(Harry's POV*)
If there's one thing I've learned, it's that pretending to be normal takes more effort than lifting a mountain.
The morning sunlight slanted through the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, dappling the long tables in honey gold.
I sat between Ron and Hermione, lazily spooning porridge into my mouth while listening to Seamus explain, for the fourth time, how he almost didn't blow up his cauldron this week.
Deidara would be proud.
"You know," I said, pretending to think deeply, "if we ranked 'almost' explosions, you'd still be top of the class."
Dean snorted into his pumpkin juice. Ron laughed so hard he nearly dropped his toast.
Hermione gave me that look, the one that said she was trying not to laugh but also disapproved on principle.
"Honestly, Harry," she said, brushing crumbs from her sleeve, "you're supposed to encourage him, not—"
"Encouragement is relative," I said mildly. "I'm encouraging him to embrace his destiny as Hogwarts' future demolition expert."
That earned me a snort from Fred and George a few seats down.
"Potter's right!" Fred called. "We could use a third partner, Seamus. Pyrotechnics Division!"
Hermione sighed. "You lot are impossible."
"Accurate," I said, stealing her toast when she wasn't looking.
She noticed, of course. "Harry!"
"Hey! I'm helping," I said, straight faced. "You said you're cutting down on carbs."
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, laughing.
Hermione threw a napkin at me.
For a moment, it felt like the world was simple. Warm. Safe.
But even then, underneath the laughter, I could feel it: the hum of the castle's ley lines brushing against my magic, like invisible rivers of power calling to me.
Every spell, every candle flame, every enchanted object whispered faintly to my senses.
I smiled through it. I had to.
No one could know yet, not until I understood it all.
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Professor McGonagall swept through the classroom like an elegant thunderstorm, robes crisp, eyes sharper than her Animagus claws.
Today's lesson was on complex transformation, rabbits into slippers.
siriusly what's with these random ass transfigurations.
"Wands ready," she announced. "Concentration and control, class. Transfiguration is not a matter of brute force, but finesse."
why must she repeat this thing every.single.time, lady we heard you.
I twirled my wand between my fingers, catching Hermione's glance.
She whispered, "Try not to show off this time."
I smiled. "No promises."
On her mark, I focused, and the rabbit on my desk shimmered. There was no wand motion, no muttered incantation. Just intent.
The air rippled, and the creature turned neatly into a pair of soft grey slippers with twitching ears. Perfect symmetry.
Hermione's transfiguration followed a moment later, slightly slower, but clean.
She bit her lip and refused to admit she was impressed.
"Excellent work, Potter," McGonagall said as she passed, voice even but eyes lingering for a second longer than usual. "And Granger, well done as always."
When she moved on, Ron leaned over and whispered, "I swear she's starting to think you're a ghost or something. No human gets things perfect like that."
"I'm human," I said with a smirk. "Just a better version."
Ron rolled his eyes. "You sound like a bad ad."
you are not wrong Ron.
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After dinner, the trio gathered in the library, pretending to do homework and succeeding only halfway.
Hermione was buried in Arithmancy for the Adept, Ron doodled on parchment, and I… well, I practiced silent levitation by making Ron's quill bob just out of reach.
"Oi!" he barked. "Harry—!"
"Hmm?" I looked up innocently. "Oh, must be a gust of wind."
I like annoying them so much.
Hermione peeked over her book. "You're incorrigible."
"Big word," I teased. "You kiss your dictionary goodnight?"
She threw a scrap of parchment at me, and I flicked my fingers; it stopped midair. Hovered.
Hermione blinked.
I smiled faintly, then let it drop. "See? Wind."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she said nothing.
Underneath the playfulness, though, my mind was elsewhere, deep under the castle.
I could feel the serpent's lair calling to me.
Old magic, stagnant but strong. Something ancient and familiar.
Tomorrow night, I'd answer it.
Everyone was asleep. The moonlight through the dorm window turned everything silver and still.
I sat at the edge of my bed, tracing the faint pulse of magic that thrummed through my fingers like a heartbeat.
Tomorrow, I'd go below.
Just me, truth, and the dark.
I smiled faintly at the ceiling. "Let's see what secrets Slytherin left behind."
-----------------------------------------
(Harry's POV*)
The castle slept.
Under the silver wash of midnight, the corridors were shadows and silence.
My breath was slow, deliberate, the rhythm of someone who had rehearsed every step.
Cloak first, the InvisibilityCloak melted over my shoulders, swallowing me in its ancient shimmer.
Then, with a wave of my hand and a whisper under my breath, Disillusionment.
Cold rippled down my spine, blending me further into the dark.
Muffliato followed, the air around me humming faintly as sound itself turned away.
Finally, a soft Odor Abolens, scentless, traceless.
I am not risking with mrs. Norris.
I was gone, even from the castle itself.
The second floor bathroom was still.
Moonlight crept through cracked windows and pooled on damp tiles.
Moaning Myrtle drifted near her stall, head bowed, a faint snore echoing from her translucent form, if ghosts could sleep, she was dreaming now.
"Sorry, Myrtle," I murmured quietly, knowing she couldn't hear. "Not tonight."
I stood before the sink with the serpentine carvings. Ancient stone. Forgotten power.
My tongue shifted, the old language rolling like silk.
"Open."
The sinks groaned, metal grinding against stone. The center column sank, widening into a spiraling chute.
The air that rushed out was thick with age and secrets.
very dramatic rowling.
I stared down into it, a dark throat leading deep beneath Hogwarts, and smiled faintly.
"Let's test a theory."
"Stairs," I hissed.
The stone trembled, and spirals formed, solid and winding downward into the dark.
"Perfect."
All hail fanfictions.
-----------------------------------------
I descended, one hand brushing the wall, my wand lit with faint blue Lumos maxima.
The tunnel was vast, curved, damp, a labyrinth of sewage and forgotten stone.
Rats scattered at my steps, though none dared cross my shadow.
And then, I saw it, stretched across the passage like a collapsed bridge: a shedded skin.
Pale gold, longer than a train car, with scales the size of plates.
I crouched, tracing it with awe. Each fragment hummed faintly with residual magic, venom, protection, strength.
"Beautiful," I whispered. "And useful."
With a flick of my wrist, the entire hide folded neatly into my enchanted pouch, vanishing like mist.
At last, the tunnel opened into a massive cavern.
The Chamber of Secrets.
I'd read the descriptions. But seeing it, feeling it was something else.
Pillars lined the vast hall like stone soldiers, carved with serpents coiling upward into darkness. Water rippled faintly across the floor, black as ink.
The air smelled of dust, decay, and timeless waiting.
At the far end stood him, Salazar Slytherin's statue, proud and solemn, his beard and robes carved in impossible detail.
Racism final boss.
I approached, boots whispering over the damp floor.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Making a password that calls himself greatest is crazy.
The stone mouth opened, groaning with ancient power.
From the darkness behind it came a sound, a deep, shifting hiss, like scales dragging over rock.
I stood still, steady.
Then she emerged.
A massive serpent, scales green as jade, eyes like molten gold. Her tongue flicked, tasting the air, tasting me.
Her head alone was the size of a carriage.
"Who daresss call me?" her voice hissed through the chamber, ancient, half mad.
"I do," I answered in Parseltongue, the words flowing effortlessly. "I am Heir of Nothing, but seeker of Truth."
Her great eyes narrowed. "You ssssmell of magic… old… wrong… not of my master…"
"Your master is gone," I said quietly. "And you've been alone far too long."
She let out a shuddering, rattling hiss. "All gone. All gone. Only the sssilence now. The hunger. The dark."
Her head darted forward, too fast for mortal eyes, but I didn't flinch.
Her pupils dilated, the golden eyes igniting with that fatal gleam, the Death Stare.
But I lifted my hand.
And the magic bent.
The basilisk's deadly gaze struck an invisible barrier, like light hitting glass.
The air around me warped, humming with raw force.
For a heartbeat, even the serpent froze, confused.
Nice try bitch.
I smiled faintly. "That won't work on me anymore."
She screamed, a sound like stone grinding against bone, and lunged.
My wand rose, angled upward.
Time to flex.
"Ventus fulmen."
Wind surged first, spinning, whirling, gathering into a column of raw energy.
Then it snapped toward the ceiling, splitting the air.
And the sky answered.
Through the enchanted rock far above, lightning fell, blue-white and furious, slamming straight down through my spell into her skull.
The basilisk convulsed, her body jerking as the light pierced through scale and bone.
The smell of ozone and burning flesh filled the chamber.
When the light faded, she was still.
Smoke curled from her eye sockets.
The water hissed as her blood touched it.
I exhaled slowly. "Requiescat, serpent."
The echoes died.
All that remained was silence, pure, ancient, sacred.
That wasn't necessary, I could have killed her with a thought.
But that was badass.
The stormlight still flickered across the Chamber's slick stone when I finally exhaled. The basilisk's massive form lay motionless, smoke still rising faintly from its charred head.
The silence afterward was almost sacred, as if the Chamber itself were holding its breath.
He raised his wand, murmured a charm, and the air shimmered.
With careful precision, I began to collect what was valuable, the basilisk's hide peeled away cleanly under controlled magic, folding itself neatly into rolls that vanished into his mokeskin pouch, enchanted with an undetectable Extension Charm.
Next came the venom, sealed in crystal vials by a flick of his wrist, tens of thousand drops of pure lethality suspended in green light.
Even the scales, fangs, and bones were stored away methodically, like an alchemist preparing for a lifetime of work.
When I finished, only a faint scorch mark remained on the stones where the creature had died.
I looked up at the statue again.
Slytherin's face seemed to be watching, neither judging nor approving, just knowing.
"I'll make something better of your legacy," I murmured. "Not fear, or racism but Power with purpose."
-----------------------------------------
Curiosity tugged me toward the back of the serpent's resting chamber, a narrow alcove tucked behind the statue's base.
There, nestled among the cold stones, lay something I could hardly believe my eyes at:
an egg, enormous, white-green, and perfectly preserved inside a faint shimmer of stasis magic.
I stepped closer, awe washing away the fatigue in my limbs. The preservation field pulsed softly, almost like the egg was breathing, alive yet suspended.
Salazar had sealed it in time itself, a failsafe, or maybe a promise to someone who'd come after him.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"I think you and I might get along," I murmured.
Lifting my wand, I traced the ancient magic carefully, whispering a binding rune of safekeeping. The egg shimmered once, then floated gently toward me, settling weightlessly into my pouch.
Hedwig was going to throw a fit about sharing my attention, but somehow, I knew this serpent and I were meant to cross paths.
As I turned back, a faint glow caught my eye , a snake shaped sigil carved low on one of the pillars, half buried beneath layers of algae.
It pulsed once when my magic brushed against it.
I hissed softly in Parseltongue, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
"Open for the Heir."
The sigil hissed back and sank inward. A section of stone slid aside, revealing a hidden passage behind the wall.
Inside was a narrow, circular chamber, smaller than the main Chamber, but older somehow.
The air felt thicker, heavier with purpose.
A long desk stood in the center, covered in brittle parchment and copper sheets etched with runes. Dust floated through the air like threads of silver smoke.
As soon as I stepped inside, enchanted torches flickered to life one by one.
Salazar Slytherin's study.
Proto-Arithmancy. Old Norse runes layered with self-replicating sigils.
This wasn't dark magic.
This was pure structure, the mathematics of willitself.
I found diagrams detailing rituals that strengthened focus, cleansed magical channels, refined spell precision, not through sacrifice, but resonance.
I frowned slightly, thinking of blood curses and all the talk of purity racism on every note.
I didn't expect this. This isn't dark… this is research. Understanding magic itself.
There were darker notes, yes, but I skimmed past them. I'd already seen enough to know this man isn't racist history painted him to be.
Near the back of the desk, a small silver ring rested inside a glass case, a serpent biting its own tail. The inscription below it read:
"For those who seek to understand, not control."
I lifted the lid carefully. The moment my fingers brushed the ring, its surface shimmered faintly, and the letters on the scrolls around me shifted, rearranging themselves into English.
A translator's ring.
I couldn't help but smile. "You were clever, old man."
As I stood among the relics of one of Hogwarts' founders, I felt my own magic pulse in quiet harmony with the ancient room.
I wasn't just an intruder anymore.
The Chamber of Secrets, and the legacy within it, now belonged to me.
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Okay some comments are so annoying, like have some brain?
One guy is like this is so wrong, you dont know shi,"go and read the novel and stop writing trash!!" "Make ur research well before u start writing trash. Not everyone is meant to be an author."
Listin,NathanBESH. from ch-3.
Chill, Get.A.Life.
I am not doing this for money,I am not an expert,heck this is my first novel.
English isnt even my first language.
I wrote this cuz I was Bored.
I am doing this for fun.
If you dont like it leave.
I am not here to keep you happy, drop the novel if you will.
I.DONT.CARE.
-Nine11P2