"Reliable historical sources tell us this much. 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."
The passage of the Legend of the Chamber of Secrets lances through my mind, but still I am left perplexed, submerged in confusion.
Apparently, only the heir alone is capable of opening the chamber, yet Ron had been able to do so.
First, at the sink in Myrtle's bathroom and then at the secondary entrance in the tunnels. All by mere imitation. I would have to recreate the very same conditions if I hoped to gain entrance.
What did Ron do? How did he do it?
He hissed. Hissed, so well in fact, it fooled ancient magic enough to allow them to enter the chamber with the cup to destroy it…
The cup.
Would that…
I suppose that counts as the heir being present, if they were holding a part of his soul. Come to think of it… everyone who entered was holding a part of Riddle's—the heir's— soul when they did so.
Ginny, with the diary coaching her on how to speak the serpent tongue.
Harry, with the Horcrux scar, that let him speak to snakes.
Ron, with the cup—the heir—nearby when he entered in 1998.
The heir was present in some form or another, or at least his soul was, in all these cases, thereby allowing entrance into the chamber.
Maybe I'm overthinking it, maybe just a passable attempt at Parseltongue is necessary. Still, better to stack the deck in my favour…
Dropping the diary into my bag, doing my best to ignore the feeling of hatred, anger and tar, I exit the room of requirement, throwing the cloak over my head and slipping by Barnby and his dancing trolls, making my way to the second floor girl's bathroom…
I am going to a girls bathroom, with part of the soul of my parent's murderer in my possession, in the hopes of hissing well enough to open a secret chamber under the girl's lavatory, where I will then do battle with a giant snake with only a cock and my 14 and a 1/2 inch wand for protection.
…
Truly I am the chosen one.
I enter the bathroom, lapping water about as I move towards the sinks, my eyes focused, trying to pick up the minute detail that will differentiate my target from the rest. My eyes slide over the sinks, finding no purchase.
I go over them again, sensing, searching and—there!
Something almost like a veil to my magic, but now that I know it's there, the veil is removed and I am met with a snake engraved sink tap. I open my mouth to hiss—
"You're not a girl… What are you doing here?" I turn to face the dead girl, setting my face in a smile.
"Oh I'm sorry. This is your toilet isn't it, Myrtle? I didn't mean to intrude."
She is not the first ghost I've seen, Nearly Headless Nick makes a habit of introducing himself to Gryffindor's, and is always down for a chat or helping with directions if one is in need.
No, she is not the first I've met. Not the creepiest either, that title belongs to the Baron. She is not in anyway special, plain in every sense of the word.
Long black hair tied into two pigtails which fall down to her shoulders, grazing her old Ravenclaw house robes. Brown eyes that are hidden behind thick and obnoxious circular glasses stare out at me from a face riddled with acne and the scars from it.
"Y-you… you know my name?" Her dour mood seemed to recede a little, her big eyes searching my face, there is recognition in them. Good.
"Of course I do. You're Myrtle Warren." I say, keeping my voice soft and my tone welcoming.
"Nobody ever remembers. They just call me Moaning Myrtle! Wailing Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle!
They call me names and make fun of me. Just like before… They think I don't hear! Sometimes they even do it in here!" She shrieks, growing visibly upset. I don't wince, even though her voice grates on my nerves slightly.
"I don't know why they would make fun of you. You seem alright to me." I say with a smile, she swoops down, bringing her face to mine, searching to see if I'm making fun of her. I am not. I'd gain nothing from that. "I don't think you're ugly Myrtle. I think you're quite beautiful really."
"You do!?" She skates back, cheeks aflame, shining a bright silver. She brings her hand to them, swaying side to side, overwhelmed and embarrassed from the first compliment she has received in years.
"I do Myrtle." I approach her, leaving the sink behind. She looks at me with so much vulnerability, hope and disbelief all mixed into one. "If no one else, just know that I do Myrtle." I finish with a smile. She giggles and swoons, nodding her head, flying excitedly across the room, phasing through stalls and splashing water all about.
"Myrtle?" She stops instantly, as I gain her attention, flying back to me at breakneck speed, settling in my front. "This might be rude to ask but… How did you die?"
She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question. I knew she hadn't.
"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. 'It happened right in here. I died in this very cubicle. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining, "I died."
"Did you see a big pair of eyes?" I ask gently, she nods in agreement, slightly surprised by my knowledge. "I'm sorry Myrtle."
"Don't be Harry. It's not so bad you know. I got to haunt that Olive Hornby for a while. I went to her wedding too, until she went and snitched to the ministry!" She said snarls and then calms instantly. "They forced me to come back here, but at least I got to meet you." Myrtle said, blushing a brilliant silver.
"You know me?"
"Everyone knows you Harry." She giggled, floating around me gently. "You're all everyone can talk about… I can see why. You're cute." She says with a blush.
"Can you do me a favour Myrtle?" She begins nodding before I can even finish. "I'm gonna be coming in here a lot—" her eyes light up "—could you keep people away whenever I'm here?" I meet her eyes and smile slightly, she blushes again.
"O-of course Harry!" She stammers, floating around, a bit embarrassed. "But… not that I don't want you here—you can come anytime, honest! But… why?"
"The monster that killed you," I begin, turning slightly to face the sinks, gesturing to them, "It's still here, it lives in there. I'm going to kill it, so it can't harm anyone again. I'm going to kill it for you, Myrtle." Her breath hitches. "But I don't really want anyone finding out. It needs to be a secret, just between you and me. Can you do that Myrtle? Can you do it for me?" I look back to her, I see the answer already bubbling up in her mind. She can't deny me.
"Yes Harry." She says, nodding very seriously.
I turn back to the sinks, kneeling. The water from Myrtle's previous tantrums soak my school trousers, leaving them wet and my legs feeling uncomfortable. I ignore it, focusing.
I hisssss. Nothing happens. I try again to the same result.
"You're doing it wrong." A soft whisper comes from my right. The dead girl settles her head next to mine, leaning over my right shoulder. She wraps her arms around my chest, taking care not to phase through.
She has no heartbeat for me to feel, and she is deathly cold. A chill rushes through me, perhaps she believes I will stiffen or complain. I do neither, and she settles, surprised but pleased.
"It was more like a hiiisssssss. Longer, more drawn out, or at least that's how it sounded to me." She finishes nervously.
"Thank you Myrtle."
I don't pay attention to her reaction, unimportant as it is, I turn my focus on the task. My mind drifts, and a memory floats up to me. Voldemort hissing the snakes into submission during our short duel. I try to emulate it.
It takes a while. How long, I am not quite sure, though it feels like I have hissed in every type of way possible, leaving my mouth dry and thirsty for water.
I am about to give up for the day, perhaps to comeback later, or maybe just try blowing up the entrance, even though that would attract undue attention, when—
Click.
The sink begins to move, sinking out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed. Large enough for a man to go down or for a snake to come up.
"You did it!" Myrtle whispers.
"All thanks to you." I feel her blush furiously creep up her neck, to all the way to her cheeks. Her breathing picks up pace as she squirms, cold and dead, yet still very much alive against me. "I'll make sure to visit you often Myrtle."
I do not jump into the hole, sliding down into the bowls of the castle to face the serpentine monstrosity that lurks down there.
No, today was mostly to test if I could open it. I'm still missing my instrument of death, the roaster, and I'd need to study a few spells I could use to blind the creature just in case. I'd need a blindfold for myself as well, I think.
I could always conjure a roaster… but something tells me that in the same way transfigured silver and gold lacked certain properties that made them magically special, the reason for the study of Alchemy in the first place, a conjured roaster would not have the killing effect I was looking for. I'd have to ask Hagrid for one, or just steal one with him unaware.
But I was one step closer still.
"Where've you been mate? We were gonna play cards remember?" Seamus asks, as I step into the common room. "You left us with an odd number." The rest of the boys are gathered around table, mid game. Hermione's on the armchair beside them, lost to the world, still going through Pontente Potions and their Uses.
"Lockhart ambushed me on the way here. Something about signing autographs." A lie, that happened two days ago. They are non the wiser though, and I see sympathy for my predicament grow in their eyes. "Where are the rest of the girls? I'm here now. We can still get a full game in." I say, making my way over.
"They're over there." Dean says, nodding over to Lavander and Parvati, lying on the floor closer to the fire, giggling over a magazine. "I don't think they much care to play anymore mate."
I sit at the table with them, Ron is winning handily as he does in most of these games it seems, going by the way his cards are antagonising and laughing at the others.
"Hermione?" She looks up, startled by my voice, but she greets me with a small smile. "You wanna join?" She looks down to the book, then back up at me and is about to open her mouth to say no, when Neville speaks.
"You said you would remember? You said you'd play when Harry got back." He nods to the book. "Plus you've been reading for hours, take a break." She takes a look at Ron's smug grin and I know she's in, if only because she doesn't like to see him win too much.
We start a new game, Hermione sits across from me, avoiding my eyes with a grin.
I look over her head at Oliver Wood, making all sorts of noise, scampering about, placing flyers all over, trying to get people to attend quidditch try outs.
"Anyone gonna try out?" Seamus asks, shushing his cards as they try to fight each other. They tell him to shut up. A bad hand obviously.
"Hmm, I don't know…" Ron starts, his cards are quiet, no boasting, yet that doesn't mean he's out. "I'd like to go for keeper, but that's Wood's position." He looks up at me, I don't fall into his eyes, having no need to cheat. "What about you Harry? Gonna tryout?"
My first instinct is to say no. It's a waste of my already precious time, I have more important things to do. But—
Don't forget to live my boy…
We have all the time in the world…
—I suppose I could, we didn't have any flying lessons this year but I had enjoyed the freedom of being in the air. Plus, I could always skip History and defence if need be…
"I might." I decide.
"Hermione?" I ask already knowing the answer.
"You know how I hate brooms." She says. "And that sport is stupid and barbaric. The rules don't even make any sense!" Ron is shaking his head, puffing himself up ready to defend the honour of Quidditch. Seamus and Dean not too far behind. As they begin to argue with Hermione about the beauty of the sport, I turn to Neville on my left.
"Nev? You not feeling it?"
"Nah, but I'll come watch you guys. Seems like it'll be fun."
Fun.
I'd need to remember to manage my time better, to make time for moments like this. For my friends. For the important things.
There wouldn't be much point if I got to the end but I didn't spend what time I had with those who mattered, doing things I enjoyed.