𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

 there's no saviors

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓕𝓔𝓢𝓢𝓞𝓡 McGonagall's voice echoed around the classroom as she introduced the day's lesson. "Right. Now, today, we will be transforming animals... into water goblets." Her words drifted through the air, but Ophelia barely registered them, her thoughts tangled in the enigma of the Chamber of Secrets.

Her quill scratched against the parchment, not recording notes on the day's lesson, but weaving the threads of her own lineage and the legend of the Chamber. Ever since the words had appeared on the wall, written in blood, a strange energy had pulsed inside her—a sense that something was waiting for her to awaken it.

The sudden voice of her friend Hermes broke her from her trance. "Professor... I was wondering if you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets." The class fell silent. Professor McGonagall's gaze settled on them, and after a pause, she began, her voice sombre. "Very well. You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago... by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."

At the name Salazar Slytherin, Ophelia's gaze lifted. She met McGonagall's eyes for a split second, a dark curiosity gleaming behind hers. As the professor continued, the intensity of the legend seeped into the room.

"Three of the founders coexisted quite harmoniously," McGonagall explained. "One did not."

From the corner of her eye, Ophelia saw Ron lean toward Harry. "Three guesses who," he muttered dryly.

"Salazar Slytherin wished to be more selective... about the students admitted to Hogwarts," McGonagall continued, her gaze sweeping the class. "He believed magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. In other words, pure bloods. Unable to sway the others, he decided to leave the school."

McGonagall's words cut deeper than anyone else in the room could understand. For Ophelia, it was personal. She could feel the weight of her ancestry settle like a cloak around her shoulders, the blood of Slytherin himself whispering that the Chamber's mystery was hers to unravel.

"According to legend... Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in this castle... known as the Chamber of Secrets," McGonagall continued. "Shortly before departing, he sealed it... until that time when his own true Heir returned to the school. The Heir alone would be able to open the Chamber... and unleash the horror within, and by so doing purge the school of all who, in Slytherin's view, were unworthy to study magic."

The Heir. The word echoed in Ophelia's mind, her pulse quickening as she toyed with the edges of her family's ancient secrets. There was no doubt in her heart—she was Slytherin's blood. If there was anyone capable of finding and unlocking the Chamber, it was her.

"Muggle-borns," Hermes whispered, his voice taut.

McGonagall nodded gravely. "Naturally, the school has been searched many times. No such chamber has been found." Hermes pressed on. "Professor? What exactly does the legend tell us lies within the Chamber?"

McGonagall sighed, a shadow passing over her expression. "The Chamber is said to be home to something... that only the Heir of Slytherin can control. It is said to be the home... of a monster." Ophelia's quill moved again, almost unconsciously, drawing the creature she imagined lurked within the Chamber. Her fingertips tingled as she sketched scales, claws, slitted eyes—her mind's picture of a being bred from ancient magic and bound by the will of her ancestor.