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Slytherin was actually someone who treated everyone equally and was exceptionally fair?
Even after bidding farewell to the Fat Friar, Harry was still dazed for quite a while—because this was just absurd to hear! For centuries, Slytherin's public image and the narrative surrounding him had always been that his house was a sacred hall meant solely for noble pure-blood wizards. Only these so-called "noble" ones were worthy of entry. Hogwarts' strongest and most prestigious house—an emblem of glory, or so went the never-ending rhetoric.
"Looks like Slytherin's reputation," Harry glanced sideways at Snape, "was shamelessly plastered on by the pure-blood families themselves."
"Perhaps," Snape's lips twitched slightly. "I imagine Slytherin would've thought every one of those fools was a complete waste of space."
"No kidding. If we're just talking raw talent, the most gifted Slytherins I know of are Tom Riddle and... you, Godfather."
"What about it?" Snape asked with a touch of curiosity. He wasn't bothered at all by Harry putting him and Voldemort in the same sentence. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't a good person. After all, back in his school days, he had been obsessed with curses and poisons, always experimenting with lethal concoctions that could wipe out entire areas wherever they landed.
If he'd ever truly vied with Voldemort for the title of "Dark Lord," the outcome would've been a close call. Voldemort's Avada Kedavra could kill one person at a time; Snape's poison could wipe out an entire village in minutes. And if he really wanted to go all out, creating a highly contagious, world-threatening virus wouldn't be beyond him.
Now that he could easily dissect the werewolf curse, it wasn't unthinkable that he could engineer something just as devastating.
That's the level of prestige that comes with becoming a Potions Master by age thirty!
For centuries, no one had broken Snape's record for fastest promotion to Potions Master. Those at his level were usually wrinkled old men in their sixties or seventies—the youngest ones, anyway. Most didn't reach that rank until their eighties, nineties, or even past a hundred.
Back in his student days, Snape had casually optimized potion formulas that are now standard textbooks across Europe—a feat that would've sent shockwaves through the potion-making world had anyone known. Potions was a field rooted in accumulated experience; talent mattered, but experience mattered more. And anyone capable of brute-forcing their way past decades of experience with sheer talent alone was anything but ordinary.
"You're both half-bloods, aren't you?"
Harry already knew Snape was a half-blood. During their tutoring sessions, Snape had even brought out his old textbooks. The nickname "Half-Blood Prince" had made him flush with embarrassment. After some prodding from Harry, Snape, looking like he was ready to kill someone, grudgingly shared tales of his youthful recklessness. He truly did spoil Harry like his own son.
"Tom was a half-blood too. Harry, how did you figure that out?" Dumbledore asked, a bit surprised. In the wizarding world, it was widely believed that Voldemort was a pure-blood, especially given his staunch pure-blood supremacy stance.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry said, waving his hand to conjure a line of floating text. With a flick, the letters rearranged themselves to spell: Lord Voldemort.
"A little research and it becomes clear. After all, I've fought him twice in real battles."
Harry brushed off the question casually—he couldn't very well tell Dumbledore he knew this from reading books in a past life, could he?
Dumbledore had only asked in passing and didn't pursue the matter. As Harry said, it wasn't hard to uncover with a bit of digging—especially once it was confirmed that it had been Tom who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. The clues lined up perfectly after that.
After leaving Hufflepuff's common room, the group made their way down the staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Before they even opened the door, her wails of self-pity floated out on the cold, drafty air.
"This is the girls' bathroom!"
A furious voice burst from one of the stalls. Myrtle, who had been wallowing in a toilet bowl, heard a male voice outside saying, "This is it," and immediately flew out in a rage.
"Oh~ it's you, Harry~"
Her voice made a full 360-degree emotional turn as Myrtle clutched her ghostly robe shyly. Who knows how a ghost could change moods so fast?
"Maintenance inspection. Please step aside—watch out for accidental injuries."
Harry said flatly, keeping his expression neutral. The best way to deal with Myrtle was neither to indulge nor confront her. Give in, and she'd cling to you. Push back, and you'd be drenched in toilet water.
"He's worried about me~"
Myrtle cupped her face in her hands, eyes sparkling with emotion. Lost in her fantasy, she instantly became the perfect background decoration.
"This is about the right spot."
Harry stopped in front of the circular sink in the girls' bathroom. The bronze faucets were arranged in a ring atop the stone basin.
"Shouldn't we ask Moaning Myrtle? She must have seen something back then."
"We can't seriously think the Chamber entrance is in the toilet, right, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry shrugged with a grin. "The sink still seems like the prime suspect."
"So, how do you plan to open it?" Dumbledore played along, like a grown-up humoring a child's detective game.
"Well, of course—" Harry, just about to roll up his sleeves and get to work, froze mid-motion. Then he gave an awkward smile and glanced at Snape. "Actually, Godfather, maybe you'd better do it. I should probably take it easy for now."
While he technically could use magic, Harry knew it was best not to. His health had only just improved after careful recovery, and he couldn't risk "strenuous activity." Small spells were fine, but this kind of heavy-duty demolition? Best avoided.
"Remove this section, correct?"
Snape examined the sink for a moment, then drew his wand and pulled the trigger.
*Sectumsempra!*
Several subtle, invisible blades sliced through the air. Without a sound, the stone sink was cut cleanly apart. Water that should've gushed from the severed pipes was frozen solid mid-flow by a blast of ice, sealing the lines completely.
With a few deft motions, Snape levitated the severed pieces of the sink and neatly stacked them to the side.
"Looks like magic was concealing it."
Beneath the sink, the surface revealed a smooth stone slab. Snape narrowed his eyes. "The entrance is magically linked to Hogwarts' protection spells. Headmaster, only you have the authority to bypass that."
Back when the Gaunt family hadn't yet descended into complete madness, they still had enough wealth and power to indulge in luxury for centuries before finally squandering it all. Their resources allowed them to participate in the largest restoration project in Hogwarts history. Those involved in that endeavor were no weaklings in terms of magical prowess. Using their construction privileges, they tied the enchantments hiding the entrance into the school's defensive wards. This clever integration maintained the secrecy and stability of the Chamber's entrance over time. Without maintenance, it would've crumbled and vanished like countless other forgotten passages in the castle.
"That won't be a problem."
As Hogwarts' headmaster, Dumbledore possessed supreme authority over the castle's magical infrastructure. He could activate or deactivate protective wards, grant Apparition permissions in restricted areas, and more. This kind of minor magical linkage was nothing for him.
With a sweeping gesture, Dumbledore severed the magical connection between the bathroom and the castle. The stone slab beneath the sink collapsed, but before it could hit the ground, it was suspended mid-air by a Levitation Charm, then gently set aside. Before the three of them now yawned a pitch-black void, bottomless and foreboding. Beneath the bathroom lay a massive tunnel that connected to Hogwarts' sewer system. Though long abandoned, and not particularly dirty, it still carried the faint, unmistakable scent of a sewer.
The three-meter-wide pipe could easily fit an adult African elephant. Even Hagrid could walk through it upright. No one truly knew how thick the thousand-year-old Basilisk had been, but this passageway was certainly wide enough for it to move freely.
Encased in protective bubbles conjured by Dumbledore's Levitation and Giant Bubble-Head Charms, the trio slowly descended into the dark abyss of the sewer tunnel. The rapid drop brought a weightless sensation and a creeping fear of the unknown. But for ordinary people, that might inspire terror—for these three, all hardened and resolute, it was nothing.
The whitened bones scattered along the path had been weathered brittle by time. The road ahead, paved with the remains of various sewer-dwelling creatures, also revealed a faint, narrow side path. There was no doubt—it had been trodden by Nagini. Back then, Harry hadn't killed her directly, and he knew little of her fate. Dumbledore had handled the aftermath. After all, Nagini had once been his "friend." When Grindelwald had stirred up chaos in Paris, it was Nagini's group who had come to Hogwarts seeking Dumbledore's help. Without their warning...
A reckless young Grindelwald might've provoked Nicolas Flamel into true wrath. And if that had happened, forget the so-called "Pure-Blood Party"—Flamel would have shown the world firsthand what the legendary alchemical army, responsible for wiping out the remnants of the Goblin Empire centuries ago, was truly capable of. Tens of thousands of alchemical constructs marching forward under transmutation circles covering thousands of square kilometers—Portkeys, Apparition, none of it would help. Anyone marked would be dragged out and hanged.
Nagini and her allies had earned Dumbledore's gratitude. Without their warning, Grindelwald's end would've been far worse.
After following the ancient path for several minutes, a stone wall blocked the way. Carved into its surface were two serpents entwined, with large, glittering emeralds embedded in their eyes.
The three stopped before the wall. Snape once again drew his wand, ready to cast a spell, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him.
"Forcing it open will trigger a counterattack, Severus. This entrance is no crude fake like the one above."
Dumbledore squinted, carefully studying the ancient stone wall. His eyes gleamed with a focused intensity. "This is the entrance Slytherin himself created. Perhaps we really do need someone who speaks Parseltongue to open it for us."
"If we force it open..." Dumbledore glanced down at his wand and slowly spoke the words, "People might die."
He raised his wand slightly. In an instant, the two serpents carved into the stone wall seemed to come alive. The emerald eyes gleamed with a sinister green light. The cold, lethal aura that radiated from them made Snape break out in a cold sweat, almost reaching into his robes for something.
"Don't worry, nothing will happen," Dumbledore said calmly. "I was just politely 'inquiring.'"
His tone was nonchalant, the confident attitude of someone skilled enough to control distance with perfection.
"Perhaps," Harry muttered, still slightly shocked. He hadn't expected Slytherin's protective enchantments to be this advanced. But as Dumbledore activated the guardian serpents, he realized something important.
The snakes were "alive." Not in the biological sense, but they were magical constructs infused with power. They possessed a form of pseudo-life granted by magic—an artificial, magically charged creature far more sophisticated than Professor McGonagall's Transfigurations. Even after a thousand years, the protective magic had not weakened at all. And the serpents' emerald-green magical energy...
Harry suddenly found himself speaking a string of unfamiliar, strange sounds. It wasn't the usual hissing of Parseltongue but a language that seemed ancient, full of grandeur and a certain formidable authority.
The serpents began to move with increasing fluidity, but the deadly presence that had once hung over them dissipated. They slid aside, and the stone wall blocking their way slowly parted, revealing a long, dark passage behind it.
"How...?" Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise, then his expression shifted as he realized. "Ah, I see."
"Slytherin was a 'Waking Wizard.' When I saw the emerald energy flowing through the snakes after you activated them, I thought I'd try something. I didn't expect it to work."
"Well, since the door's open, let's go in."
They passed through the serpentine opening into a long, dimly lit chamber. The room was filled with stone pillars engraved with entwining serpents, their eyes glowing with emerald light. This eerie glow illuminated the shadows cast by the black ceiling, which shimmered with a subtle greenish hue, stretching the trio's long, strange silhouettes.
Their shadows twisted unnaturally, almost serpentine in motion.
A faint, ancient scent of blood lingered in the air. At the far end of the chamber, a massive serpent lay lifeless in a pool of dried, blackened blood that covered nearly a third of the floor. Silver spikes pierced through its body, pinning it firmly to the stone beneath.
The giant serpent's unblinking, lifeless eyes reflected a faint gray light, still staring at them, though the deadly yellow glow that had once signaled its deadly curse had long since faded.
Nagini had absorbed the basilisk's curse and transformed herself into the vessel for that curse. Yet, even in this cursed form, her death stare was rendered powerless by the Invisibility Cloak, which blocked all magical force.
"What a waste," Harry said, somewhat regretfully. He eyed the serpent's massive body and sighed. "Such a huge snake, and not even using it for a barbecue? A nice snake stew would've been great too. The older, the better, right?"
"And its magic has been drained," Snape added, equally disappointed. He peeled off a scale, only to crush it effortlessly between his fingers. "Otherwise, it could've been used for potions."
Although breeding basilisks was strictly forbidden, Snape, as a master of potions, still had access to some valuable materials. However, those were only a few decades old at most. He could get materials, but they were always from weakened, diluted versions of the real thing. This particular basilisk, though, was a rare treasure.
"Voldemort really deserves to die!" Snape growled, his voice tinged with bitterness. With a flick of his wand, he levitated the dead serpent, neatly packing it into a material pouch. "Perhaps I can salvage something from this."
With a few simple spells, the chaotic, bloodstained hall was cleared. Floating, glowing orbs of light lit up the dim chamber, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the room, which shimmered with a ghostly green hue.
The enormous stone statue of Slytherin was now fully illuminated in the soft white light.
The statue depicted a wrinkled, monkey-like face, with a sparse beard that almost reached the hem of its robes. The statue had no dignified presence, instead giving off a bizarre, awkward vibe. But if one considered Slytherin as a cunning, dark wizard with a penchant for torment and dark experiments, the sculpture certainly fit the character.
However, Harry found it all quite ironic. As a "Waking Wizard," Slytherin hardly needed to dabble in such things. Dark magic? Ordinary magic couldn't even touch the surface of a "Waking Wizard's" capabilities. Slytherin might have played with dark arts, but his core research couldn't have been on such "shallow" things.
"If the Chamber only left behind a pet snake," Harry muttered as he stood before the statue, "did he really need to go to such lengths to set up this secret chamber?"
He toyed with the Slytherin locket in his hand and suddenly smiled.
"Let us see what kind of surprise he left for us. Although, I'm not really his heir."
Harry raised the locket, his voice clear as he spoke the ancient words of the "Waking Wizard" magic. A surge of grayish energy flowed from him into the locket, causing the embedded emerald to glow brightly.
"Only true geniuses can lead the world's progress. Slytherin belongs to the true elite."
"Oh, by the way, I'm not Slytherin." Harry turned, tossing the locket to Snape. "He's the most outstanding student Slytherin has had in centuries: Severus Snape, a thirty-year-old Master of Potions."
"More exceptional than your descendants, Slytherin's true heir."
With a resounding crash, the statue shattered. The grotesque monkey-like visage crumbled into pieces. Countless serpents slithered from the cracks in the statue, unfurling across the floor in a dark, green-patterned carpet.
Their eyes were all drawn to the faint door revealed behind the shattered statue, glowing with a ghostly green light. Standing at the entrance, a tall figure waited, quietly watching.
(End of Chapter)