"The basilisk's body is gone?"
Even Jon frowned at that. He scanned the chamber, then asked, very soberly, "Harry, four years ago, when you and Professor Dumbledore first entered the Chamber, did you confirm the basilisk was killed?"
"Absolutely." Harry didn't hesitate. He jerked a nod. "I swear."
His face left little doubt he believed it.
"That is odd," Jon murmured. He smoothed a hand down Fawkes's back feathers and said quietly, "Give us an alert if anything unexpected happens."
Fawkes dipped his head, sprang aloft, and circled high above, keeping watch over the vast stone hall.
"Jon… what do we do?" Harry's voice trembled.
He, more than anyone, knew what that creature could do. That was where the fear came from.
"Don't panic," Jon said, unhurried as ever. "A big snake, that's all. Even if it isn't dead, it isn't a threat." His eyes went again to the back of the Slytherin statue.
It steadied Harry a little. He drew his wand, kept close to Jon, and swept a wary glance around.
"…A parting of the ways seems inevitable. I have no choice left.
Godric is an exceptional wizard. Yet before I even met him, he had already been tainted by those Muggle 'romances'—his head filled with prattle of 'humility,' 'honour,' and 'sacrifice.' He even devised a formal code for duelling between wizards.
In a common duel, I am no match for him, that much is beyond dispute; his experience there is vast. But in a true wizard's fight, I am confident I could kill him. He disdains the 'evil' magics, never prepared for them, and in that art I am skilled.
Yet we are friends—or were. I cannot do it. Since Rowena left, there has been enough wrong done between us.
Perhaps I am wrong; perhaps it is Godric who invites the wolf into the house. The wars between wizards and Muggles have raged for centuries. They will not pass up any chance to strike us. As more and more Muggle-borns force their way in here, the protections we have woven about castle and school will be of no use.
But the facts seem fixed. Near every wizard I know supports Godric's view, and calls mine absurd—Helga most of all, though she never said so to my face.
Even if I killed Godric, I could not stem the tide. Hogwarts would open its doors fully to Muggle-borns all the same.
So my only choice is to leave. It is a hard cut to make. I have poured too much of my heart into this castle. But for Hogwarts's future, I must. I will go alone, and I will go quietly.
It is not all ill. I may sail to the far side of the ocean, a land wholly unknown to the wizards of Europe, and to me as well. It will be a worthy challenge.
Before I go, however, I must do one thing: I will found this Chamber, Salazar Slytherin's Chamber.
I weighed many magics to bar the Muggle-borns from it. In the end I chose to let only those who command Parseltongue enter, for a Muggle-born cannot possess so rare a gift. It seems the last distinction that remains between them and us. I shall entrust the Chamber's secret to my two sons, Sibyl and Trenos, and tell them that if Hogwarts faces true peril, they are to come here.
This shall be Hogwarts's final line of defence, and my last gift to the school. The Church's agents, the traitors and scum among wizards, and the Muggle-born who betray Hogwarts—if they dare to invade this castle, if they dare to harm the students here, they are gravely mistaken.
What awaits them is the most terrible of monsters, a force they cannot withstand… for I have left my guardian here. So long as those who open the Chamber are of my blood, or possess Parseltongue, they may wield its might…"
The lines that followed shifted into Ancient Runes, and there were a great many of them. It was plainly a record of a piece of magic—Salazar Slytherin's magic. Unfortunately, Jon Hart hadn't taken many Ancient Runes classes, and his study of the subject was hardly deep. He couldn't make out the meaning.
He could, however, copy it.
Harry, shadowing him, had seen the words carved behind the statue as well.
It was his second time in the Chamber, yet the first time he had ever seen these lines. His mind held nothing of them. It was as if, the last time he stood here, they hadn't been carved at all.
And what they said unsettled him.
Of the four founders, he had always despised Salazar Slytherin most. In his head Slytherin had been a mad old pervert, hardly fit to be spoken of alongside the other three.
But now—reading this—Salazar Slytherin didn't seem nearly so foul. He seemed to love Hogwarts too. He even, somehow, read like a decent man.
"Unbelievable," Harry whispered.
Jon's wand moved in the air, neat and economical. The runes lifted from stone onto parchment in precise strokes, one by one, until the sheet was full.
When he had finished, he looked at Harry and asked, very seriously, "Harry, four years ago, when you and Professor Dumbledore first entered the Chamber, did you truly confirm the basilisk was killed?"
Harry hesitated. "I think so. In my memory…"
"I see. Then I'm sorry, Harry." Jon let out a breath and patted his shoulder.
He raised his wand at him.