Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets was, in truth, more of a library than anything else: books, books, and more books. In fact, it could hardly even be called Slytherin's chamber, for the volumes stored here belonged to all four of the great warlocks. Each founder had a personal chamber of their own, preserving the magical knowledge they had gathered through their lives.
The only thing that truly marked this "secret chamber" as Slytherin's was perhaps the enormous serpent that was the basilisk, and the damp, gloomy atmosphere that seemed to fit the man's reputation perfectly. Otherwise, it might as well have been called the Hogwarts chamber of exceptionally rare books, guarded, of course, by an equally exceptional snake.
Back to the matter at hand, Slytherin's private chamber was small and austere, much like the others, with only subtle differences in detail and perhaps in color. Its stone walls were lined with shelves packed to the brim with timeworn books.
To one side stood a wooden table of dark, polished oak, its surface worn smooth by time, with a half-melted candle burning quietly upon it, the flickering flame sending restless shadows dancing over the shelves and steeping the chamber in a solemn, reverent stillness. Well, that was the case a few hours ago. The chamber was now otherwise occupied by two men, one old and one young.
"This is really…" Commenting on what he had just read while closing an ancient-looking book, Maverick glanced at Dumbledore, who sat across from him, smiling knowingly as if expecting his reaction. "Profound knowledge, Headmaster."
"Profound, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "And dangerous. Magic that deals directly with the soul can be perilous if wielded by the wrong hands, of course."
Yeah, no kidding, Maverick mused. The text covered everything from the creation of Horcruxes to the merging of shattered souls, written in such precise, almost scholarly detail that any ordinary witch or wizard would have deemed it forbidden magic on sight. And that was only scratching the surface of the bizarre and unsettling knowledge within.
Moreover, that was only one book. This was Salazar Slytherin's personal library, filled with all kinds of knowledge most would rather burn than read. No wonder the man had such dark rumors around his name. In Muggle terms, he was exactly what they'd call a mad scientist.
There were even books here dissecting the three Unforgivable Curses, covering both attack and defense, and even Maverick had found new insights within them. It was worth noting that his understanding of the three Unforgivables was already at an advanced level, meaning the system had instilled in him profound comprehension that one might not find in any book.
In other words, as Dumbledore had said, the knowledge contained in this library could indeed be very dangerous in the wrong hands. Fortunately, old Voldy never discovered this true chamber within the Chamber of Secrets during his school days, or Maverick was certain the mad fool would have tried every ritual in these books that promised even the faintest taste of power.
"Is it the ritual of Anima Purificare that you performed today?" Putting the book down on the table and sliding it across, he asked after a moment of thought.
"Indeed." Dumbledore waved his hand, and the book levitated, drifting to one of the shelves where it settled neatly into place. "That, and the rituals of Maledicta Vinculum and Tenebris Compressum."
It had to be said, this old man was truly a genius. In fact, the rituals Dumbledore had performed weren't even designed for removing a curse of demonic corruption. None of them were. It was the wise old man's ingenuity to use them in a precise order that had, in the end, cured him completely—and perhaps even improved him.
"Wait a minute, Headmaster…" Maverick suddenly thought of something, and his eyes lit up. "Do you think that the same series of rituals could be used on Potter? To rid him of the parasite of Riddle's soul?"
At his words, Dumbledore raised a brow, then fell into thought, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his chin, mulling over the idea, while Maverick waited. After a while, his eyes seemed to gleam as he looked at Maverick. "Theoretically, yes."
"Please explain, Headmaster. I'm not that knowledgeable in this particular branch of magic, you know."
"It's actually very simple." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Young Harry—what do you think is the difference between the entity leeching his magic and the curse that parasitized my soul?"
"Horcrux?" Maverick answered with a thoughtful expression, then his eyes lit up. "Soul. It's the soul."
"Brilliant." Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "How I wish you were a student here at Hogwarts, Professor."
"Right, right. I've heard that too many times." Maverick waved a hand dismissively.
Chuckling again, Dumbledore continued. "What's parasitizing young Harry is a fragment of a mortal soul, while in my case, it was something else." He raised one finger, as if lecturing a student. "Similar in some ways, but also different. What do you think would happen if the ritual were done on young Harry?"
Honestly, Maverick had no idea, and he didn't try to act smart. "I don't know."
"Precisely," said Dumbledore, leaning back again. "We don't know. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the matter. Your suggestion, in fact, is theoretically quite sound. I shall research further to see if it can be made foolproof."
Maverick nodded. Unless absolutely certain, he would not attempt it either. It could cure Harry and remove the parasitic fragment, but it could just as easily make things worse. Better to wait. Moreover, Harry wasn't Dumbledore, and his composure and magical stability would be vastly different—factors that could affect the ritual's outcome.
"Please do, Headmaster," Maverick said solemnly. If Harry could rid himself of the parasitic soul before next year, then Maverick's plans would become far more foolproof. A lot of uncertainties could be removed—or in other words, many risks cast aside. "If there's anything you need—rare ingredients, components, anything you can't find—let me know. I really want the kid to get better."
Leaning back in his chair, smiling with that familiar twinkle in his eyes, and giving a look Maverick couldn't quite read, Dumbledore nodded. "I shall do it regardless, Professor. Young Harry's unfortunate situation…" he sighed melancholically, "and his family's tragedy back then, are also partly my fault. I trusted the wrong people, or perhaps I was too overconfident. Either way, it is my responsibility."
Looking at the old man's expression, Maverick could tell he truly meant it. He wasn't a schemer—well, maybe an old one—but he was definitely not the manipulative villain so many fanfictions in his past life had painted him to be. Knowing him this long, Maverick could at least deduce that much.
"Right then, let's put this matter aside for now. You can rest assured I will devote my utmost effort to researching the ritual..." Dumbledore rose to his feet after a moment of silence. "Let us head back up for now."
Maverick nodded and stood as well. "Will you be announcing your recovery to the world?"
Walking side by side out of the chamber, Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet. I would appreciate it if you too, Professor, kept the matter between us for now." Saying that, he raised his hand, and the tattered clothing that had once been draped over his arms materialized again beneath his sleeve.
What's this old man thinking now? Maverick thought, but he didn't dwell on it and simply shrugged. Whatever. "It's your call, Headmaster," he said.
---
A few days later, the Muggle Science classroom.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of metal and charred dust. Heavy oak tables stood in neat rows, two students sharing one, each equipped with simple glass beakers, small metal rods, and tiny open boxes filled with powders and crystals.
Today's lesson focused on decomposition. Maverick rolled up his sleeves and scanned the classroom, watching the students dive into the work before them. Behind him, a single word was underlined twice in chalk: Electrolysis.
As with physics and biology, chemistry, of course, had its place in the Muggle science curriculum. And what better way to show just how fascinating it could be than with a simple electrolysis experiment, right? Moreover, it was one of his favourite subjects, and he had loved it even in his previous life.
"Macmillan, it's supposed to be pale yellow, not that murky green." He paused beside their table as he walked past. "And Parkinson, no magic… use the tools provided. Look carefully: green means too much salt. Clean the rod, correct it, and keep going."
Moving on, he noticed the only redhead in the class looking up at him and came to a stop. "Okay, Ronald, what's bothering you?"
"Uh… Professor?" Ron cleared his throat, stealing a look at his partner before speaking. "I mean… is it really possible to, you know, make proper gold this way?" Clearly, some odd ideas had gone on between the two of them.
Maverick stared blankly for a moment, then looked at the beaker they were working on. "What you're doing here, as I mentioned in the beginning, is coating, not creating. You're depositing gold ions from the solution onto the rod. Basically, just painting. So don't go having weird ideas."
Ron sighed and nodded, returning to his work. His partner for today's class was Susan Bones, a meticulous little witch. Their experiment, at least, showed no signs of error despite the odd question Ron had just asked, so Maverick didn't linger and moved on to the next table.
A few tables down, another hand raised. Maverick approached Draco Malfoy and Hannah Abbott, who were frowning at their beaker. "Professor, why is ours all brown?"
Maverick leaned in to inspect. "I told you to clean the rod properly before starting. Otherwise, the residue on the surface reacts first, ruining the finish… which is exactly what's happened here. Off the fumes, clean it properly, then try again."
He continued moving through the classroom, the flicker of each table's flame reflecting in his eyes. Beakers clinked softly, and the faint metallic scent filled the air as students watched the slow shimmer spread along their rods.
"Patience," he said as he passed Harry and Tracy. "Real science is slower than magic, but sometimes that's the beauty of it. The process itself teaches you something."
Minutes passed, accompanied by the soft murmur of discussion and the occasional whispered question, until the bell finally rang, marking the end of the allotted class period.
"Alright," Maverick called, clapping his hands once. "That's enough for today. Switch off your power sources and set your rods aside. Now, before you all pull out your wands—don't."
Groans rippled across the room, as if they had already expected him to say it. Smiling faintly without changing his expression, Maverick continued,
"Remember, this is Muggle chemistry, not a potions classroom. For learning's sake, you'll clean the instruments the Muggle way too. Soap, water, and absolutely no spells."
It was the last class of the day, and the students had no other lessons to attend anyway. And with that, he turned toward the door, leaving them with the final instruction.
As soon as he stepped outside, a subtle thrill passed over his face, though it wasn't because he had just taught another interesting lesson about science to his students. During class a while back, he had finally received the message he had been most expecting this month, and he could hardly wait to leave the school.
But first, he needed to let the old man know he wouldn't be around. He raised his hand and flicked his finger, and a silver-white shimmer gathered at his fingertips, taking the form of a raven whose feathers seemed woven from living mist.
"Go," he whispered, watching the silver raven cry once and vanish through the wall, and with a single thought, his own figure also dissolved into invisibility as he moved toward the nearest open window.
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Author's Note:
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