The fire in the Haven had long since burned down to embers, but no one moved. The faint, dying light from the hearth glinted off the silvered edges of the open book—The Compendium of Ancient Magical Creatures—and the terrifying illustration of the serpent sprawled across its pages.
A long, shaky silence was broken by Shya.
"But… nobody's died," she said, her voice small and confused. "If this thing's been slithering around the castle, why is everyone just… frozen?"
Padma, ever the researcher, leaned so close her nose almost touched the page. "It says here… 'direct eye contact brings instant death.' But look," she pointed a trembling finger at a paragraph of dense script, "'if the gaze is met indirectly—reflected through water, or glass, or another medium—the effect is a complete and Petrifying paralysis.'"
Talora, who had been hugging her knees, looked up, her eyes wide. "Reflected… like Mrs. Norris saw it in the water on the floor. And Colin through his camera."
"And Justin through Nearly Headless Nick!" Lisa whispered, the pieces clicking together with horrifying clarity.
Shya's stomach dropped. "So it's not that the monster's being nice. We've just been… stupidly lucky."
Cassian looked up from the book, his face pale but his voice unnervingly steady. "Luck runs out."
A collective shiver went through the group. The finality in his words hung in the air, heavier than the dust from the old book.
For a moment, the only sounds were the faint crackle of embers and the frantic scratching of Padma's quill as she copied down the vital information.
Then Mandy suddenly sat up straight, a determined, almost reckless glint in her eyes. "We can't just sit here being scared. We figured it out! If we know what it is, we have to tell someone who can stop it."
"We could map the plumbing!" Lisa added, caught up in the sudden burst of courage. "Trace the pipes back to a source, maybe there's a hidden entrance—"
"Are you both completely mental?" Roman exploded, jumping to his feet. His usual lazy confidence was gone, replaced by pure, panicked logic. "This isn't a game! This is a giant murder-snake! You don't go looking for it! You run the other way! What are you going to do, Lisa, ask it to hold still while you sketch it for extra credit?"
"He's right!" Talora said, her voice tight with anxiety. "We're twelve! We're clever, we're not… not monster-fighters! We'll get ourselves killed!"
Shya stopped her pacing and whirled around, her own fear morphing into fierce frustration. "So what's the brilliant plan, then? Wait until it Petrifies one of us? Or worse? We have to tell someone!"
"A professor," Padma suggested, though she sounded uncertain. "Professor McGonagall? Flitwick? Someone… sensible."
"Anyone but Lockhart," Lisa muttered, and a few of them nodded in grim agreement.
"No," Shya said, her jaw set. "They'd just form a committee and have meetings. We go straight to the top. We go to Dumbledore."
A wave of nervous awe passed through them. Going to the Headmaster felt like appealing to a king, or a god.
Cassian finally closed the heavy book with a definitive *thump* that made them all jump. He looked around at their scared, determined faces. "Then we should go now, the sooner we act, the faster they can put a stop to all of this"
The Seven looked at each other, nodding slowly, realizing that this is the best they could do.
***
The plan, once settled, sent a jolt of grim energy through them. They couldn't stay hidden any longer.
The group broke apart at the Haven's door, the darkness of the corridor feeling more threatening than ever.
"Right," Cassian said, his voice low and quick. He quickly copied the page from the Compendium into Padma's arms. "Mandy, Padma, Lisa—you find Professor Flitwick. Show him the page. Tell him exactly what you saw and heard."
Roman was already throwing on his coat, his usual grin replaced by a look of fierce responsibility. "I'll take them there and make sure they get back to the tower safe."
Talora frowned, a flicker of worry crossing her face. "You don't have to—"
"Yeah, I do," he cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically serious. He glanced at Cassian. "You're the one with the plan. I'm the one who makes sure everyone gets where they're going in one piece. We all have our roles."
Cassian gave a single, sharp nod—a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken trust.
Padma, clutching page as though her life depended on it,, squeezed Talora's hand before they separated. "Be careful."
"You too," Talora whispered back, her voice thin with anxiety.
Then, with one last shared look, the two groups turned and went their separate ways, their footsteps echoing as they disappeared into the castle's shadowed, sleeping corridors.
***
The walk to Dumbledore's office felt endless.
Their footsteps echoed off the cold stone, the faint hum of the castle like a nervous flutter in their chests.
When they reached the spiral staircase, the bronze gargoyle loomed — impassive and silent.
"Do we even know the password?" Shya asked, glancing between Cassian and Talora.
"Knowing Dumbledore?" Cassian murmured. "It's probably something sugary."
Talora hugged her arms, her voice small. "We can't just stand here shouting candy names. We'll look insane."
Shya smirked faintly. "You say that now, but if I yell 'Cockroach Cluster' and it works, you owe me five galleons."
Before she could try, quick footsteps echoed down the hall.
They spun around — wands half-raised — only to see Harry Potter skid to a halt a few feet away, looking as startled to see them as they were to see him.
"Potter," Shya said, her tone a mix of surprise and wariness.
Harry's eyes darted between the three of them, his posture tense. After weeks of being treated like a pariah, a group of students waiting outside the Headmaster's office felt like an ambush. "What are you all doing here?" he asked, his voice tighter than he intended.
"We could ask you the same thing," Shya countered, one eyebrow arched.
"I was… summoned. A note from Professor Dumbledore," he explained cautiously, holding up a scrap of parchment as if for proof. His eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"
"We have information," Cassian stated, his voice flat and serious. "About the Chamber."
Harry's suspicion deepened. Why would this particular group—a sharp-tongued Ravenclaw, her quiet friend, and a stoic Slytherin—have information? And why bring it to Dumbledore now? Before he could form another question, he remembered why he was here. He turned to the gargoyle.
"Lemon Drop," Harry said, and the gargoyle sprang aside.
Shya's jaw went slack. "You have got to be kidding me. 'Lemon Drop'? It was that obvious?"
A faint, awkward smile touched Harry's lips. "Lucky guess, I suppose."
"Or the universe just rewards Gryffindors for sheer, uncomplicated audacity," she retorted, but the insult lacked its usual bite, softened by a grudging grin.
Harry found himself smiling back for a second, a confusing, warm feeling cutting through his anxiety. The moment was broken as the staircase finished its ascent.
"So… are you… coming up?" he asked, stumbling over the words. He was unsure of the protocol. Was he supposed to go alone? Did they all just… barge in?
"We are," Shya said, her confidence returning as she stepped onto the moving stairs without hesitation. "Like we said, he needs to hear this."
He simply nodded, too thrown to argue. They climbed the stairs together—Harry first, feeling intensely aware of Shya just behind him, with Cassian and Talora following like a silent, watchful guard. The flutter in his chest was now a tangled knot of confusion, suspicion, and a strange, new curiosity.
***
The office was a sanctuary of warmth and gentle noise. Whirring silver instruments puffed on spindly-legged tables, and the portraits of sleeping headmasters snored softly in their frames. The air smelled of lemon drops, old parchment, and the faint, clean scent of cedar. Behind a massive claw-footed desk, Albus Dumbledore sat, his half-moon spectacles perched on his nose as he examined a delicate, whirring device.
He looked up as they entered, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Ah. I was expecting one visitor. It seems fate has been far more generous and sent me four. Please, come in."
Harry, looking slightly overwhelmed, stepped forward. "Professor, I got your note. They, uh… they were outside."
Shya didn't wait for an invitation. She moved to the front of the desk, her posture straight and her voice respectful but firm. "Professor Dumbledore, we apologize for the intrusion, but we've discovered something. We believe we know what is hidden in the Chamber of Secrets."
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his expression unreadably calm. "Do you, now? That is a secret which has eluded this school since its creation. I am most intrigued to hear your theory."
Cassian, without a word, stepped forward and heaved the heavy Compendium onto the polished wood of the desk.
The sound was unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
He opened it to the bookmarked page, the terrifying illustration of the serpent seeming to writhe in the flickering light. "It's a Basilisk, sir. The evidence matches. The petrifications are from indirect sight—through water, a camera, a ghost. The spiders are fleeing their mortal enemy. It moves through the pipes. It's all here."
Dumbledore leaned forward, the light glinting off his spectacles as he studied the page. His long, aged fingertips gently traced the inked description of the creature's lethal gaze. He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft, pained chirp from Fawkes's perch.
The phoenix looked wretched, his brilliant plumage gone dull and listless, his head drooping as if it were too heavy to hold up. His eyes were dim, like cooling coals.
"The pieces of a puzzle, once scattered, often seem obvious when finally assembled," Dumbledore murmured, more to himself than to them. His gaze lifted from the book to Cassian's face. "You have assembled them with remarkable clarity."
As he spoke, Fawkes let out a long, low, aching cry that seemed to vibrate in the very air. The sound grew higher, sharper, more piercing, until it was almost unbearable. Then, a wisp of smoke curled from the phoenix's tail feathers.
"Professor—!" Talora gasped, pointing.
Before anyone could move, Fawkes was engulfed in a rush of golden flame. The fire did not consume; it transformed. Shya, acting on pure instinct, reached a hand out toward the inferno, a cry of alarm on her lips. But the flames, as if possessing a will of their own, recoiled from her touch, swirling away and instead washing over Talora, who stood frozen, her eyes wide with awe rather than fear.
The heat was intense but brief. As quickly as it had begun, the fire vanished, leaving behind the rich scent of incense and warm ash. Where the magnificent bird had been, there now sat a small, naked, and very new-looking chick, chirping feebly from within the pile of embers.
Dumbledore smiled, a look of profound tenderness on his face. "Ah. He is right on time. A beautiful, if dramatic, occasion. Thank you for sharing it with us, Fawkes."
Shya stared at the ash on her fingertips where the flames had refused her. Her brow was furrowed in confusion and a flicker of hurt. "He… he wouldn't let me near him. The fire moved away."
Dumbledore's gaze settled on her, ancient and knowing. "Phoenixes are deeply perceptive creatures, Miss Gill. They see the heart, and the potential, within us all. Perhaps Fawkes saw something in that moment—a spark not yet ready to be kindled, or a fire that needed no encouragement. It is not a rejection, but a recognition."
He then turned his attention back to Harry, his tone shifting to one of gentle gravity. "Thank you for coming, Harry. And it seems your friends," he said, with a slight, deliberate emphasis that made Harry blink in surprise, "had something of vital importance to share."
A heavy, waiting silence filled the room. Shya hesitated, then took a small step forward.
"Professor," she began, "may I make a request?"
"I am always open to requests, Miss Gill."
"It's about Harry." She glanced at the boy in question, who looked utterly bewildered by the entire change. "Whoever the Heir is, they've been watching. They know Harry's a Parselmouth. If they realize we've all been here, talking to you… they might see him as a threat and try something. Would it be possible… to have someone escort him back to Gryffindor Tower tonight? Just as a precaution."
Dumbledore looked at her, and his expression was one of deep, somber appreciation. "Prudent as always," he said softly. He didn't snap his fingers, but merely said, "Tilly."
With a soft *pop*, a small house-elf with enormous ears and a tea-towel uniform appeared, wringing her hands. "Headmaster Dumbledore, sir! What can Tilly be doing?"
"Please see Mr. Potter safely to the Gryffindor common room. Ensure he is not disturbed."
"Yes, sir! Tilly will be keeping the nasty things away!" the elf squeaked, grabbing Harry's sleeve.
Harry, looking torn between annoyance and gratitude, allowed himself to be led away. At the door, he paused and looked back at Shya, his expression a complex mix of confusion and dawning respect. "Thanks," he said, the word awkward but genuine.
"Don't mention it, Potter," she replied, and for the first time that evening, her smile reached her eyes, warming her sharp features.
The great oak door clicked shut, leaving the three of them alone with the Headmaster. The office seemed to grow larger, the silence deeper and more expectant, as Dumbledore's full, undivided attention settled upon them once more.
****
Dumbledore gestured for them to sit in the worn, comfortable chairs before his desk. The leather creaked softly as they obeyed, the sound loud in the hushed room.
"Now," he said, his voice gentle but intent, "from the beginning, if you would. Leave nothing out."
And so they did, their voices weaving together—Talora's quiet terror describing the river of spiders, Shya's sharp recounting of Myrtle's haunting tale, Cassian's cold logic connecting it all to the book. Dumbledore listened, his blue eyes distant, as if he were watching their words paint a picture on the air itself.
It was then that Talora, connecting the threads aloud, ventured her hypothesis. "Professor," she said, her voice soft but clear, "if the monster moves through the pipes, and Moaning Myrtle was the last person to die… she said she saw the eyes in the sink. That must mean the entrance isn't just connected to the plumbing. It is the plumbing. Or it's hidden behind it. The entrance to the Chamber… we think it has to be in that bathroom. The second-floor girls' lavatory. It's the only place that makes sense."
Cassian gave a curt nod, his arms crossed. "The logic is sound. The victim's account places the entity's point of emergence at that specific location fifty years ago. It is the logical origin point."
When they finished, he exhaled slowly, the sound a soft sigh in the room. "You have shown remarkable clarity of thought," he said, his gaze sweeping over them. "And no small amount of courage to bring it here. Both qualities are rare. And both can be profoundly dangerous."
A heavy pause filled the office. Then, Dumbledore raised his wand. A shimmering silver burst of light erupted from the tip, resolving not into a familiar animal, but into a brilliant, intricate symbol—a stylized crest of Hogwarts itself. It hovered for a moment before shooting through the solid wall of the office, vanishing from sight.
The response was immediate.
The door to the spiral staircase burst open first, revealing Professor McGonagall, her face etched with alarm, her tartan dressing gown pulled tightly around her. "Headmaster? Your signal—"
She was cut off as the office wall shimmered and Severus Snape swept through a hidden passage, his black robes swirling, his expression a mask of sharp readiness. He took in the scene of the three students with a flicker of his dark eyes stopping on Cassian but said nothing.
A moment later, there was a frantic tapping at the window. Filius Flitwick was perched on a floating bookshelf, his small face pinched with panic. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the window swung open.
"Headmaster! Forgive the intrusion!" Flitwick squeaked, clambering inside. "But it's urgent! Three of my students—they came to me with the most extraordinary, the most terrifying theory! They believe the monster is a Basilisk! They had evidence, the spiders, the plumbing—!"
His words died in his throat as his eyes landed on Talora, Shya, and Cassian, sitting before the Headmaster's desk. His shoulders slumped with a mixture of relief and dread. "Oh. I see… you're all… already here." He smoothed his robes, a faint, proud, and terribly worried smile touching his lips. "Well. It seems my eagles have flown ahead of me."
Finally, Pomona Sprout arrived, breathless, still in her muddy gardening robes, a pair of enchanted pruning shears clutched in one hand. "Albus! What's happened? The mark— Good heavens, children? What's all this?"
The four Heads of House stood assembled, their confusion and concern a palpable force in the room.
Dumbledore rose to his full height, the last vestiges of the kindly old man vanishing, replaced by the solemn authority of the Chief Warlock and strongest wizard of our time.
"My dear colleagues," he said, his voice low and carrying an immense weight. "Thank you for your swift arrival. It would seem that the diligence of our students has provided us with a critical breakthrough. We have, at last, identified the creature Slytherin left behind."
He gestured to the open book on his desk. "We have much to discuss. The situation is more grave than we knew."
The four students sat frozen, insignificant in the sudden company of the most powerful witches and wizards in the castle. The theories and fears they had whispered in the Haven were now the subject of a war council. For the first time, the full, crushing gravity of their discovery settled upon them—they were just children who had stumbled onto the edge of something ancient, terrible, and very much alive.
And as the doors sealed shut, the castle itself seemed to hold its breath.