Now, when Harry claimed he understood Parseltongue, Ron and Hermione were so shocked they nearly fell over.
One must know that this strange art of speaking with snakes was the sacred, ancestral magic of the Slytherin line. Harry was a disciple of the Lion House (Gryffindor), so how had he learned the Snake House's (Slytherin) own skill?
"Harry, are you serious?" Ron asked, bewildered. "How can you speak Parseltongue?"
Harry sighed. "If we are to trace this to its root, we must speak of that scoundrel, Voldemort."
He then relayed, word for word, what Dumbledore had told him in the Headmaster's office.
Hearing that a fragment of Voldemort's soul resided in Harry's scar, Ron and Hermione's faces turned as pale as earth, their hearts panicked.
Hermione's brow furrowed, and she pondered for a long time. She wracked her brains, but she could not recall a single magic for removing a soul fragment.
Ron also worried, "If a piece of You-Know-Who's soul is in you, he won't possess you like he possessed Quirrell, will he?"
Harry said, "The Professor already anticipated this. He specially dispatched that Snape to instruct this one in a so-called 'Occlumency'."
"But in the past few days, that Snape has claimed he has 'no free time,' and I do not know what schemes he is plotting in secret."
The three walked and talked, heading straight for the Headmaster's office. When they reached the entrance, the two stone gargoyles saw the "Little Tyrant" (Harry) approaching with his blade and quickly leaped aside to hide.
Hermione, who had been about to say the password, was dumbfounded. The word was stuck in her throat.
You... you can just enter without giving the password?
Harry rushed in and cupped his hands. "Is the Professor present? This one has found a matter of great joy and has come specially to report it!"
Dumbledore heard the bright call but did not speak. He just opened a drawer, took out a vial of headache potion, and downed several gulps.
"Good afternoon, Harry, Hermione, and Ron."
"What brings you three little wizards to see me?"
Before Ron and Hermione could even say hello, Harry said, "Professor, do not bother with such pleasantries. Has the location of the Chamber of Secrets been found?"
Dumbledore, seeing Harry's urgency, assumed he was here to press him. He chose his words carefully. "Harry, I am not saying I won't find the Chamber, but... there is no matter that can be said to be an absolute certainty..."
Although this White Lord did not wade in the political sea of the Ministry, he had, through years of wrangling with the Hogwarts governors, learned a thing or two about speaking in riddles.
Ron was completely fogged by this waffling, unable to tell north from south. Having been steeped in Harry's presence for so long, he had also caught a bit of his impatience and couldn't help but shout.
"Professor Dumbledore! We're here to tell you we found news about the Chamber!"
Dumbledore was slightly surprised. "Where did you hear this news?"
Harry said, "From that scoundrel, the Bloody Baron."
He then recounted the events from the Great Hall at noon. It forced Dumbledore to drain the entire bottle of potion, yet his head still throbbed.
"Oh, Harry... you are more trouble than Peeves."
"Every ghost at Hogwarts has, more or less, a connection to the Sacred Twenty-Eight families..."
Dumbledore sighed, setting that worry aside for the moment. He snapped his fingers. With several pops, four or five house-elves appeared in the office.
They all had large, pointed ears and big eyes, stood less than three feet tall, and were wrapped in shabby tea towels, looking exactly like Dobby.
Harry was surprised. Hogwarts has house-elves, too?
As the elves gathered, Dumbledore relayed Harry's crucial information to them.
After giving his instructions, he stressed again, "The regular cleaning of the castle can be slowed. Finding the Chamber of Secrets is the priority."
"Rest assured, Professor Dumbledore!"
"Oh! Professor, how can I slow my cleaning work? I can sleep two hours less!"
"Wonderful! We have more work to do!"
The house-elves chattered chaotically for a moment, bowed, and vanished with a snap.
"They are truly full of vigor. No one is better suited to finding the Chamber," Dumbledore smiled. "I have done all I can. Now, we wait."
Harry cupped his hands. "This one awaits the Professor's good news."
He was about to take his leave.
He had only taken a few steps when Dumbledore suddenly spoke: "Peverell Sage, please wait."
Harry found this strange and turned back. "Professor, were you calling this one?"
"Er... Professor Dumbledore, do you enjoy The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" Ron asked, confused. "Were you just talking about the legend of the three brothers?"
(Readers, The Tales of Beedle the Bard is a common storybook in the wizarding world, much like One Thousand and One Nights in the Muggle world, used to lull children to sleep. Ron had heard Mrs. Weasley tell them since childhood and was sick of them.
Now, hearing Dumbledore speak the Peverell name, the Deathly Hallows, Death, and the three brothers all rushed back to his mind.)
Dumbledore winked. "Ah, just a sudden thought. I also grew up reading those stories."
He used this excuse to shoo the three of them away, then took off his glasses and pondered.
Gellert must have guessed wrong. Harry is not the reincarnation of some ancient wizard...
Then where in the world does he get such massive resentment?
The White Lord thought it over a hundred ways but could not solve the mystery. He could only press this cloud of doubt into the bottom of his heart and Apparate away, first to deal with the matter of the Bloody Baron's self-inflicted humiliation.
Now, Harry's verbal lashing of the Baron was a victory won without blade or blood.
The Slytherin students had always seen the Bloody Baron as an impressive, high-class ghost and respected him greatly.
Today, seeing him so spineless, willing to grovel before Harry, and learning his death was so inglorious, they were ashamed to be associated with him. They wanted to revoke his "Slytherin membership."
This strange news spread like wildfire, and in just a few days, it had turned Hogwarts upside down.
Never mind the upper-year students; even graduates who were married with families were itching with curiosity, sending letters via "800-li express" (urgent post) to their younger siblings and relatives at the school to ask about it.
Furthermore, Colin had a fast mouth. He ran about, telling everyone he met of the Scarred-Face Chieftain's great deeds, adding oil and vinegar, making the tales sound fantastical.
In no time, Harry's moniker, "The Scarred-Face Chieftain" (疤面郎, Bāmiàn Láng), was famous in all four houses. Even the mice in the dungeons knew of it.
The Weasley twins, Fred and George, were mischievous by nature. Hearing this talk of "epithets" (诨号, hùnhào), their playful hearts were stirred. They imitated him and took names for themselves.
One called himself "Mischief-maker" (调皮鬼, Tiáopíguǐ), the other "Trouble-maker" (捣蛋鬼, Dǎodànguǐ).
When introducing themselves, they stopped using their names, only their epithets.
It was a trend. Harry's resounding epithet had lit a strange fire. Fred and George fanned the flames, and Colin's constant praise only made the fire burn hotter.
For a time, Hogwarts was as if possessed. The students of the four houses stopped thinking about their studies, stopped contemplating deep magic, and instead wracked their brains to coin a world-shaking, mighty moniker for themselves.
In just a few days, the four house-point hourglasses had plummeted, nearly reaching double-digits.
Professors McGonagall, Snape, and the others were furious, wishing they could throw every last student in detention.
Only Lockhart was overjoyed. He went to Dumbledore to apply for a "club," hoping to use his time at Hogwarts to seize a resounding nickname for himself.
In class, he held up Dumbledore's approval letter. "Little wizards, see this letter? Professor Dumbledore has approved my Dueling Club!"
"I know many of you want a nice nickname, but children, you can't just go around destroying the castle."
"Look at Harry. He killed a troll! Of course, I've killed quite a few myself. And I've also killed Yetis, vampires, Gnomes, werewolves..."
Lockhart rattled off his list, but the students were bored. Draco raised his hand. "Excuse me! Professor!"
"Are there any rewards for joining this Dueling Club?"
"Of course, my dear Draco," Lockhart grinned. "The winner will receive the 'Ever-Victorious Champion' medal!"
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