Chapter 69: The Monster in the Chamber

On the way back, they spotted a distant flame, and driven by curiosity, Harry walked over to the bonfire.

Luna and Cui Ge were sitting by the fire, slowly turning a chicken on the spit.

“Hey, Ron,” Luna waved enthusiastically at them, “Hey, Harry, hey, Neville.”

“It’s you guys,” Cui Ge invited. “Want to sit down? This chicken’s just a bit too big.”

“What’s this?” Harry remembered their past misdeeds. “Stole another chicken?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Cui Ge scratched his head, embarrassed. “How’s it stealing? Hagrid gave it to us out of kindness.”

“Yes, Hagrid gave us some chickens without even knowing,” Luna added.

After the thrilling adventure earlier, Harry felt hungry. He glanced at Neville, who had already plopped down beside the fire.

“Alright, what flavor is this one?” Harry sat down beside them, asking casually.

“French-style,” Cui Ge said proudly. “Tom told us the house-elves in the kitchen can cook anything. Just bring them a stunned chicken, and the next day it’s perfectly marinated.”

“I thought last time’s chicken was your own cooking,” Ron stared fixedly at the spit. “I thought your skills were pretty good.”

“Actually, Tom suggested we let the house-elves roast it first, but Cui Ge thinks roasting it himself is more fun, right?” Luna’s gaze remained fixed on the chicken and the fire.

“Yes, Crabbe and Goyle always have the house-elves roast for them,” Cui Ge nodded. “To be honest, the house-elves’ cooking is a bit better than mine.”

“How many chickens have you stolen?” Neville asked.

“Almost one per week,” Cui Ge answered.

“Crabbe and Goyle steal two per week,” Luna added.

“That’s terrible—who came up with this?” Harry felt sorry for Hagrid.

“It’s not our fault,” Cui Ge wheedled. “Tom told us to do it.”

“Yes, it’s all Tom’s fault,” Luna’s eyes never left the chicken.

Harry nodded and said nothing more. He suspected Hagrid already knew students were stealing chickens, but Hagrid was a kind-hearted man—he probably just turned a blind eye.

Back in the dorm, the three sat around the bed, shifting the conversation from the French roast chicken back to the spiders in the Forbidden Forest.

At the mention of spiders, Ron grew furious: “I never thought the Forbidden Forest had such terrifying dark creatures, and Dumbledore does nothing.”

“He did—he reminds us every year not to go into the Forbidden Forest,” Harry said helplessly.

“I’m wondering—if these spiders really are the monster from the Chamber,” Neville said, “both victims were petrified. Can spiders petrify?”

“You’ve got a point. Maybe the spiders in the Forbidden Forest have nothing to do with the Chamber,” Harry mused, recalling Tom’s information—he’d said students told him, so it might not be accurate.

Perhaps some student in the past discovered these spiders in the Forbidden Forest, but the Chamber hadn’t opened yet, leading to this misunderstanding.

“Hey, does this mean,” Ron’s face twisted into a mischievous grin, “these spiders belong to neither Slytherin nor Dumbledore?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I want to clear them all out,” Ron said. “I hate spiders, and they attack students—that’s extremely dangerous.”

“What gave a second-year student such boldness?” Harry patted his shoulder. “We barely managed two. What if the whole valley is crawling with them?”

“Not now, but not never. Maybe by seventh year I’ll have learned powerful spells,” Ron said. “First, a small goal: clean the Forbidden Forest of these annoying spiders.”

“First, figure out how to pass your OWLs,” Neville said. “Otherwise you won’t even qualify for seventh year.”

“Oh, I hate exams,” Ron covered his face with a book. “Exams are as annoying as spiders.”

“Do you have to pass OWLs to get into sixth year?” Harry asked curiously. “The wizarding world’s exam abbreviation just happens to mean ‘owl.’ Funny.”

“Yes, but you’ll learn about that later,” Neville yawned. “The aftereffects of the Time-Shift Charm haven’t faded—I need to sleep.”

Early the next morning, Harry and Ron woke up early, while Neville seemed to want more sleep. After a quick discussion, they decided to watch the Quidditch match. This round was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff; as long as Slytherin didn’t score over three hundred points, Gryffindor still had a chance to win the Quidditch Cup. If Hufflepuff unexpectedly defeated Slytherin, they could even open champagne early to celebrate.

In the end, Slytherin won 190 to 60, well within Gryffindor’s tolerance. Cedric had worked hard searching for the Snitch, but Slytherin’s broom advantage was overwhelming—they only needed one Chaser to coordinate with the Keeper for defense, while the rest almost entirely assisted the Seeker.

“That four-on-one defense blew my mind,” Ron said, baffled. “I can’t understand how they came up with this tactic.”

“After all, the brooms were donated by the Malfoys,” Harry said enviously, staring at their uniform Gliders 2001. “So let Malfoy have his fun.”

"But instead of trying to widen the score gap against a weak team, they're focused on giving their young master a better gaming experience," Ron grumbled. "I wonder if they even care about winning."

“It’s not unreasonable,” Harry said. “If Malfoy enjoys himself on the team, he might keep donating brooms next year—that’s one of the off-field advantages.”

As the two quietly criticized the Slytherin team, Malfoy approached them, broom in hand, having just come off the pitch. Harry didn’t immediately realize he was coming for him, but soon noticed Malfoy was looking for him. He shifted topics, beginning to discuss Hufflepuff’s operations, pretending to objectively analyze a future opponent.

“Hey, Harry,” Malfoy greeted.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Harry replied politely. “Great game. Congratulations.”

Malfoy’s face beamed with pride. “Thanks for coming to watch me, Harry. Oh, don’t forget tomorrow night’s self-inspection meeting.”

“Speaking of which, I think I have something to tell you,” Harry thought for a moment, deciding to share the information about the spiders in the Forbidden Forest.

“You two talk. I’m out,” Ron said, unwilling to stay near Malfoy for even a second—he’d more than once told Harry, “I can’t believe you can talk to Malfoy without throwing up.”

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Malfoy glanced at the noisy crowd and led Harry to a corner of the pitch.

“I was thinking about what Tom said—that the Chamber’s monster might be spiders,” Harry said. “I went to the Forbidden Forest last night. There really are a lot of spiders there.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Malfoy said. “My investigation also confirms the Chamber’s monster is a spider, but I’ll explain the details tomorrow night.”

“But spiders don’t have petrification abilities,” Harry pointed out a major inconsistency.

“Exactly. That proves the attacker didn’t open the Chamber—he acted alone,” Malfoy said.

“Then how, if there’s no monster helping, did the attacker strike on Halloween night, when everyone was in the Great Hall eating?” Harry pressed sharply.

“Perhaps that means the attacker isn’t any student or teacher,” Malfoy replied calmly. “But some malicious outsider wizard—or even a house-elf.”

“Petrification can’t even be reversed by Dumbledore. Could an outsider wizard do it?” Harry objected. “Unless you think it’s the house-elves.”

“To be honest,” Malfoy glanced nervously around, lowering his voice, “I suspect the Dark Lord has infiltrated the school. He wants to use the Chamber to drive out Dumbledore and replace him with Snape as headmaster.”

Harry was startled—he hadn’t expected Malfoy to so directly reveal Voldemort’s name.

“Snape used to be his follower, and I heard the Dark Lord originally only wanted to become a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts,” Malfoy whispered into Harry’s ear. “Dumbledore turned him down three times, and only then did he rage into war.”

A failed professorship leading to war—Harry found it absurd. So if Hogwarts had just lowered its standards a little, the wizarding war might have been avoided.

“Perhaps once the Dark Lord wins and establishes his rule,” Malfoy’s tone grew lighter, “everything will return to normal, and he’ll come to teach us.”

“I think you’re right,” Harry nodded deeply. “Your theory might be closest to the truth.”

“But I wouldn’t dare tell anyone else,” Malfoy whispered. “Tomorrow at the self-inspection meeting, I’ll mention only trivial details. Just know this in advance.”

Harry shook his hand again, then returned to the castle lost in thought. He sat at a library table, repeatedly pondering Malfoy’s hypothesis.

Perhaps Malfoy didn’t understand Voldemort’s true strategy and mistakenly assumed Voldemort himself had come. In truth, Voldemort could easily have taught a complex petrification spell to a subordinate while continuing his activities outside, rallying pure-blood nobles to his cause.

A lenient headmaster doesn’t always prevent war—these nobles have long craved power.

Realizing this, Harry calmly began his homework, making time to attend tomorrow’s meeting.