As October faded into early November, the festive spirit of Halloween gave way to the burgeoning intensity of Hogwarts' annual Quidditch season. The air, already thick with the scent of old parchment and magic, now hummed with a renewed competitive fervor. Slytherin common room frequently saw its Quidditch team members, resplendent in their green and silver jerseys, moving with the swagger of heroes, basking in the encouragement and adoration of their housemates.
Sean, for his part, was ambivalent about Quidditch. It was a pleasant diversion, a spectacle to be enjoyed from the stands, much like the professional video game matches he'd followed in his past life. He enjoyed watching the games, but felt no desire to participate himself.
"Sean, you're going to the game tomorrow, right?" Blaise asked as they walked out of their last class for the day.
"Of course," Sean affirmed. "It's the annual Quidditch game. I'm looking forward to it."
"I know you are," Blaise said, rolling his eyes playfully. "You don't actually like Quidditch itself, do you? You just like the excitement of the games."
"Precisely!" Sean said with a grin.
They hadn't walked far when they spotted Samuel and Irina waiting for them, their expressions serious.
"Sean," Samuel began, "there's a small meeting, a temporary one. Let's go together."
Sean knew at once. The Slytherin Brotherhood's reserve organization rarely met without purpose. A meeting meant a vote, a decision to be made, or a new development to address.
"Blaise," Sean said, "you go to the Library first."
"Alright," Blaise replied, already turning. "I'll wait for you at our usual spot."
Blaise departed, and Sean, with Samuel and Irina, headed directly for the common room, slipping into the small, secluded room nestled in its innermost depths.
Most of the members had already arrived, though a few were absent, their proxies ready to cast their votes. This was common; members often delegated their voting power to trusted allies, ensuring continuity even in their absence.
Sean found a vacant seat, settling in as quietly as ever. His usual routine was to observe, waiting for Samuel and Irina to vote before casting his own, aligning with their faction.
However, this meeting was not led by Samuel or Irina, nor by Oliver or Dolphinia, the seventh-year prefects. Instead, a sixth-year student Sean only vaguely recognized, a boy named Barrett Keton, presided. Sean had met him only once before, at the term's opening meeting. Barrett's unexpected prominence made Sean pay closer attention.
"Good afternoon, everyone." Barrett's tone was impeccably polite, almost unnervingly so. The more courteous he appeared, the more Sean's instincts screamed disharmony.
"I believe everyone here is already aware of the recent events. What are your thoughts on this?"
Barrett's words hung in the air, weighted with unspoken meaning. Everyone in the room knew exactly what he was referring to: the petrification of Mrs. Norris and the ominous message scrawled on the wall, the first clear sign of the Chamber of Secrets.
Sean's intuition told him Barrett was about to say something significant, and likely, something unpleasant.
Barrett continued, his voice gaining a theatrical flourish. "Ever since I saw that Flich's petrified cat, and the message on the wall, I realized this incident related to the Chamber of Secrets. I have been researching and seeking information, and I have discovered the truth: the great deed at Hogwarts was done by the Basilisk, left by Salazar Slytherin himself!"
Sean's eyebrows lifted slightly. He hadn't expected anyone to uncover the truth about the Basilisk so quickly. Yet, he immediately realized his oversight. If Harry and Hermione, merely second-year wizards, could deduce it, it stood to reason that some of the more intelligent, and ideologically driven, students within Slytherin would piece it together even faster. His foreknowledge, he realized, had made him complacent, blind to the fact that geniuses could indeed discern truth from mere crumbs of clues.
A ripple went through the room. Some faces registered surprise, others remained perfectly calm. Whether that calmness was genuine or feigned, a practiced mask for a prearranged plan, was unclear. But it was evident that among Slytherin's brightest, the truth about the Basilisk was becoming known.
Barrett turned, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. "Now that everyone knows this incident was caused by the Basilisk," he said slowly, deliberately, "you should also realize that the Heir of Slytherin is not the ridiculous Savior, as the rumors suggest, but that person... that great person!"
At his words, many faces in the room shifted, a range of emotions from shock to fierce conviction flashing through their expressions. Others remained impassive, their composure unwavering.
Sean watched Barrett, a cold realization dawning. He knew of the undercurrents of Voldemort worship that persisted in Slytherin, but he hadn't expected someone like Barrett to so openly voice such fervent admiration, to proselytize to the entire group.
"Barrett," Samuel interjected, his voice sharp with warning. "Some things are best kept to ourselves. There's no need to say them aloud!"
Before Barrett could respond, Oliver spoke up, his voice dripping with condescension. "Samuel, what is there that cannot be said? Everyone here is a member of our organization. Do you truly believe they would betray us? Or," he added, his eyes flicking to Sean, "are you simply afraid of scaring some child?"
Sean met Oliver's gaze. He said nothing. There was no need. The Slytherin Brotherhood was a tool, a stepping stone in his own path to power. He would not compromise his position by acting rashly. Though, he admitted to himself, if they were outside the confines of the school, Oliver's words would have earned him a broken nose, a desire Sean had entertained for some time.
Seeing Sean's silence, Oliver said no more. Both understood the rules of the game. Oliver, too, was bound by them.
Barrett, seizing the moment, added fuel to the fire. "Everyone," he reiterated, his voice rising in fervent conviction. "As I said, the Heir of Slytherin cannot be that ridiculous Savior! In recent years, the only true Heir of Slytherin to appear is that person... the great person... the great Lord Voldemort!"
His voice dropped to a near-whisper, filled with a fanatical reverence. "So I am absolutely certain that the Heir of Slytherin is the great Dark Lord. And he is here now, at Hogwarts, clearing away those who have defiled our wizarding bloodline. Those Mudbloods, those Squibs ... they must all be purged. They must all die under the eyes of the Basilisk!"
[Chapter Complete]
***
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