"Hey, Skyl. Was the No-Maj world fun?"
"Skyl, tell me your New York stories."
After Skyl got back to Hogwarts, it was like a young guy who'd gone off to work in the city coming home to his tiny hometown—everyone crowded around him, asking this and that. He'd brought back loads of No-Maj "specialties," mostly candy and snack food, and handed them out to the younger students. First-years from all four Houses ended up liking him because of it.
After being away and coming back, Skyl realized the castle had changed again. Besides the construction-related alterations, there were now Lockhart posters plastered all over the place.
Almost overnight, Lockhart's reputation swung hard in the opposite direction. Ravenclaw students who used to insult him every day now either kept their mouths shut or even said a few kind words for him. Slytherin students would also mumble shyly, "Hey… wasn't Lockhart originally supposed to be sorted into our House?"
Gryffindor students weren't talking about a wizarding war anymore. Instead, they were talking about exchange and cooperation between the No-Maj world and the wizarding world. Now, as long as you were a wizard, you could go make a name for yourself among No-Majs—like someone coming home with a shiny Ivy League degree and instantly getting treated like a celebrity.
The Daily Prophet was filled every day with stories about wizards cooperating with No-Majs, all pushing the same message: wizards were wildly in demand on the No-Maj side. It gave Skyl the same vibe as flipping through Reader's Digest and Chicken Soup for the Soul. And it wasn't just Britain—wizarding communities all over the world were tentatively testing out contact with No-Majs.
The Ministry of Magic's attitude was extremely ambiguous. Their official spokesperson kept urging wizards to obey the Statute of Secrecy, but when people actually broke it, the Ministry always treated it lightly—turning a blind eye, again and again.
Percy was especially eager to corner Skyl and ask about anything and everything related to the No-Maj world.
"I heard the Ministry's going to add a new department—the Muggle Affairs Cooperation Division." Percy's eyes were shining brighter than candles. "Merlin, a brand-new department! How many positions are waving at us? Skyl, if we grab this opportunity, we'll soar! Maybe we'll even become a department head before twenty-five! I'm already preparing to apply for a Ministry internship."
Skyl was helpless with Percy's obsession with rank. He handed him Mora's Black Book. "Here. Look at what's in this book."
"A piece of sheet music. So what?"
"Can you read sheet music? Hum it."
Percy stared at Skyl, suspicious and awkward, then softly hummed a heavy, dull tune. His musical sense was genuinely decent—model student, of course; he really did have that "good at everything" vibe.
"You'll become a Ministry official someday," Skyl said, taking Mora's Black Book back. "But you probably won't become Minister."
"If you want to understand the No-Maj world, you can wait until after graduation. The No-Maj world is complicated. You'll never learn the truth from someone else's mouth."
"That was a prophecy? Now you're doing fortune-telling with music?" Percy couldn't help laughing. "Skyl, you still won't admit defeat, huh. It's not hard to admit you don't have a gift for Divination. No one can know everything."
Skyl rolled his eyes at him. "Believe it or don't."
Since term started, people kept seeing Skyl around the school. He wasn't as vanishing-and-reappearing as he'd been last year. He spent all day holding that notebook of his, scribbling and sketching in it. Nobody knew what he was doing, and nobody really cared. Everyone was too busy being obsessed with Lockhart.
That uncrowned king of the human world had declared he would lift the veil of magic and lead humanity into a new era. In Britain's wizarding community, one argument had gotten louder and louder: let Lockhart replace Fudge and become the new Minister. Almost every newspaper and magazine voiced support for Lockhart.
Almost.
The Quibbler's editor, Xenophilius Lovegood, tore into Lockhart without mercy, calling him someone who was willingly letting No-Majs use him just to preserve his fame and fortune—dragging wizardkind under a dangerous spotlight in the process.
The other papers raced to publish stories of wizard "success." For example, on page two of the Daily Prophet's October 14 edition, there was a story about an unknown British witch who became nationally famous overnight. She'd agreed to endorse a bread brand and received an enormous payment—enough to live like a wealthy millionaire in the No-Maj world.
Stories like that kept coming, one after another. To many wizards, No-Majs had become a synonym for easy money and wide-eyed worship: do a tiny bit of magic, and you'd be showered with adoration.
But was that really true?
At the very least, the Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, had voiced concern in public: "We've received multiple missing-person reports recently. Wizards operating in the No-Maj world should do everything possible to ensure their personal safety."
His warning wasn't taken very seriously.
That October was feverish. In the public's ears there was only money and fame—no room for criticism or caution, as if those words were getting in the way of people getting rich and becoming famous.
Even the Hogwarts professors felt the impact of the craze. The students were restless and distracted; no one could focus in class. Professor Snape's insults got sharper and crueler by the day. He looked like he wanted to make these little brats cry on the spot, just to snap them out of their daydreams of fame.
What annoyed him and reassured him at the same time was that at least Harry Potter seemed completely unaffected by the outside noise. The child who had Lily Evans's eyes was quiet and steady—nothing at all like James Potter in personality.
In his office, Snape refused once again to tell Harry anything about his parents.
Harry, settling for less, asked Snape about Potions instead. Snape wore an expression of deep irritation, answered reluctantly, and didn't hold back the sarcasm.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, green eyes fixed on Snape. The old bat stared back, expressionless.
Harry bowed and left. Snape's gaze followed him. Outside the door, a white wolfhound was crouched in the corridor. The dog was named Afu. It always moved with Harry, almost inseparable. It had attacked Harry once before, and yet now it behaved like an old friend.
For some reason, every time Snape saw that dog, something in his chest felt faintly uncomfortable.
Before Halloween (October 31) arrived, something major happened at school: the construction crew found an ancient chamber beneath the main castle. The headmaster and professors rushed to the scene and confirmed that the builder had been one of Hogwarts' founders—Salazar Slytherin.
That infamous dark wizard had always pushed pure-blood doctrine, believing only pure-blood wizards deserved an education, while half-bloods and Mudbloods should not be allowed to remain at the school.
Rumor said Slytherin had left a chamber hidden inside the castle, waiting for his heir to appear. When the Chamber opened again, the school would face a "purification."
Every old school with a long history had horror stories like that. For centuries, Hogwarts teachers and students had believed the Chamber of Secrets legend was nothing but nonsense.
Until 1943, when the Chamber opened for the first time and some people realized it was real.
During the major renovation of the main castle, the crew discovered a broken faucet in the third-floor girls' bathroom. The plumber didn't hesitate—he tore down the entire wall. Dumbledore was paying so well that even tearing the whole castle down and rebuilding it would've been pocket change, so the crew's repair strategy was always simple and brutal.
And the moment they tore it open, they found the problem.
Behind the sinks, hidden in the wall, was a pipe connected to Hogwarts' complicated sewage system—and it ran all the way down into a deep underground space.
At the end of a dark, damp tunnel, there was a stone wall carved with two intertwined serpents: Slytherin's mark.
In the Great Hall, the headmaster promised every student that the Chamber would not affect the school's normal operation. The staff and the construction crew would deal with it—whether it meant tearing it down or sealing it shut, there would be a result. Everyone could relax and prepare for Halloween.
On Halloween night, the Chamber's door was opened.
All twelve workers on-site were killed.
After Professor Moonshadow revived those twelve unlucky men, everyone learned from them that the attacker was a gigantic snake. Its eyes were yellow, and if you looked into them, you died instantly.
"It's a basilisk," Snape said coldly. "There's a basilisk roaming this school castle, Dumbledore."
The old headmaster fell silent for a moment, then made his decision.
"Evacuate all students. We'll move everyone to the new campus first."
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