Fred and George gawked as the Niffler nimbly scampered forward, slipping between the violent branches with ease. It tapped the knot with one clawed paw.
The Whomping Willow froze.
Sky reappeared moments later in human form, brushing dust from his trousers. "Tunnel's open. Let's go."
They crawled through one after the other, silence falling over them.
As they reached the dark tunnel, George muttered, "You're a bloody Niffler animagus?"
Sky held up a finger. "Not a word. To anyone."
Fred smirked. "On one condition—we want in. Teach us the Animagus process."
Sky sighed, then nodded. "Deal. But not a whisper."
The Shrieking Shack hadn't changed—still decrepit, the air thick with dust and mildew. Moonlight filtered in through warped wood panels.
"Ginny!" Fred called out.
Silence.
Hermione cast a tracking charm; the glow died instantly. Nothing to trace.
George examined claw marks gouged into one wall. "Something lived here. Recently?"
"Old," Sky said. "A bygone era's leftovers."
No trace of Ginny. Just old air and older silence.
They left the Shack more disheartened than they arrived.
They gathered in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement.
"Think about her," Sky instructed. "We need to find Ginny Weasley. Just that. Think it."
Three passes later, a door materialized. Fred opened it cautiously.
Instead of a typical room, a wide staircase spiraled downward, vanishing into blackness. They lit their wands and descended.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became. At the bottom stood a stone door with a serpent engraved across its center.
Sky muttered, "Alohomora." Nothing.
Hermione snapped her fingers. "The golden key!"
She reached into her robes, inserted it, and the door creaked open with a thunderous groan.
Beyond the threshold, darkness loomed.
The corridor stretched out like the gullet of a beast—walls covered in serpentine carvings, torches lighting themselves in green flames as they passed.
The ancient hallway opened into the main Chamber itself. Towering columns flanked them, each carved like twisted spires of fangs.
Fred's voice was almost reverent. "Blimey… are we where I think we are?"
George who is just as awed by the sight. "This place actually exists? I always thought it was just a myth!"
The towering statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed ahead, its features grotesque and proud.
Yep. We were back in the Chamber of Secrets.
Near the base of the statue sat Ginny, huddled against the stone but unharmed.
Beside her, Luna Lovegood waved cheerfully. "Oh, hello."
Hermione blinked. "Luna?!"
"We were exploring," Luna said serenely. "Then the door closed, and we got a bit stuck."
Ginny looked sheepish. "I just followed her."
Dumbledore's office was dead silent.
All six students stood before him: Sky, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and Luna.
"I would like to understand what happened," Dumbledore said, voice even.
Luna stepped forward. "We found an opening in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I thought it looked curious. So I went in."
"I followed her," Ginny said quietly. "And we couldn't get back out."
Hermione added, "When we found them, they'd been stuck for hours. The path behind them had sealed shut."
Fred explained how they searched high and low all day before finally consulting Sky, who—shockingly—seemed to already know of these hidden places they'd never even heard of. There was no mention of the map; Sky's knowledge alone was enough to startle them.
Dumbledore turned his gaze to Sky. "How did you enter the Chamber?"
Sky met his gaze. "We were entrusted with a key by Hogwarts itself."
A long pause.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Everyone else is dismissed. Mr. Kingston, remain."
Once the others were gone, the air in the office seemed to still.
"You're not telling me everything," Dumbledore said.
Sky didn't blink. "Neither are you."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. "You've been forgetting things. Details. Certain events. Your knowledge—it's thinning."
Sky stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that… would you?"
The words felt strange even as he said them. A flicker of realization hit him—he hadn't considered, not once, that Dumbledore might be tied to his memory gaps. The idea shook something loose inside him. His voice came quieter next: "Because... I never even thought you could be involved until now."
Dumbledore's tone was quiet. "Magic has layers, Mr. Kingston. The deeper you go, the more it pushes back."
"So it's pushing against me? Or is someone guiding the push?"
The Headmaster hesitated. Then: "Even stories grow restless when denied their endings. Especially when Fate itself may become involved."
"That's not an answer," Sky replied sharply.
"It's the only one I can give."
"Just tell me at least this, Do you have anything to do with my gaps in memory?"
After a brief moment of silence "No, but I do know why. There is a reason why I try my best not to fight predetermined Fates. The backlash can come in unexpected ways. Your loss in memory is actually quite minimal compared to the more serious backlashes others have endured before."
Sky didn't respond. He turned slowly toward the door. As his eyes swept the room, they caught two familiar shapes: the Sorting Hat, and the glass cabinet housing the Pensieve.
In one flawless motion, they vanished into his inventory. No light. No sound. Not a trace.
The door closed behind him.