Getting out of Hogwarts these days was like trying to break out of Gringotts.
With Dumbledore gone, the remaining professors had turned the castle into a high-security lockdown. McGonagall, Flitwick, and even Sprout were on constant rotation, their footsteps echoing through the stone corridors long after the sunset. The common rooms, once places of relaxation, were now crowded hubs of restless energy. Students, gripped by a mix of fear and boredom, tended to linger by the fires until well past midnight.
Allen knew he couldn't just vanish every night. He was still a student, and now an acting professor; he needed his wits about him for his morning lectures. He couldn't afford to show up to class with dark circles under his eyes and a sluggish mind.
"You two are my eyes and ears tonight," Allen whispered, leaning over his bed as he opened his pet space.
Tina, the majestic thunderbird, emerged with a faint crackle of static, her multi-colored feathers shimmering in the dim light of the dormitory. Beside her, the Niffler tumbled out, already looking around for anything that glittered.
Allen communicated his intent clearly. "Collaborate with Gaia. Find where that snake is coming from. The Forbidden Forest is its playground, but it has to have a door."
The two creatures weren't exactly thrilled. Tina preferred the open skies to the tangled, dangerous canopy of the forest at night, and the Niffler—while fond of shiny things—didn't enjoy the damp, earthy smell of the woods. But they felt Allen's urgency and slipped through the open window, vanishing into the silver moonlight.
A few days passed with nothing but frustration. The trail the Basilisk had left was massive but chaotic. The beast was heavy; it crushed ferns and snapped saplings wherever it went, but its movements seemed erratic, as if it were intentionally doubling back to confuse any pursuers.
Then, one crisp, starry night, Gaia sent a pulse of information through their mental link. Allen sat up in bed, his eyes narrowing. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had done something incredibly foolish. They had followed the spiders—right into the heart of Aragog's colony. Even more miraculous was the fact that they had escaped in a battered, half-sentient Ford Anglia.
Allen sighed, leaning back against his pillow. "Luck of the protagonist," he muttered to himself. He had spent weeks meticulously planning his incursions into the forest, nearly getting turned into spider-food in the process, and Harry simply drove a car through the chaos and came out with a lead.
But the next morning, the drama of the Chamber of Secrets was briefly eclipsed by a different kind of horror.
Professor McGonagall walked into the Transfiguration classroom, her face looking as if it were carved from granite. She didn't even wait for the students to settle down before she dropped the bombshell.
"Silence, please," she commanded. "I have an announcement. Final exams will commence on June first. That is exactly one week from today."
The classroom erupted. It wasn't the usual grumbling; it was a roar of indignant shock.
"Exams? Now?" Seamus Finnigan shouted, his hair standing on end. "The school's practically under siege!"
"The purpose of keeping Hogwarts open during this crisis," McGonagall said, her voice cutting through the noise like a cold blade, "is to ensure you receive an education. Education requires assessment. Therefore, the exams will proceed as scheduled. I suggest you all begin your revisions immediately."
The buzzing didn't stop. How were they supposed to focus on the properties of switching spells when a giant monster was roaming the plumbing?
Allen raised his hand. "Professor, a question."
McGonagall's gaze shifted to him, her expression softening only a fraction. "Yes, Mr. Harris?"
"Since I've been leading the second-year Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum, how will that specific exam be handled? Who is setting the paper?"
The room went dead silent. This was the question everyone was dying to ask. Half the students were terrified that they'd be tested on Lockhart's ridiculous biographies, while the other half hoped Allen would just give them all an 'O'.
"Professor Flitwick and I have consulted on the matter," McGonagall replied. "The exam will cover the practical and theoretical applications of defensive magic learned this year. Specifically..." she paused, looking around the room, "it will be based entirely on the handouts and lecture notes compiled by Mr. Harris."
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room, followed by a frantic rustling of parchment as students checked their bags to make sure they hadn't lost Allen's notes. The message was clear: Lockhart's books were officially expensive fire-starters.
Strangely enough, the announcement of exams did more to stabilize the school than any number of patrols. Fear of a monster was abstract and distant for most, but the fear of failing a year was immediate and tangible. The library was suddenly packed, and the atmosphere of "who is the heir?" was replaced by "what's the counter-curse for a Jelly-Legs jinx?"
That night, the Niffler returned with a prize that wasn't just shiny—it was ancient.
It dropped a golden cup onto Allen's bed. The cup was exquisite, its surface engraved with delicate stars and crescents that seemed to catch the light even in the dark. It felt heavy, cold, and hummed with a very faint, lingering trace of old magic.
"Where did you find this?" Allen asked, picking it up. It wasn't modern. The craftsmanship suggested a time when magic was more raw, more experimental.
The Niffler huffed, crossing its paws over its belly, clearly annoyed that its "shiny" had been confiscated. Tina nudged the little creature with a wing, chirping a series of soft, melodic notes.
"Deep in the forest," Tina's voice echoed in Allen's mind. "Near the edge of the mountains. There are ruins, Allen. Stones that remember the old ways."
Allen didn't hesitate. He donned his cloak, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and slipped out of the Ravenclaw tower. Led by Tina's aerial guidance and Gaia's ground-level senses, he navigated the treacherous terrain of the Forbidden Forest.
They bypassed the Centaur territories and skirted the edges of the Acromantula web-zones. Eventually, the trees began to thin, revealing a landscape that felt like a hidden world. It was a lush, fertile basin where ferns grew as tall as men and flowers bloomed with a bioluminescent glow. In the distance, the moonlight hit a small, silver lake, and beyond that, the jagged peaks of the mountains rose like the teeth of the earth.
But it was the structures that caught Allen's eye.
Spotted across the clearing were several circular wells. They weren't primitive; they were surrounded by ornate copper railings that had turned a beautiful sea-foam green with age. Small, domed roofs sat atop them, carved with runes that Allen recognized as wards for weather and debris.
Allen approached one and peered over the edge. It was a literal abyss. Even with a Lumos charm, the light seemed to be swallowed by the dark. There was no reflection of water, no sound of a splash.
But there was a sound.
Thud—thud—thud—
It was a rhythmic vibration, deep within the earth. Allen reached his hand over the opening and felt it: a steady, powerful suction of air.
He pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket and dropped it. The paper didn't flutter; it was yanked downward as if by an invisible hand, vanishing instantly into the depths.
"Ventilation," Allen whispered, his heart racing. "A massive underground system. The school isn't just a castle; it's the tip of an iceberg."
If the Basilisk was moving through the pipes, it needed air. And if it was as large as the legends said, it needed a lot of it. These wells were the lungs of the Chamber of Secrets.
"Over here!" Tina chirped from behind a nearby ridge.
Allen rounded the hill and stopped dead. Before him lay the ruins of a massive stone manor, or perhaps a temple. It had collapsed centuries ago, the giant stones now covered in moss and ivy, but the scale was breathtaking.
The Niffler was already busy, scurrying over a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been a grand staircase. Allen squeezed through a gap between two massive stone pillars that leaned against each other like weary giants.
He found himself in a narrow corridor that had somehow survived the collapse. The far end was blocked by fallen masonry, but the walls were lined with side windows that looked out into the buried sections of the ruins.
"This isn't just a ruin," Allen murmured, tracing a hand over a wall carving of a serpent entwined with a staff. "This is a backdoor."
He realized then that the Chamber of Secrets wasn't just a room under the girls' bathroom. It was part of a sprawling, ancient subterranean network that predated much of the modern castle—and he was standing right on top of its air supply.