CHAPTER 3:

UNVEILING THE CHAMBER'S MYSTERIES

Harry fixated on the snake-etched faucet, his finger delicately tracing the cool, silvery serpent's contour. "Open."

The tap remained resolutely immobile.

Myrtle let out a playful giggle as she drifted away from her cubicle. "It won't work unless you talk to it like a snake."

"I can speak to snakes."

"But you were speaking in English," Myrtle quipped, flashing Harry a bashful smile. "I never properly thanked you for vanquishing the monster. You avenged me, Harry."

"Uh, thanks, Myrtle," Harry mumbled, taking a cautious step back as she glided closer. "I, well, appreciate it." In his mind, he conjured the image of a fiery, hissing serpent. "Open."

The tap quivered, and the sinks parted to unveil the hidden passage. The pipe leading down into the darkness was obscured by a thick layer of slime, grime, and sludge.

Myrtle erupted in a triumphant cheer. "Now that's more like it!"

She looked almost halfway attractive when she smiled, Harry noted with a perplexed frown, quickly dismissing the thought. "This must be some kind of teenage thing, right? C'mon, hormones, let's not turn me into a Dudley."

"I think it sounded the same as before," Harry remarked. "I can't discern if I'm using Parseltongue just by listening."

"That was definitely Parseltongue. It sounded just like it did when he used to come here," Myrtle responded, her face falling in reminiscence.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back painful memories," Harry said softly.

Myrtle reassured him, "That's all right, Harry. You weren't the one at fault. I blame Olive Hornby more than him, anyway. Stupid Horny, she got me killed."

Harry eyed the grimy pipe with disdain. "I completely forgot how filthy it is in here. Where's Dobby when you actually need him?" He sighed. "Probably off somewhere trying to accidentally harm or severely injure another innocent child."

Myrtle floated over the entrance and peered into the pipe. "There are steps, you know. The red-haired girl who spoke in his voice created steps."

Harry considered the brown sludge for a moment. "Stairs, huh? That's definitely worth a try."

The pipe twisted aside to reveal a dusty, dimly lit staircase. Harry followed the faint footsteps down, realizing they belonged to Ginny. As he descended, the oppressive silence closed in around him, making him shudder. "Poor girl."

At the end of the staircase, he found a second door, identical to the one he had encountered during his previous visit. With a hissed command, he made it swing open, stepping into the Chamber of Secrets.

As Harry advanced, the sound of crunching bones echoed underfoot. A colossal snake skin sprawled across the floor, its once-vibrant green hue now faded to a lifeless white. Beyond it, an eerie, iridescent emerald sheen glistened in the dim light.

Harry paced alongside the gigantic skin, his mind racing. How on earth did I survive that monster, let alone defeat it? This thing must be at least seventy feet long! He moved to inspect the serpent's gaping maw and raised his arm, comparing its enormous fangs to the thickness of his forearm.

"Truly the king of serpents," Harry muttered, trailing his fingertips along the serpent's frigid scales. "It's identical to the one I conjured, just on a much grander scale."

Not far from the snake's tail, a dark stain marred the stone. Harry gave it a disapproving glance as he crossed over to stand before a towering bust. He pondered whether he could command this door to open as well.

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four," he recited.

The mouth of the bust slowly creaked open with a stony sound.

A shiver raced down Harry's spine. He couldn't help but think, Please, not another giant snake. Why did I have to open this cursed door?

A high, even voice emanated from within the bust. "What a preposterous way to open the door, it responds to nearly any Parseltongue command, you know."

Harry peered into the darkness beyond the bust's parted lips and immediately dismissed the thought of Tom Riddle. Riddle would never mock his own grandiloquent phrasing.

"And no, I won't speak to you," the voice declared resolutely.

That voice couldn't possibly belong to Salazar Slytherin, Harry thought as he regarded the still water before him. Nonetheless, the urge to uncover the truth overrode the discomfort of getting drenched. However, he couldn't shake the thought that if there were stairs...

"Bridge?" Harry ventured, a sly grin forming on his lips. In response, a stone resembling a serpent's tongue emerged from the pool, extending as though it were a part of Slytherin himself. Harry cautiously placed one foot on the forked tip of the tongue.

"By all means, come in," the voice welcomed sarcastically. "I'd love another visitor. My previous company turned out to be quite delightful. An insane reptile and a child with delusions of grandeur—marginally more sane, that is."

Undeterred, Harry strode across the bridge and entered through the mouth of the carved stone serpent.

Inside, he found circular walls adorned with dusty shelves of books, interspersed with peculiar magical instruments. A carved marble basin, quite reminiscent of the one he had often seen in Dumbledore's office, sat opposite the entrance.

"The other one just stood there and gawked, too," a voice remarked. Harry spun around to find the portrait of a young, imposing wizard clad in green and silver robes, a snake coiled around his shoulders, just below his flowing ebony hair.

"Well, you look reasonably sane," the portrait mused. "But the last one did as well, and we see how that turned out."

Harry couldn't help but be intrigued. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Portraits have names," the dark-haired wizard sighed. "I always detested dealing with children."

Harry raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "Salazar Slytherin... If you dislike children, why establish a school?"

"It wasn't safe for magical children to learn their craft haphazardly all over the place. Haven't you heard about the burnings?" Slytherin's sarcasm was now laced with bitter disgust.

"Witch burnings?" Harry inquired.

"Sort of. Muggles couldn't actually burn witches and wizards, but they did apprehend quite a few of our children after witnessing them perform accidental magic. Children being burned alive," Slytherin said, his eyes flashing with anger. "And they had the audacity to label us as evil. Hogwarts was a refuge for magical children, where they learned to control and even conceal their abilities for their own safety."

"But keeping a basilisk that preys on children in a school is too extreme!" Harry protested.

Slytherin's tone became sharp. "She was meant to slumber until the school faced a dire threat. A basilisk is an exceptionally formidable creature, particularly for those without magical abilities. If anyone ever posed a danger to the children here, she would have defended them with her life. It worked perfectly until my last visitor twisted my commands to suit his own malevolent agenda."

"Tom Riddle," Harry muttered.

"Exactly. Basilisks are known not only for their power but also their unwavering loyalty. She pledged herself to her creator and to my command of safeguarding the children from the outside world. Tom Riddle perverted my creation and set her against the children who had come from the outside world to study here."

Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of compassion for the serpent. "Well, she's no more. I killed her."

"Dead?" Slytherin raised an eyebrow. "Who was skilled enough to slay her?"

"I was," Harry replied, dispelling any notions of being Slytherin's heir. "But I'm not your heir," he added firmly, not willing to go through that convoluted situation again.

Slytherin let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can speak Parseltongue. It's an ability I recreated, tied to my bloodline. Only my direct descendants can wield it, and as I have no desire to ever see Tom Riddle again, that makes you my heir."

Harry muttered an apology, "Sorry. The entire school thought I was your heir in my second year when the basilisk was attacking students. They blamed me."

Slytherin sighed again, "It's not entirely surprising. You possess the gift of Parseltongue. I assume you're sorted into my house?"

"Gryffindor, actually."

"Gryffindor!?" Slytherin's voice was a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. "What on earth is my descendant, my heir, doing in the house of that reckless, foolhardy, immature excuse for a wizard? The very reason I constructed this chamber was due to that man-child's inability to resist sabotaging my work." Slytherin's voice grumbled to a low mumble. "And all Helga ever did was laugh."

Harry defended Godric Gryffindor. "That doesn't sound like the Godric Gryffindor I've read about."

Slytherin shook his head. "Did you think he was a noble, valiant hero? That wizard never matured beyond the age of eighteen. He possessed an exceptional talent for transfiguration, was incredibly brilliant, and had a wildly creative mind. But he was cursed with the sense of humor of a child. Most of the things you see around this school credited to him were actually accomplished by Rowena and me after the fool managed to injure himself while trying to enchant things in unnecessarily complex ways."

Harry ventured, "I'm quite adept at transfiguration. The Sorting Hat did suggest Slytherin, but I chose Gryffindor."

"Why would you do that? Who'd want to reside in a tower when you could have a view of the Black Lake?" Slytherin's wand sputtered white sparks, causing the snake to retract into his robes. "And as for Godric himself? That man had no sense. His beloved griffins? Daft creatures. About as clever as a cow, far more dangerous, and considerably less useful."

Harry watched the ceiling while Slytherin's muttering gradually faded. "I'm Harry Potter," he said, extending his hand toward the portrait.

"Slytherin. I can't escape it, but I do appreciate your politeness," Slytherin replied.

"I think I have to go to class now."

"How old are you?" Slytherin asked, his gaze penetrating.

"Fourteen."

Slytherin's stare remained intense. "Your eyes tell a different story. You're my heir, return here whenever you please. My library and study are at your disposal, provided you keep them tidy and refrain from behaving as childishly as Godric."

"Thank you," Harry said, appreciating the offer.

Harry retraced his steps, crossing the forked tongue and racing up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He eventually stumbled into Myrtle's bathroom, realizing he was probably quite late for Ancient Runes.

He hurried past the Great Hall and down the corridor, where he spotted Professor Babbling holding forth among a group of seventh-years. Harry slipped past her to join Hermione at the front of the class.

The office was a riot of color, its walls plastered with multi-hued posters. The door itself was concealed behind parchment and scattered with tiny sections of text.

"Sorry, everyone! Just catching up with one of my other classes!" Professor Babbling's entrance was marked by her energetic bounce into the classroom, her arms outstretched. "Welcome back to Ancient Runes! Luckily, everyone has made it through from third year, and we even have an additional student, one who needs no introduction."

The students shifted their attention to Harry, their gazes drawn to his distinctive scar, before turning back to their beaming professor.

"I trust you've all brought your copies of 'Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms,'" Professor Babbling declared, lifting her own copy and waving it above her head. "Since this is our first lesson, I'll give you the option to review anything you'd like or dive straight into the material for this year while I have a chat with Harry." She flashed Harry a friendly smile and nodded toward the parchment-covered door. "Would you mind joining me in my office, Harry?"

"Of course not, Professor," Harry replied, leaving his well-thumbed textbook behind.

She led him into a small, snug room, its walls adorned with a patchwork of large parchment sheets covered in runes and notes in a multitude of vibrant colors.

Professor Babbling waved her hand at the lively surroundings. "My office is my playground. Now, if you don't mind, Harry, why did you decide to switch to my class?"

"I find runes interesting. It's quite distinct from the wand magic I'm accustomed to, and, to be completely honest, Professor Trelawney had a tendency to predict my death a bit too frequently," Harry explained.

"How dreadful," Professor Babbling remarked sympathetically. "I'm pleased you have a genuine interest in the subject. This is a small group, and we tend to move at a rather brisk pace, so anyone not fully committed can easily fall behind." Her eyes momentarily shifted past Harry's head. "Back to class then. I won't pass on your concerns about Professor Trelawney. Just between us, I've never had much patience for a subject as vague and imprecise as Divination."

As Harry returned to his seat, he couldn't help but notice a bright pink zigzag and a neatly written paragraph on the wall, standing out from the rest. Sowilo. He touched a finger to his peculiar scar and muttered to himself, "Stupid Voldemort, had to leave a scar in such an odd shape, didn't he?"

Focusing on his textbook, Harry diligently underlined key passages and noted down references in the margins as time crept by, marked by the faint tick of the classroom clock and the rustle of parchment.

As the lesson concluded, Hermione inquired, "What did Professor Babbling want?"

Harry replied, "She just wanted to know why I switched to Ancient Runes and gave me a heads-up about how quickly the class moves."

"We do move at quite a pace, but if you're already ahead in Transfiguration, you should be able to manage your time and keep up," Hermione assured him, smiling. "So, why did you switch?"

Harry sighed, "I already told you. I got tired of being told I was going to die in every class. It was kind of amusing at first, but then she started repeating her predictions, and the novelty wore off."

Hermione shook her head and started rummaging through her bag. "It's Arithmancy now. I've got the notes from last year somewhere in here. I thought you might like them."

Harry accepted the thick stack of parchment with a smile, even though his preference would have been for her Ancient Runes notes. After all, Arithmancy didn't tend to require the extensive note-taking that other subjects did.

As Professor Vector arranged her students into a meticulously organized seating plan, which seemed to prioritize symmetry as much as learning, she began, "Recap lesson today. At the end, if you had any trouble with the questions on the board, stay afterward, and we'll review them to ensure you're all prepared for the new material."

Harry adjusted his glasses and started writing out the answers to the initial questions, but as he examined the rest, he couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed. "Oh, these are all quite basic."

Hermione glanced up from her work. "Are you stuck, Harry? Professor Vector won't mind if you ask for help."

Rolling his eyes, Harry replied, "This isn't the kind of Arithmancy that particularly piques my interest. Actually, I have a nagging suspicion that most of the fascinating stuff doesn't come up until after the OWLs."

Hermione chewed her lip in thought. "Advanced Arithmancy is known to be one of the most challenging classes. Are you certain?"

"Of course. This is just the basics – two-dimensional equations to help people grasp the concepts. After the OWLs, they delve into all the complex and fascinating aspects. Two-dimensional equations are quite limited when it comes to describing magical patterns because any magic we work into planes for warding or enchanting is done in the three-dimensional realm, or technically four, since magic is influenced by time as well," Harry explained.

Hermione blinked, absorbing his explanation. "I suppose that does make sense, but you'll still need to master the basics to work your way up to more advanced applications."

Leaning over, Harry nonchalantly filled in the answer to the last question on her parchment. "See? Easy."

Hermione huffed and promptly scribbled out his answer. An untroubled Harry returned to doodling.

Just as he had completed adding scales to the head of his imaginary Arithmancy basilisk, Professor Vector stood and used her wand to display the answers on the board.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five... Harry scanned the remaining questions. "Ah, I got one wrong. My fault for jotting down the original question incorrectly."

Hermione hastily stowed her books in her bag and made her way towards the Great Hall in a huff. Harry followed at a more leisurely pace, finding his place between Hermione and Ron midway along the Gryffindor table.

Ron squinted at Harry with bleary eyes. "Divination was absolute hell without you, mate," he mumbled. "I had to partner with Lavender. She was so enthusiastic. It was no fun at all."

Hermione, on the other hand, picked at her food in silence, attacking her lettuce as if it had personally wronged her.

"What's your horoscope, Ron?" Harry inquired. "Any mention of eternal glory in there?"

"Well, I'm not going to die, so it's better than whatever yours would have been," Ron replied with a hint of a smile. "Lavender mentioned something about fire, cups, and Veela, but I think she was discussing the Quidditch World Cup with Parvati."

Harry couldn't help but find it amusing. "Lavender despises Quidditch even more than she adores gossip."

Patting Ron on the shoulder, Harry teased, "You slept through the whole thing, didn't you?"

"It's so warm and stuffy. I don't know how anyone stays awake up there," Ron admitted.

Neville chimed in, "No need for anyone to rouse themselves; it's History of Magic next. Even my gran thinks it's a waste of time while Binns is still teaching."

"They say his body is still in his office from when he died, and he just kept teaching as a ghost," Seamus suggested with a snicker.

"Shouldn't ghosts have a reason to linger?" Ron pondered.

Seamus continued to jest, "Maybe he hadn't finished marking essays."

Dean chimed in, puzzled. "How does he mark our essays? He can't touch them, can he?"

Ron joined in the fun, grinning, "Maybe that's why he never notices we don't turn anything in."

Hermione had had enough of their banter. "Let's go. We'll be late otherwise."

Harry followed his friends into the History of Magic class and settled himself at the back, a spot he typically occupied when Professor Binns started droning on.

As Binns began his monotonous lecture, heads began to droop, and the classroom fell into a state of near slumber as Binns floated through his desk, apparently gazing at the ceiling.

Harry looked up from "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration" as Binns drifted through the wall. Ghosts were not suitable teachers, especially when they were boring even in life.

"In this year, there were twelve hundred and forty-two skirmishes between goblins and men," Binns's voice echoed from the corridor outside, a continuation of his unexciting lecture. "The most in any single year."

Harry couldn't help but wonder why this subject was compulsory. Hermione, true to her studious nature, crossed her arms and started working on their first homework essay, while Ron slumped over his desk, already snoring.

"Oi," Harry nudged Ron's shoulder.

Ron mumbled groggily, "Whassat?"

"Don't snore so loud. I'm trying to read, and everyone else is trying to sleep," Harry whispered.

"Why are you reading?" Ron inquired.

"Because I'd really like to be able to perform some of this magic one day. Even if we won't start using this book for a couple more years in class, it's still fascinating to read about," Harry explained.

Ron grunted and said, "Fair enough, mate, but I'm just going to take a nap."

Returning to "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration," Harry began skimming through the pages, exploring topics like famous Animagi. However, he soon reached a section on the potential dangers and complications of becoming an Animagus. After reading the first few lines, he couldn't help but think, "Wow, that's a lot that could go very wrong." Perhaps it was something best left for a later date.

arry exchanged "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration" for his copy of "Confronting the Faceless" and propped it open on the desk, displaying the index pages. There were a multitude of curses listed, but one caught his eye – the Purple Cutting Curse adaptation, incantation: "lacero." It was the curse Barty Crouch Junior had attempted to use on him, alongside the Cruciatus Curse.

He then turned to the section on Unforgivable Curses. The Cruciatus Curse, best to avoid; the Imperius Curse, also best to avoid, even though it was the only one he could defend against. Harry lightly traced the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, recalling nightmares that always concluded with a flash of brilliant green light. And the Killing Curse...

"Avada Kedavra," he murmured, the words coming naturally to him.

He couldn't help but wonder how he had always known the words to this particular curse. He remembered attempting to correct a magician at one of Dudley's birthday parties when he had been much younger, sensing that something was wrong with the incantation but not quite understanding why. It was peculiar that of all the things he could have remembered from that fateful night, it was the words of the Killing Curse that had stuck with him.

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