Chapter 69: Chamber Of Secrets Escape
Melvin could barely manage to Apparate with someone, but Hogwarts Castle has powerful Ancient Magic restrictions. Wizards cannot Apparate within the school, nor can they set the destination of Apparition inside the school—not even Legendary Wizards are exceptions. However, the Old Headmaster could use the magic power of Magical Creatures to initiate teleportation.
Although he had never personally experienced phoenix magic power before, after being wrapped in phoenix flames and crossing hundreds of miles to appear in the Hogwarts fourth-floor corridor, Melvin landed steadily, slowly came back to his senses, and silently recalled that surge of magic power.
This Magical Creature’s spatial shift was completely different from Apparition, with almost no discomfort at all. The body wasn’t pulled or squeezed, the flames weren’t scorching but warm and toasty, somewhat similar to a unicorn’s blessing.
With the precedent of the unicorn, Melvin couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. He had heard that the Dumbledore family’s bond with phoenixes was an innate bloodline talent. He wondered if the Horned Serpent’s gift could achieve a similar effect through a detour.
“Rebirth from Nirvana, spatial shift, healing and antidote…” Melvin glanced at Fawkes standing on the Old Headmaster’s shoulder, then quietly looked away.
Phoenix matters could wait for now. The most urgent thing was to hurry through the trapdoor. The Chamber of Secrets escape room’s new store opening—Melvin, as an NPC, couldn’t keep the customers waiting too long.
As soon as the door was pushed open, Fluffy immediately came forward. Its three fearsome heads—the middle one baring sharp teeth toward Dumbledore, while the left and right dog heads each peered in one direction, whimpering from their mouths.
On the floor in two directions lay two instruments: one was a harp, the other a crudely made flute.
“The flute was Hagrid’s Christmas gift to Harry. He worked on it for several weeks; only this one plays in tune…” Dumbledore bent down to pick up the wooden flute and glanced at the harp in the other direction. “It looks like Professor Quirrell and the children have already started. I wonder who’s in the lead.”
Melvin gave the professor a sidelong glance and patted Fluffy’s head to signal him to move his belly aside: “The one who was so worried about the students’ safety that he couldn’t wait to leave the Ministry of Magic was you. And the one pretending to be calm and wasting time here right now is also you, heh…”
With a meaningful smile, Melvin lifted the trapdoor, took a step forward, and landed in the cave with a somewhat dashing pose.
Dumbledore was momentarily stunned and couldn’t help but chuckle. He lifted his foot and stepped into the cave.
……
Devil’s Snare sounds ill-tempered by name, but it’s actually a vine plant that prefers shade and moisture and has a gentle temperament. It won’t tighten immediately when it wraps around, and it’s timid and afraid of fire. No need for a Flame Charm—even the light, floating Blue Bellflower Flame used for warming makes the vines slink back into the corner.
Its combat power was pathetically low.
Next was the challenge designed by Professor Flitwick: a brightly lit room with the only exit being a heavy wooden door locked with a spell. Thousands of keys sprouted wings and flew nimbly about; the challenger had to catch the correct key among the thousands.
In reality, there were only two keys total: one wrong copper key and one correct silver key. Cast the Duplication Charm on the copper key a few times, mix all the keys together, then hit them with a flock of birds to make them fly—that’s the current puzzle.
There wasn’t just one way to solve it. You could straightforwardly use an Unlocking Charm to dispel the magic on all the keys, or use Accio to summon the correct key. If you weren’t afraid of alerting the other school professors, brute-forcing the door was the fastest.
Considering that Harry and the others were only first years and might not be able to pass using spell-related knowledge, Professor Flitwick had thoughtfully provided a flying broomstick.
【Curse Stop】
Invisible magic power rippled outward, gradually enveloping the entire room. The thousands of keys flying wildly froze in midair, the sound of wings flapping vanished instantly, and the keys duplicated in pairs quietly dissipated like soap bubbles.
The remaining copper key and silver key fell into the young professor’s palm.
“…”
Meeting Melvin’s meaningful gaze, Dumbledore explained: “Considering these doors could only stop students below third year, Filius didn’t prepare backup keys.”
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, the stone statue chessboard prepared by Professor McGonagall had already been solved. The chess pieces taken in the game lay shattered on the floor. The white pieces were checkmated, but the white king and white queen were intact, guarding the red-haired Weasley.
“No fractures, no dislocations…” Melvin did a quick check: “Just a bump on the head. Looks like he took a direct hit from a chess piece and passed out.”
“What a foolish child…” Though Dumbledore said this, his expression showed he was still quite relieved.
“Ron isn’t foolish! He solved the chessboard!”
A girl’s tender and crisp voice came from the passage. Hermione walked out from the corridor, her eyes red-rimmed, staring straight at the young professor and Old Headmaster. Seeing them here eased her mind while connecting many past doubts.
Though she still didn’t know the full truth, she already had her guesses.
“Professor Levent, Headmaster Dumbledore, you…” Hermione sniffed. She had solved the poison and antidote riddle, but the antidote was only enough for one person. Harry had gone ahead to face the dark wizard, sending her back to get help.
The little witch’s emotions hadn’t settled: “These matters… were they part of your plan? You knew all along that Professor Snape was the Mystery Man’s servant and deliberately placed the Philosopher’s Stone here…”
“Professor Snape was wrongly accused. The headmaster will explain the details.” Melvin patted her head. “Go find Harry first; he’s still in danger.”
The young professor walked ahead.
“…”
Dumbledore paused briefly, looking at the little witch’s questioning gaze tinged with reproach, suddenly at a loss.
Fawkes tilted his head, appraising the old companion, and let out cheerful cooing sounds.
……
Magic power enveloped his body, and Quirinus Quirrell easily stepped over the black flames. What meticulously prepared poison and magical flames could compare to the Dark Lord’s Fiendfyre or the death aura clinging like a parasite?
Ahead was the room hiding the magic. Fear, curses, Dark Magic Items—whatever that cunning Levent had set up inside would be crushed and shattered by the Dark Lord’s magic power.
Entering the shadow-shrouded room, the light was extremely dim; he could only see a few inches ahead, and very blurily. Silence all around, uneven floor underfoot with apparent puddles. Aside from the drip of water droplets, Quirinus Quirrell could only hear his own breathing.
He frowned, preparing to light his wand.
Suddenly, a dim cold light appeared. As the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Quirinus Quirrell immediately identified it as the Dark Creature Hinkypunk—ghost fire from Muggle legends. This creature itself had no attack capability, living near jungle swamps, luring travelers into the swamp with its light.
An Illumination Charm might reveal his position, but the Hinkypunk’s faint glow was far more convenient. Before Quirinus Quirrell could rejoice, rustling sounds filled the entire room.
Countless night moths and bats swarmed the Hinkypunk, extinguishing the faint light in an instant. He couldn’t see specifics, but amid the wing-flapping sounds, the frail Dark Creature let out a very faint yet piercingly shrill scream.
A living creature was being devoured nearby.
A faint chill and mild irritation rose in Quirinus Quirrell’s heart. These night moths and bats were troublesome to deal with. In the wilderness, fire was used to drive them off, but in this narrow, damp, waterlogged room, a Flame Charm would have little effect.
“What if it were Fiendfyre…” Quirinus Quirrell gripped the headscarf hanging in front of him, then disappointedly let go.
Fiendfyre was hard to control and might destroy the Philosopher’s Stone.
As long as he didn’t attract the moths’ attention, it didn’t matter what they devoured.
Quirinus Quirrell suppressed his irritation, proceeding inward by rough direction and faint light. Using the Hinkypunk’s brief glow, he had glimpsed a platform in the corner by the wall ahead.
His boot stepped into a puddle; it didn’t get wet, but some splashed water seeped into his trouser leg, the damp chill uncomfortable.
Quirinus Quirrell groped along the wall, suddenly touching something sticky and wet. Bringing it close, he saw it was a soaked rope, which he impatiently flung into the puddle.
The dreadful dim visibility, faint sounds in the darkness, constantly dripping water—Quirinus Quirrell felt his breathing and heartbeat growing unfamiliar. He knew he was alone in the room, yet he sensed unfamiliar breathing behind him, unfamiliar eyes watching from the corner.
……
The surging black flames blocked the passage. These flames seemed sentient, detecting the approaching trio of teacher and students, and lashed out with scorching tongues toward them.
But they were blocked outside by a transparent bubble film.
“Professor umm—”
“Shh…”
The little witch was just about to speak when the young professor stopped her, stuffing a toffee into her mouth. Hermione was somewhat speechless, looking up at the professor with her eyes for explanation in the pitch-black room where only vague silhouettes were visible.
Melvin reached into his pocket, rummaged, and pulled out a thin, withered arm specimen with a candle at the wand core position. He gripped the arm bone’s end with his right hand, brought his left thumb and forefinger to the wick, and with a pinch, a flicker of fire lit the candle.
The candle lit with no brightness; Hermione only saw the fire flash and vanish.
The next moment, she felt the professor take her right hand, and a candlelight appeared in her vision, making the room ahead suddenly clear.
Looking up at the professor, he held her hand with one and raised the somewhat eerie 「candlestick」 with the other, glancing at the Old Headmaster beside them with his eyes, signaling her to bring him into the group.
Hermione took the headmaster’s slightly rough hand. She saw Dumbledore pause, lower his eyes to look, his deep blue eyes holding a trace of pity.
She didn’t understand the meaning of that gaze and signaled that it was Professor Levent who had her do this.
The little witch’s eyes were lively; Dumbledore’s expression grew somewhat dazed.
……
A bright yellow firelight flashed behind, but Harry had no time to turn and look. He clearly saw the figure ahead: head wrapped in a purple headscarf—Professor Quirrell of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
“…”
Not Snape!
Harry suppressed the urge to gasp, held his breath, and forced himself to stay calm.
The signs in the room ahead indicated the dark wizard stealing the Philosopher’s Stone was in front of them. When Harry entered, he had steeled himself to face the dark wizard, thinking it was Snape—but it was Quirrell!
Fortunately, he had lightened his steps after entering, making no sound, undetected by the dark wizard.
It seemed Quirrell hadn’t succeeded yet. If he could stall until Hermione brought help, everything could still be salvaged!
Harry crept forward even more cautiously, barely lifting his feet, shoes skimming the water surface with nearly inaudible steps.
Carefully hugging the wall, something damp and slimy suddenly wrapped around his foot.
“It’s a snake!”
Harry’s body stiffened, heart racing, but his mind stayed extremely calm, no scream escaping. He was a wizard; he could talk to snakes and had once teamed up with the zoo python to prank his cousin Dudley.
Honestly, Harry wasn’t afraid of snakes; he rather liked the creatures.
Harry controlled himself to crouch halfway, whispering in a voice audible only within a few inches: “Snake sir, don’t wrap around me. Go bite that bad guy ahead.”
The snake on his leg paused. Though it didn’t reply, it slowly retracted along his calf, apparently having understood.
Harry suddenly remembered something: “Forget it, don’t go. That’s an evil dark wizard; you’re no match for him. Find a safe place for yourself.”
The slimy elongate object slipped into the puddle, rippling, its form fading from view.
……
“…”
Hermione, toffee sticking to her teeth, held the young professor’s hand in one of hers and the Old Headmaster’s in the other, her pretty little face expressionless.
What was Harry hissing at that rope for?
That rope looked like the professor’s candlestick—some kind of prop.
Whatever. He’d explain later—just ask the professor directly.
Anyway, with the headmaster here, Harry should be safe.
Melvin, holding the candlestick at a neither close nor far distance behind Harry, had clear candlelight and vision, watching Harry’s entire exchange with the hangman’s rope crystal clear, his expression complex.
Logically, that damaged Dark Magic rope couldn’t understand Parseltongue; it was just a failed murder attempt, slinking off to find another target. But with Harry’s hisses, it really looked like Harry directing it to attack Quirrell.
He wondered what Voldemort on the back of Quirrell’s head would look like if Quirrell were really hanged.
Beside him, Dumbledore stared at Harry with a thoughtful gaze.
……
The bright yellow firelight flashed and vanished. By the time Quirinus Quirrell turned to look, it was gone, leaving profound darkness.
The room remained silent, only the rustling of bats and moths, dripping water. Unease flooded like a tide; Quirinus Quirrell pictured Levent’s detestable face and quickened his pace.
“Splash… splash…”
Two footsteps sounded in succession.
“!!”
Quirinus Quirrell halted abruptly, breath catching. He had only taken one step—who made the other?
“Who!?”
Quirinus Quirrell called out warily.
No answer.
He carefully took another step; his boot hit the water with a clear splash.
Waiting a moment, only the familiar sounds—no other movement. Quirinus Quirrell suspected he’d misheard or it was an echo in the enclosed room, quietly exhaling and continuing toward the platform ahead.
“Splash…”
“Splash…”
“Splash… splash…”
Quirinus Quirrell felt his heart skip beats, limbs turning cold. He quietly gripped his dangling headscarf, pausing briefly, then—as prompted by the Dark Lord—looked toward the spot not far ahead—
A vague silhouette, tall and burly.
“Who’s there!?”
The figure remained rigidly in place.
Quirinus Quirrell thought carefully: he knew all the school staff; none had that build. Hagrid was even bulkier. Dumbledore wouldn’t hire an outsider just to guard here.
So it must be just a statue, like a Transfigured chess piece.
With the Dark Lord’s insight, Quirinus Quirrell reached a reassuring conclusion and stepped forward again. After a few steps, he suddenly realized: how could a statue make footsteps?
Looking up, Quirinus Quirrell’s eyes widened, pupils contracting sharply—
The statue’s pale face was already at his nose tip.
