The dark pipeline opening at the girls' bathroom sink reeked of damp rot.
This was the secret passage to the Chamber of Secrets, home to the legendary basilisk, bred by Hogwarts founder Salazar Slytherin himself—a pet of the infamous dark wizard. Just ten seconds ago, a poor ghost had slipped inside.
A sense of danger and unease seeped out from the pipe.
Harry stood firmly at the entrance, hearing the shaky breaths of his two friends beside him. The foul smell stopped him from taking a deep breath. He looked up at them. "Stay calm, guys. Ron, you're with me—we'll go find Myrtle. Hermione, hurry and get a professor."
"We should all go to the headmaster, Harry," Ron said, his voice tight and his face pale. "We're only second-years. We can't handle a basilisk. Besides, Myrtle's a ghost—she's already died once. She can't die again, right?"
"You're right, ghosts can't die twice, but who knows what a basilisk's gaze does to them?" Harry shook his head, his tone resolute. "If Myrtle dies again in that thing's jaws, that's just too cruel. I can't let her go into the Chamber alone and bet on her not dying a second time."
Ron sighed. "Alright, then…"
"I'm going with you!" Hermione cut in. "We've taken remedial classes together—we know how to work as a team. Ron, you go get a professor. Be quick. We'll try to buy time."
Before Ron could protest, Hermione bent down and leapt into the pipe.
Harry clapped Ron's shoulder and followed her in.
"…"
Ron stared into the black maw of the pipe, the sound of their sliding echoing faintly. He opened his mouth, irritation flaring.
"Those two show-offs, making decisions without even asking me. Honestly!"
Ignoring the stench, Ron took a deep breath and sprinted out of the bathroom.
The corridor outside was quiet. It was the weekend, and everyone—students and staff—had their own plans. Ron wasn't sure who to find.
The nearest office was Lockhart's, but Ron didn't dare waste time. He opted to run farther to the Muggle Studies classroom, recalling Neville mentioning that the drama club rehearsed there and professors occasionally passed by.
---
Deep in the Chamber of Secrets.
A figure stood before Slytherin's stone statue, head bowed. The only light came from the basilisk's glowing yellow eyes. Half of Melvin's face was illuminated.
"Your eyes hold too much dangerous magic," Melvin murmured. "They're coming down soon, and to avoid a tragedy with student casualties, I need to make some adjustments."
His voice echoed softly as he waved his wand before the basilisk's eyes. "Don't worry, it's just a simple Transfiguration spell to fix the transparent keratin layer over your eyes. It'll block the killing magic in your gaze but leave the petrifying effect intact."
The basilisk's human-like eyelids had a transparent layer, like a protective membrane, keeping its eyes moist and shielded from irritants.
Melvin was thickening and locking this layer to ensure the basilisk's gaze could still petrify but not kill anything that met its eyes.
While casting the Transfiguration, he maintained a transparent Ironclad Bubble Shield to protect himself from accidental exposure. It was delicate work.
"Kind of like laser eye surgery," Melvin chuckled.
The basilisk, unable to parse his muttering, let out an annoyed huff, its foul breath pungent but otherwise still. After months of feeding and interaction, it had grown accustomed to its new keeper.
"Hiss…"
The yellow eyes dimmed, leaving the chamber lit only by swirling green mist. Massive stone pillars loomed on either side, flanked by serpent statues.
The basilisk slithered back to its lair, and the chamber fell silent once more.
---
"Professor Lockhart! Why are you at the drama club!?"
Ron let out a wail, on the verge of collapse.
"Why can't I be here?" Lockhart flashed his signature charming grin. "I was looking for Melvin, but he wasn't in his office, so I thought I'd try my luck here. Neville said he left an hour ago."
He gave a helpless smile, tinged with self-satisfaction. "I happen to have a knack for theater, so I stayed to offer the students some guidance. Want to stick around for a sneak peek?"
After making a fool of himself at the Duelling Club, Lockhart's reputation—briefly salvaged over the past weeks—had taken another hit. He wasn't about to miss any chance to shine.
He'd heard from students that their play might actually be performed. Even if the script wasn't based on his adventures, he wanted the name Lockhart attached to it.
On the classroom stage, Cedric, playing a knight, was charging forward while prop handlers scrambled to maneuver a wyvern puppet.
"…"
Ron turned to leave.
Lockhart grabbed his sleeve. "I smell trouble. Anything Professor Lockhart can help with? I'm always ready to lend a hand."
Ron clenched his fists, tempted to swing. "I don't have time for your nonsense! Harry and Hermione went into the Chamber to find the basilisk. They're in danger! I need to get help!"
"The Chamber… the basilisk…" Lockhart's eyes gleamed, still gripping Ron's sleeve.
The stage buzzed with activity, everyone focused on the performance. Cedric's shout rang out, rallying and stirring, full of passion.
"Melvin's not in his office. McGonagall's probably in Hogsmeade prepping for the Christmas feast. Sprout's in the greenhouses. Dumbledore and Flitwick might not be in their offices. Who're you going to find now?"
Lockhart's gaze burned with zeal, like a knight ready to charge. "If I'm the only professor here, it's my duty to ensure student safety. Tell me everything, Weasley. You'll have to trust me."
"There's no time for details! Short version: Professor Levent guided us to find Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. We confirmed there's a basilisk inside, tied to Myrtle's case from fifty years ago. Harry and Hermione followed her in!" Ron unclenched his fists, sweating with urgency. "Professor! Lockhart, whatever you're planning, just go save them!"
"Merlin's beard, an emergency! But we can't rush in blindly," Lockhart said.
His frequent memory charms had left his mind sluggish, and the sudden flood of information needed time to process.
According to the boy, Levent had subtly guided them to investigate a fifty-year-old case involving a ghost named Myrtle, leading them to a basilisk hidden in Slytherin's Chamber.
It sounded like a thrilling adventure, but it was riddled with holes.
Why would Levent involve students in something like this?
If Dumbledore and the Ministry couldn't solve the case, how did a few kids manage it?
The Chamber of Secrets, a thousand-year-old myth with no proof, found by students?
Too many questions, no clear answers. But Lockhart's mind flashed to last year's film—same trio, same mix of truth and fiction, same attention-grabbing flair. If he treated this case like an adventure story, it all seemed to click.
With his thoughts aligned, Lockhart prepared to dive into the performance. Noticing the drama club wrapping up, an idea sparked.
He didn't know Levent's script, and the basilisk might be real. With the drama club students here, they could join the mission—perfect decoys if things went south.
He turned, flashing a dazzling smile. "Kids, hold off on leaving. I need your help!"
---
Sliding through the pipe, they descended miles underground.
Landing on a damp, cold platform, they were shrouded in darkness, with no light source but their wands. Hermione kept her wand tip glowing, while Harry took the lead, half a step ahead.
They'd chased Myrtle through the pipe, but their sliding speed couldn't match a ghost's glide. By the time they emerged, she was gone.
Instead of waiting, they pressed forward along the tunnel.
"We must be miles under the school," Harry said, scanning their surroundings. "Probably beneath the Black Lake."
"Remember, if you hear anything, close your eyes immediately. The basilisk's gaze is deadly," Hermione whispered, her voice echoing slightly.
The underground tunnel was simpler than the pipe, mostly a straight path. They occasionally crunched over brittle, weathered rat bones that crumbled underfoot.
No real danger, just eerie.
After passing through a damp, silent stretch, they reached a bend. The pipe's foul smell faded, replaced by the stale, wet chill seeping from the stone walls. Bones grew scarce here.
Hermione's silver light illuminated the walls. Her gaze swept around, pausing on the floor ahead.
She pointed Harry to a patch where the dust was noticeably thinner.
"Something was here for a long time, unmoved until recently. It's big—could be the basilisk," she said, inspecting it closely.
"Recently awakened?" Harry asked, looking around. No sign of the creature.
"Let's keep going," Hermione whispered.
The feeling of following a fixed path into the unknown reminded her of last year's fourth-floor corridor—entering a sealed space, navigating obstacles, facing real danger.
She couldn't help but suspect this was another setup by Professor Levent.
But the ancient dust and untouched walls suggested this place had been sealed for ages. They'd followed Myrtle on impulse, likely outside the professor's plan.
Rounding the bend, they faced a massive stone wall carved with two entwined serpents, lifelike, their eyes set with gleaming emeralds.
"Probably a mechanism to guard the Chamber. A key or specific spell to open it," Hermione said, studying it. "Myrtle might've passed right through."
"Maybe I know how to open it…" Harry hesitated, stepping forward. Facing the serpents, he cleared his throat and hissed in Parseltongue, "Open."
The emerald eyes seemed to flicker. The serpents writhed to life, parting as the wall split open, revealing the Chamber within.
Green mist swirled across the ceiling, casting an eerie glow. Stone pillars loomed, coiled with serpent statues that hissed silently, watching the two pale faces entering.
Harry and Hermione moved forward side by side, cautious, steps slow. They glanced up at the misty green light and around at the serpents, which seemed to track their every move. Ahead, a faint figure floated indistinctly.
"Myrtle?" Hermione called tentatively.
No response.
At the foot of Slytherin's statue, their light illuminated the figure clearly.
Harry stared ahead, while Hermione stifled a gasp.
It was Myrtle, who'd rushed in ahead. Her ghostly form, no longer milky and translucent, was dark and dim, wreathed in faint smoke. She floated motionless in midair, her round face frozen in anger.
"Is she… dead?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"Can ghosts leave a body after dying? It looks more like she's petrified," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "Stay alert. If you hear anything, close your eyes."
They stood guard in silence for a long time, the Chamber eerily still. Without Myrtle's presence, it could've passed for an abandoned classroom.
"When Professor Levent had me demonstrate Parseltongue, he left me a phrase. Should I try it?" Harry whispered. "It means, 'Speak to me, Slytherin.'"
"What's that supposed to do?" Hermione eyed the statue. "Slytherin's been dead for a thousand years. How can he speak?"
"Only one way to find out."
Hermione shook her head. "I think we should head back and report this to the headmaster and professors."
"Agreed."
They began retreating slowly. Maybe it was the claustrophobic space, but they felt watched, an uneasy prickle urging them to move faster.
The green mist glowed softly. A sudden clatter of footsteps echoed behind them, rapidly approaching.
They turned to see a group running toward them, led by Lockhart, who looked thrilled, even waving excitedly. "Hey! Harry! Don't worry, your professor's here!"
Ron trailed behind, alongside Percy, Penelope, Cedric, and Marcus.
A bad feeling twisted in Harry's gut. Glancing back, he noticed the mist near the statue's head had thickened, turning near-silver, less green, more like smoke.
A low, rasping voice sounded.
In that moment, Harry heard the Parseltongue.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"