Chapter 134: Chapter 134: The Hidden Vault

Arthur’s body remained perfectly still on the Chamber floor, but his consciousness soared free.

Physical walls meant nothing now. Stone passed through him like mist. Even Hogwarts’ ancient wards, layers upon layers of protective magic, couldn’t detect his astral form.

Perfect for treasure hunting, he thought with satisfaction.

It was time to search the Chamber more thoroughly.

For over an hour, he drifted through solid stone and ancient enchantments of the chamber, tracing every magical current and exploring every deviation in the castle’s foundations. But he found nothing—no secret vaults, no hidden rooms brimming with treasures.

The tunnel network, vast though it was, held only dust, pipes, and forgotten passageways.

“Nothing here?” Arthur murmured, his astral form hovering in the main chamber. “Or maybe… he hid it somewhere else? I’m already like this. Might as well search further.”

Turning his attention to the dungeons, he began exploring the winding corridors surrounding the Slytherin common room.

That’s when he found it.

A pocket of space that shouldn’t exist—disconnected from the rest of the castle, with no entrances or exits. It floated like a bubble sealed in time, wrapped in wards so old and complex they made Arthur’s mind reel.

But they were no match for his astral form.

He passed through without resistance.

Inside, he emerged into a hidden chamber. It wasn’t dusty or abandoned but clean, orderly—untouched by time. It looked as though the occupant had merely stepped out for a moment… a thousand years ago.

Bookshelves lined the four walls, filled with tomes so ancient they made Arthur’s fingers twitch with longing. A dark wooden desk stood in the middle beneath a simple bronze lamp, its flame burning eternal. At the desk’s center lay a single journal.

Still in his astral form, Arthur felt a surge of triumph—but didn’t return to his body just yet. If this was Slytherin’s study, perhaps the other founders had secret spaces too.

He turned his search toward the areas around Gryffindor and Hufflepuff common rooms.

The castle was simply too large to search entirely in one night, so he limited himself to key locations. He found no hidden chambers, but he did uncover a network of secret passageways—routes that would’ve made sneaking around the castle much easier in his school days.

“Gryffindor likely wouldn’t have hidden his space,” Arthur mused. “Maybe the Headmaster’s office itself was his domain. As for Hufflepuff… perhaps hers lies elsewhere. I’ll ask the Sorting Hat later.”

Satisfied for now, Arthur returned to his body in the Chamber of Secrets. The weight of flesh settled around him like a familiar cloak.

Without delay, he Apparated to the hidden room.

The room appeared just as it had in his astral vision. Before investigating the bookshelves, he approached the desk and the journal upon it.

Perhaps it was a message. A record. A final testament.

The old English made his eyes water, but Arthur persevered.

“Year Three of Hogwarts—The school thrives beyond our wildest dreams. Children arrive weekly, desperate for sanctuary. Yet success brings visibility, and visibility brings danger. Muggle hunters prowl nearby. Godric insists we have nothing to fear. He has not seen what I have seen…”

Page after page painted a picture of a man watching the world burn and knowing exactly who held the torches.

“The witch burnings are spreading. Entire magical bloodlines extinguished in righteous fire. I tell Godric we must be more selective, more careful. He calls me paranoid. Rowena understands but believes knowledge will triumph over ignorance. Sweet Helga simply wants to save every magical child she can. None of them understand—fear does not yield to reason…”

The relationship with Gryffindor deteriorated from professional disagreement to personal hatred.

“My relationship with Godric deteriorates daily. Today he accused me of cowardice, of letting fear rule me. I accused him of naive optimism that will see us all burn. We drew wands in the Great Hall before Rowena intervened. The students were terrified. I am becoming what I sought to prevent—a source of discord in our sanctuary…”

The final entries were bitter with resignation:

“I leave tomorrow. The basilisk is ready, sleeping in the chamber below. A final line of defense when all else fails. I hope I am wrong about the world, but I doubt it.”

Then came a message clearly meant for whoever finds this place:

“This room is a vault—for when the unthinkable occurs. No entrances, no exits. Only when Hogwarts’ magic dies and a worthy heir appears will the path open.

Here rests the knowledge I gathered in forty years of wandering—from the temples of India where I learned the true tongue, to the hidden libraries of Egypt where magic predates wands.

If magic survives, use these to rebuild. If magic falls, let this be the spark to reignite it.

If you read this, it seems the Muggles have won. I always believed their hunger would destroy us. If only I could show Godric I was right.

I have nothing to say to you. Use the knowledge to serve magic.

—Salazar Slytherin, Founder of Hogwarts, Exile by Choice

“

Arthur stood frozen, the weight of what he’d stumbled into sinking in.

This wasn’t just a study—it was a doomsday vault. A magical ark meant to be uncovered only when all else had failed. And somehow, Arthur had found it before that time.

He looked down at the journal again, its final words lingering in his mind. He felt an unexpected kinship with Salazar Slytherin—not the dark legend history remembered, but the cautious visionary revealed in these pages.

If Arthur had lived in those times, burdened with that knowledge, he might have done the same. This wasn’t paranoia.

It was foresight.

“Paranoid, bitter, and completely right,” Arthur muttered with a half-smile. “We would’ve been best friends.”

He finally turned to the towering bookshelves. Ancient tomes written in Latin, old English, and languages Arthur barely recognized. Volumes on every subject imaginable.

He pulled down a tome written entirely in Sanskrit: “The Tongue of Serpents—Voice as Magic.”

This one made him pause. It detailed not just speaking to snakes, but using Parseltongue as a magical language itself. Spells cast in the serpent tongue carried different resonance, tapped into older currents of power.

“Harry needs to see this,” Arthur murmured, setting it aside.

He continued through the collection, finding treasures mixed with curiosities. Ritual magic that predated wand movements. Potion recipes using ingredients the modern world had forgotten existed.

Some texts were treasure troves. Others, pure curiosities. All of it valuable.

And to Arthur, it was everything.

In a world where knowledge was hoarded and buried, this was a vault of truth. A place where magic still breathed freely, unfiltered and unbound.

But before he could lose himself entirely, there was one long-overdue task calling to him.

He found the enchantment section and began scanning the spines. He was still stuck on the Diadem project. He had ideas, prototypes, and plans but nothing he trusted enough to risk the original artifact.

If the perfect solution existed, it had to be here.

Volume after volume came off the shelves, Arthur speed-reading at a pace only magic-enhanced minds could handle. Then, in a slim, scale-bound tome, he found it.

A transformation matrix—an advanced framework for reshaping an enchanted object into a new form, while preserving its magical core.

Arthur actually laughed—pure, unfiltered delight. The sound of an inventor finding the final cog to make the machine run.

This was it. This was what he’d needed all along.

He devoured the text, cross-referencing theory after theory, building a comprehensive understanding of enchantment principles so sophisticated they made modern methods seem crude.

Hours passed in a blur.

Eventually, the plan crystallized in his mind. It was elegant, precise, and nearly foolproof.

Arthur was ready. It was time to finally complete what he’d started.

But his stomach had other ideas. A sharp cramp reminded him just how long he’d been at it. He glanced at his watch.

Morning already.

He blinked. He’d spent nearly a full day in the vault—no food, no sleep, just magic and pages.

“Food first,” he muttered. “Then sleep. Then the transformation.”

He Apparated back home and called out, “Winky!”

No response.

Arthur frowned. She always answered immediately. “Winky!” he tried again, louder.

A soft pop answered him, but the greeting he’d prepared died on his lips.

Winky looked… different.

Gone was the practical, elegant uniform he had designed for her. She now wore a beautiful, swirling skirt and, unless he was imagining it, a hint of makeup.

“Winky,” Arthur said cautiously, “what happened to your usual clothes?”

“Does Master like it?” she asked, giving a delighted twirl. “Winky found the old outfit boring. Winky wanted to look pretty.”

Her happiness was contagious. Arthur smiled despite himself. “You look beautiful, Winky. I’m just curious—what brought this on?”

“Winky just wanted to feel nice,” she said with a cheerful bounce. “Is Master hungry? Winky can smell that Master hasn’t eaten in too long!”

“Starving, actually. I lost track of time.”

“Then Winky will fix it right away!” she chirped, disappearing with another pop.

Arthur blinked after her, still half-wrapped in thoughts of runic matrices and energy flows. Whatever had inspired this change, Winky clearly hadn’t forgotten to care for him.

She returned moments later with a feast fit for a celebration. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the food, his mind still wrapped around enchantment theory. The mystery of Winky’s sudden fashion shift was shelved for later.

After a short but desperately needed sleep, Arthur sealed himself in his ritual chamber.

By the time he emerged, he was drained but victorious.

Around his neck hung a silver chain, from which a pendant in the shape of a raven mid-flight dangled. Its wings were spread, talons curled around a sapphire orb. Embedded in its feathers were the same deep-blue sapphires from the original Diadem.

To the untrained eye, it was simply beautiful jewelry.

But Arthur could feel the power thrumming against his chest—all the enhancements of Ravenclaw’s Diadem, preserved and improved.

He’d added control mechanisms during the transformation. Now he could activate or deactivate the enhancement at will, preventing the adverse effects from overuse.

“Perfect,” he murmured, tucking the pendant under his shirt.

But his mind had already moved on. Slytherin’s vault called to him. Books he’d only glimpsed. Subjects he’d skipped.

One section in particular caught his eye.

He had only glanced at its title earlier.

Ancient Magic.

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