The stench hit them the moment they landed, sharp enough to make both visitors crease their noses.
Even Fawkes gave an uneasy shake of his wings before settling onto Jon's shoulder.
"Come on," Jon Hart said, pinching his nose and making a show of being unbothered.
He raised his wand. The light it cast was just enough to carve a path through the dark.
Ahead, the passage fell away into gloom. They could see only a small patch at a time; wandlight threw their shadows huge across the wet walls, turning them into hulking shapes that moved like monsters. The floor was slick and soft underfoot, every step sounding too loud as it squelched.
Jon lowered his wand to sweep the ground. Tiny bones lay scattered everywhere, the gnawed remains of small creatures, long since dried and old by the look of them.
Harry shivered. The place pulled him straight back to where he had stood four years ago, in this same tunnel, facing that thing.
"No need to be scared. That monster's dead," he muttered to himself, barely above a whisper. He took the lead and turned into a bend where the darkness pressed closer.
Jon's pace stayed unhurried. He walked and looked, eyes moving over the stone with interest. More precisely, he was hunting for what magic left behind.
A thousand years hadn't erased it. Traces of the magic that had made this place were still everywhere, signatures left by one of Hogwarts' founders: Salazar Slytherin.
They went on, turn after turn. Harry's unease mounted for no clear reason; he just wanted this tunnel to end.
They rounded a last corner and stopped. A wall blocked the passage. Or rather, a stone door. Two snakes were carved upon it, coiled together, their eyes set with great, gleaming emeralds.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. He strode up and cleared his throat. The emerald eyes seemed to glint.
He spoke in a low, rasping hiss that Jon didn't understand.
The twin snakes slid apart. The stone split down the middle and drew back.
A vast hall opened before them.
"So this is Slytherin's Chamber," Jon said, quiet with something like awe.
After a journey that had been nothing like pleasant, they stood at the outer edge of a long, dimly lit hall. Stone pillars ran off into the dark, each carved with coiled serpents, holding up a ceiling that vanished into blackness overhead.
A greenish haze hung in the air, an unsettling shimmer that got under the skin.
They moved forward, keeping to the edge of the enormous space. When they came level with the last pair of pillars, a statue loomed out of the gloom, as tall as the room itself.
Jon craned his neck to take in the great face: ancient, the beard thin and straggling, the expression unforgiving.
Salazar Slytherin.
One of the Four Founders of Hogwarts; one of Britain's most famous and most enigmatic wizards. He had in fact been Hogwarts' first Headmaster. Yet in all the various records, there was very little of him at all.
What was known: he was among the earliest recorded speakers of that hissing tongue, and a master of Legilimency. He had opposed admitting Muggle-born students; for a thousand years after, those who preached blood purity styled themselves his inheritors. And after bitter clashes of principle with his friends, he had left Hogwarts, sailing for distant shores across the sea.
Even for Jon, this was the first time seeing his likeness. Not even the Headmasters' wall had his portrait.
Harry didn't go near the statue. He drifted a little, looking around as if trying to name what felt wrong.
Jon drew closer to the colossal figure and circled it, studying the work with care. Soon, on the back of the statue's head, he found lines incised into the stone.
It is now the summer of 998. Godric and I have had a furious quarrel, so fierce he even threw his white glove at my feet. He looks ready to break with me for good.
The subject of our dispute is still the decision regarding wizards of Muggle birth. Godric has always cherished a naive fantasy, believing that Muggle-born wizards are an unparalleled gift, that their presence will strengthen wizard blood. But he is unquestionably wrong!
He has forgotten why Hogwarts was founded. The four of us built Hogwarts to protect and teach young wizards who have no means to defend themselves, to keep them and the school itself safe from harm from without.
But once Hogwarts throws itself open to the outside, far greater dangers will be waiting. Agents of the Church will slip in among them and lay bare Hogwarts' secrets; and the degenerates and traitors among our own kind will also cast hungry eyes upon us.
Without doubt, Godric's recklessness and naivety will destroy everything Hogwarts stands for!
Helga has tried to reason with him, but unsurprisingly she has failed. It is not her fault; Helga is too gentle by nature for such work. If Rowena were still alive, she might have stopped this. Alas, she left this world more than a year ago.
Parting ways now seems inevitable. I have no choice left but to—
"Jon!" Harry's shout cracked across the hall, dragging Jon's attention from the carved words.
"What is it, Harry?" Jon asked, frowning.
"I know what felt wrong," Harry stammered.
He pointed to a bare stretch of floor. "It's… because… the basilisk's body… should be here. And now… it's gone."