After testing Charles's strength, little Barty naturally wanted to see what was so special about the so-called Boy Who Lived.
Under his control, Malfoy started casting several dark curses without any restraint. Harry, trying to defend himself with Protego, found that his wand suddenly went dead—no spark, no reaction at all.
Protego was an advanced defensive spell, one even many graduates couldn't perform properly. Harry, a second-year student, though talented, couldn't possibly master it after seeing it just once.
So he was instantly struck by Malfoy's curses and began flailing in a ridiculous dance.
The sight greatly disappointed little Barty.
This is the legendary Boy Who Lived? Seriously?
Even so, he still intended to use the diary and the basilisk his master left him to eliminate both Harry and Charles. The basilisk's power was immense, and from what he'd seen of Harry and Charles, Barty didn't believe they could survive its gaze.
"All right, that's enough. Draco, I said—only disarm and shield spells are allowed."
Having decided to end it, he stepped forward, blocking between Harry and Malfoy. "Finite Incantatem!"
The curses on Harry were lifted immediately.
"This is the third useful counter-spell today. Anyone who's confident enough may try it themselves. It isn't too hard." With that, Barty turned and walked off with Charles to watch other students' duels. With hundreds of students gathered, they could only hope nothing went wrong.
Dazed Malfoy awoke from the Imperius Curse and found Harry glaring furiously at him. He frowned in confusion.
"What? What's your problem?"
Harry was fuming. The slimy little Malfoy dared act innocent after that stunt? Without hesitation, he raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light hit Malfoy square in the chest, launching him into the air. He twisted twice before crashing to the floor with a loud thud. His wand flew from his hand—Ron caught it neatly.
"Nice one, Harry!"
Malfoy clutched his aching chest, on the verge of tears. "Harry Potter, how dare you!"
"I'll tell my father!"
"Go right ahead and tell him!" Harry snapped, unfazed by the threat. He'd beaten Malfoy fair and square using a spell taught in the club—no one could fault him for that.
And so, the first meeting of the Duelling Club came to an end.
Harry's Parseltongue ability remained undiscovered—since no one like Snape had conveniently taught Malfoy Serpensortia, no one had reason to suspect Harry could talk to snakes.
But the third attack still happened.
Little Barty deliberately arranged it so that Harry would always be the first to arrive at each attack scene, ensuring suspicion fell squarely on him.
This time, the victim was Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff second-year. Harry had just been walking back from the Quidditch pitch alone when Filch and his cat discovered him at the scene.
Dumbledore already knew what had happened; barely a second before Harry was caught, Professor McGonagall had hurried over to pull him out of trouble.
"Professor, it wasn't me—"
"That isn't for me to decide," McGonagall said sternly. "Come with me, Potter."
She gave no further explanation.
They turned a corner in silence until she stopped before a hideous stone gargoyle.
"Lemon sherbet!" she said.
At once, the gargoyle sprang aside, and the wall behind it split in two. Even though Harry was anxious about his fate, he couldn't help being impressed as a moving spiral staircase rose like a magical escalator. As soon as they stepped on, the wall rumbled closed again, carrying them steadily upward.
By the time they stopped, Harry—slightly dizzy—saw a polished oak door gleaming before him, fitted with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
He knew immediately where he was: Dumbledore's office.
What he didn't expect was to find Professor Charles there too.
"Professor…"
"Surprised to see me?" Charles smiled, gesturing for him to relax and sit. "The Headmaster's office isn't nearly as cozy as mine, I'm afraid."
"Then you should send more snacks my way," Dumbledore's amused voice came from behind a shelf. He emerged, handing Harry a cup of honeyed tea.
"Headmaster…"
Harry was far too distressed to drink it.
"I swear, it wasn't me—"
Before he could finish, a shrill cry pierced the room.
On Dumbledore's desk, his ugly, bald bird suddenly burst into flames. It blazed fiercely for a few seconds, then crumbled into a heap of ash.
"Your bird—it just—" Harry gaped in horror.
"About time," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It's looked dreadful for days. I've been telling it to hurry up."
Seeing Harry's shocked face, he chuckled softly.
Charles explained, "That's Fawkes, a phoenix, Harry. When phoenixes near death, they ignite themselves and are reborn from the ashes. Look—"
Harry peered down just in time to see a tiny, wrinkled chick poke its head out of the ashes, every bit as ugly as the old bird.
"Unfortunate you had to meet him on his rebirth day," Dumbledore said, settling into his chair. "He's usually magnificent—scarlet and gold feathers, truly a sight to behold. Phoenixes are remarkable creatures: they can carry immense loads, their tears have healing power, and they're extraordinarily loyal."
But even Fawkes's rebirth couldn't ease Harry's unease.
"Professor, I didn't do it. It wasn't me."
"We know," Charles said gently.
He and Dumbledore had called Harry here tonight to discreetly share some helpful information—otherwise, with Barty's manipulative schemes, Harry might never uncover the culprit.
"The Headmaster and I both believe the Heir of Slytherin likely possesses Parseltongue," Charles said. "Otherwise, they couldn't have opened the Chamber."
"Parseltongue? What's that?"
"A gift, Harry," Dumbledore's calm voice carried a trace of weariness. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes shone faintly. "A very rare ability. Parselmouths can speak to and command snakes. Slytherin himself was one."
"Talk to snakes?" Harry's face went pale.
He opened his mouth, hesitated.
He was a Parselmouth. Before Hogwarts, he'd once talked with a snake from Brazil at the zoo—and even helped it escape.
He'd never realized that was rare.
He was a wizard—wasn't chatting with magical creatures supposed to be normal?
"What's wrong, Harry?" Charles asked knowingly.
Harry jumped as if jolted by electricity. "N-nothing, Professor. Nothing at all."
"I must ask, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me? Anything at all."
Harry shifted awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. But he knew one thing for certain—he must not reveal his secret. If they learned he could speak Parseltongue, the professors who trusted him might change their minds in an instant.
Maybe they'd lock him up—send him to Azkaban.
"No, sir," Harry murmured. "Nothing."
He shrank into his chair, looking small and frightened.
"Very well," Dumbledore said softly, trying to reassure him. "If you learn anything, please let me know."
Under their steady gazes, Harry left the office in a daze.
"I should tell you, Dumbledore," Charles said deliberately loud enough for Harry to hear, "I ran into Hagrid on the way here. He asked me to cast a spell on his chicken coop—something's been killing his roosters."
"Likely some creature," Dumbledore replied quietly—but his words carried clearly to Harry's ears.
"I'm more worried about Hagrid," Charles went on. "If we don't find the culprit soon, the Ministry might blame him. You remember what happened fifty years ago…"
Fifty years ago?
Harry's heart pounded with questions, but by then the spiral staircase had begun to descend, sealing the voices behind stone once again.
Inside the office, Charles and Dumbledore changed topics immediately.
"Grindelwald has joined Team Rocket. The one imprisoned in Nurmengard must be an impostor."
Dumbledore fell silent. After a long moment, he gave a strained smile. "Still trying to reshape the world with Pokémon? I'd hoped he had truly changed."
"You're wrong," Charles said calmly. "He's no longer obsessed with change. Instead of stopping Giovanni, he traded the power of a legendary Pokémon in exchange for helping Giovanni hold you back."
Dumbledore's eyes darkened.
"I think his motives mirror yours," Charles continued. "Perhaps that's his form of penance. He's long accepted that change demands sacrifice. Those who died by his hand—he might feel regret, but not repentance. To him, they weren't mistakes. And the things he truly regrets… are far fewer."
Ariana… Credence…
"Perhaps," Dumbledore whispered, sorrow lacing his voice. But soon he straightened again. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him make another mistake."
Charles nodded. "I've sent him to seek the legendary Pokémon. With so few clues, it won't be easy."
——
After leaving the Headmaster's office, Harry lingered long before the gargoyle.
What had Hagrid done fifty years ago? Why would the Ministry suspect him?
Back in the common room, he finally told Hermione, Ron, and Neville everything. He trusted them to believe him.
Yet when he revealed he was a Parselmouth, all three were stunned.
"I—I never knew that!" Ron blurted, looking half-ready to back away despite their friendship.
"I thought it was normal," Harry muttered. "Didn't think it meant anything."
"Don't worry, Harry," Neville said gently. "It doesn't prove anything. I heard Dumbledore can speak Parseltongue too, and he's never been evil. Maybe Voldemort can, and he's controlling someone else—that's who opened the Chamber."
"Yeah, we believe you," Ron added quickly.
"But Hagrid…" Hermione murmured, thinking hard.
"Fifty years ago, maybe he was the one who opened it. That's why the Ministry suspects him."
"Are you mad, Hermione? Hagrid would never do that!" Harry protested.
"What kind of thing?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't forget Fluffy and that dragon! He loves dangerous creatures. If he knew there was a monster hidden in a Chamber beneath the school, what do you think he'd do?"
"He'd probably try to rescue it…" Harry said weakly. "So you're saying—it was Hagrid?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not necessarily."
"So is it or isn't it?" Ron groaned. "You can't say both!"
"I just mean," Hermione said, "Hagrid isn't a Parselmouth. He—" She stopped mid-sentence. "Maybe we should just ask him."
"That'll be fun," Ron muttered. "Hello, Hagrid—mind telling us if you've released any giant, hairy beasts in the castle lately?"
All four sighed at once.
Finally, Harry spoke up. "At least we've got more leads than before."
"Right—just have to check a thousand students one by one to see if they speak snake," Ron said gloomily.
Then, unexpectedly, quiet Neville spoke up. "Maybe it's not a student."
"What?"
Three pairs of eyes turned to him.
"Not a student? What do you mean?"
"Well," Neville said carefully, "last year Voldemort possessed Quirrell, right? What if this time he's possessing a professor? Has any teacher been acting strange this term?"
Their minds flashed through the possibilities—Professor Lupin, who vanished a few days every month… the ridiculous Lockhart…
Then, in unison, they said:
"Snape!"
(End of Chapter)