Slytherin's legacy, reflective of the brutal medieval era he lived in, was not for the faint of heart.
Many of the scrolls detailed experiments that were fundamentally cruel. Human transmutation, forced bloodline grafting, soul rending—if modern wizards saw this, they wouldn't just be appalled; they'd likely burn the texts and the reader.
"These are too dangerous," Ted declared, closing a scroll that described how to harvest the eyes of a Manticore while keeping the donor alive. "I'll screen the library first. We'll only copy what is safe and beneficial. Comprehensive learning is impossible, and frankly, some of this knowledge should stay dead."
The friends agreed readily. Hermione looked green after merely glancing at an illustration of a dissected chimera.
"Are we just... leaving the rest here?" Hermione asked softly, looking around the cavernous, shadowy hall. "Won't the Professors seal the entrance?"
"They might," Ted admitted. "Dumbledore will likely secure the bathroom entrance. But a thousand years of history means there are always backdoors."
"Backdoors?" Ron asked.
"I think we can use the Room of Requirement," Ted said.
"The Room of what?" Harley frowned.
"Uh..." Ted glanced at Hermione. The cat was out of the bag.
After explaining the concept of the Room of Requirement—a magical room on the seventh floor that transforms into whatever the user needs—Ted was promptly scolded by his friends for ten minutes straight.
"We were living in an abandoned classroom for months!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "And you knew about a magical room that could turn into a luxury suite?!"
"I was afraid you'd abuse it!" Ted defended himself. "There's dangerous stuff in there too! Like... uh, cursed crowns!"
To make amends, and to secure the future, Ted proposed a plan.
Using knowledge gleaned from Ravenclaw's own notes on the castle's construction, Ted drafted a magical contract. The six of them signed it, swearing secrecy regarding the location and contents of their new headquarters.
Using a "backdoor" in the castle's ancient ward scheme—a vulnerability Ted had discovered in Ravenclaw's private journals—he linked a specific configuration of the Room of Requirement to their signatures.
This wasn't just a room anymore. It was a pocket dimension, inaccessible to anyone else, even the Headmaster, unless they knew the specific "password" of intent.
"Okay, I think that's enough!" Ron groaned, collapsing onto a conjured sofa an hour later.
The girls were still decorating. A few tables and chairs weren't enough for Hermione and Harley; they wanted rugs, enchanted windows, bookshelves, and specific lighting.
"Why do we need porcelain vases?" Ron complained. "It's a base, not a tea shop!"
Ted ignored him, busy stocking the shelves. He selected safe, theoretical texts from Slytherin's hoard and combined them with the copies they had made from Ravenclaw's library.
Two entire bookshelves were dedicated to Ancient Runes.
"This is our curriculum for next year," Ted announced. "Ancient Magic is totally different from modern spellcasting. It's difficult, but it bypasses standard defenses."
The excitement of the new base lasted for a day, until dinner, when Hermione dropped a realization bomb.
"Wait. Have we forgotten about Gryffindor's Treasure?"
The four Gryffindors froze, forks halfway to their mouths.
"Right!" Ron gasped. "Our own House founder! How could we forget?"
"There are only a few days left until the holidays," Harley sighed. "We won't have time to solve it this year."
"Maybe we can apply to stay over the summer?" Ron suggested hopefully.
"Don't dream," Harley shot him down. "Students aren't allowed to stay during the summer unless there are special circumstances. And even then, usually not."
"But going home is boring!" Ron whined. "Here I get endless chicken legs and no ghoul in the attic. Plus, without you lot... it's just me and Ginny de-gnoming the garden."
Jerry patted Ron on the shoulder sympathetically. "My mum says hardship makes you smarter... just not richer."
Ron brightened for a second, then scowled. "Thanks. I'll buy a new wand the second I get my prize money."
"We should at least investigate Sir Cadogan," Hermione suggested. "The clue mentioned a Knight."
Ted pulled a book from his bag. "Way ahead of you. Sir Cadogan was a knight from Merlin's era, rumor has it he was a Knight of the Round Table. Though, mostly known for being insane."
They flipped through the book but found no concrete leads on his current location other than "Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts is huge!" Harley complained, tossing the book down. "Where do we find a guy older than the castle?"
"He's probably a portrait," Ted mused. "Gryffindor wouldn't hide the clue outside the school. We just need to find the right picture frame."
The next morning, the breakfast atmosphere was shattered by the arrival of the post owls.
The Daily Prophet landed in front of every student, bearing a sensational headline:
SHOCKING! HOGWARTS TERROR: THE TRUE STORY OF THE CHAMBER!
Ted frowned. "This headline feels... clickbaity."
He scanned the article. It purported to tell the "full story" of the Chamber of Secrets. While it got some facts right, the tone was hysterical, written to induce maximum panic. It read more like a thriller novel than news.
More disturbingly, while it didn't explicitly name Dumbledore, the subtext was venomous. It implied negligence, incompetence, and a cover-up. It claimed "nearly ten students" were petrified (technically true if you round up from five, but dishonest).
The article ended with a sarcastic question about the safety of sending children to a school run by "archaic methods."
Ted checked the byline. Rita Skeeter.
"That woman," Ted muttered. "The Queen of Fake News."
In the original timeline, Skeeter was a nuisance who wrote whatever sold papers. But attacking Dumbledore directly? That was bold. Dumbledore was the preeminent figure of the age. Even if he had kept a low profile recently, his approval rating was untouchable.
'Who is backing her?' Ted wondered. 'Lucius Malfoy?'
Unlikely. Lucius was currently keeping his head down after the diary fiasco. He wouldn't dare poke the sleeping dragon right now.
'Maybe Fudge?' Ted considered. 'The Minister is paranoid, but is he bold enough to sanction a hit piece this early?'
Whatever the source, the seeds of doubt were being sown. The younger students looked anxious. The older ones looked skeptical but uneasy.
'This is just the beginning,' Ted realized. 'The media war has started early.'
However, he decided not to intervene. If Dumbledore was busy putting out fires in the press, he'd have less time to scrutinize Ted's rapid growth.
'A distracted Dumbledore is a good Dumbledore.'
As the holidays approached, Ted paid a visit to Hagrid's hut.
"I got you a little something, Hagrid," Ted said, handing over a small, magical glass jar.
Inside was a miniature, animated figurine of a Basilisk. It slithered around the glass, looking fierce but harmless.
"To help you forget the bad memories of Azkaban," Ted smiled. "A reminder that you survived the real thing."
Hagrid held the jar up to the light, his beetle-black eyes misty. "Oh, blimey, Ted! Look at 'im! Isn't he a beauty?"
"Just... don't try to raise a real one, Hagrid," Ted warned.
"I know, I know," Hagrid sniffled, poking the glass. "But look at those fangs! Adorable!"
Ted sighed. "Friend, your definition of 'adorable' is going to get us all killed one day."