38 - Trip to the Secret Chamber

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Dumbledore moved with swift and deliberate steps.

Through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his robes billowed behind him as he made his way to the abandoned girls' bathroom on the second floor. A place long forgotten by most, yet whispered about in hushed voices—the supposed entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

The air was thick with dampness, carrying the faint, stale scent of mildew. The flickering candlelight barely reached the edges of the cold, stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally.

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes, keen as a falcon's, scrutinized every inch of the space, leaving no detail unchecked. He moved without hesitation, his fingers brushing over the aged porcelain sinks. Then, he saw it—a tiny emblem of a snake carved beneath a rust-stained faucet. The mark of Salazar Slytherin.

But finding the entrance was only the first step. The real challenge lay in opening it.

Dumbledore was perhaps the only wizard in history to have mastered Parseltongue purely through intellect and study, without the aid of Slytherin lineage. Yet, his mastery had limitations—he could understand the language, but he could not speak it.

He tried various spells, his wand tip glowing faintly with magical energy as he murmured incantations under his breath. But the Chamber's entrance remained firmly sealed, refusing to yield.

Standing a few steps behind him, Wes watched in silence, his arms crossed, deep in thought. Unlike the others who revered Dumbledore's every action, Wes was not one to be easily impressed. He admired strength, intelligence, and results. And right now, results were lacking.

After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice steady yet laced with boldness.

"Why not use the Imperius Curse?" he suggested.

Dumbledore turned to face him, his expression unreadable.

Wes met his gaze without hesitation. "If we find Tom Riddle—or a remnant of his consciousness—we could place him under the Imperius Curse and force him to open the Chamber in Parseltongue."

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. The suggestion was audacious, dangerous even. The Imperius Curse, one of the Unforgivable Curses, was not a spell Dumbledore would wield lightly.

The headmaster finally exhaled, shaking his head. "No, Wes. That path leads to a future we cannot afford."

His refusal was firm, but Wes caught the flicker of consideration in Dumbledore's eyes before he dismissed the idea.

But Dumbledore had already begun thinking ahead. He had a far more strategic plan in mind—one that involved not just eradicating the basilisk but also clearing Hagrid's name once and for all. The key to that plan? The Ministry of Magic.

Of course, convincing the Ministry to act was no small task, especially with Cornelius Fudge as Minister. The man was known for his excessive caution, if not outright cowardice. Dumbledore could already predict how Fudge would react if he learned that Voldemort had created a Horcrux and was slowly regaining strength. Fear would spread like wildfire, and Fudge would make rash, desperate decisions—ones that could do more harm than good.

No, Dumbledore thought, some truths must remain hidden for now.

His mind worked quickly. Instead of forcing the Chamber open by unethical means, he would turn to magic that required no deception.

Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a small enchanted device—a magical recording instrument.

"We don't need Riddle himself," Dumbledore said at last. "Only his voice."

Wes raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

With great care, Dumbledore activated the device, allowing it to replay the faint echoes of Tom Riddle's Parseltongue from his old diary—a fragment of the past captured within.

As the eerie, hissing syllables filled the air, the ancient mechanism within the bathroom trembled.

A deep, grinding sound resonated through the walls. The sink began to move, shifting away to reveal a dark, yawning passage descending into the unknown.

Wes smirked slightly. "Clever."

Dumbledore only gave a small nod before turning away. There was still much to prepare.

That night, he sat at his desk, carefully composing two letters—one addressed to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, and the other to Amelia Susan Bones, the stern yet fair Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The letters outlined the truth—the basilisk's existence, the Chamber of Secrets, and the wrongful accusation against Hagrid. He knew he had to frame the situation carefully. If Fudge saw an opportunity to boost his political standing, he would be eager to act. Amelia Bones, on the other hand, was a woman of principle. She would see to it that justice was done.

As expected, Fudge responded quickly. Through a flurry of exchanged letters, they arranged a date—a weekend, two weeks later.

And so, on the appointed day, Fudge arrived at Hogwarts, flanked by Amelia Bones and a handful of Ministry officials.

The moment he saw Dumbledore, Fudge wasted no time. His face broke into an exaggerated grin, and he threw open his arms.

"Albus, my dear friend!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with artificial warmth as he pulled Dumbledore into an overly enthusiastic embrace.

Dumbledore allowed the gesture, though his expression remained neutral.

Fudge held onto Dumbledore's hand a moment too long, only finally letting go when he turned to greet Lucius Malfoy.

Wes, standing slightly apart, observed the interaction with disinterest. Fudge's transparent attempts at maintaining power amused him, but he had no patience for the games of politicians.

Amelia Bones, on the other hand, was different. Her expression remained composed, her posture rigid. She was here for justice, not political maneuvering.

Fudge, meanwhile, turned to his deputy—Dolores Umbridge.

The moment she spoke, Wes had to resist the urge to grimace. Her sickly-sweet voice, cloying like honey gone bad, filled the room.

"Minister, I do believe eliminating such a dreadful creature would be a marvelous act of leadership. Surely, your office will be flooded with letters of gratitude, don't you think?"

Her tone was pure flattery, and Wes noted the way Amelia Bones barely concealed her disdain, closing her eyes momentarily as if willing herself to endure the scene.

Fudge beamed. "Marvelous indeed!" he said eagerly.

But when it came time to discuss facing the basilisk in person, the Minister suddenly hesitated.

"Well, I'd love to be there, of course," Fudge said, clearing his throat. "But, ah, I must ensure the safety of the Ministry, you see. Umbridge will go in my stead!"

The pink-clad woman's fingers tightened around her handbag, knuckles whitening, but she quickly forced her usual saccharine smile back into place.

Wes smirked. Ambition outweighs fear. Typical.

Dumbledore cared little for who came along—he only needed a Ministry official to witness the event.

With everything settled, he led the group to the bathroom.

Producing the enchanted recording device once more, he let the hiss of Parseltongue fill the air.

The stone sink shifted, revealing the dark, foreboding passageway.

Dumbledore stepped forward without hesitation, his wand illuminating the descent into shadow.

Lucius followed.

Umbridge hesitated for only a moment before forcing herself to jump down.

Wes turned to Amelia Bones and extended a hand. "Ladies first."

She regarded him for a brief moment, then nodded. With a measured step, she leapt into the darkness.

With a smirk still lingering on his lips, Wes followed.

The secrets of Slytherin awaited.