Chapter 45: the entrance to the secret room
"Ah, let me tell you, that's truly terrifying!" Myrtle exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, though Ciaran found amusement in her theatrics.
"It happened here, in this very bathroom. I recall it vividly," she reminisced.
"At that moment, Olive Humbey mocked me for my glasses, likening me to a four-eyed dog. I was distraught and sought solace here. Locking the door, I wept alone. Then, I heard someone enter. What they uttered was peculiar..."
"Parseltongue!" Ciaran and Dumbledore exchanged a glance, pondering the significance of Myrtle's revelation.
Unperturbed by their reactions, Myrtle continued with relish, "But what irked me most was hearing a boy's voice. This is the women's lavatory, not for gentlemen!"
Despite her raised voice and animated demeanour, Dumbledore and Ciaran remained nonchalant—only Harry appeared slightly uneasy. Undeterred, Myrtle pressed on, "I flung open the door, prepared to rebuke the intruder sharply, directing them to the boys' facilities. And then..."
Proudly puffing her chest, Myrtle believed herself quite impressive, her face beaming.
"...I perished!"
"How did you meet your demise?" Dumbledore inquired.
"I cannot recall," Myrtle replied cryptically. "Only those enormous, menacing yellow eyes remain etched in my memory, seizing me, and then I drifted away."
Her expression distant, Myrtle continued, "Somehow, I found myself back at Hogwarts. Principal, I was determined to confront Olive Humbey."
She chuckled, "Oh, how she regretted her mockery, bitterly lamenting her jests about my spectacles."
Ciaran questioned, "Where did you encounter these yellow eyes?"
"They were near..." Myrtle frowned, gesturing uncertainly towards the pool ahead.
Dumbledore and Sharon hastened over, Harry trailing behind.
The pool appeared ordinary, indistinguishable from any other. The trio scrutinized it thoroughly, only for Dumbledore to emit a soft exclamation.
Ciaran and Harry rushed over, discovering a small snake carved on the side of a copper faucet.
Myrtle hovered nearby, observing Dumbledore's attempts to activate the faucet. "This faucet never works!" she interjected cheerfully.
"Harry, I believe it's time for Parseltongue," Ciaran asserted. "Speak."
"But I can't!" Harry protested, straining to recall his prior experiences with Parseltongue. Despite his efforts, the snake remained inert.
Harry stared at the carved snake, endeavouring to envision it as real.
"Open," he commanded.
The copper faucet remained unresponsive. Harry glanced at Dumbledore and Ciaran, crestfallen.
"I fear you're still speaking human, not serpent," Ciaran remarked, shaking his head.
"But I..." Harry's distress was palpable, yet the sensation he felt when facing a real snake eluded him.
Dumbledore waved his wand, conjuring a green serpent that coiled on the bathroom floor, fixing Harry with its icy gaze.
Harry hesitated, a pang of panic gripping him. Unable to suppress it, he uttered, "Open!"
This time, his voice emerged not as human but as a strange hiss. The faucet emitted a brilliant white light, spinning rapidly.
Boom...
The pool roiled, vanishing from sight to reveal a thick water pipe large enough for a person to pass through.
"The Chamber of Secrets entrance," Dumbledore declared. With a wave of his wand, the serpent vanished. "I'll descend first, Ciaran behind me, and as for you, Harry..."
"Professor, I wish to join," Harry interjected urgently. "What if Parseltongue is needed?"
Dumbledore regarded Harry intently, who met his gaze with unwavering resolve.
"Very well, if you insist," Dumbledore acquiesced. "You shall be the last. If danger arises, find shelter and close your eyes. Ciaran and I will confront the basilisk."
Harry nodded fervently, recognizing his limitations. With two formidable professors by his side—especially Dumbledore, revered as the most powerful wizard—he felt a surge of confidence.
"Ciaran, exercise caution; we may encounter the basilisk imminently," Dumbledore cautioned as he approached the cave entrance.
Ciaran nodded, acknowledging his subordinate position in Dumbledore's presence. Who in the wizarding world surpassed Dumbledore in prowess? Voldemort, at best, was his equal.
Dumbledore entered the pipe effortlessly, sliding down without resistance. Ciaran followed suit.
It felt akin to descending a playground slide, albeit much longer. Ciaran gripped his wand tightly, observing numerous pipes branching off, none as substantial as the one they traversed.
After what seemed an eternity, they reached the end. Ciaran braced himself, standing upright as Harry tumbled to the ground behind him.
Dumbledore illuminated the tunnel with his wand, revealing its expansive breadth. Silt coated the floor, and the walls felt clammy.
"Ciaran, come hither," Dumbledore beckoned suddenly.
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