad figure appeared at the top of the staircase in front of them. For a wild moment, Langdon wondered if he did have the ability to see ghosts after all, but then he realized that the odd figure was human, albeit a terribly strange human. It was a thin little wisp of a woman; she was wearing a ruffled white nightdress of sorts, but she was wearing so many glittering glass beads around her neck and in her hair that she seemed to be shrouded in an unearthly glow. Her eyes, curiously dead and unseeing, were unnaturally large begind her thick glasses.
"Oh, good evening, Sybill," said Septima pleasantly.
The eerie figure did not respond; she merely swayed back and forth for a moment at the top of the staircase. Suddenly, she pointed at Langdon: "Beware! The Order of the Black Raven has risen again, and innocent blood shall be spilled anew. Even the Dark Lord cowers before the Master of Magic, the true Heir of the House of Ravenclaw, who holds the Spear of Destiny!" Her voice was strangely strong and resonant, and Langdon couldn't help feeling slightly awed.
Septima sighed. "Robert," she said in a resigned sort of voice. "This is Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher. Sybill, this is Robert Langdon, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
For a moment, Sybill Trelawney blinked in confusion. Then she suddenly seemed to come to her senses again. She glanced curiously at Langdon, her eyes focused now. "The new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher?" she whispered. "Oh, you brave, brave man. A pleasure to meet you. Now, why are we all out of bed at this hour? How very odd. I must get back to my tower."
She left the others standing in the staircase, staring at each other in wonder.
"Another prophecy?" Harry sounded slightly doubtful. "About the Heir of Ravenclaw? Who on earth is that?"
Hermione's eyes were dark in her pale face. "I think that was a real prophecy. I mean, Professor Trelawney spouts nonsense most of the time - I beg your pardon, Professor Vector, but she does - but her prophecies have been very accurate in the past, haven't they?"
Harry and Septima Vector nodded silently.
"The Spear of Destiny is in the hands of the Heir of the House of Ravenclaw..." whispered Hermione. "Perhaps the prophecy has something to do with the Order of the Black Raven and with... with the murders..."
"Apparently, the Heir of Ravenclaw, the master of magic, is someone that Voldemort himself fears." said Langdon softly. "Interesting. So, who is this mysterious Heir of Ravenclaw?"
"There are no known descendants of Ravenclaw," said Septima in a low voice. "Her blood line is believed to have died out. But perhaps there is still a true Ravenclaw among us, a secret heir..." Her black hair glittered in the moonlight, and for an odd moment, Langdon felt his breath catch in his chest.
"The Heir of Ravenclaw could be anyone," said Harry quietly. "Perhaps somone in Ravenclaw House... Or perhaps someone else altogether. Members of the same family are usually sorted into the same house, but there are exceptions. For centuries, the Blacks have been sorted into Slytherin, but Sirius Black was in Gryffindor. Paravati and Padma Patil are in different houses as well. The Heir of Ravenclaw could very well be someone from Ravenclaw House, or it could be someone from a different house."
"Someone who's as clever as a Ravenclaw, or as cunning," whispered Septima. Her glance lingered for a moment, almost imperceptibly, on Hermione.
"We need to search through the historical records," said Hermione, with sudden determination in her voice. "There must be something, somewhere, about the bloodline of Rowena Ravenclaw. Perhaps there is something in some of the volumes in the restricted section. We just need to sift through all the records..."
"Perhaps there is a simpler way of doing things," said Robert Langdon abruptly. "Sifting through centuries of historical documents will take time, and we need to find this person as soon as possible, before someone else gets hurt." He turned to Septima. "Septima, where is Rowena Ravenclaw buried? I didn't see anything about that in Hogwarts: A History."
"What?" Septima's dark glance met his. "What a curious question, Robert! I don't see what bearing that can have on anything. But as far as I know, Rowena Ravenclaw is buried in an ancient crypt, deep underneath Hogwarts, along with the three other founders. The crypt is not on the map, of course, since it's..."
"Unplottable. Yes, of course." Langdon was beginning to wonder why anyone would even bother with a map of the castle at all, since so much of it appeared to belong to the realm of the unknowable. "Do you happen to know where the crypt is?"
Septima nodded. "Yes, I think I can find it. Robert, what are you going to do there?" She looked distinctly ill at ease.
"If we want to find out who the Heir of Ravenclaw is, who better to give us that information than Rowena Ravenclaw herself?"
His words were greeted with a moment's stunned silence.
"Professor Langdon? What are you suggesting? Some kind of... er... Muggle necromancy?" Harry looked at him in wonder.
Langdon smiled. "I suppose you can call it that. I'm going into Rowena Ravenclaw's grave chamber to get a DNA sample."