Strange, But This is Hogwarts!

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McGonagall made her way to Dumbledore's office, holding the memory vial carefully as she navigated the winding corridors. Once she reached the stone gargoyle, she muttered the password, and it leapt aside to reveal the spiraling staircase. She climbed it quickly, the vial clutched in her hand as she entered Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore was working at his desk even at this late hour, his expression pensive as he glanced up. He motioned for her to come in, his eyes settling on the vial in her hand. "Albus," McGonagall said, holding up the memory vial, "Mr. Potter sent this. Says it might explain his current condition."

Dumbledore leaned back slightly, curiosity sparking in his gaze. He took the vial and turned it over, studying the silvery liquid swirling inside. "Let's have a look then, shall we?" he replied, gesturing to the Pensieve.

McGonagall moved aside as Dumbledore stood and poured the memory into the stone basin. The silvery substance spread, shimmering as it settled. Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, and the liquid began to swirl faster. With a glance at McGonagall, he leaned in, and she followed suit.

The scene unfolded: a dim, unfamiliar room filled with shadowy outlines of shelves and objects. Harry appeared, stepping cautiously toward a lone Pensieve in the center. He peered over its edge, curiosity plain as he reached out. As soon as he got close, the Pensieve lit up, its light enveloping him in a rush. Images flickered—faces, places, and fragments of spells—all flashing by so quickly they were almost impossible to make out. Harry's expression twisted with confusion as he staggered back, and the memory cut off abruptly.

They both withdrew from the Pensieve, McGonagall straightening up as Dumbledore looked pensive.

"It seems Harry stumbled upon a Pensieve packed with memories. It's no wonder he was overwhelmed," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, still gazing into the shimmering bowl.

McGonagall glanced back at the basin, frowning slightly. "The room looked unfamiliar. I can't recall ever seeing such a space within the castle," she said, arms folded tightly.

"I'm curious now," Dumbledore replied, his gaze turning towards the office door. "Perhaps we should see if this mysterious room appears for us as well."

McGonagall followed Dumbledore out of the office, quickening her pace to keep up. They made their way through the dark corridors. When they reached the spot Harry described in his memory, they found nothing but a blank stretch of wall. No door, no trace of an entrance. Just solid stone, as if the room Harry had seen never existed.

McGonagall frowned, looking over at Dumbledore. "Is it possible that the door would simply vanish?"

Dumbledore nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Very much so, Minerva. It seems Hogwarts may respond to specific conditions. You might recall, not a month ago, I was in need of a restroom, and one appeared out of thin air, complete with a variety of amenities." He gave her a small smile. "Hogwarts still holds many secrets, even from us."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she looked at the wall. "So, you're suggesting the room only appears when needed?"

Dumbledore shook his head, considering McGonagall's words. "Not always about need, Minerva. This could be a relic from the Founders themselves, a leftover prank from some clever student, or even some twisted creation meant to mislead." He paused, looking at the blank wall with a curious glint in his eye. "The possibilities are endless."

McGonagall nodded, her gaze lingering on the wall. "Well, whatever it is, it's clearly evading us for now." She sighed. "But we'll need more from Mr. Potter if we're to make any sense of this."

"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed. "Let's pay young Mr. Potter a visit. I imagine he has more to say."

They returned to the hospital wing, where Harry was still lying on the bed, his face pale but awake. He looked up as Dumbledore and McGonagall entered, schooling his expression to one of mild curiosity.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, a slight smile on his face as he moved closer, "it seems you've been having quite the adventure. Care to share a bit more with us?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much to share, sir. I found a room, a Pensieve, and a mess of old memories. Before I knew it, I was on the floor with Madame Pomfrey looming over me."

McGonagall crossed her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Just a mess of memories, was it? Enough to leave you in this state?"

"Honestly, Professor, it was a mess," Harry replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage. "I leaned in, and the next thing I knew, it was like someone was dumping half the library into my head. It's a bit of a blur."

Dumbledore watched him closely, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Memory overload, then? Fascinating. But tell me, did anything stand out? Anything unusual, beyond the chaos?"

Harry took a second, pretending to think it over. "No, just faces and places, really. None of it made any sense. It was all too fast."

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, who gave a small nod. "Very well, Mr. Potter. You've had quite a day. We'll leave you to rest." She hesitated, then added, "But should you remember anything more, you'll let us know, won't you?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied.

Dumbledore's gaze lingered a moment longer before he nodded. "Get well, Harry. We'll be checking in soon." With that, he turned to leave, McGonagall following behind.

As they stepped into the corridor, McGonagall let out a sigh. "Do you believe him, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Harry Potter is a boy of many secrets, Minerva. But I suspect he's telling the truth. At least, the part he wishes to share."

"Hmm," McGonagall murmured, unconvinced. "I can't shake the feeling that he's hiding something more."

"Oh, he most certainly is," Dumbledore replied, still smiling. "But aren't we all?"

Once they were out of earshot, Harry settled back on his pillow, letting out a breath. "Well, that's that," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Harry lay back on the hospital bed, the faint throb in his head reminding him of his recent mistake. He knew the memory he'd given Dumbledore and McGonagall was convincing enough for now, but they would eventually want to dig deeper. Not that it mattered—he had more immediate concerns than some professors trying to solve a puzzle.

He was almost embarrassed by the reason he was stuck here. Splitting his consciousness fifty ways just to study Parselrunes? Not his brightest move. In hindsight, a bit reckless, even for him.

But he had to make sure the Indian Parselmouth couldn't enter the Chamber of Secrets. There was no way he was letting that happen, luckily he learned that while he was getting treated, the Indian Parselmouth left in frustration, after not being able to find anything. Besides, Harry was itching to see what more those runes could reveal. The thrill of uncovering secrets buried under the castle was something he couldn't resist—especially if they traced back to Salazar Slytherin. This new hidden chamber, tucked below the Chamber of Secrets, had him hooked. What had Slytherin hidden there for his heir?

Harry knew he was playing with fire, especially with Dumbledore sniffing around now. The old man had his suspicions, but Harry had been careful to keep things under wraps.

Harry rose from the hospital bed, only to be immediately greeted by the stern face of Madam Pomfrey. She appeared out of nowhere, hands on her hips, glaring at him like he'd just broken one of her prized potions.

"Mr. Potter, just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded, with that look she reserved for anyone who dared disrupt her ward. Harry gulped, trying to keep a casual expression. Madam Pomfrey wasn't the kind of person you wanted to argue with, especially not when you were her patient.

"Just stretching my legs," he replied, attempting a nonchalant tone, though he knew she wouldn't buy it.

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, not a hint of humor in her face. "Stretch your legs in that bed, Potter. You're not going anywhere until I've cleared you," she snapped, giving him a light shove back onto the mattress. Harry didn't resist, figuring it would be better to save his energy for when she wasn't watching like a hawk.

He settled back onto the bed, feeling the uncomfortable stiffness of the sheets against his back. She was right, after all—his head was still throbbing, and he was feeling a bit weaker than he wanted to admit. But the irritation of being stuck in the hospital wing lingered.

Madam Pomfrey went back to her cabinet, rummaging through it with her usual efficiency. "You young ones always think you're invincible," she muttered, pulling out a bottle of a dark, foul-smelling potion. "Here, drink this. It'll clear up that fog in your head."

Harry glanced at the potion and made a face, but took the bottle without a word. He downed it quickly, wincing at the taste, like burnt toast mixed with rotten eggs.

She watched him carefully as he drank, clearly making sure he wasn't going to spit it out. "There, now lie back. You've had quite the ordeal, and I won't have you collapsing again under my watch," she said, shooing him back down.

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