John Constantine and The Overgrown Serpent

Intell

It was, he admitted, a slight drag to wait.

It was boring to wait for the children upstairs to awaken enough to walk in a straight line.
It was agonizing to wait on the Slytherin house's prince in particular.

The blond paced, or read, or straightened his clothes-even going as far as combing his hair out of the dreaded conception of boredom(not that he didn't immediately rake a hand through his scalp to rectify it of course)-all just to something in the meantime.

With everything of late, sleep had been evading him once again. The same cold shiver crawling down his spine without a hint of remorse-making the mere thought of climbing into a bed of any sort a rather sickening one at that.

And he didn't even want to start on what he's been doing for the past week and a half prior.

The magician didn't wish to view his 'orders' as stalking a 12 year old boy, but the mage just couldn't find a way to twist or magically manipulate the narrative into any other way than him stalking a 12 year old boy.

My how the tall and mighty fall the lowest.

Soon enough, once they had finally accumulated downstairs and began to make their way out from the school's lower levels, John could finally get something to eat.

His attention moved towards the next on his checklist of charges. Once content with Malfoy conversing with their peers, brown hues switched to his accidental allies.

The first thing John noticed when seeing the ebony the next day was 'god the kid looked like shite'.

Pale skin, clammy hands, and a slight tremor if one were to squint real hard.
You'd think that being in the medical ward overnight would've made one better...

But he supposed not.

Something had happened.

Again.

Hogwart's 'Golden Trio' conspired in close proximities, continuously sneaking glances as Slytherin students and passing meaningful looks at his person.
They must've decided to let him know early, standing up from their bench seats and nodding his heads towards the door-telling him to nonchalantly make his way and follow them with all the grace and skill twelve years old could manage.

He nearly rolled his eyes as he got up and stretched.

He had to maintain (unbeknownst to the magical world) his sturdy, coolheaded reputation after all.

They pounced on him the moment he walked around the corner, dragging him off towards the abandoned girl's bathroom.

Supposedly, it was haunted.

Harry had something to say-to all three of them. Truth be told, John was a little surprised that the ebony hadn't discussed his urgent matters to his housemates, but apparently this was something he didn't wish to re-explain twice.

"Again?"
The empty stalls reverberating her shocked voice.
"You mean, that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?!"

The mage, however, was not.

"I don't see why it ain't impossible."
The blond shrugged.
"The chamber was built on myth, folktale, and legend. The tales that are told gotta originate from somewhere aye? Usually, the most well-known lot hold a bit of truth to 'em."

"Of course!"
Ron grunted with confidence.
"Don't you see-Lucious Malfoy must've opened the chambers during his schooling years here! And now I bet that he's been teaching Draco how to do it."

John scrunched his nose, pondering over the theory the redhead presented.

"But wouldn't we know about that?"

He was met with looks urging him to explain.

"Well-the tale goes that 'those deemed unworthy', half and muggleborn, would be dealt with, yeah?"
They nodded.
"So, if the last known opening occurred anywhere in the last few decades-hell, last century even-that would imply that more attacks had happened then as well."

Hermione, bless her quick witted heart, caught a hold of what he was saying.

"Of course, it would be very logical to assume that if an attack even remotely close to Colin's petrified state-it would have been recorded somehow, right? Hogwarts has been known to be one of the most prestigious, and safest, magical schools worldwide."

"And considering that the Chambers of Secrets hasn't even been found yet by the bloody headmaster runnin' it after god knows how many years of teachin', whose to say the assaults could've even been stopped?"
John added.
"Considering the school had always seemed to've housed a decent amount of non-pureblooded families, even way back when, the number of attacks alone would've caught the attention of dozens of reporters and journalists, let alone parents. Nah-if the bloody chamber had been opened before, and made due with the legend's little 'promises'...we would've known by now."

The trio fell silent on his assumptions, leaving them to bit their lips and ponder of 'what's nexts'.

And then Ronald, ever so elegantly, broke the nicely layered sheet of ice bestowed from their conversations.

"So, what are we doin' in a girl's bathroom anyway? Won't we get caught?"

"No."
Hermione shook her head.
"No one ever comes in here."

John decided to let her deal with that.

"Why?"

"'Moaning Myrtle'."

Ron's face twisted at the simply put sentence.
"Who?"

A transparent figure peered from out of the stalls behind Ron, as if summoned by name.

John and Harry shared a quick glance, brought upon the Gryffindor's oblivious state before returning to their new company.

"Moaning Myrtle."
Hermione lowered her head a little, almost embarrassed by getting caught discussing about the poltergeist now present.

"Who's 'Moaning Myrtle'?"

The mage grimaced as the student-appearing ghost gained an offended look, invading their friend's space with a sharp, "I'm Moaning Myrtle!"

Ron startled, shrinking back into the wall beside him as much as he could as she moved on, floating past them and up towards the ceiling.

The ghost turned back around to face them.
"I wouldn't expect you to know me! Who would ever talk about the ugly, miserable, moping around 'Moaning Myrtle'?"
She pouted, her expression becoming more emotional as she continued.

Myrtle choked, cutting off a sob attempting to come up her throat.
Her face twisted and she screeched, zooming past and leaving them slightly on edge.

"She's a little sensitive..."
The young witch explained lowly after a moment passed.

Ron gave her a look that read 'you think?'.

The blond frowned, pain seeming to be the emotion the poltergeist held onto the most.

"Sorry 'bout him, luv!"

He ignored the affronted 'hey!' he received.

They couldn't say he never tried.