lxviii. history, legend
Rumors abounded in the week following Mrs. Norris' attack, and though it took a few days, everyone came to the same conclusion the House of Serpents had decided on Hallowe'en; Professor Slytherin was the only known Heir of Slytherin at Hogwarts, and thus the most likely candidate to have opened it.
The Defense professor was never pleasant; he came across more genial and welcoming than other Slytherin professors, like Snape or Selwyn, but his tone always carried venom, menace and retribution paid in equal measure with his compliments and advice. After Hallowe'en, Professor Slytherin's previous disposition became a fond, summery remembrance, replaced by a cold, suspicious attitude he didn't bother to hide from his students. Though Harriet didn't have Defense the following Monday, they heard complaints traded by the other Houses and years about Snape and Selwyn overseeing all of Slytherin's classes. The professor returned by Tuesday—and most everyone wished he'd stayed away longer.
On Wednesday, the second year Slytherins dragged their weary bodies out of bed and tromped off to Defense first thing in the morning, only to be assigned a lengthy essay and told to get started during class. Professor Slytherin sat at his desk for the duration of the lesson, engrossed in a thick, dusty scroll, turning all questions back upon their askers with unsubtle disdain. He deducted points from anyone who spoke, and so they sat in stifling silence, quills scratching at their scrolls, Slytherin's red gaze sharp and punishing each and every time he looked up.
Attending their following Potions class with an overworked Snape proved just as—if not more—difficult.
"Partner with Granger, Black," Snape ordered before Elara had a chance to get out her potions kit. "I haven't the time nor the patience to scrape your mess off the ceiling today."
The Gryffindors snickered.
"Ten points for disrupting class, Longbottom."
The snickering died out in an instant. "Seriously?"
"Ten more points."
No one was inclined to say much of anything in class after that, and Harriet kept her attention on her cauldron, lest she wind up in yet another detention. Elara and Hermione traded off tasks, Elara keeping her hands away from the potion or the ingredients themselves, attempting to look busy while Hermione did most of the work herself. Dean Thomas splashed Shrinking Solution on himself when class was nearly over, resulting in a very strange, pudgy baby arm flapping about in his sleeve and an irate Snape. The Slytherins escaped the dungeons while the Potions Master berated Dean and his friends.
"Foul bat," Elara muttered as they walked toward the Great Hall for lunch. "McGonagall is going to be furious about him taking all those points from Gryffindor."
"She'll make up for it in Transfiguration tomorrow, just you wait. 'Breathing, Mr. Longbottom? Excellent technique. Forty points for Gryffindor." Elara snorted and though Hermione tutted, Harriet caught the small smile tipping the edge of her mouth. "Last night at Quidditch practice last night, Flint and the others commented that all the essays they got back for Defense had Snape's handwriting on them—his handwriting, and apparently a lot of scathing remarks."
Hermione gaped in horror. "Professor Slytherin wouldn't pass off his duties as a teacher!"
"It would explain Snape's mood today," Elara said, ignoring Hermione's indignation. "I couldn't imagine the terror of having Snape in Defense as well."
Harriet's thoughts flashed to an early evening in the Potions classroom, remembering Snape standing at the board, writing out numbers and theories while Harriet rushed to copy every word. "You know," she said. "I don't think Snape would be a terrible Defense professor."
"All the more reason to discredit Professor Slytherin," Hermione murmured as they came upon the entrance hall. Longbottom and his cronies came rushing by, keen to put as much space between themselves and the dungeons. "He's a Potions Master with distinctions in all five branches, but he also received a distinction in Charms—Defense, specifically, and he initially applied to Hogwarts as a Defense instructor before taking the post for Potions."
"Hermione, I know you've told us a dozen times you've looked up the professors' qualifications, but how on earth do you know that?"
"Well, that last bit might just be gossip from the older students—but it makes an awful lot of sense!"
Harriet and Elara ribbed Hermione over her less than stellar sources all throughout lunch, until Hermione was quite cross with both of them and chose to sit with Sally-Anne Perks in Charms instead of at their table. Harriet kept levitating little apology notes over to her desk, and Hermione turned all of them to ashes, much to Elara's amusement and Sally-Anne's anxiety. They eventually grew bored with their game and turned their minds to their studies, listening to Professor Flitwick lecture on the etymology of the spells 'Rennervate' and 'Enervate,' and why you should never ever mix up the two.
Hermione joined with them again on the way to History of Magic, readjusting the strap on her bag. "Did you finish your essay, Harriet?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You've been busy with training in the morning and practice at night. You need to have enough time for your homework."
"I finished it in Slytherin's class."
"What! You could get in so much trouble for that!"
"It wasn't as if he was paying attention to us anyway, for Merlin's sake…."
They stopped in the corridor outside the dusty chamber used for History of Magic, standing with several Hufflepuffs from their year who gathered together, murmuring, tossing furtive looks in their direction. What's their issue—oh.
Despite all the rumors and Professor Slytherin's strange behavior, the Chamber of Secrets business had been pushed to the back of Harriet's mind, displaced in favor of Quidditch practice, training in the morning, and keeping on task with her studies. She kept listening for the ghoulish voice, but she heard nothing suspicious over the last few days. Professor Sprout was waiting for her Mandrakes to mature, and Professor Dumbledore assured everyone Filch's cat would be good as new when the plants grew and Snape made the Mandrake Restorative Draught. She'd almost forgotten the negative attitudes the rest of the school had taken toward Slytherin students.
The chamber door swung open. "Get in, find your seats," Professor Selwyn said from the threshold, one hand still on the door, eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "Entwhistle, you had best not be bringing food into my classroom, boy…."
The three Slytherin witches found seats in the back, letting the Hufflepuffs fill the middle while the rest of their year took up the front. It was the only class Hermione didn't insist on grabbing a spot closest to the board, but neither Elara or Harriet questioned her about it, especially after Hallowe'en last year. Harriet didn't much like History of Magic; Professor Selwyn took what could be a fascinating subject and made it tedious, snarking about Muggles and Muggle-borns, interspersing rants about the superiority of magic that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with his own fat head. He hated Hermione and Harriet for their Muggle blood, and hated Elara for being from the "Most Ancient" House of Black, a title he fully believed belonged to House Selwyn.
It was all pointless to Harriet and her friends, who sat in the back and did their best to learn something.
The rest of the students dribbled inside, and the door closed with a muted thump, Professor Selwyn ordering them to pass their essays up to the front for him to collect. "Now," he said, snatching the final scroll from Runcorn's desk, transferring them in an awkward shuffle to his own larger desk. "Today, we'll be turning our attention from the Battle in the Black Forest to the International Warlock Convention of 1289, which arose as a direct result of the Battle's outcome—."
Professor Selwyn came to a sudden halt when someone raised their hand. "What is it, Macmillan?"
Harriet didn't know Ernie Macmillan well. She didn't know much about any of the Hufflepuffs truly, given how they liked to keep to themselves, sharing nothing but polite greetings and the occasional bits of chatter with the other Houses. She knew from Hermione that the Macmillans were pure-bloods, their House fairly prestigious, and Elara told her once she was distantly related to the family. Harriet's limited interactions with Ernie led her to believe he was rather pompous, for a Hufflepuff, posh, and apparently Gryffindor enough to interrupt Professor Selwyn mid-lesson.
"Sorry, Professor, but given what happened just last week, could you tell us more about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Everyone stared at Ernie, including Professor Selwyn. Wayne Hopkins' mouth opened with an audible pop! And Oliver Rivers knocked his inkwell off his desk, splattering Pansy's bag—not that she noticed. "We're here to discuss the history of magic, Mr. Macmillan. Not the 'fantasy.'"
"I know, sir—but I read about the Chamber in Hogwarts: A History, so doesn't that make it history?"
Harriet had the sudden and inexplicable urge to laugh, one of those inappropriate giggles that rise up in one's chest at the worst, most tense moments. Professor Selwyn was more nasty than intimidating, really, but the silence following Ernie's question hung in the air, prickly and unpleasant, stretching on. Had Hermione asked a question like that, Harriet knew Professor Selwyn would've scoffed and mocked her for it—but not Ernie, a pure-blood from a good family. Professor Selwyn sniffed, lifted his nose, and began to speak.
"I'm sure you've all read the entry in Bagshot's book by now, though much of that tripe can little be called history so much as an old woman's gathered gossip. The Chamber of Secrets is reputed to be a clandestine area of the castle created and hidden by the greatest of the school's founders, Salazar Slytherin." He sniffed again, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose. "The legend states that Slytherin, before leaving Hogwarts, encapsulated a means of purging the school of the unworthy—." His eyes snapped toward Hermione, a small smirk on his lips, and Harriet bristled. "And that his supposed heir would one day return to the school and unleash this purging magic upon us."
"So is there any truth to it, Professor?" Ernie asked as scared murmurs rustled through the Hufflepuffs. Draco turned in his seat as if he meant to say something snide, but one glimpse of Harriet and Elara's foreboding glowers had the prat straightening around again. "Is there a Chamber? Does it exist? Has it been opened?"
"You children need to learn the difference between fantasy and reality." The professor turned to the board. "Now, as I was saying—."
"But, sir—!"
"Three points from Hufflepuff, Macmillan," Selwyn snapped, growing frustrated. "Now, if you don't wish to learn, I don't care, but I will be completing this lecture, even I must hold you all through dinner." Threat given, he retrieved his wand, and with a muttered incantation, the words 'Warlock Conventions' sprawled across the blackboard. Harriet thought that would be the end of the conversation, but Professor Selwyn turned to them all with a mocking smirk and said, "It's pointless to speculate if the Chamber has been opened again. If you're so interested in the topic, why not go ask Professor Slytherin? I'm sure he'd love to have a long chat about the Chamber and his ancestor with any of you."
Of course, no one in their right mind would do any such thing, and so the subject dropped and Selwyn began his winding monologue on a bunch of oddly named wizards who lived hundreds of years before any of them were born. As she started to take notes, Harriet felt something scratch her elbow, and she glanced down to see Hermione prodding her with a bit of parchment. Puzzled, Harriet took it—mindful of the professor—and unfolded the note.
He knows more than he's letting on.
Harriet flattened the note and grabbed her quill, scratching out a reply. What do you mean?
Exactly what I wrote! He knows more than he's telling us!
How d'you figure that?
Because he recited what's written in Hogwarts: A History, but refused to give more information! By telling us to go to Slytherin, he's essentially warning us away from the topic! She punctuated her lines with heavy ink splatters that smeared on Harriet's fingers. He said 'again.' Again! As if the Chamber's been opened before!
Even if he did know more, it's not like he'd ever tell us. Hermione scowled at Harriet's answer and shoved the parchment back without writing anything. Harriet sighed. Being a professor, though, he and the others must've discussed the Chamber after what happened to Mrs. Norris, and if anyone knows anything, it'd be Dumbledore.
Or Professor Slytherin.
Slytherin wouldn't tell anyone anything. He won't even teach us how to duel.
Hermione read Harriet's reply—and Professor Selwyn's head jerked in their direction, eyes narrowed. "Passing notes, Potter? I'll take that—."
He Summoned the parchment out of Hermione's grip and it went sailing overhead—only to burst into flames, students gasping, the page burning to nothing just like all the notes Harriet had floated to Hermione during Charms earlier that very day. A muddled pile of ash and charred bits landed on the floor before Professor Selwyn, and he looked at Hermione, who sat with her wand extended, face pale but set in a determined expression. Selwyn scowled.
"You're earned yourself a detention tomorrow evening, Granger. With Filch."
"Yes, Professor Selwyn."
Harriet and Elara stared at their friend with shared incredulous expressions as Professor Selwyn Vanished the mess on the floor and Hermione raised a brow, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone looking at her. "What was that about?" Elara asked in an undertone, and Harriet shook her head, returning to her notes once Professor Selwyn resumed his lecture.
Hermione had a point; the professor had said again, implying that the Chamber—legendary or not—had been opened before. When? Why? And by whom?
As the evening grew dark beyond the classroom's windows, Harriet kept her eyes on her half-written notes and wondered what new dangers lurked at Hogwarts this year, and what it meant for her and her friends.