Castle Screening

"So I believe the culprit isn't just a wizard!" As he said this, he suddenly turned around. "Let me make this clear first — personally, I don't think Salazar Slytherin would have deliberately raised some pure killing machine inside the castle."

Sargeras spoke in a calm yet grave tone. "This so-called Chamber of Secrets might have simply been his private laboratory. It's entirely possible that some ancient creature was kept inside…"

As he spoke, he gave a gentle wave of his wand, and in the air, two illusory images flickered into view — one, a serpent-haired Gorgon; the other, a Basilisk.

His eyes swept across the room before he continued slowly, "Which means, the person who left those words scrawled on the wall… not only do they know the location of the Chamber of Secrets, they also seem capable of controlling the creature hidden within."

Professor McGonagall's fingers clenched tightly around her shawl. "Are you suggesting that someone inside the castle deliberately…"

"Or worse," Sargeras put away his wand, his expression growing heavier, "maybe someone was manipulated… or coerced into opening the Chamber. Don't forget — Voldemort has escaped. No one knows whether he might've latched onto the back of some student's head, pulling the strings behind the scenes, commanding every move of a young witch or wizard."

"This is outrageous, Sargeras," Professor McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"But it's not impossible," Sargeras replied evenly, without the slightest hint of exaggeration. "After all, this kind of extreme pure-blood ideology brings only one person to mind… Voldemort, and the followers who still cling to his beliefs."

"What are you all talking about?" Lockhart finally caught on that something wasn't quite right. "You-Know-Who — didn't he… I mean, wasn't he already… oh! I get it now — you're all pulling my leg, aren't you?"

Sargeras gave Lockhart a sidelong glance, and deep inside, he silently mourned for the students of Hogwarts. After all, it looked like they wouldn't be learning much of anything useful in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year either.

At that moment, a thought crossed his mind — the way Harry Potter and his two friends had reacted earlier… they clearly knew something. And he also recalled that strange question Potter had asked him after class some time ago. Unable to hold it in, he turned and spoke up.

"Headmaster, it really seemed like Potter and his friends were hiding something earlier. Maybe we ought to persuade them to tell the truth… or even consider taking more specific measures…"

He paused, his tone turning serious as he looked around at the other professors. "Because none of us can guarantee that the next one to get hurt… will still be just a cat."

The office fell into silence. The professors exchanged uneasy glances, each gauging the others' expressions.

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a tight, pale line, the muscles in her jaw drawn taut with restraint. "Sargeras, are you implying we should resort to Legilimency on the students?" she asked, her voice cold. "Or conduct a full memory screening?"

"If they're willing to tell the truth on their own, that would, of course, be far preferable," Sargeras replied earnestly, his voice steady and his eyes serious.

"Leave it to me!" Lockhart suddenly sprang to his feet with such abruptness that even the portraits on the wall flinched in surprise this time. "To tell you the truth, I'm not just an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts — I'm also a master of memory charms!"

"Gilderoy," the old headmaster cut him off, his voice solemn and deliberate, "the safety of the castle must come first. We need to conduct a thorough inspection of every corner of Hogwarts. If there truly is a secret chamber hidden within these walls — and if that chamber holds some kind of creature capable of turning people to stone — then our top priority must be to locate it and neutralize the threat immediately."

Sargeras gave no verbal response, but he didn't argue either. In fact, for once, he found himself unexpectedly agreeing with Snape's line of thinking. Before they acted too hastily, it was worth observing Harry and his friends a bit longer. What exactly were they hiding? Whatever it was, it might just be the key to unlocking the Chamber's location.

Still, judging by the look on the headmaster's face, and Professor McGonagall's as well, neither of them seemed particularly eager to pursue that line of thought. And if the school's leadership wasn't willing to take that step, then he'd simply have to rely on his own methods to try and uncover the truth.

————————————————————

That night, Sargeras returned to the scene of the attack. And just as he had suspected, Filch was still there.

The caretaker's back was hunched as always, but tonight there was something even heavier weighing down on him. His bloodshot eyes stared unwaveringly at the corridor wall, burning with such fury and obsession it seemed as though he wanted to set the stone ablaze with his gaze alone.

The water that had flooded the floor had long since been cleaned away, yet the jagged red writing across the wall remained clearly visible — twisted and sharp like a threat carved into flesh.

"I tried… it won't wash off." Filch rasped, his voice as dry and cracked as old parchment. He held up his fingers, and even in the dim corridor light, Sargeras could see the raw scrapes and dried blood wedged deep beneath his fingernails; proof of how desperately he'd tried to scrub the wall clean.

Sargeras gave a slight nod. The words weren't written in any ordinary paint or ink. They were etched with magic—likely a kind of enchanted imprint designed to resist physical removal. It made perfect sense that Filch's efforts had failed.

He stepped closer, carefully approaching the writing. His fingers hovered just above the wall, not quite touching it, but close enough to feel the rough unevenness of the stone beneath the letters. He traced the shapes in the air, as though hoping to pick up some lingering residue—some hidden clue left behind by the spellcaster who had left this message.

But after a few moments, he withdrew his hand with a quiet breath. It was no use. He wasn't a handwriting specialist, and this wasn't something he could solve through forensic or magical analysis. The truth wouldn't reveal itself so easily through marks on a wall.

With a gentle wave of his hand, the threatening red words slowly faded, dissolving into the stone until nothing remained but blank, silent wall.

Sargeras turned and took in his surroundings, his gaze slowly sweeping the corridor, absorbing every detail. And then, gradually, his eyes came to rest on the door to the girls' bathroom next door.

This was the domain of Moaning Myrtle — the ghost who spent her days sobbing and sulking in solitude. Maybe, just maybe, the perpetually weeping spirit might have seen or heard something useful.

With that thought, he stepped straight into the bathroom — a place that was, even during the busiest school days, rarely visited by anyone.

"You in here, Myrtle?" Sargeras called out casually, his voice echoing gently through the empty, echoing lavatory.

A toilet lid suddenly flipped open with a sharp clack, and from inside the bowl rose the misty form of a ghostly girl. Her round face peeked out uncertainly, half hidden behind the thick, foggy lenses of her glasses, which gleamed in the dim light.

"Who's there?" she asked, clearly confused, though her surprise quickly gave way to something more alarmed. "Wait… are you a professor? What are you doing in here? This is the girls' bathroom!"

Sargeras ignored the flurry of questions without flinching, his expression as composed as ever. He spoke with quiet calm. "Myrtle, when the attack happened… did you see anything?"

Her lips began to tremble, and her voice wobbled with fresh emotion. "No… I was crying at the time…" she sniffled miserably. "Peeves bullied me again. He threw a moldy cake at my head and chased me out of the Deathday Party."

As she spoke, her voice broke completely, and she burst into loud, anguished sobs once more.

Sargeras simply stood there, watching her quietly, offering no comfort, making no move to interrupt. He let her cry as long as she needed, and in time — perhaps because he hadn't scolded or dismissed her — Myrtle miraculously managed to collect herself.

She sniffed, lifted her misty head, and tilted it to the side. "Do you have any other questions?"

"No…" Sargeras shook his head gently. "But if anything strange happens again, I hope you'll come and tell me."

"Something strange?" Myrtle suddenly floated closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Actually… something did happen recently. Something very odd."

Sargeras raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised. He hadn't expected to get anything useful, but perhaps there was still hope of uncovering something new.

"I can tell you," Myrtle said, her voice still low, "but only if you promise to help me teach Peeves a lesson!"

"No problem."

At that, Myrtle broke into a sudden grin, her translucent face lighting up with unexpected delight. "Nobody really comes to this bathroom much anymore, you know, so there are usually a lot of spiders around. I've even given them names."

She paused, then leaned in a little closer, her expression shifting to something oddly serious.

"But lately… they've all disappeared. Every last one of them."

Sargeras narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly, a thoughtful look settling over his face.

Over the following days, the professors turned the entire castle upside down. Not a single stone in the dungeons went untapped, every corridor portrait was questioned thoroughly, and even the passage inside the Whomping Willow's knotted trunk wasn't spared from inspection.

And yet, the so-called "Chamber of Secrets" remained as elusive as ever. There was not a trace of the monster, not even the faintest sign of its presence.

Little by little, the students began to relax. The tightly wound tension that had gripped the school slowly faded.

After all, the only victim had been Filch's cranky old cat. And besides, Mrs. Norris was currently lying safely in Madam Pomfrey's care, awaiting treatment. Who would lose sleep over a cat that scratched anyone who came too close?

Laughter returned to the Great Hall. The soft scratching of quills resumed its rhythm in the library, sounding once more light and carefree.

But Sargeras… Sargeras continued to search. While others let their fears slip away, he remained in the shadowed corners of the castle, wandering its hidden paths, mind still turning.

What if Voldemort had somehow made his way back into Hogwarts? What if it really was him who had released the creature from the Chamber? And if so… what exactly was that creature?

He kept replaying that night's magical vision in his mind — those phantom images his wand had conjured: the petrifying gaze of the Gorgon, the lethal fangs of the Basilisk. Creatures like those, though long believed to be extinct, could easily account for what had happened.

But even if, a thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had raised such monsters somewhere within the castle's depths, who now could possibly control beasts so ancient and deadly?

And there was something else… something Myrtle had said. The spiders were gone. Not just one or two, but all of them had fled.

What did that mean?

Could it be that the monster fed on spiders?

But Gorgons and Basilisks had no known connection to spiders. They didn't hunt them, didn't fear them, didn't crave them.

Was he thinking about this all wrong?

Was it not a creature from legend at all?

What if the real culprit… was something else entirely?

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[Chapter End's]

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