Chapter 134: Harry's Discovery

At dawn, as the first rays of sunlight touched the castle walls, Silven sat up on his bed precisely on time.

Facing the sunlight outside the window, he pulled out his wand, whose core was made of Professor McGonagall’s hair, and pointed it at his heart.

“Amardo, Animo, Animato, Animagus.”

His heartbeat seemed amplified, thudding endlessly in his ears. When he lowered the wand, everything returned to normal.

Silven washed up quickly and arrived at the common room just as Harry and Ron were sitting there chatting.

Wait—he saw who?

Silven couldn’t help glancing at the time.

Correct—it was exactly six o’clock, and it was morning six, not evening six… why was he seeing Harry and Ron in the common room at this hour?

“Didn’t you sleep all night?” he asked as he walked over.

“Didn’t sleep at all,” Ron muttered, slumped in his chair, rubbing his arms. “I scrubbed the floors from the first to the eighth floor—all without magic. My arms and back feel like they’re broken.”

“Why were you scrubbing floors?” Silven frowned at him. “Even if you wanted to compete with Filch for his job, consider the house-elves—they can clean the entire castle in half an hour, far more efficiently than you.”

“I don’t want Filch’s job.”

Ron groaned and slumped back into the armchair. “Snape gave me detention—he made Filch supervise me cleaning every corridor in the castle. I worked all night!”

“Detention?” Silven grew more puzzled. “Did you break school rules recently?”

“After the last Quidditch match,” Harry said. “Ron started a fight with the Slytherins.”

“But that was settled long ago,” Silven thought. “I remember Hermione saying Snape deducted twenty points from Gryffindor—he never mentioned detention. Did I misremember?”

“There wasn’t any then,” Harry said, his face drooping. “But later, on our way to class, we complained a bit—said some… not very nice things—and Snape overheard us.”

This…

Silven didn’t know what to say.

To openly curse a professor in the castle corridors—and get caught red-handed? Their detention was entirely deserved.

“So both of you are cleaning the castle?” Silven glanced at Harry.

“No, I have to help Lockhart answer letters,” Harry said, his eyes dull.

He didn’t know what he’d been through, but he even glanced enviously at Ron—just as Ron met his gaze with the exact same expression.

It seemed each thought he was worse off than the other.

“You couldn’t have spent all night replying to letters,” Silven said. “Even if detention started at ten, and you two spent eight hours replying, that’s absurd—does Lockhart really have that many fans?”

“Seven hours,” Harry corrected. “Started at eleven. And it wasn’t two of us—mostly it was just me replying.”

“Then where’s Lockhart?”

“He’s in another room—but he only took one letter.” Harry said.

“Only one letter?” Silven sat up straight.

That didn’t make sense. Lockhart’s favorite daily activity was replying to his admirers’ letters—he claimed it was the most relaxing, pleasant part of his day.

Even if the volume was too high and he needed Harry’s help, he’d never hand the entire task over to him.

“Do you know who wrote the letter he took?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I only know Lockhart seemed thrilled—he kept muttering to himself things like, ‘Good idea… why didn’t I think of that… genius, we’ll be on the front page.’”

It sounded unremarkable—someone had given Lockhart a tip to make him shine in the spotlight.

Then Harry suddenly asked: “By the way, Silven, do you think Hogwarts really has a Chamber of Secrets?”

“Why ask that?”

“No reason,” Harry said. “I just think Lockhart might be looking for information about the Chamber. When I went in, he was reading *Hogwarts: A History*—and he snapped it shut the moment he saw me.”

“And when I finished replying to the letters and was about to leave, he asked me a lot of questions.”

“Oh, he mentioned you,” Harry told Silven. “He asked if you really destroyed the Chamber. I told him I didn’t know.”

“That’s normal,” Ron yawned before Silven could speak. “After Lockhart was attacked, the attacker wrote those words on him—if it were me, I’d want to know what the Chamber was too.”

Harry nodded hesitantly. He still felt something was off, though he couldn’t say exactly what—it was just a feeling.

He was about to say more, but Ron had already slumped onto the armrest, mumbling incoherently—sound asleep, talking in his dreams.

He turned back to Silven.

“Of course not—the Chamber is perfectly intact,” Silven answered his earlier question.

“Then the newspapers…”

“That was Fred and George’s prank,” Silven said, looking at Harry, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

He couldn’t understand how Harry had learned about the Chamber… he’d known nothing before, yet detention had sparked his curiosity.

And why Snape’s detention? Why didn’t he make Harry keep dealing with the Flobberworms in the dungeon?

To gossip about—or worse, insult—a professor in the corridors? Snape could’ve made Harry clean two full buckets of Flobberworms, and McGonagall wouldn’t have objected—she might’ve even charmed Harry a pair of gloves to make it bearable.

But Snape didn’t do that. Instead, he gave Harry a mild punishment: helping Lockhart reply to letters.

Honestly, compared to Ron’s task of cleaning the entire castle, this was far lighter. Was Snape really that kind?

Thoughts flashed rapidly through Silven’s mind—in one instant, he seemed to see Fluffy again, guarding the trapdoor.

Silven blinked, then continued: “Actually, we already found the Chamber’s entrance—but we can’t open it. We can only wait outside.”

This time, Harry was stunned. “Even Headmaster Dumbledore can’t open it? He’s the headmaster!”

“Yes—even Dumbledore can’t enter,” Silven said, glancing again at drowsy Ron.

“Dumbledore may be headmaster, but Salazar Slytherin was too—and the first headmaster. His Chamber isn’t something just anyone can open. In fact, there’s only one way to unlock the entrance.”

“What way?” Harry asked instinctively.

“Only the true heir of Slytherin knows,” Silven whispered. “The professors think it might be tied to Salazar Slytherin himself—perhaps his extraordinary alchemical abilities, or his unique Parseltongue.”

“Hmm… why are you still talking?” Ron opened his eyes, rubbing his forehead. “Go to sleep. I’m so tired.”

He stood up, swaying as he trudged upstairs.

Harry hadn’t decided yet, but hearing that, his eyelids grew heavy—he followed Ron back to the dormitory.

“I’m sleeping all day,” Ron’s voice faded at the top of the stairs.

…

(End of Chapter)