To Harry, the ghosts of the wizarding world were distinctly abnormal, especially in their indifference toward their own deaths, as if they were deliberately ignoring it. If the same thing happened with the ancestral spirits he summoned, James would probably have cursed up and down Diagon Alley by now.
"It's clear that the creature that killed Myrtle Warren was the Basilisk," Dumbledore said calmly. "Hagrid and his spider friend were merely saddled with a baseless accusation."
Exchanging a glance with Harry, Dumbledore left unspoken what Myrtle had just mentioned about hearing a boy's voice outside the bathroom. But both he and Harry were thinking the same thing.
If the Basilisk, whose gaze could kill in an instant, was just outside the stall where Myrtle was, who could possibly stand unharmed in its presence?
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Only the young Voldemort.
"I think we're in for a rather slippery journey," Dumbledore said with a smile, waving his wand to transform broken stones into a staircase. "Time to explore the castle's deepest secrets."
"After you, Dumbledore," Snape said, giving him a look of distaste before turning to Harry. "Stay behind him, Harry. I'll bring up the rear."
Harry… had no objections.
Hogwarts' plumbing system was built in the eighteenth century, relatively new by some standards. Yet, somehow, a Basilisk—judged by Snape to be over a thousand years old—had managed to hide within it during those renovations and learned to navigate the castle through these pipes.
The wide pipes allowed Harry to move with just a slight duck of his head, while Dumbledore and Snape had to stoop to proceed. The surrounding pipes were slick and greasy, with occasional traces of the Basilisk's passage.
At the front of the trio, a floating, broken scale guided their way, the result of Dumbledore's tracking charm, leading them through the labyrinthine pipes to the Basilisk's lair.
"As we discussed before, Harry," Dumbledore's voice echoed slightly in the pipes, "Hogwarts has long been rumored to house secret chambers—not just Slytherin's, but ones left by the other founders as well. There are simply too many of these chambers, and magic ensures their secrecy. Unless you know the exact way to enter, they might remain hidden forever."
"At least we've now found Slytherin's Chamber," Snape said, his voice tinged with irritation. "A Basilisk, ha! That a Hogwarts founder would leave such a dangerous creature in the castle… did he never consider what would happen if a young witch or wizard was harmed?"
"Someone was harmed—Myrtle died, didn't she?" Harry said casually, scanning their surroundings. "And decades ago, the school nearly closed because of it."
Compared to Dumbledore and Snape, who wrinkled their noses at the foul air and filthy environment, Harry was unbothered. Sewers? He'd traversed them countless times. So many of his attacks against enemies had begun in sewers, fighting his way up to their thrones. It was familiar territory—almost like coming home.
"Yes, Harry, that's the key point," Dumbledore said leisurely. "It was likely the threat of the school's closure that prompted Tom to step forward and hastily pin the blame on Hagrid."
"Tom?" Snape's brow furrowed, sensing there was more to this.
"Voldemort," Harry explained simply. "That's what he was called when he was young."
Snape fell silent, his mind reeling.
"You're saying Voldemort actually cared about Hogwarts?" Harry asked, pressing further.
"Oh, Harry, it may sound odd, but I did watch Voldemort grow up," Dumbledore said, chuckling suddenly. "He grew up in an orphanage, never seeing his peers there as family—until he came to Hogwarts. I must admit, he truly considered this castle his home."
"So, to answer your question, yes, I believe Voldemort loved Hogwarts, however faintly. It was the softest part of his heart, and he wouldn't allow it to be shut down."
"Hm, Myrtle's death was probably an accident, then. At that time, Voldemort wouldn't have wanted a death at the school—such things always cause a stir."
Snape: "…"
Was this something he was supposed to hear?
Harry might not know, but surely Dumbledore was aware of his position. The Dark Lord's youthful past, his vulnerable moments… if Voldemort knew Snape had learned this, a Killing Curse would be the least of his worries. Was Dumbledore implying he was no longer needed?
As a double agent, Snape's mind worked quickly, diving deep into overanalysis.
Dumbledore, however, offered no explanations.
"That makes sense," Harry said, unaware of Snape's inner turmoil, nodding slightly. "There's no such thing as absolute evil or absolute good. Everyone has both kindness and malice, showing different sides at different times or to different people."
"Oh, Harry, you've robbed me of a teaching moment," Dumbledore said, his voice tinged with mock regret. "You know too much—hm?"
"What is it?"
"I'm afraid we've reached the end of the easy part," Dumbledore sighed, unusually serious. "We'll have to jump from here. As before, I'll go first."
With that, Dumbledore leapt into the pipe, which suddenly dropped at a ninety-degree angle.
The world spun dizzyingly. Even for Harry, a seasoned "pipe worker," the sensation of being flushed downward was overwhelming. When they finally burst out of the pipe and landed on solid ground, even Snape's perpetually grim face showed a flicker of relief that it was over.
"We're at least a few miles beneath the school," Snape said, shaking off the sticky sludge with a grimace. "More likely under the Black Lake… it's far too damp here. Lumos."
He wasn't the only one to cast the spell. Soon, the light from their wands illuminated their surroundings.
"Strange. Can't a Basilisk's stomach digest bones? That doesn't match its physiology," Harry said, picking up a rat skeleton from the ground. The floor was littered with similar bones, likely the Basilisk's leftovers.
"There's no need to rationalize a Basilisk's existence, Harry," Snape said, narrowing his eyes. "You know it's a creature of dark magic, artificially created. A rooster's egg laid under Sirius's light, hatched by a toad… such a creature defies normal logic. If you analyzed its feeding habits, this place should be paved with bones, and its hunting would have exposed it long ago."
"Well said, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "A pity you've graduated, or I'd award you ten points—oh, it seems I don't need to reward you after all."
As they ventured deeper, they came upon a massive, coiled object—a giant Basilisk shed.
The shed skin could be used in potions, and in the hands of a Potions Master like Snape, it might yield new brews.
"Can I have some, Professor Snape?" Harry asked suddenly. "And some bones and scales, too. I'd like to make armor for myself and my friends to guard against accidents."
"Fine, take it. Take it all," Snape replied without hesitation. "If it's for armor, I've no objections. Make it thick. Need me to contact a goblin craftsman?"
Dumbledore held his breath, studying Snape closely. In all their years, he'd never seen this expression on Snape's face—indulgent, almost doting.
It sent a shiver down the old man's spine.
It was… unsettling. Like a pile of cockroaches dusted with chili powder.
"What about me?" Dumbledore asked, suddenly enthusiastic. "Can I have some? This snakeskin would make a fine pair of undergarments—"
"Don't even think about it!" Snape snapped, glaring at Dumbledore with disgust. "Stick to your cockroach clusters, old bee. That's all you're fit for."
Dumbledore: "…"
What could he say? Sure, it was a joke, but such an immediate rejection… Oh, Gellert, I miss you.
An old man sighed deeply.
Truth be told, even standing in what was likely Slytherin's Chamber, none of them felt particularly tense. After witnessing the Basilisk's death, another one popping up wouldn't be a big deal.
Just more materials to collect.
Turning corner after corner in the dim tunnel, they soon reached its end: a solid wall carved with two entwined serpents, their eyes set with valuable emeralds.
"What now?" Harry asked, turning to the others. "In my experience, this is where we'd need a password."
"Parseltongue," Snape said abruptly. "The Dark Lord is a Parselmouth and never hesitated to show it. Slytherin himself was one, too. If this is his Chamber, only Parseltongue will open that door."
"Shall we just break it down?" Harry suggested. "No need to worry about safety. Even if the tunnel collapses and the Black Lake floods in, I can have Dotty protect us."
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Harry!" Dumbledore said, grabbing his arm. "As Hogwarts' headmaster, I think the castle's taken enough damage today. Repairs are costly."
Even if Dumbledore often left much of his work to Professor McGonagall, he wasn't shameless enough to burden her further.
"So what do we do?" Snape asked, frowning. "We can't just leave. Now that we've confirmed the Chamber's existence, we need to see what's inside. Or are you saying you've mastered Parseltongue and Mermish?"
"We're not leaving, and no, I'm not a Parselmouth," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "I can't promise anything, but let me take a look."
Crack!
Before Dumbledore could finish, the wall split apart, parting in the middle as if someone inside had opened it, inviting them in.
"This is the worst-case scenario," Dumbledore said, his tone no longer playful but grave. "The Basilisk wasn't here by chance. Someone deliberately set it loose to attack you, Harry."
"Tom again?" Harry didn't need more clues to pinpoint the culprit. "Which piece of his soul is it this time? I wish he'd be more proactive."
"At least he's proactively inviting us in now," Dumbledore said with a faint smile.
"This time, I'm going first," Harry said, stepping forward before Snape could object.
The room was vast, dimly lit but illuminated by magical torches along the walls. A long corridor was flanked by stone pillars carved with coiling serpents, supporting a ceiling that vanished into the darkness above.
A greenish glow permeated the room, giving it the eerie atmosphere of a horror story.
Fire elements were scarce in the Chamber, but Harry summoned flames to brighten the surroundings.
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