Inside the stall stood a cauldron perched precariously atop the toilet, flames crackling beneath it. The vessel held clear water, with just a few bubbles rising lazily from the bottom—evidence it was freshly heated and still simmering.
Snape let out a cold huff, a flicker of relief crossing his face. "Clever touch, using the toilet as a stand..."
"Seems the brewer has odd tastes," he added. "Vizette, check the tank for ingredients."
Dumbledore and Snape stepped aside, letting Vizette enter. He drew his wand and murmured, "Lumos!" The soft glow illuminated the transparent jars on the tank. "Lacewing flies, live leeches, knotgrass, and fluxweed... These are a dead giveaway for Polyjuice Potion."
Snape leaned in, his posture alert despite the casual tilt of his head, wand gripped tightly. "Explain your reasoning."
Dumbledore paced slowly, eyes scanning the room, while Vizette—emboldened by the presence of two formidable wizards—laid out his thoughts.
"Leeches carry a 'shrinking' property, versatile in potions, usually juiced or extracted. Take Shrinking Solution: without leech juice aged over a week, it won't reduce the drinker. But here, live ones suggest 'absorption'—key to Polyjuice. The drinker absorbs a bit of someone else, like a hair, to transform."
He pointed to the jars. "To balance 'absorption' and 'transformation,' you need knotgrass and fluxweed for stability."
Snape's eyes narrowed to slits, a predatory gleam flashing. "Polyjuice Potion... What are you hiding? Or planning to infiltrate?"
"Perhaps the corridor attacks were too messy. Sneak into a common room and strike multiple targets at once... A favorite tactic from over a decade ago."
Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but a faint murmur echoed from outside the abandoned bathroom.
The three froze in sync, wands at the ready, breaths held.
"No horn powder, no boomslang skin..."
"I asked Percy on the sly... Polyjuice ingredients are restricted. What now?"
"This is tricky. Snape's private stores... That's our best shot. He's bound to have them."
Hermione and Ron's voices drew nearer, filtering through the door.
"Snape's stores..." Ron hesitated. "You think the Chamber of Secrets is real? Or just a prank?"
"It's been nearly a month since Halloween—no attacks. Maybe it's nothing..."
"But it could be true!" Hermione insisted, resolute. "If there's a monster in that Chamber targeting Muggle-borns, we can't ignore it."
They slipped into the bathroom. Ron's tone hardened with determination. "Forgot about them—good point. Let's do it! We've got the Invisibility Cloak."
"Shh!" Hermione whispered, a hint of doubt creeping in. "Starting tonight, Christmas is on."
"Touching," Snape drawled suddenly, flinging the door open.
"Ah!" Hermione and Ron yelped, the Invisibility Cloak splashing into a puddle as they dropped it.
Snape's lips curled into a smug grin, like a cat with a cornered mouse. "Fancy some gingerbread? To dunk in your bathroom brew?"
"Oh, and yes—I stock horn powder and boomslang skin. Christmas gifts, perhaps?"
Their faces flushed crimson, matching the dawn.
"S... I... d-don't... Vi—?"
Stammering, they gestured wildly, sweat beading on their brows, Hermione's eyes brimming with tears.
"Out after curfew, attempting to pilfer from a professor—Gryffindor deducts one hundred points!" Snape's voice iced over. "As a... reward."
Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his tone warm. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, care to explain your presence? And the Polyjuice?"
Relief washed over them at his kinder approach. Hermione steadied her breathing. "Headmaster... we're brewing Polyjuice to uncover the Chamber of Secrets truth."
"Honesty earns Gryffindor ten points," Dumbledore encouraged with a nod. "Who's your target?"
Hermione shot a wary glance at Snape's glare, then shared a look with Ron, her words tumbling out in a stutter.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Severus, I'll handle this outside."
"Whatever," Snape muttered, lips pursed in irritation. "No thanks needed. Just enforcing rules."
"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled, ushering the pair away.
They'd scarcely cleared the door when a mournful wail echoed behind. "Why do you always... why..."
Vizette and Snape whirled around. Hovering midair was a spectral girl in a school uniform, her face twisted in perpetual gloom.
Moaning Myrtle—the ghost The Grey Lady and Vizette had discussed.
Snape arched a brow, and Myrtle recoiled, terror flickering across her translucent features.
Typical Snape, Vizette thought with quiet admiration. He stepped forward. "Excuse me, are you Miss Myrtle Warren?"
Still eyeing Snape warily, Myrtle floated back a bit before nodding. "That's me. It's been ages since anyone used my full name. You're politer than most..."
Snape crossed his arms, frowning, and jerked his chin at Vizette—your problem now.
Vizette pressed on gently. "Miss Warren, I heard... you died here, in this bathroom?"
—