Chapter Twenty-One: The Chamber of Secrets
After lunch, the small group of vigilantes gathered in the library to do some useful spell research and gather info about the chamber of secrets before trying to enter it.
They sat for hours, jotting down spells and information about the Basilisk. By the time Mycroft popped in to tell them it was time for dinner, they could have passed an exam on the chamber of secrets.
"We'll be out in a minute," Christine sighed and slammed a giant book shut, gathering up her notes and putting them in her bag. Gabriel and Sherlock did the same and soon the three of them were making their way into the great hall.
Christine split off to the Ravenclaw table.
"We're as prepared as we could ever be," she plopped down next to Sam, who was flipping through a book while eating.
"Good, Dean will be coming with you guys. Martha and Cas will be around to tell the teachers in case you don't make it back."
"Oh, that's a comforting thought," she stared at the food, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.
"Eat up," he glanced up, "you'll need your strength."
"By the way, did Dean and you find James last night?"
"Nope, he had already managed to escape when we came back in."
"Odd," Christine frowned, "I stupefied him. He should have been out for much longer."
"Lucifer probably helped him."
"Huh, I guess."
Christine focused on piling an obscene amount of food onto her plate and chatting with Sam and Martha to calm her nerves.
"Where's The Doctor?" She looked around and realized he was missing.
"He said he didn't feel like eating," Martha sighed, "he's still terribly upset about Rose. I'll just be glad when we finally get the thing that killed her."
"What're you going to be doing, Mycroft?"
He swallowed his food.
"Not getting killed, that's what I'll be doing."
"So you're not going to help us?"
"He's part of Plan B," Martha rolled her eyes, "if you guys aren't back soon enough, Mycroft and he will go in after in case you need assistance."
"Gotcha."
After dinner was over, one by one the large group stationed themselves in or around the Ravenclaw commons.
"I'm not sure what people will say about me having four guys in my room," Christine tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke.
"Hey, you can have just one anytime," Gabriel winked.
"In your dreams."
"How did you know?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed the sword.
"Let's go."
It was a long climb and when they reached the top they found themselves in a small room full of bookshelves and assorted magical ornaments. Christine scanned the room, there seemed to be no other way out.
"What now?" Dean asked.
"I thought for sure..." she spun around frantically, hoping to see something that was chamber-of-secrety.
"Great, was this all just a waste of time?" The Doctor plopped down on a nearby stool, head in hands.
"No," she protested, "there's got to be some sort of hidden entrance."
Sherlock pushed past her, running his fingers along the side of the ornate bookshelves, suddenly one of them let out a loud click, swinging open with a groan that seemed to say, "I haven't been opened in thousands of years, thank you."
The Doctor looked up; despite his obvious efforts to hide them, Christine could see tears in the corners of his eyes. He saw the bookshelf and sprung up, wiping the stray salt water from his cheeks.
"Well, what the bloody hell are we waiting for? Let's go find the bastard that killed Rose."
The bookshelf opened into a long passage, it was so small they had to walk single file to fit. Suddenly the line came to an abrupt stop, the passage in front split into two narrow hallways.
"We have to split up," Sherlock sighed.
"Sherlock, Dean," Christine pointed to the tunnel on the right side, "You're with me. The rest of you, take the other one. If either of us run into a dead end go back and take the other one. If it splits into more tunnels just split the group again."
At this point, everyone had seemed to accept Christine as the group leader, which was rather funny considering she probably had the least comprehensive idea of what she was doing of everyone there.
"Sounds good to me," Gabriel shrugged, leading the march down the left side.
Christine took a deep breath and led her small band of brothers down the right side. They walked in silence for a few minutes before the tunnel stopped at an odd, circular door. It was beautifully engraved with the head of a woman, her hair made up of intricately carved snakes. She looked for a doorknob, only to find there wasn't one.
"Is it a dead end?" Dean questioned.
"No..." Sherlock approached the door, bending down and reading some strange runes carved at the bottom, "it can only be opened by a parselmouth."
"That's the snake language, isn't it?" Christine sighed, "You don't happen to speak parsel, do you?"
"No," Sherlock replied, "but it's already open."
He pushed on the door, which gave way a few inches with a slight groan. He handed the sword to Dean and he and Christine pushed it open completely.
They were greeted by the chamber of secrets.
It was a ginormous room with a long path through the middle, lined with lifelike gigantic carvings of snakes, hissing at those who dared to walk past them. At the opposite end was a stunning carving of a man's face, his mouth open and his long beard blending into the walls. A small amount of water sloshed about the floor and the drops from the ceiling created an eerie echo.
They climbed out of the small doorway, looking around in awe. How could this have been below the castle the entire time?
"How nice of you to join me," a sarcastic voice echoed throughout the room. Before they could react, a flash of light erupted from the speaker's wand, causing Dean to collapse.
"Oh don't worry," James rolled his eyes at Christine diving to help him, "it's only a stupefying curse. He's one of those "shoot first, ask questions later" types, they're not fun to gloat at. You two, on the other hand, prime candidates."
Sherlock and she raised their wands; Christine's hand was shaking so much that she feared she would drop it, but Sherlock stood rock solid. Like one of the statues lining the pathway.
"Take a walk with me?" James gestured to the long path, "We aren't even to the main room yet."
Cautiously Sherlock lowered his wand.
"What are you doing?" She hissed at him.
"Trust me."
Christine recalled the last time she had trusted him, which hadn't ended well. Yet she still followed in suit, lowering her wand.
"I suppose you've guessed I'm the heir of Slytherin by now," James flamboyantly whipped his robes aside to lead them up the stone stretch.
"Naturally," Sherlock replied.
"Yeah," Christine concurred.
"Awfully sorry about that Rose girl," he didn't sound sorry in the slightest, "but you know how it is with mudbloods."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"You know, it was awfully rude of you to leave in the middle of our conversation yesterday," he continued, facing Christine, "things were just getting fun. You're rather entertaining."
They had arrived in front of the giant carving of the man.
Sherlock gritted his teeth; his eyes seemed to be erupting fire.
At that moment, Christine realized that the sword had been with Dean, and was, therefore, lying at the opposite end of the room. She silently cursed to herself, but she didn't know how to alert Sherlock without also informing James that they had no defense against the giant snake he may or may not put against them.
"What's the logic behind your argument, anyway?" She asked, trying to stall until she could come up with a plan, "there is no measurable difference between the quality of the magic of a muggle-born vs. a pureblood. The only thing that makes us different than muggles is our magic, and purebloods and muggle-borns are identical in that respect."
James looked at Christine condescendingly, his eyes scanning her entire person. She felt very uncomfortable. Once more she could practically hear Sherlock's blood boiling.
"Muggle-borns," he sauntered toward me, "are nothing more than talentless, lowly, less-than-human scum."
"Y'know, that just sounds like a lot of ad hominem to me..."
James sighed impatiently.
"I really don't have time for your silly attempts to match my intellect," he took another step towards her but Sherlock stepped between the two of them.
"What intellect?" He spat, practically in James's face.