Colin let out a anguished wail. "My camera!"
Dumbledore raised his wand. "Reparo!"
The spell fizzled uselessly. Colin's Polaroid camera continued belching black smoke and a acrid stench.
Snape's lip curled in a sneer. "If Vizette hadn't found you, the thing smoking now might've been you."
"I... I... he... Vizette saved me!" Colin's cheeks flushed crimson, his eyes bulging as he stared at Vizette.
Harry blinked, struck by the hero-worship in Colin's gaze—it felt eerily familiar.
"Mischief managed!" Vizette folded the Marauder's Map, lingering on the spot marking the giant serpent before tucking it away. "Headmaster, that snake isn't just slithering through the castle. It's moving inside the walls."
"Through the pipes," Dumbledore agreed gravely.
"Isn't that what they call blind spots?" Vizette added. "Pipes in the walls—perfectly normal for a building this old."
"Not for wizards," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "According to Hogwarts: A History, students didn't need plumbing until the eighteenth century."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean, no plumbing?"
Snape shot him a mocking glance. "Magic solves problems, Potter. Or perhaps you should extract that wand from your ear and scrub your brain clean."
Vizette cleared his throat. "The point is, Hogwarts' pipes were only installed after wizards borrowed Muggle designs for sewage and bathrooms. No more teaching first-years the 'toilet charm' on day one."
"Indeed," Snape drawled, eyeing Harry. "Though some might still need reeds to manage."
Colin, trailing behind as they left the office, piped up. "What does 'pipeline' even mean?"
Harry said nothing, but the words "pipe" and "serpent" sparked a nagging hunch in his mind—something vital, just out of reach.
As they neared the Fat Lady's portrait, Colin squinted into the gloom. "Who's that standing there?"
Harry peered ahead. "Professor McGonagall."
Draco snorted coldly.
"It's her?" Colin's voice cracked with terror. "We're done for!"
McGonagall's stern expression softened briefly at the sight of the unharmed boy, then hardened again. "The Fat Lady reported a Gryffindor sneaking out past curfew."
"It's handled," Snape said smugly. "I've already deducted fifty points from Gryffindor."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "I've seen the aftermath. And if it were up to me, I'd have done the same."
...
After bidding a crestfallen Colin goodnight, Harry was marched to the hospital wing while Snape hauled Draco off to the dungeons. Vizette's figure vanished down the corridor, and Harry felt a sudden urge to throw on his Invisibility Cloak, raid the Restricted Section, and devour the book Dumbledore had suggested—properly this time, to absorb every scrap of arcane lore.
First, though, he had to tackle the steaming mug of Skele-Gro before him. One sip, and fire scorched his throat. He spat it out, gasping.
"I know it burns!" Madam Pomfrey refilled the cup briskly. "But if you want those bones mended by dawn, drink up."
Gritting his teeth, Harry forced down the vile potion, enduring the searing path to his stomach. Once healed, he'd hunt down Ron and Hermione—share the night's madness. Where were they? Pacing the common room, or holed up in that derelict bathroom? The Polyjuice Potion must be nearing its next phase…
...
Vizette trailed Dumbledore and Snape back to the attack site. No traces lingered—not a scale, not a hiss. Even Dumbledore's probing spells yielded nothing from the surrounding pipes.
But Vizette spotted anomalies in the corner: spiders, hordes of them, skittering out the window into the biting wind. They fled the castle as if pursued by death itself.
He jotted in his notebook: Spiders fleeing the castle. Animals sensed disasters—earthquakes, storms. Perhaps these arachnids felt the serpent's dread presence?
Dumbledore's voice pulled him back. "Where to next, Vizette?"
"The pipes are our lead," Vizette murmured. "Since Colin's spot's a dead end, let's check where Mrs. Norris was attacked."
Snape arched a brow. "Pity you haven't got sedge for brains."
...
The scrawled message on the wall—"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware"—gleamed fresh as ever. Puddles still pooled nearby, fed by leaks from the opposite abandoned bathroom. This year's endless rains had overwhelmed the old drains; McGonagall had summoned a specialist for repairs once the weather cleared.
Vizette's gaze drifted to the bathroom. Dumbledore and Snape followed suit, eyes on the sluggish trickle spilling from its door.
Dumbledore led, wand aglow with a soft Lumos, his steps measured like a night watchman. The bathroom reeked of neglect: yellowed lime crusted the floors, gray-black mold veined the walls. Damp rot mingled with sharper notes—charred wood and herbal steam.
"Someone's brewing potions here?" Vizette said.
Dumbledore and Snape echoed the words in unison.
"In a dump like this?" Snape scoffed, scanning the gloom. "Planning to flood Hogwarts with their idiocy?"
Dumbledore merely smiled, enigmatic as ever. He approached a stall door, wand raised in a subtle probe, then pushed it open...
…
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