CHAPTER 4: THE UNFORGIVABLE TRIALS

Overhead, the expanse of the Great Hall's ceiling was adorned with a canvas of white clouds lazily drifting from one end to the other. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, his attention divided between the mesmerizing spectacle above and his plate of breakfast.

With a hint of restlessness in his voice, Ron turned to Hermione, his curiosity piqued. "Hermione, when's the tournament starting again?"

Hermione, the embodiment of patience, smiled and shook her head gently. "Ron, it's only been a few days since the term began. You really ought to work on your patience."

Ron let out a sigh, as if the mere passage of time had become his nemesis. He reached out for a nearby rack of toast. "It feels like we've been cooped up here for ages. Ages!"

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at Ron's impatience. "Well, we were here a bit earlier this year, but really, it's just the beginning of September. The action won't kick off until October."

Ron's frustration bubbled up as he chewed on his toast. "It's a travesty," he muttered with crumbs escaping his mouth. "All that buzz about the blasted tournament, and we have to twiddle our thumbs until October."

Hermione, ever the enforcer of decorum, shot Ron a stern look. "Watch your language, Ron."

Ron quickly moved his elbow out of Hermione's potential reach, avoiding any reprimand.

Dean, nearby, joined in the conversation. "You think you'll still enter, mate? Gotta wait for the other schools to show up first, right?"

Seamus, always eager for the latest gossip, chimed in as well. "Are you up for it?"

Dean's response was filled with skepticism. "Nope, I value my life too much. I did some digging, and you know what? The tournament's been canceled for centuries because all the champions ended up biting the dust before it was over."

Neville added his two cents. "Doesn't sound like eternal glory to me."

Meanwhile, Ron continued to devour his breakfast, going through the rest of the toast rack and serving himself a heaping plateful of eggs. The prospect of danger and a postponed tournament couldn't deter his appetite.

"Where does all the food even go?" Harry wondered aloud, marveling at Ron's bottomless appetite.

Seamus, undeterred by the tales of past champions meeting unfortunate fates, grinned. "Sounds like unexpected death to me. But, I'm still entering. They must have made it safer or something, otherwise, they wouldn't have brought it back, right?"

Ron, emerging from behind his mountain of eggs, couldn't resist adding a touch of humor. "Well, if you see a basilisk, just summon Harry and hide for a bit. That ought to do the trick."

Dean chimed in with a snigger. "That's pretty much the plan. I'll let the seventh years know. They're the ones who'll get chosen anyway. The tournament is supposed to have the best possible student chosen from all the entered names."

Neville, the ever-curious, asked, "How does it know?"

Dean shrugged, a hint of mystery in his response. "Some magic, I guess."

Curiosity turned all eyes toward Hermione. She huffed and crossed her arms, making her disinterest in the tournament quite clear. "What? I'm not interested in a silly tournament; we're almost at our OWL year now."

Harry, ever the strategist, added his thoughts. "That's a point. I'd wager the champions will all be sixth years, really. No NEWT or OWL exams to worry about that year."

Ron, momentarily ceasing his chewing, was quick to dismiss this notion. "Nah. Nobody's going to care about exams more than the tournament. I'm definitely entering. Can you imagine Percy's face if I won?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the idea of Ron as the tournament champion, a vision that brought a hearty chuckle to the breakfast table.

You'd get another howler from your mum," Dean teased Ron.

Ron's eyes took on a distant, almost wistful look, and he replied, "Worth it for eternal glory. Pretty much everyone in Gryffindor is putting their name in, even some of the first-years wanted to."

Seamus chimed in, embracing their house's motto, "House of the brave."

Dean nudged Neville playfully, adding, "House of the brave and Neville. Maybe you'll be the champion, Nev. Up for it?"

Neville's expression paled at the thought. "I prefer to leave that stuff to Harry. Giant snakes, swords, dark lords, and lethal tournaments are his area of expertise."

Ron grunted, his sense of adventure undiminished. "It's about time it was someone else's turn."

Seamus, ever mindful of potential injuries, warned, "Madam Pomfrey might not let you out next time, mate."

Neville shared a tidbit of information that caught Harry's attention. "We've got double Defense with Mad-Eye today. Madam Pomfrey might be seeing all of us if what I've heard is true."

Harry, ever vigilant, turned to Neville. "Oh? What did you hear?"

Neville's voice shrank to a tiny whisper, as he revealed, "Apparently, he's been talking about the Unforgivable Curses."

Dean expressed his curiosity, noting, "Bit of an odd thing to teach."

Ron, ever the pragmatist, offered a thoughtful perspective. "No argument here. Still, dark wizards seem more dangerous than most creatures, so it'll be useful."

In the end, they all recognized the importance of understanding the Unforgivable Curses in a world filled with hidden dangers, even if the prospect of facing them was as chilling as the curses themselves.

Dean checked the time and whispered to the group, "We're about to find out."

A nervous assembly of students huddled behind the desks in Mad-Eye Moody's classroom when Harry arrived, taking a seat amidst the crowd's midst.

"Oi, Potter!" Malfoy sneered over Hermione's head. "How'd you enjoy the World Cup? I heard you collapsed again. Saw a dementor, did you?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry replied, "No, Malfoy. I did see a blond man in black, hooded robes, though. Did your father enjoy his after-party?"

Malfoy recoiled, stung by Harry's retort. "My father had nothing to do with that. As if it wasn't enough that you pranced around with mudbloods and blood-traitors, you've lowered yourself to slander too." He turned away, engaging in conversation with Pansy Parkinson.

Harry couldn't help but think, "Slander's all you manage on a day-to-day basis, you slimy cockroach."

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, placed her hand on Harry's wand arm and whispered, "Ignore him, Harry."

As Ron was about to utter an incantation, Professor Moody stormed into the room, causing Ron to hastily tuck his wand back into his robes. The scars of battles past were etched upon the professor's face, purple veins tracing a deep gash across his nose, and his electric-blue, magical eye whirred about the room, scrutinizing each student.

"I am Alastor Moody," he declared, advancing heavily through the rows of desks. His wooden leg clunked against the stone floor with each step. "I served as an auror in the war against the Dark Lord. I've seen almost all there is to know about the dark arts, and not from a practitioner's perspective." With a decisive motion, he lifted a large, bell-shaped jar from beneath his desk and placed it at the front of the room.

Inside the jar, three formidable spiders crouched, their long, hairy legs poised menacingly. Ron's chair scraped back, and he collided with the bench behind him, taken aback by the eerie sight.

Moody's lips contorted into a grimace. "When it comes to the dark arts, I believe in a practical approach. There's nothing in books that can truly prepare you for what's to come. Pictures on pages are nothing like the real horror you'll face when you can taste and smell it all around you. I survived the war, but it cost me an eye and a leg, and more, to do so. Most didn't survive at all." He unscrewed the top of the bell jar with jerky, mechanical movements and placed it on the desk. "There are only three curses that will earn you a lifetime ticket to Azkaban if performed or attempted on another human being. Can anyone name any of them?"

Malfoy, ever eager to display his knowledge, responded with a hint of a sneer, "The Imperius Curse."

"You'd know all about that one, wouldn't you, boy?" Professor Moody's gruff voice barked like a seasoned war veteran. "I'd wager your father told you about it. He used it as an excuse to escape that very same ticket to Azkaban."

Malfoy's once-confident sneer transformed into a fiery flush as he clenched his fists under the desk, his bravado momentarily shattered.

With a flick of his wand, Professor Moody levitated a spider out of the jar and onto the desk. "Nasty curse, the Imperius. It gives complete control of the victim to the caster. The Ministry had terrible trouble with it because, if the caster knows what they're doing, it's very hard to tell when anyone is under it. However, it's the only one of the three that can be defended against. A strong-willed wizard or witch can fight it off."

The room buzzed with anticipation as Professor Moody raised his thick, notched wand and thrust it at the spider. "Imperio!"

The spider, now ensnared by the curse, careened around the room, scuttling over students and performing an involuntary dance on desks. Laughter erupted from all corners.

Harry grimaced, his empathy for the helpless spider overpowering any amusement. "Wouldn't be so funny if it was one of us being made into a helpless puppet, would it?"

Ron's knuckles whitened as he clung to the edge of his desk, his gaze locked on the spider as if it were the monstrous Aragog himself.

Professor Moody, undeterred, redirected the spider to the front of the desk. "Another curse, anyone?"

Neville, speaking almost in a whisper, cautiously offered an answer, "The Cruciatus Curse."

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom. The torture curse, its incantation is crucio," Moody affirmed, his magical eye locked onto Neville's face. "I will not be demonstrating that one in front of the eyes of children."

Gently, Moody scooped the spider and placed it back into the jar with the tip of his wand. "And the last one?"

Ron, with a bit more confidence, answered, "The Killing Curse."

Moody's growl carried an air of seriousness as he demanded, "Speak up, Weasley. You're correct. The Killing Curse. It cannot be deflected or magically blocked; its only survivor is Mr. Potter." Professor Moody's intense gaze fixated on Harry, as though Voldemort himself were about to manifest from his scar. With a practiced motion, Moody sealed the jar tightly.

Harry couldn't help but think, Good thing he didn't tell us the incantation for it. Malfoy and his lackeys would be out practicing it on small animals before the end of the day.

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "That was an intense lesson."

But Moody wasn't done. "The lesson has not ended, Mr. Weasley." He carefully placed the jar of spiders back under his desk. "There's a very lengthy chapter on hex-deflection in the text I recommended for this year. Read it before the next lesson, either in here or wherever you please." The weight of Moody's words hung heavily in the air, a reminder of the dark realities they were being trained to face.

Professor Moody retreated into his office, leaving behind a trail of curious artifacts, including peculiar-looking glasses and mirror-like objects that piqued Harry's interest before the door slammed shut.

"I wonder what those do?" Harry mused, his curiosity stirred.

Hermione, ever the responsible student, tugged at his arm, pulling him back to the present. "Come on, I want to check on Neville."

Harry glanced around and noticed that Neville appeared to be shaken but otherwise alright. "He seems okay, a bit shaken, but okay," he remarked.

Hermione folded her arms, showing a hint of disappointment. "Fine."

As Harry made his way to his next responsibility, he couldn't help but think, As if you don't go off to the library on your own all the time.

Passing through Myrtle's cubicle and into the Chamber of Secrets, he took the opportunity to erase any trace of Ginny's presence. With a wave of his wand, he made the dust vanish and removed the tiny footprints she'd left. It was as if nothing had happened. Harry paused briefly in front of the ink stain, then made it disappear. Good riddance.

"I'm back," he spoke in Parseltongue to the statue, watching the door grate open and the tongue-bridge rise out of the water. "It really does work for any command."

Slytherin's presence within the chamber greeted him with sarcasm. "Oh, joy. Company."

Harry retorted with a wry smile, "Beggars can't be choosers. It's me or Voldemort."

Slytherin, always quick with a comeback, remarked, "You're probably more sane. That seemed quick, though. Decided to skip class, then?"

"It's been over a day..."

Harry responded, exasperated by the ambiguity of time in the Chamber, "How am I supposed to know?! There aren't any windows, and the last I knew, it was the mid-twentieth century."

Slytherin, unconcerned with the passage of time, quipped, "The century is almost over."

Harry countered, "Like I care. I'm a painting. I will exist until I am destroyed. Time means little to me now."

Harry found himself raising an eyebrow, thinking, Godric Gryffindor must've been pretty bad if he was the childish one.

Slytherin, seemingly embracing the opportunity for mischief, motioned to his desk with his wand, dislodging a living, serpent-shaped necklace. Harry's eyes fell upon a slim, golden hourglass hanging from a wooden hook. "A time-turner..."

Slytherin confirmed, "Yes. One of the most valuable things in here. It can't be removed from the Chamber of Secrets, though, I enchanted it."

Harry acknowledged the wisdom in that choice, thinking, Voldemort would wreak havoc with one of these.

Slytherin then revealed the reason behind his protective enchantment, saying, "I did it so Godric would stop stealing it."

Harry's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline at the revelation.

Slytherin, with an amused smirk, admitted, "It's true, I would've never admitted it otherwise."

Harry couldn't help but wonder, "I thought the two of you were supposed to be enemies, not involved in some war of pranks?"

Slytherin revealed his history with Godric Gryffindor, saying, "I didn't carry out pranks. We just had a healthy spirit of competition. I made all the wards around the castle with Rowena, so he transfigured and enchanted all the gargoyles and suits of armor. When I created the Headmaster's office with Helga, he and Rowena snuck off to make some secret room of their own. They were very proud of it, especially when I couldn't find it."

Harry's curiosity was piqued. "What secret room?"

Slytherin explained, "They called it the Room of Requirement. I never found it, but they never found my Chamber of Secrets either."

Eager for more information, Harry inquired, "Any idea where it is? Or what it does?"

Slytherin replied, "Presumably it is whatever it is required to be, but no, I'm not sure exactly where it is or how to find it. I narrowed it down to the seventh floor, but it'd be a waste of time searching for it when you have all this," he said, gesturing to his grand library.

Harry agreed, "True, I have some magic to practice."

Slytherin, keen to maintain the sanctity of his library, promptly ordered, "Not in here, you don't. Out into the hall where you won't make a mess of everything. Leave the time-turner there, too. It's limited to about twelve hours, but you can come down after class and use it to repeat the day whenever you like."

Harry acknowledged the practicality of the suggestion, thinking, That's a good idea. With a purposeful stride, he made his way back across the bridge, planning to make the most of his newfound ability to relive moments and maximize his training.

Harry, in the Chamber of Secrets, was determined to master the destructive spell. "Reducto," he incanted, whipping his wand through two sides of a triangle, and unleashed the blasting curse at the lifeless basilisk. However, the spell sputtered out upon contact with the basilisk's magically resistant scales.

Realization struck. "Right. Magically resistant hide."

He redirected his focus to another target, aiming his wand at a pile of bones at the far end of the chamber. With a well-aimed "Reducto," the bones exploded into a fine cloud of dust, which gently settled onto the chamber floor, much like the ash he remembered from the World Cup.

Undeterred, Harry repeated the spell multiple times, honing his skills by fixing anything that appeared to be out of place. With each repetition, he improved his command over the spell.

Slytherin, his patience tested, inquired, "Have you finished destroying the finest room in this castle?"

Harry replied casually, "I fixed it afterward." He then wandered back into the library, where he sought knowledge about using transfiguration and conjuration in duels.

Slytherin, with a touch of pride, simply stated, "I am Salazar Slytherin."

Harry, recalling Slytherin's earlier mention, insisted, "You said Godric Gryffindor was the expert."

Slytherin, now willing to impart his knowledge, began to share his wisdom with Harry, insisting, "I'd like to think I know enough to teach a fourteen-year-old. Sit and listen."

Harry, having some prior experience, replied, "I've used it before... sort of."

Slytherin's interest was piqued. "You have? When? How?"

Harry's confession followed, "I conjured a basilisk out of ash and killed a wizard who was attacking me. I didn't mean to kill him; I just didn't want to die."

Slytherin, seemingly unfazed, offered a positive response. "Good for you." He contemplated the spell Harry had used, asking, "What was the spell? Serpensortia?"

Harry clarified, "I didn't use a spell; I just waved my wand and... made it happen."

Slytherin was intrigued and urged Harry to demonstrate. "Show me."

Harry hesitated, reminding Slytherin, "You said not to do magic in here."

Slytherin countered with a solution, instructing Harry to pick up the portrait and carry it out of the chamber. Harry complied, hoisting Slytherin from the wall and making his way across the bridge with effort.

Slytherin, clutching his wand with a sense of urgency, exclaimed, "Watch the water! Watch the water!" The snake's head buried itself in the wizard's robes. "If you drop me..."

Harry finally set the portrait down at the side of the chamber, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why on earth do you weigh so bloody much?"

Slytherin, inquisitive and curious, inquired, "Is that my basilisk?"

Harry confirmed, "Yes."

Slytherin noted the basilisk's growth with a hint of pride. "She grew a lot. How did you kill her?"

Harry explained, "With a sword."

Slytherin's response was tinged with disdain. "It had better have not been that ridiculously shiny, goblin-made atrocity Godric used to wave around."

Harry's confession that he had used the goblin-made sword to kill the basilisk seemed to ignite a storm of fury within Slytherin. The founder's wand exploded in silver sparks, and he unleashed a torrent of furious Parseltongue curses.

"Show me this conjured serpent, then," Slytherin demanded, seemingly eager to witness the feat.

Harry explained, "I managed to repeat it with fire. I don't know how well water will work."

Slytherin reassured him, saying, "Just try; it shouldn't really matter."

With the image of the basilisk coalescing from the pool, Harry slashed his wand forward, away from himself. A massive, liquid basilisk emerged from the pool and crashed against the chamber wall, splattering Harry's robes and face with water.

Slytherin's response was filled with praise, "Well now, that's a very impressive piece of silent battle-conjuration, especially for someone your age. If you hadn't used a serpent, I daresay Godric himself might've deigned to teach you. Not that you'd have learned anything from that idiot."

Harry, somewhat taken aback, muttered a grateful, "Er, thanks."

Slytherin then offered a new challenge, instructing, "Try again. This time don't imagine a striking snake, but one that hovers in the air over the pool."

Harry followed the instructions, summoning a serpent that floated above the pool, coiling and undulating. The exertion left him feeling drained, and he released the spell, allowing the water to splash back into the pool.

Slytherin acknowledged the effort, saying, "I can imagine how tiring that must have been." He waved his wand at the pool. "It looks powerful but draining. That's not a spell you should be using until you've got a lot better at directing your magic."

Harry, still trying to grasp the nuances of magic, confessed, "I have no idea how to do that."

Slytherin, after offering Harry some guidance, shook his head and muttered something in Parseltongue under his breath. "To conjure and animate something so big requires a great deal of magic. Even in my prime, I'd be capable of wielding it for no more than a few minutes, and you're pouring magic all over the place. Focus only on the objective of your spell when you cast it."

Harry struggled to regain his composure and balance.

Slytherin reassured him, "Not now. There are some rituals you can undertake to strengthen both your body and magic." He examined Harry with an appraising look, like a snake sizing up its prey, and the serpent around his neck seemed to share his curiosity. "I'd recommend them. They did Tom Riddle a world of good back when he was a scrawny little thing like you."

Harry vehemently objected, stating, "I'm not doing anything that wizard did."

Slytherin, with a perceptive understanding of Harry's intentions, asked, "You're going to use the time-turner, aren't you?"

Harry scowled but admitted, "Yes."

Slytherin, ever the pragmatic instructor, pointed out, "Then you're following in his footsteps already. That time-turner is what made him such a brilliant student. Of course, you're rather more sane than he turned out to be. You don't have delusions of vengeance against Muggles or an over-inflated sense of self-worth, do you?"

Harry responded firmly, "Not that I am aware of."

Slytherin approved, nodding, with the snake on his shoulders offering a synchronized nod of agreement. "Good. Use the time-turner, do the rituals, outstrip him, and redeem the title of Heir of Slytherin if you dislike the connotations he gave it so much."

With that, Harry returned the portrait to its resting place. He grumbled, "I'm not doing the rituals."

Slytherin, undeterred, conceded, "Suit yourself. It'll make carrying my picture a lot easier if you did. If you happen to change your mind, you'll find the ritual books you're looking for in the corner of the library up there." The painting pointed to a high spot just behind where the ladder rested.

Harry remained resolute in his decision not to partake in the rituals Slytherin had suggested.

Slytherin accepted Harry's choice, murmuring, "I'm not going to force you. You're my heir, the last reputable member of my family as far as I know. I'll help you as much as you allow me, especially since you saved me from the insane ramblings of my poor basilisk."

Harry, curious but cautious, admitted, "I'm not sure I want to ask."

Slytherin proceeded to share a surprising insight. "She had nightmares. I think the magic I used to create her, which made her loyal to me, punished her for what she did, even if she believed it was what I wanted. I'm glad you put her out of her misery. She's free of Tom Riddle, and I no longer have to listen to her tortured raving."

Harry couldn't help but question, "Where did she go? I just walked in here and found the study. It's far too tidy to have housed a seventy-foot serpent."

Slytherin explained, "She slept underneath. If you intended to wake her, any Parseltongue command would've brought her forth. You wanted to open the door, so you came here. A good thing too, since you probably wouldn't have been able to get out of her resting place had you fallen down there."

Surveying the study and feeling the exhaustion in his body, Harry realized it was time to head back to Gryffindor Tower.

"I'm going to head back to Gryffindor Tower," he announced.

As he returned to the common room, Hermione was waiting and inquired, "Where've you been? I looked in the library and asked around, but nobody's seen you since you left after class."

Harry offered a nonchalant response, "It's easier to work out of sight where I won't be disturbed."

Hermione offered to help, asking, "Did you finish the essay? I can look over it for you."

Harry responded to Hermione's offer to help with his essay, explaining, "It's not quite done yet. I want to check a couple of things, maybe squeeze in an extra bit to give Flitwick a good impression at the start of the year."

Hermione commended his idea but then shared a concerning situation, saying, "Ron's upstairs with Seamus and Dean. Neville said he was fine, since you were so concerned earlier, but I think the Unforgivables really bother him. He's shut himself inside his bed hangings and isn't talking to anyone."

Harry considered the possibility that Neville was deeply affected by the Unforgivable Curses, perhaps due to knowing someone who had been affected by them, other than himself.

He defended his perspective, stating, "The Unforgivable Curses bother everyone except the worst kind of wizards, Hermione. What would you have to be to not be bothered by curses to control, torture, and kill?"

Hermione, however, pointed out that Neville appeared to be more affected than most and suggested that Harry should care about what happened to his friend.

Harry questioned his role in the situation, asking, "What am I meant to do? I can't undo whatever it was that happened."

Hermione, with a hint of frustration, stated, "You should be upset that something like that happened to one of your friends."

Harry's response was tinged with bitterness, "Like how everyone's so upset it happened to me? They celebrate my parents' deaths every year, Hermione. You all do."

Hermione, taken aback, began to reply, "That's—"

Harry interrupted her, challenging her perspective, "Different? How? Because you all got something good out of it, it's all okay? The greater good?"

Hermione was at a loss for words, and Harry walked away, reflecting on the fact that none of his friends truly understood him.

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