Chapter 328: Winter Night

Dusk approached.

The underground classroom.

Between wooden tables stood twenty cauldrons, each topped with brass scales and jars of ingredients. Professor Snape’s face was obscured by swirling smoke.

Harry silently processed the hairy caterpillars, needing to collect their slime.

The scientific name for hairy caterpillars is Flooberworm; their green slime is used widely—to make weedkiller, cure boils, brew sleeping potions, and more.

Harry’s detention reason was simple: Draco Malfoy kept rolling his eyes at him and Ron. Harry had just retaliated with a glare—and got detention, with no chance to protest.

As for Wizard Sean…

He glanced at the dazed young wizard, curious and sneaking glances constantly—he’d never seen Wizard Sean like this.

Even facing Voldemort and the Basilisk, he’d always been calm, reassuring. Harry had thought nothing could shake Wizard Sean.

He subtly slowed his slime collection.

Before, he’d wished he had eight hands. Now, his limbs felt clumsy.

“Are you staying the night?”

A voice like a serpent’s hiss spoke. Harry shuddered, finished the slime in a flash, cast one last look at the dungeon, and fled.

A moment’s delay could mean a week’s detention.

In the dungeon, Snape coldly watched Harry leave, the firelight carving the sharp curve of his hooked nose.

Beside him, Wizard Sean had just finished brewing. The cauldron’s flame had died, obscuring his expression.

Professor Snape’s potion brewed quickly—normally it required an hour’s gentle simmer, yet today it was done in half an hour.

Wizard Sean sighed silently. When you cannot control something and wish time would slow, time never complies—it accelerates instead. It was a strange thing.

Wind and snow battered the dungeon windows with thuds, and Wizard Sean’s voice blended into the noise.

“Professor, you know—”

Snape whirled around, the cauldron still glowing, and rasped:

“What? Has our Mr. Green finally realized… he’s not mute?”

Wizard Sean met Professor Snape’s gaze silently. Just as Snape’s face never showed much expression, neither did his.

“What do you know? Everything. Tell me.”

Snape snorted, seeing nothing.

“About the Chamber—”

Wizard Sean hesitated.

“You went in? No, more than that… what did you do?! Speak!”

Professor Snape froze, then hurled the crystal vial aside and erupted like a storm.

The potion in the cauldron had not been removed—it had spoiled from overheating. Snape didn’t care. His face grew darker, more furious.

The young wizard recounted chilling details: from hearing a ghostly voice, to realizing it was the Basilisk slithering through the pipes; to confirming Moaning Myrtle was the fifty-year-old victim, and the Chamber’s entrance likely lay in her bathroom; then, because of those foolish reasons, entering the Chamber…

“You should be grateful you escaped—”

Snape roared,

“Now, wait here.”

His eyes glinted with murderous intent—only killing the Basilisk could quench this rage.

“Professor.”

Wizard Sean spoke quietly.

“Speak—”

Snape paused, his grip on the wand loosening slightly. At least this one had learned to seek help when danger arose—especially to seek…

“The Basilisk is dealt with.”

Wizard Sean forced the words out. At moments like this, he wished he could turn himself into a crystal vial and stand in the corner.

“Dumbledore?”

Snape frowned.

Wizard Sean shook his head.

“McGonagall…”

Snape’s voice was hoarse.

Wizard Sean shook his head.

“Wizard Sean Green!!”

Snape bellowed.

Wizard Sean knew: six years of detention had begun.

Long moments passed. The underground classroom door creaked open with a sinister groan. Wizard Sean had survived again.

Snape stood at the dungeon entrance, his memories burning open once more:

“When did you grow a mouth?”

After suppressing his fury, he noticed the subtle changes.

“Professor, last time, you said—tell you.”

The young wizard spoke quietly, as if he always remembered.

Cold wind howled at the dungeon entrance; the portrait of Sir Cadogan, moved here, chattered incessantly.

“Severus, have you seen the fire in the hearth? A tiny flicker seeping from the hearthstone, crawling into the flue… Doesn’t it resemble, Severus? A heart reborn from ashes.

My lady, look—this is the greatest magic. You think you despise him, yet tolerate him, and still miss him…”

“Sir! Stop talking!”

Too late.

Winter came early to Hogwarts Castle.

Even when hung over the fire, Sir Cadogan never stopped talking—as if he’d held it in for decades:

“You think there’s no summer here, Severus. In winter, you’ll learn it always remains in a man’s heart—and is unconquerable.”

…

Outside the dungeon.

Harry faintly heard a thunderous roar. He shrank back, suddenly filled with dread.

What’s wrong with Snape?

Wizard Sean was still inside.

The corridor was silent at night. Harry waited by the dungeon door.

No matter what, he thought, he had to tell Wizard Sean that Snape’s barbs were mostly nonsense—he’d always known that.

Then Harry saw about twenty spiders slowly crawling. They returned through a narrow crack in the glass.

Long silver threads hung like ropes—they must have climbed back along them.

Harry suddenly thought of the Parseltongue he’d heard here. His mood sank.

—He remembered Headmaster Dumbledore’s words:

“Harry, you speak Parseltongue,”

Headmaster Dumbledore said calmly,

“because Voldemort speaks Parseltongue. He is the last heir of Salazar Slytherin. If I’m not mistaken, the night he gave you your scar, he transferred some of his own power to you. He didn’t mean to—I’m certain of it…”

Headmaster Dumbledore had only answered Harry’s question—why he spoke Parseltongue—but it left him more confused and uneasy.

He and Voldemort… were similar.

Wizard Sean passed the corridor and saw Harry staring at the spiders.

“Oh, Wizard Sean.”

Seeing Wizard Sean, he snapped out of it and walked over.

“I have to say—ignore Professor Snape. His words are all…”

Wizard Sean paused slightly, whispered a silent spell. At the dungeon entrance, a pair of eyes, darker than midnight, stared right at them.

This chapter’s stuck—refresh and it’ll be fine.