Percy's chest heaved as he stammered, "Professor McGonagall... Professor McGonagall..."
Penelope caught her breath and finished for him. "Something's happened! Right outside the Great Hall... in that corridor!"
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Filius, go check the spot Vizette mentioned."
"Right away!" Flitwick hopped off his chair, drew his wand, and tapped his feet before darting out like a gust of wind.
Snape shot Vizette a sharp glance, his lips pursing as if words hovered on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he said nothing and hurried after Filius, vanishing from the Great Hall.
Dumbledore turned to Vizette. "You come with us and rejoin your House first."
He led the professors from the hall, prefects guiding them into the thronged corridor. The prefects called for space, and the students parted like a wave, clearing a path.
Ravenclaw's group stood toward the rear, where the distant walls faded into shadow. Vizette slipped into their ranks, flanked by the Quidditch team members. He resumed his Guardian Meditation, straining to recapture that chilling, venomous voice.
"Thank Merlin you're safe," Cho Chang said from beside him. "Where'd you disappear to?"
"I hung back in the hall a bit," Vizette replied, eyeing the restless crowd ahead. "What's all this about?"
Cho shrugged. "We were at the back, so details are fuzzy. We just saw Filch bolting forward. Then he started yelling that Harry Potter killed Mrs. Norris—and that's when you showed up."
"Something about words on the wall..." Vizette squinted, raising his wand to his eyelids and flicking it gently. "Noctivagus!"
The night-vision charm sharpened his sight, revealing the scrawled message: "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware."
Reading it aloud, Vizette drew skeptical murmurs from the group.
"A chamber?" Cho echoed. "Isn't that just a myth?"
"Slytherin swore it was real," Roger Davies cut in, "but you won't find it in Hogwarts: A History."
Jason Samuels nodded nearby. "Or in Modern Magical History."
Duncan Inglebee pushed back. "Slytherin wouldn't stake his name on a fairy tale. There has to be truth to it."
Vizette caught Luna's wide, curious stare and explained, drawing from his readings. "At first, the four founders got on brilliantly when they built Hogwarts. But the Muggle witch-hunts turned everything sour. Wizards were hunted like animals, and Salazar Slytherin grew paranoid about Muggles."
"As the burnings worsened, his distrust spread—even to young witches and wizards from Muggle families. He worried their ties to the non-magical world made them unreliable, easy to turn against their own."
"In the end, Slytherin pushed for admitting only pure-bloods to keep Hogwarts safe and stable. His clashes with the others—especially Godric Gryffindor—boiled over, and he stormed out."
Jeremy Staiton shrugged. "Can't blame him entirely. Kids from Muggle homes? They could've cracked under pressure, betrayed us all during the hunts."
"Right," Cho agreed. "Even adults buckled sometimes."
Shifting to the legends, she continued: According to Hogwarts: A History, Slytherin hid a secret chamber before leaving, unknown to the others. It supposedly held a monster, destined to unleash his heir on 'impure' students—wiping out Muggle-borns.
Vizette knew the tales well; he'd pored over those history tomes hunting clues about Slytherin's pet. The founders' rift matched what he'd read: Slytherin's exit after irreconcilable differences. In the Mirror World, the founder had boasted his pet still guarded the school, loyal after a millennium.
No ordinary creature could endure that long, let alone fulfill ancient duties. But as a guardian beast fueled by Ancient Magic, it fit. Vizette had seen magical plants thrive on that power while tending his mandrake; Slytherin's pet must draw from the same well.
That's why he stockpiled his own strength, mastering spells to confront it. As the saying went, even a lion didn't toy with a rabbit—you struck with everything you had. Facing a thousand-year-old guardian? No half-measures.
Lost in thought, Vizette nearly missed Luna's soft voice. "Whatever's coming, I'll stand with you. No matter what."
He turned to her earnest, luminous eyes and managed a small smile. "I know. Don't fret."
Filch's howl shattered the moment, raw with grief. "Murderers! They killed Mrs. Norris!"
Dumbledore cradled the limp cat. "Argus, steady yourself. It's not as dire as it seems."
Vizette glanced over; Mrs. Norris lay rigid, breath stilled. Before he could probe with his Seer's Eye, Lockhart bustled in, blocking the view.
"This way, Headmaster," Lockhart chirped, gesturing grandly. "Up the stairs..."
Harry and his friends trudged in the group's center, faces slick with sweat, eyes darting nervously. Filch trailed them, his cheeks streaked with tears—or perhaps sweat.
McGonagall and Sprout brought up the rear, while the other professors peeled off down a side passage, leaving Dumbledore's party to press on alone.
…
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