For a while after that, the school returned to a strange sort of calm. It seemed as though everyone had chosen to forget about the poor cat—as if nothing had ever happened. But for Harry and his friends, the memory of their talk with Hagrid still lingered. The mystery of the dead roosters hovered like a shadow, making the truth harder to see.
They couldn't shake their doubts. If the Basilisk really existed, could it be living in the Chamber of Secrets? The message scrawled on the wall—The Chamber has been opened—had faded from most people's minds, but not from Hermione's.
Hermione had even gone so far as to question Professor Binns about it during History of Magic. The old ghost looked displeased; he despised legends and myths. As a rigid and pedantic spirit, Binns preferred only hard, verifiable facts. Unfortunately, his "teaching" amounted to a dreary monotone, droning out of him like an old vacuum cleaner—dry, mechanical, and lifeless.
Normally, his classes sent nearly everyone to sleep, students jerking awake only to scribble down a date or name before drifting back into their stupor. But today, for the first time in his entire ghostly teaching career, his students were alert—almost excited.
Unable to resist their unusual curiosity, Professor Binns reluctantly recounted the tale of the Chamber of Secrets.
"Is the Basilisk the monster hidden inside the Chamber?" Hermione asked eagerly. But before Binns could even open his mouth, she began reasoning it out herself. "It must be! Slytherin's emblem is a snake—it's too much of a coincidence."
Then she sank back into her seat, murmuring fragments of logic under her breath.
"I really regret ever mentioning such nonsense," Professor Binns scolded in his papery voice, looking sternly at the chattering students. They were so engrossed that they'd begun debating among themselves, completely ignoring him. After an exasperated cough to recapture their attention, he resumed lecturing—and within five minutes, the class had slipped back into its usual half-asleep haze.
After class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione immediately began discussing what they'd learned.
"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was some twisted old nutter," Ron said as they walked down the corridor. "But I didn't realize he invented that pure-blood rubbish. If I ever got sorted into Slytherin, I'd have turned right around and taken the train home."
Hermione gave a reluctant nod. She didn't agree with judging people by their house, but she didn't argue either.
Harry said nothing. His thoughts were darker, more tangled. The Sorting Hat had nearly put him in Slytherin. He could still hear the voice whispering in his ear, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
"You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head—and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, there's no doubt about that…"
The memory made his stomach twist. If Slytherin stood for evil, what did that say about him? Did that mean there was something dark in his nature too?
The trio wandered toward the corridor where Mrs. Norris had been attacked, hoping to uncover some forgotten clue. Their search led them to the girls' bathroom—Moaning Myrtle's haunt. Just as they were about to ask her about what she'd seen on Halloween, Percy appeared out of nowhere.
Catching them red-handed in the girls' loo, he puffed himself up indignantly and marched them out, deducting five house points—though, as Ron muttered under his breath, he didn't actually have the authority to do that.
That night, they sat in the common room, keeping their distance from Percy, who was acting unbearably self-important. Ron, still fuming, tried to finish his Charms homework but kept splattering ink all over his parchment.
When he impatiently waved his wand to clean the mess, he misfired—setting the parchment ablaze instead. His temper exploded. With a sharp slap, he slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione did the same.
"Who do you reckon the Heir of Slytherin is?" Ron asked suddenly, fiddling with his cracked wand.
"I don't know," said Harry, shaking his head.
"Neither do I," Hermione said quickly, though her tone suggested she feared Ron's answer.
"If I were Salazar Slytherin," Ron said in a conspiratorial whisper, glancing around the common room to make sure no one was listening, "I'd pick someone powerful—pure-blooded, obviously—and completely willing to wipe out Muggle-borns."
"Draco?" Harry said immediately.
Hermione's lips pressed together tightly.
"Who else?" Ron said. "You've seen him. He's arrogant enough for ten Slytherins, and he's actually pretty good at magic—not that I like admitting it. I doubt half the sixth- and seventh-years could hex like he can."
He paused, recalling that night in Hagrid's hut during first year, when Malfoy had insulted them. "And can you honestly imagine Crabbe or Goyle as the Heir of Slytherin?"
Harry laughed. The image of those two dim-witted brutes inheriting an ancient, sinister secret was ridiculous. If Salazar Slytherin saw them as his descendants, the Basilisk would probably eat them before they managed to open anything.
"Besides," Ron went on, "you remember those rumors last year—about him using a curse on a Muggle and getting his wand confiscated?"
Harry did remember—and the thought made his skin crawl. He still hadn't forgotten that strange day when he'd nearly ended up at Malfoy Manor through that vanishing cabinet. He'd overheard Lucius Malfoy discussing Dark artifacts, and later, at Flourish and Blotts, the tension between the Malfoys and the Weasleys had been so sharp it could have cut glass. Emotionally and logically, Harry couldn't help siding with Ron.
"But all this is still just guesswork," Hermione said quietly, torn between reason and sympathy. She wanted to defend Malfoy on principle—but she couldn't bring herself to. "You're right, he's suspicious, but we don't have proof."
"Yeah, we can't exactly walk up to him and say, 'Hey, Draco, did you open the Chamber of Secrets?'" Ron muttered. "If he answered yes, he'd be an idiot, and if he didn't—well, we'd look like ones."
Hermione bit her lip, then said suddenly, "Maybe there's another way." Her eyes flicked toward Percy, who was sitting pompously at the far end of the room. Lowering her voice even more, she whispered, "It's not easy, though. It'll be dangerous—probably break at least fifty school rules."
Ron leaned forward eagerly. "If you've got an idea, just tell us now, will you?"
Hermione hesitated, then said, "We could transform into people he knows and ask him directly."
Harry and Ron both burst out laughing.
"You're joking, right?" said Ron.
"I'm not," Hermione replied firmly. "Snape mentioned a potion a few weeks ago—in class. The Polyjuice Potion. It lets you take on someone else's appearance."
"What?" they said together, eyes widening.
"It's advanced magic," she explained. "You can turn into another person for a short time—then the effects wear off."
The boys fell silent. Hermione felt their stares and began to realize the problem before they said a word.
Crabbe and Goyle were the most obvious disguises—but Malfoy didn't spend much time with them outside class, and they weren't exactly bright. If not them…
Her eyes widened slightly. Pansy Parkinson.
But Ron and Harry weren't about to turn into girls, even for the sake of the investigation. That left only one possible volunteer—herself.
Hermione's stomach twisted. She had just dug a trap and fallen right into it.
"Hermione," Ron said solemnly, "the safety of everyone in the school depends on you."
Harry nodded gravely, playing along.
"But the recipe is impossible to get," Hermione protested weakly. "Snape said it's in Moste Potente Potions. That's a restricted book."
There was only one way to borrow from the Restricted Section—get a signed note from a teacher.
Harry and Ron exchanged mischievous grins.
"I think we both know who could help with that," Harry said.
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I've got the perfect teacher in mind."
The conversation trailed off into plotting whispers, while the firelight flickered across their faces. Outside, the castle was quiet again, the calm deceptive and thin. The whispers of the Chamber still lingered in the air—like a shadow waiting to move.
Though the days ahead would bring more danger and doubt, the trio had already taken their first step toward uncovering the truth.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Jackssparrow