❝ Slytherins Mess With Us, Don't They? ❞

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. I had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone.

When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy."

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her.

"They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking —" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

I rolled my eyes. "Stop messing with her, Ron." He stifled a snort at ginny's teary eyes.

The attack also affected Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else.

I, Alan, and Ron were at the back of the library. I was researching on my Hebology assignment, Alan was reading a book on Greek mythology and Ron was measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."

Harry entered the library slowly, looking around.

"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short. . . ." said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches, and her writing's tiny."

"Did you measure properly, or are you weak at math too?" I remarked sarcastically. Ron grunted.

"Then let me copy a few paragraphs from your homework; you've written almost four feet long."

"No," I snapped. "You'll never learn to complete your work if you depend on others. Do it yourself, Ron."

He moaned. "Please just this one time."

I eyed him in annoyance but eventually passed my own parchment to him. I didn't overdo my work. The content was put together clearly with no beating around the bush. Elegant, neat handwriting and writing everything under sub headings and points had done the magic.

I had a thing for perfect presentation.

"Where is Hermione?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the shelves while he was greedily copying a few paragraphs off of my roll. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."

Harry told us about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, copying, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great —"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and, at last, seemed ready to talk to us.

"All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" said Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Harry quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else —"

"It's not in the book," I told her. "I re-read the whole book, and not a single word about the chamber of secrets is mentioned."

Hermione sighed in disappointment. "Then we have no other choice than to ask a professor."

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron, checking his watch. I sent him a glare in offense.

"You already have mine-"

"I know, but I just need to cross-check with her. She probably has better points," He huffed. I narrowed my eyes, snatched my homework from his hands, and stood up and rolled up the parchment, stuffing it into my bag.

"Very well then, take better points," I scoffed. The audacity he had to complain and look for 'better' work when he begged for mine.

"I won't give you mine," said Hermione to Ron, casting an apologetic glance at me. She didn't have to, it wasn't her fault at all. "You've had ten days to finish it —"

"I only need another two inches, come on —"

Their voices faded into distant bickering as I went into the classroom.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on my schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was the only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was him entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shrivelled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. Beside me, Alan was already fast asleep and snoring quietly.

He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand. Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss — er — ?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice. Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms, and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk. Professor Binns blinked.

"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in amazement. "Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before.

"However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. I could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see . . . the Chamber of Secrets . . you all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued. "For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then, disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. "Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

"Sir — what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing —"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't —" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

Who could be a possible heir of Slytherin? Snape maybe? He always acted like a weird, entitled vampire prince.

"Do you believe the chamber exists?" Alan asked me, rubbing off the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. I snapped out of my trance, turned towards him, and shrugged.

"This is a magic school; anything is possible. Hogwarts holds many secrets, we'll never know..."

Later during the day, I heard people murmuring about how Harry could be the heir.

"Harry could be the heir?" Alan wondered.

"People here'll believe anything," I rolled my eyes. "Harry doesn't even know the meaning of disembowelment." The crowd thinned, and we were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

"Dis-what?" Alan frowned. I sighed.

"The point is, it can't be a 12-year-old."

"It might be Malfoy, you know," Alan said, scanning the staircase for the said pureblood brat.

"Don't you think he'd be boasting our heads off if it was really him?" I snorted.

"Fair point."

"We need to be careful anyway; something dubious is going on for sure."

As I spoke, we turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. We stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that no stiff cat was hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened."

We looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," I said, dropping my bag and searching for clues.

"Are they scotch marks? Here — and here —"

"Come and look at this!" said Alan. "This is funny. . . ."

I went over to the window next to the message on the wall. He was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" he said wonderingly.

"No, have you?"

"Nah, we should bring Ron here, you know," he snikered.

"Why?" I raised an eyebrow at his amusement.

"He's scared of spiders!"

"I never knew that," I said, looking at him in surprise. "We've used spiders in Potions loads of times, but he never seemed bothered."

"No one is scared of a dead thing, eh?"

"People fear ghosts, and they are very much dead," I mutter dryly. Alan paled, he was scared shitless of a coat hanger that moved on its own in his house last year at christmas. We couldn't explain it but hey, stranger things have happened in my life.

I couldn't help but remember Annabeth and what had happened in the waterpark. I indistinctively smiled at the memory. I somewhat missed camp; it felt like home, but not where I belonged...

"Don't smile!" he smacked my arm. "We don't talk about last Christmas."

"What? No, I wasn't smiling about that." I smacked him back harder.

"Went nuts then?"

"Annabeth's scared of spiders, too."

He nodded knowingly. "The old history with archane."

"Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," he said, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and point. "Level with this door."

"I can hear voices inside...Harry and others." He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" I frowned.

He shifted on his feet. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, come on, there are other guys already in there." I pulled him along inside ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom I had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

"Aquila? Alan? what are you doing here?" Ron eyed us.

"I could ask the same," I looked around and moaning Myrtle whined loudly.

"Why do you keep letting in more boys!"

"We were trying to get some information from her, if she saw anything," Harry whispered to me.

'I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead—"

Alan shuddered beside me, I smirked faintly at him from the previous dead things conversation.

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only —"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" I asked softly.

'I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm — that I'm —"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully. Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

I blinked; Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said,

"Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. . . . Come on, let's go."

A loud voice made all of them us."RON!"

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

"That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you — ?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know—"

"Get — away — from — there —" Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner —"

"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled. I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of her. All the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business —"

"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I'll write to Mum!" And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

I stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to say we bid goodbye to them as an excuse for studying and returned to the common room, we noticed a group of second and third year Ravenclaw's were playing something, they all looked cheerful. Among them, Lisa invited us, to which Alan agreed but I went up to my dorm, which was empty.

I heard faint purring and soft fur kneading at my ankles, it was Jasmine.

"Aw, sorry I wasn't able to spend time with you guys," I said as I unlocked the cage of Aldar. he flew out of the window and returned in a few minutes, looking excited.

"You wanna go out? Let me write a letter real quick."

I grabbed parchment paper and a quill, and then started writing.

Hello Annabeth,

How are you and others? I hope everyone is doing fine. Anything new at camp? Who won Capture the Flag? (Don't tell me it's Ares's team). Here at Hogwarts, some weird things are happening, the old tale of the founders of Hogwarts revealed that Salazar Slytherin is a sick moron from the begging and his heir will open the chamber of secrets...I hope no such thing exists. And we found spiders, lots of them hehe. Keep me updated on what's happening at camp.

Love, Aquila.

I sealed the envelope and tied it to Aldar's feet. I watched as the majestic eagle flew out of my window and disappeared from view.