The knowledge of the Chamber's entrance was a burning secret in my mind, a key to a door that promised immense power and equally immense risk. But the keyhole was not a normal one; it required a specific, magical language to turn the lock. I needed to speak Parseltongue.
My foreknowledge told me that this was a trait of the Heir of Slytherin, a magical ability passed down through Salazar Slytherin's bloodline. The original Tom Riddle was a direct descendant. I, however, was not. I was a foreign soul in his body, a glitch in the timeline. While I had inherited his magical potential, I had no reason to believe I had inherited this specific, hereditary trait.
I tested this hypothesis in the privacy of the Room of Requirement. I spent hours staring at conjured images of snakes, trying to command them, trying to force the strange, hissing words from my lips. Nothing. The connection simply wasn't there.
//SYSTEM NOTIFICATION// [Skill: Parseltongue] is a bloodline-linked genetic trait. Host does not possess the required Gaunt/Slytherin magical DNA. Skill cannot be learned through conventional means.
The System confirmed my fears. I could not learn it. Not through practice, not through study. This presented a significant obstacle. My entire plan to investigate the Chamber, to confront the memory of my namesake, and to potentially seize control of the Basilisk for myself, was stalled.
But the System was a tool of infinite possibilities. And where one path closed, another often opened.
"System," I thought, focusing my will. "Is there any unconventional way to acquire the [Parseltongue] skill?"
The System's response was instantaneous, a flash of emerald text against my vision.
//Analysis Complete. Three potential pathways detected:// 1. [Magical Assimilation]: Absorb the soul or significant soul fragment of a Parselmouth. (Extreme risk of soul corruption/identity loss). 2. [Bloodline Ritual]: Perform a complex and forbidden blood magic ritual to splice the required magical DNA into your own. (High risk of magical mutation/physical degradation). 3. [Skill Synthesis]: Acquire and merge a specific combination of lower-tier skills to create a synthetic version of the desired trait.
The first two options were a fool's bargain. I had no intention of merging my soul with Voldemort's or turning myself into some kind of magical abomination. That left the third option, a path that was pure System logic, a "crafting recipe" for a god-like ability.
"Display requirements for [Skill Synthesis]," I commanded.
//[Skill Synthesis: Parseltongue (Synthetic)] Requirements://
[Beast Language (Basic)]: The foundational skill to communicate with non-humanoid magical creatures.
[Serpentine Affinity (Passive)]: A trait that makes you non-threatening to and understood by reptilian creatures.
[Voice of Command (Magical)]: The ability to imbue one's voice with magical intent to influence magical creatures.
[Ancient Runic Translation (Tome-Based)]: A deep understanding of ancient magical linguistics. //Synthesis requires 1,000 Study Points and consumes all component skills.//
My heart pounded with excitement. It was a complex, multi-layered path, but it was a path. It was possible. The final requirement,[Ancient Runic Translation], was already in my possession, thanks to the book Dumbledore had given me. I had a head start.
The other three skills would have to be acquired. The library was my first stop. I found references to[Beast Language]in several advanced Care of Magical Creatures texts, but they all described it as an incredibly rare, innate talent, not something one could learn.[Serpentine Affinity]was mentioned only in dark, obscure texts on magical breeding. And[Voice of Command]was a high-level beast taming skill, far beyond the scope of any Hogwarts curriculum.
Learning them through books was impossible. But the System offered another way.
I now had over 2,000 Achievement Points. It was time to spend them. It was time to summon a new tutor.
That night, in the misty void of the study space, I stood before the summoning interface. Andros was beside me, his ghostly form radiating a curious energy.
"A new teacher, Tom?" he asked, his voice booming. "Am I no longer sufficient for you?"
"Never, Andros," I said with a smile. "But your expertise lies in combat and honorable magic. My needs are... more esoteric now. I need a specialist."
I focused on the summoning command, but this time, I added a specific filter. 'Summon an SS-Rank tutor with deep knowledge of magical creatures and ancient languages.'
[Filter applied. Summoning from the pool of SS-Rank [Century Kings]... Summoning initiated.]
The familiar golden light erupted, but it felt different this time—wilder, greener, laced with the scent of ancient forests and wild earth. When the light faded, a new figure stood before us.
He was a tall, impossibly lean man with a shock of unruly, snow-white hair and brilliant, piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through me. He wore worn, practical dragon-hide traveling robes and carried a long, gnarled staff of Rowan wood that seemed to hum with a life of its own. He looked at me, then at Andros, and then back at me, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his weathered face.
"Well now," he said, his voice a gravelly baritone that sounded like shifting stones. "It has been a long, long time since anyone has had the power to call on me. You must be in quite a pickle, young man." He bowed, a gesture that was both elegant and slightly mocking. "Cadmus Peverell. At your service. Though I suspect you'll be more familiar with my work on the languages of beasts and the taming of serpents."
My breath hitched. Cadmus Peverell. One of the three brothers from the legend. The original master of the Resurrection Stone. And, according to the obscure texts I had read, one of the most powerful beast masters and magical linguists in history.
The System had delivered the perfect teacher. My path to the Chamber of Secrets was now clear.