Capítulo 57: Fifty Years Ago
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, his expression momentarily dazed.
"It seems you have something to say?" Harry asked, watching him closely.
Dumbledore nodded, gesturing for everyone to take a seat. With a flick of his wand, he sealed the office door with a binding spell.
"Your words have cleared up a long-standing mystery for me," Dumbledore began, his tone heavy with regret. "Something I've always felt was one of my greatest failures."
Harry's expression remained impassive as he waited for him to continue.
"Fifty years ago, the Chamber of Secrets was opened," Dumbledore said at last.
"A student died that year."
"I always suspected Tom—Voldemort," he continued.
"But I found no proof. After an investigation, the Ministry hastily concluded that it was Rubeus Hagrid who opened the chamber."
Harry clicked his tongue.
"Hagrid?"
"They blamed him for opening the Chamber of Secrets? Was Snape stuffing brains with dungstones even back then?"
"Gryffindor, the heir of Slytherin? Don't they realize how ridiculous that sounds?"
"They didn't need my help," Snape sneered coldly. "If I had stuffed dungstones into their heads, perhaps they'd have turned out smarter."
"It was indeed absurd," Dumbledore agreed with a sigh.
"But at the time, Rubeus was secretly raising an acromantula—already the size of a human head. The Ministry thought they had 'evidence.'"
"They must've received 'Troll' grades in Care of Magical Creatures," Harry muttered, shaking his head.
He had faced acromantulas before. While they were highly venomous, they had no magical abilities capable of causing petrification.
"There was no petrification," Dumbledore clarified, his voice heavy. "The student died."
"After Hagrid was expelled, the Chamber's activity ceased."
"The Ministry likely believed they'd solved the case splendidly."
"I continued to suspect Tom."
"And now I finally understand how he found the Chamber."
Parseltongue.
It was such an obvious explanation.
"Was this another one of your deliberate plans?" Harry suddenly asked.
Dumbledore froze. "What plan?"
"Voldemort," Harry replied, his tone sharp.
"Did you deliberately let him in again?"
Dumbledore's expression became serious, and he shook his head.
"Harry, I swear, this time, I did not."
"In fact," he added, glancing at Snape, "I was surprised even Severus didn't detect anything."
Snape's face darkened, his hand tightening on his wand.
He had always distrusted Dumbledore's methods, believing the man incapable of resisting any opportunity to gamble with Harry's life.
But now…
It seemed the fault lay with him this time.
The realization was deeply unpleasant.
His breathing grew heavier, though he said nothing.
"You suspect Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked after a moment.
"Why couldn't it be another student?"
"Parseltongue," Harry replied succinctly.
"It's not exactly a common skill."
"I'd like to think it's just a student," Harry admitted.
"But there's no trace left behind—no magic signature, no scent. It's not something just anyone could manage."
Deceiving a witcher was no simple feat.
Harry continued.
"Slytherin's instructions were clear: Find the motionless snake in the school. Speak the word 'open' to reveal the Chamber's entrance."
"A motionless snake?" Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with interest.
"Good, Harry. At the very least, we've uncovered the first of Voldemort's secrets."
Harry stood abruptly.
"Let's resolve this quickly. I don't feel safe."
A shadowy presence, most likely connected to Voldemort, was lurking nearby.
Where? He had no idea.
How had they infiltrated the school? He didn't know that either.
Hogwarts was just so secure.
"Harry, won't you help me?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Harry shook his head firmly.
"You're the Headmaster. I'm a second-year. This time, you have no compelling reason to involve me, right?"
"You just need to find a motionless snake in the castle," he added. "Not catch a live one in the Forbidden Forest."
"I'm busy this year," Harry finished, squatting briefly and holding up six fingers.
"I've got activities six nights a week—professors' detentions, Quidditch practice, the Gryffindor trials…"
"And causing trouble for Slytherin," Snape added drily.
Harry ignored him and continued smoothly.
"You can handle this on your own, can't you?"
"Call me when you need Parseltongue."
Snape was the next to speak, his voice thick with mockery.
"Dumbledore, I'm starting to wonder if I really did stuff dungstones into your brain."
"Wake up," he snapped. "Potter is a twelve-year-old boy. He might be slightly more capable than a troll, but at best, he's functioning at the level of a sixth- or seventh-year student.
"Do you mean to send him to his death?"
Dumbledore nodded, finally relenting. With a wave of his wand, he released the spell on the door.
BANG!
The door slammed open as Lockhart stumbled in, nearly falling into Snape's arms.
The Potions Master shoved him aside with a look of disgust.
Lockhart straightened, his smile as polite as it was strained.
"I think there's something wrong with this door," he said. "I couldn't open it for the longest time."
"Then fix it. Now. Immediately," Snape hissed icily.
Lockhart jumped to his feet.
"Alright then," Harry said, waving dismissively. "I'll take my leave, Headmaster. Goodbye."
Lockhart blinked.
"All done?"
Dumbledore nodded, standing as well.
"Thank you for lending us your office, Professor Lockhart."
Snape sneered, glaring at Dumbledore as he swept out of the room, his robes billowing like bat wings.
"What did you talk about?" Lockhart asked, adjusting his collar.
"I could've helped! I've dealt with situations like this before. In that village—"
Dumbledore cut him off with a kind smile.
"Goodnight, Professor."
The room emptied in an instant, leaving Lockhart to stare in frustration at the lingering mist over his portraits.
He sighed and waved his wand to repair the door.
BANG!
The door promptly collapsed into a heap of splinters.
Back in Gryffindor Tower.
When Harry returned, Ron and Hermione immediately rushed over.
"What did you tell Dumbledore?" Ron asked.
"Do you know who's behind it?"
The other Gryffindors crowded around, their faces full of curiosity.
"I just overheard something," Harry replied quietly, his tone giving nothing away. "I had a lead and shared it with the professors. But no, I don't know who it was."
He scanned the room inconspicuously, his gaze passing over Neville, Ginny, and a few others who hadn't been in the Great Hall earlier.
Ginny still seemed shaken by the effects of the Deathday Party, her expression distant and hollow.
Neville, pale-faced, looked like he'd narrowly avoided being the one strung up on the torch bracket.
The others showed no obvious signs of guilt or involvement.
As the crowd dispersed, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, lowering his voice.
"The painting I retrieved," he murmured, "had information about Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets."
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Powerstones?
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