The Auror Training Class had become the most electric room in Hogwarts. Following the dismissal of Harry's "Heir" status, the investigation hadn't slowed down—it had accelerated. Every student in the room felt like they were part of a high-stakes manhunt, and for the first time, they weren't looking at Harry; they were looking with him.
When Harry mentioned his "special source" and the fact that the Chamber had been opened once before, the atmosphere shifted instantly. It was as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. A wave of sharp, collective gasps rippled through the rows of desks, a sound so uniform it was almost comical.
"Fifty years ago?" a seventh-year Ravenclaw whispered, his quill hovering over a piece of parchment. "That's not a legend. That's living history."
The classroom erupted. The quiet discipline Sebastian usually maintained dissolved into a chaotic crossfire of theories.
"If it was fifty years ago, there have to be witnesses!"
"Who was the victim? Did they die or were they just petrified like Mrs. Norris?"
"Why isn't this in Hogwarts: A History? You'd think 'Massive Monster Attack' would get at least a footnote!"
Harry looked overwhelmed. He couldn't exactly tell them his source was a manic House-Elf who enjoyed hitting himself with desk lamps, so he played it cool. "I don't have the names," he admitted, spreading his hands. "The records are... missing. It's like someone went through the library and the school archives with a sponge and just wiped that year clean. Hermione and I spent hours looking, and we found nothing. Not even a mention of a school-wide emergency."
The disappointment in the room was palpable. It was a classic wall—the kind of institutional silence that usually stopped a cold case in its tracks.
Sebastian, who had been leaning against the podium with an amused expression, finally decided to throw them a lifeline. He cleared his throat, and the room fell into an expectant hush.
"Investigating doesn't always mean burying your nose in a dusty book, though Miss Granger might disagree," Sebastian said with a wink. "When the written record fails, you must turn to the oral history. Think, class. Hogwarts is a unique ecosystem. We have residents here who don't age, don't sleep, and have memories that span centuries. They are the ultimate surveillance system, provided you know how to ask."
"The ghosts," Cedric Diggory breathed, his eyes wide. "They've been here for everything."
"Precisely," Sebastian smiled. "They are often ignored because they are... well, a bit repetitive and occasionally depressing. But they are the eyes and ears of these walls. If something happened fifty years ago, they didn't just hear about it—they probably floated through the middle of the crime scene."
The classroom didn't need a second prompt. As soon as the bell rang, the Auror Training Class transformed into a coordinated intelligence network. They didn't just scatter; they divided the castle into sectors.
Harry found himself sprinting up toward the Gryffindor Tower, scanning the corridors for a familiar pearly-white glow. He found Nearly Headless Nick floating near a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, looking particularly mournful.
"Sir Nicholas!" Harry called out, skidding to a halt. "I need your help. It's about the Chamber."
Nick drifted downward, his ruff wobbling dangerously. "Ah, young Harry. The pride of Gryffindor. I heard the news—congratulations on your business venture, by the way. Very enterprising. But the Chamber? That is a dark subject for a sunny afternoon."
"I know it was opened fifty years ago, Nick," Harry said, cutting straight to the point. "You were here, weren't you? You must remember what happened."
Nick's transparent face clouded over. He adjusted his head, which slipped slightly to the left. "Fifty years... yes. A grim time. I try not to dwell on it. The atmosphere in the castle was quite chilly—and not just for us ghosts. I don't know the secrets of the Slytherin architecture, but I do remember the fallout."
"Was someone caught?" Harry pressed.
"Oh, yes. It was a scandal that rocked the tower," Nick sighed. "A Gryffindor, Harry. One of our own. It was quite embarrassing. A boy was expelled—his wand snapped right in the middle of the Great Hall. It's a rare thing, you know. Usually, the school tries to keep its students, but a girl had died. The pressure from the Ministry was immense."
Harry's heart hammered. "Who was it? Was it the Heir?"
"I don't think anyone truly believed he was the 'Heir' in the sense of bloodlines," Nick mused. "But he was caught with a monster. A giant, hairy thing he'd been keeping in a cupboard. The boy... well, he's still here, actually. He's the gamekeeper now. Rubeus Hagrid."
Harry felt like he'd been hit by a Bludger. "Hagrid? But... Hagrid wouldn't hurt a fly! I mean, he likes monsters, sure, but he's the kindest man I know."
"He insisted he was innocent," Nick agreed hollowly. "Claimed the creature he had wasn't the one that killed the girl. But another student, a very bright boy named Tom Riddle, found him with the beast. The evidence was quite damning at the time."
The next training session was less of a class and more of a war room briefing. The students were buzzing with the pieces they had teased out of the castle's spectral inhabitants.
"I spoke to the Fat Friar," Cedric reported, his voice tight with excitement. "He confirmed the victim's identity. It was a girl named Myrtle. She's actually still here—she haunts the second-floor girl's lavatory. They call her Moaning Myrtle now."
"And I spoke to Hagrid," Harry added, standing up. He had spent the previous evening in Hagrid's hut, and the memory of the giant man's sobbing as he recounted the Aragog incident was still fresh. "Hagrid didn't open the Chamber. He was raising an Acromantula named Aragog. He thought it was just a misunderstood pet. But when the girl died, Riddle used Aragog as a scapegoat. I actually went into the forest and talked to Aragog—don't ask how, it was terrifying—and the spider said the monster in the Chamber is something spiders fear above all else. An ancient enemy."
The pieces were falling into place with a satisfying, heavy clink.
"Yellow eyes," a Hufflepuff girl added, checking her notes. "I talked to Myrtle. She said she was crying in a stall because someone made fun of her glasses. She heard a boy's voice, opened the door to tell him to go away, and all she saw was a pair of giant yellow eyes near the sinks. Then she died. Just like that."
Sebastian stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed, watching them with a look of quiet pride. He had let them do the legwork, let them feel the thrill of the chase. They had moved from rumors to facts in less than a week.
"Excellent," Sebastian said, his voice cutting through the chatter. "You've identified the victim, the time frame, the location of the entrance, and the natural enemy of the Acromantula."