Vizette gazed at the stiff, lusterless salmon, shaking his head. "That killing intent alone was enough to finish off a fragile creature like this."
He turned to Mrs. Norris, sprawled limply on the hospital bed, and sighed. "Stripping away the curse won't bring her back to normal, though. I've never seen anything like this before."
"You've done splendidly," Dumbledore said, reaching out to stroke the cat's softened fur. "At least she's improved—far better than before."
"The mandrakes won't mature until late May next year. If Mrs. Norris can hold on like this, Filch won't have to suffer in silence for too long."
Vizette recalled the Herbology lesson where they'd first handled mandrakes. Their roots were key to potent restorative potions, capable of reversing stubborn curses and transfigurations.
During his private sessions with Snape, he'd learned of one in particular: the Mandrake Restorative Draught.
"The Mandrake Restorative Draught?" Vizette echoed, the name clicking into place at the mention of mandrake.
"Precisely—it's our best option right now." Dumbledore patted the stool beside him. "Sit, please."
He leaned back, eyes twinkling. "What are your thoughts on these resurfacing rumors about the Chamber of Secrets... and Salazar Slytherin?"
Vizette paused, then spoke deliberately. "From what I've read in reliable sources, I align with most Ravenclaws: Slytherin was in the right. Purging threats to stability was essential for Hogwarts' growth."
"But the Chamber tales are murkier. They didn't surface until after the International Statute of Secrecy was signed. Extremists twisted Slytherin's ideals into propaganda for blood purity supremacy. That's the real danger we must guard against."
"Spot on," Dumbledore said, a satisfied smile creasing his face. He reached for his pocket out of habit, only to remember it was empty, and smoothed his beard instead. "So, you see the Chamber as mere myth, not a tangible threat?"
"Oh, it's real enough," Vizette replied firmly. "On my way here, I ran into The Grey Lady. She told me it was opened fifty years ago—a Ravenclaw student died because of it."
"This time feels off, though. Mrs. Norris was just petrified, not slain by whatever lurks inside."
"Perhaps the heir who opened it lacks the skill? A botched attempt that spared her life?"
"You know more than I expected," Dumbledore said, his smile widening. "And you share my concerns. No point in secrets now—the opener back then was Voldemort, still a student here."
Vizette kept his face neutral. "Looks like last year's efforts didn't fully neutralize him."
Dumbledore nodded at Vizette's composure. "Voldemort must have devised some failsafe, buying him leeway for mistakes."
Vizette's brow furrowed. "Headmaster, are you using this to probe further? To expose his vulnerabilities?"
"And fifty years ago? He was younger, less guarded. No one found a weakness then? Lives were lost..."
"It should have been simpler," Dumbledore admitted, catching Vizette's implication. "But it wasn't. The Second Wizarding War loomed in 1942—no open battles in Britain, but the Ministry was stretched thin, aiding allies."
"Plus, Voldemort pinned it on a scapegoat. For most, nabbing a culprit closed the case."
Vizette's mind raced to one name. "Hagrid?"
From chats at Hagrid's hut—over talks of the Forbidden Forest and his Hogwarts days—Vizette knew the half-giant had been expelled, his wand snapped. The timeline fit perfectly.
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Hagrid took the fall. He did harbor a dangerous creature, after all."
"Couldn't they just track it down to clear him?" Vizette asked, puzzled.
Dumbledore sighed. "The mess was deeper. Attacks stopped after his arrest—evidence enough for the school and Ministry. No one wanted the hassle of hunting mythical beasts."
"And Myrtle Warren?" Vizette pressed. "The Grey Lady said she haunts the bathrooms now. No clues from her ghost?"
"Alas, nothing concrete," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "Her story's hazy: a voice in the walls, then huge yellow eyes before she died."
That explained The Grey Lady's cryptic remark about Myrtle. Still, one detail stood out—the voice.
"Headmaster," Vizette said, "did Professors Flitwick and Snape notice anything odd last night? Voices, traces of magic?"
"Nothing," Dumbledore said. "Filius and Severus scoured the castle—no sounds, no residues."
"Memories might cut through the fog." Vizette pressed his wand to his temple. "Transfer Memory!"
Dumbledore's eyes flickered as the silvery strand emerged. Vizette had refined the spell since last using it—no more fumbling.
No time for praise, though. Dumbledore drew his wand, absorbing the memory into his own mind...
…
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