The days after the Howler incident slipped back into some semblance of normalcy at Hogwarts, or as normal as things could be with rumors of flying cars and growing Quidditch rivalries buzzing through the castle corridors. Lennon had settled into the rhythm of her classes again, juggling studying, training, and keeping a watchful eye over Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Gryffindor's Quidditch team, under Oliver's militant direction, had started morning practices. Fred and George found every opportunity to joke about Ron's Howler, and Lennon found herself caught between laughter and sympathy for the poor boy. Meanwhile, Mattheo had become more withdrawn, keeping close to Theodore and Lorenzo, often spotted in quiet corners of the courtyard, watching. Waiting.
It was late October when things changed.
It started after a particularly rainy Herbology lesson. The Gryffindors had paired with the Hufflepuffs, and Lennon had spent most of it elbow-deep in mandrake soil with George at her side, both of them trying not to lose their hearing every time a seedling was uprooted.
Back in the castle, the students poured into the Entrance Hall, dripping wet and laughing, eager to return to their towers and dry off. Lennon shook her soaked cloak, her fingers numb, when she noticed the crowd near the second-floor corridor.
"Move," she said, weaving her way toward the commotion. Her voice tightened when she saw Harry and Ron already there, Hermione close behind.
The crowd hushed.
Written in large, glistening red letters on the stone wall were the words:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Beneath the writing, Mrs. Norris—Filch's cat—hung suspended from a torch bracket, stiff and cold.
"Merlin," Lennon whispered.
Filch came skidding into the corridor, screeching when he saw the cat. "My cat! My poor, sweet—what have you done?!"
His gaze fixed on Harry, who was standing directly beneath the wall, mouth agape.
"I—no! We just got here!" Harry said.
Snape arrived seconds later, followed by Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. The students were ushered away, but not before whispers began rippling through the hall.
"Enemies of the Heir?" someone muttered.
"What does it mean?" asked another.
Mattheo stood back from the scene, his jaw tight, eyes locked not on the wall—but on Harry.
Later, in the common room, Lennon sat curled in one of the large armchairs. Fred and George were unusually quiet. Hermione sat nearby, biting her lip, while Ron scowled into the fire.
"They don't really think Harry did it, right?" he snapped.
"No one's saying that," Hermione replied.
"They don't have to."
Lennon's eyes flicked toward the window. Rain beat steadily against the glass.
"The words," she said finally, "they're not just decoration. They're a threat. Someone wants people to be afraid."
Hermione nodded. "But who? And what's the Chamber of Secrets?"
Lennon didn't answer. She knew the legend—whispers passed down through generations of Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. But it was just that: legend. Until now.
⸻
A week passed, but the tension remained. Hogwarts felt darker somehow, its usual warmth dimmed by the chilling memory of that message.
And then came Colin Creevey.
It happened late one evening, just after Quidditch practice. Lennon had stayed behind to help Oliver pack up the gear, laughing at his dramatic rants about Flint's new plays.
"You'd think he was building a war strategy," she said, tossing a Quaffle into the crate.
"He probably is," Oliver replied, wiping rain from his brow.
They didn't hear the commotion until they'd climbed the marble staircase toward the first floor. A group of students gathered outside the hospital wing, whispering and staring.
"Another one," someone whispered. "Petrified."
"What?" Lennon said, her heart dropping as she hurried to the crowd.
Colin Creevey lay stiff on the bed inside, his eyes wide with frozen terror. A camera clutched in his petrified hands had melted from the inside out.
Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, wand in hand. Professor McGonagall was speaking to Madam Pomfrey in hushed tones.
"This is dark magic," Dumbledore finally said. "And it's growing."
Lennon shivered.
⸻
In the days that followed, the castle changed. Students moved in tight clusters. Teachers patrolled the corridors like Aurors on high alert. Filch was unbearable.
Draco was in his element.
"Bet you're next, Weasley," he drawled in Potions, casting a glance at Ron. "Enemies of the Heir, you know. You're practically asking for it with that hair."
Ron lunged, but Lennon caught him by the collar.
"Not worth it," she muttered. "Let him talk."
Draco smirked but said nothing more.
Mattheo, for his part, had grown even more distant. Lennon caught him staring at the stone corridors more than once, eyes full of thought. Once, after dinner, he approached her when no one was looking.
"You've heard the stories," he said quietly. "About the Chamber."
She nodded slowly. "It's just a myth."
"Not anymore."
His eyes flicked down the corridor.
"There's a reason these things are happening. And I think it's only the beginning."
Lennon watched him walk away, the weight of his words settling like cold stone in her chest.
The darkness in Hogwarts was no longer just rumor.
It was real. And it had only just begun.
⸻
The next morning, the students were called to the Great Hall for an announcement. The teachers had been murmuring amongst themselves all week, trying to keep the students calm and collected in the face of growing fear. But the tension was palpable, especially among the Slytherins and Gryffindors.
Professor McGonagall stood, her usually stern face a little grimmer than usual. She cleared her throat, and the room immediately quieted.
"As many of you know, there has been a recent incident in the school," she began, her voice steady, though her eyes were sharp. "It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of something you may already have heard. The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Lennon exchanged a glance with Ron and Harry, her stomach sinking further.
McGonagall continued, "Many years ago, Hogwarts was founded by four great wizards: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. These four wizards each founded a House here at Hogwarts, each representing a different set of qualities. Salazar Slytherin, however, disagreed with the idea of admitting Muggle-born students to Hogwarts. He believed that only pure-blood witches and wizards should be allowed to attend."
Lennon watched carefully as McGonagall paused for effect.
"Salazar Slytherin is said to have created the Chamber of Secrets—hidden deep within the castle. It is rumored to contain a monster that only his true heir can control. The Chamber was built with the purpose of purging the school of Muggle-borns."
The room was silent. Even Draco, usually the most vocal in moments like these, remained eerily still.
"It is not known who opened the Chamber the first time," McGonagall continued, "but we do know that a tragedy occurred. The monster—whether a creature or something far worse—was said to have killed a student. And now, it seems, the Chamber has been opened once again."
The weight of her words settled over them like a shroud.
"However," she added, "we are doing everything we can to ensure your safety. Any student found outside their dormitory after curfew will be immediately sent to their Head of House. You are all to remain in groups. We cannot allow further incidents to occur."
She looked over the students with a stern gaze. "I know this is a difficult time, but Hogwarts will not fall."
And with that, the room was dismissed.
Lennon stayed in place for a moment, her mind reeling. The Chamber of Secrets. The heir. The monster. The danger. It was all real.
It was no longer a legend.
And the threat was closer than they realized.