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Things didn’t look better the next morning, and didn’t improve throughout most of the day either because both Ron and Hermione seemed to have important things to do on their lonesome outside classes. Nicolas was sympathetic when Harry complained about it after he got back to Hogwarts, but his brilliant solution was to tell Harry to go back to Gryffindor Tower and ‘make himself available,’ whatever that meant. Harry was a bit too preoccupied to ask for clarification after Nicolas’ absolutely crushing announcement that he was leaving Hogwarts. No, it wasn’t a consolation that they’d see each other again in the weekend, not when he’d have to wait until the hols for the next time! But of course Harry would be to tongue-tied to give Nicolas a proper what for. He was too preoccupied trying not to lose it when Nicolas invited him to spend Christmas with him.
Of course Harry said yes!
How could he be so stupid? Of course Nicolas wasn’t going to just move into Hogwarts full time, he wasn’t staff, it wasn’t a hotel and he had a life of his own to live, what did Harry think was going to happen? Especially after he went and handed over that silver box with the cursed tiara inside it. Nicolas and Dumbledore would probably have no room for anything else in their schedule for weeks.
Why did I ever think getting adults to finally take me seriously would make things any better again?
Things on the friendship front didn’t turn around until late afternoon. Harry told himself not to read too much into it, Ron was entitled to have time to himself, and today was Hermione’s library day, she always went off on her own every week and came back around this time, or even later.
All those thoughts were swept away when he saw Ginny Weasley walking quickly into the Common room with Ron trying to get her to stop and talk – awkwardly and to terrible effect. Hermione entered right after them, just as Ginny fairly blew off Ron and all but ran off in angry tears in response to whatever Ron had just said. Ron scowled in weary annoyance, looked around the Common Room until he saw Harry, then and marched back out. Harry felt crushed for the second time in as many hours, up until he saw Hermione pointedly looking at him, so he got up and followed her out. Ron was there waiting, and set off down the corridor with them the moment they caught up.
“They reckon Ginny did it,” Ron said lowly. Stiffly. “The writing on the wall. Dumbledore and McGonagall just done talking to her. They reckon she was made to do it and then obliviated.” Ron’s tone turned bitter. “Probably imperiused her, because why not? Us Weasleys seem to be collecting unforgivables this year.”
“Whoa.” What else was he supposed to say? “I’m sorry.”
Ron glared at him, then glared at the ground instead. “No your fault,” he muttered.
All the weight of the world fell away. Harry had feared it would take weeks for Ron to talk to him again, that’s how long it took for the Dursleys to lay off a bit after he did some accidental magic. Harry did his best not to be too obviously happy when Ron was so down. That was the friendly thing to do, right? Solidarity, solidarity for everybody!
The trio took a walk around the Hogwarts grounds and finally had a long, proper talk about everything that had happened. Since the adults had all failed, they agreed that they needed to look into this themselves. It was a bitter pill to swallow, that this year’s trouble was already worse than first year’s despite the adults in charge actually doing their job this time. Harry tried not to feel guilty that his own problems were keeping Nicolas too busy to deal with this on top of everything else he owed nobody to solve, but it was hard.
Their talk ultimately went nowhere, but the next few days gave them a new avenue to consider through Draco’s snooty threats. Also, there came the time for first ever instance of their history professor actually being useful. Which is to say, Hermione got Professor Binns to explain all about the Chamber of Secrets.
The trio had another walk along the grounds that day and unanimously decided they definitely couldn’t just let it go, especially when Ron’s sister was already involved. Unfortunately, even though they all agreed on the obvious suspect, there was an obvious conundrum.
“It’s gotta be Malfoy,” Ron said sullenly, pacing back and forth while Harry and Hermione watched from the garden bench.
“We still have to make sure,” Hermione countered. “We can’t just assume we have all the answers.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Someone actually capable of casting the Obliviate charm and the Imperius curse, spells Draco can’t possibly be capable of, we’re just second years. Even the most talented second year couldn’t possibly…”
There was an awkward pause as Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.
“Spells Draco is probably not capable of,” Hermione awkwardly amended. “Is he?”
“It’s gotta be him!” Ron said stubbornly. “You don’t hear anyone else gloating and promising mudbloods they’ll be next, do you?”
“Or it could be someone who can not only cast unforgiveables but also fool the staff. Including Dumbledore,” Harry said dryly. “Like anyone in the higher years.”
“Which Malfoy will know about even if he’s not the heir!” Ron spun on his heel, pointing dramatically. “Don’t you see? He’s our in!”
Harry wasn’t convinced. Wouldn’t pushing back just upset Ron though?
“He’s right, Harry,” Hermione said grudgingly, “We can’t just dismiss the possibility.”
“Fine,” Harry huffed, even though he didn’t find Draco all that compelling these days. It was strange, but déjà vu was stranger, and Draco seemed to be very good at bringing it out. “Let’s say you’re right, how can we check?”
“Well, since you’re a seer, can’t you just-“ Ron wiggled his fingers. “See?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Ron.” Harry didn’t know how it worked at all actually.
“Okay, fine, sheesh,” Ron raised his hands defensively. “You’re only a seer sometimes, got it.”
The tense awkwardness threatened to return, but Hermione unwittingly saved Harry again. “There might be a way. Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect… What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us.”
Harry frowned. “And how do you suppose we do that?”
“All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion.”
Harry listened in wonder how Hermione Jean Granger laid out a detailed plan to get Professor Lockhart to sign a note authorising her to borrow the book Moste Potente Potions from the library's Restricted Section, pilfer rare ingredients from Snape's cupboards, and go about brewing a highly complicated and dangerous potion. Take advantage of her crush. Break the rules of the library. Steal from Snape. Hermione! Harry wasn’t crazy to think she was crazy, Ron thought she was crazy too, and he said so loudly, fervently, gleefully and at length.
Then Harry’s eyes caught Neville Longbottom as the latter walked to the greenhouse at the far side of the Hogwarts Grounds, and it dawned on him that he might have a completely different use for polyjuice potion. “Hey guys,” he idly cut in when Ron and Hermione paused for breath. “How would you like to make a new friend?”
Ron and Hermione followed his gaze and watched Neville until he disappeared into the greenhouse. “What are you thinking, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“I’m thinking we’re going to brew polyjuice potion.” He decided. “But we might have more than one use for it. Excuse me, I need to see someone about something.”
Fred and George weren’t in the common room, but they were in the kitchen, being fussed over by the elves who were not happy with their recent cursing conga. Harry explained his idea. Then politely asked for very specific help. Then politely threatened to go ahead without the help he was asking, at which point the two ‘grudgingly’ gave in.
“I still say you should come to us first when you go skulking,” George told him. “But you’ve already shown how prone you are to getting in a tight spot without even trying.”
“Treat it well, Harry,” Fred asked. “It’s the secret of our success. It’s a wrench, giving it to you, but truth be told we were just waiting for you to ask for it. We decided last night, your need’s greater than ours. Besides…" He watched Harry pensively. “It was made by your father, right?”
And his two friends and the rat.
George Weasley sighed. “Anyway, we know it by heart. We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”
Harry sat with them a while, learning all he could of the functions of this wonderful treasure. He left the kitchens with his belly stuffed full of good food and his pocket full of the most precious parchment in the world.
Now to see about striking new friendship. Harry felt a bit bad that he only got the idea because he needed Neville’s help for what amounted to a glorified distraction. Bloody hell, this was slimy as all get out, wasn’t it? Wait, this was going to be Harry’s first try at making friends since first grade, wasn’t it? Ron had done all the work for theirs, and then Hermione fell in with them without Harry doing practically anything. That was all Ron too, however roundabout and… messy.
“Crap,” Harry breathed mid-way through transfiguration, turning his goblet from a half-rat into something almost as nightmarish as his dreams of revenge. He could no longer pretend otherwise, he was trying to make his first friend and was only doing it because he needed him for something. He was a horrible person.
It was important though. Harry consoled himself with the decision that he wouldn’t even bring up his plan until after he and Neville were friends for real. If they were. They would be. He could do this.
I can do this.
It was only after the very awkward first evening of inviting a very suspicious Neville Longbottom to study and play exploding snap with them that it occurred to Harry that he’d forgotten to ask Hermione one important question.
“Hey, Hermione, how long is the brewing going to take anyway?
“A month.”
“A month!?”
But that would cut into his Christmas break!
Nicolas had invited him to spend Christmas with him. And now Harry had committed to a scheme that needed him to stay in the castle.
Harry slept uneasily that night, and for once he didn’t find solace in dreams no matter how hard he tried. He woke up in an even fouler mood than the night before.
This is my punishment for taking advantage of Neville, isn’t it? Harry thought, glaring at the innocent ceiling. This sucks,
The he got up and went to Quidditch practice, thankful for the distraction of the upcoming game. Of course, even that almost got ruined when the Slytherin team cut into their practice time because of Snape. When Ron lost his temper and cursed Malfoy to vomit slugs, Harry was not ashamed to admit he participated in the ensuing brawl without any reservations. He even gave Flint a black eye! Sure, the Slytherin captain was too busy with Wood to even see him coming, but nailing the huge sixth-year and getting away with it was going into Harry’s memory album for certain. Just as soon as he made one. Sure, it got the whole team landed in detention, and Harry envied Ron’s clean-up duties in the Trophy Room every moment of helping Lockhart answer his fanmail. But it definitely took his mind of things, so overall he counted it as a win.
He had a big decision to make.
“-. .-“
Visiting the bank proved less daunting than Harry had feared. Nicolas took him and had a staredown with the teller, then another staredown with the private clerk they requested a meeting with. Harry found out his vault was just a trust vault set up by his parents when he was born. Which was crazy, there was still a mountain of galleons in there. It did have a maximum limit on how many galleons could be removed each month, but the fact Harry hadn’t known went to show just how much that was. Harry and Nicolas left with a ledger of his other holdings, which he only got because he was the last Potter still alive. There was a bunch of stuff listed on it, most of which seemed to have come from the Godric’s Hollow cottage after the attack. Plus a lot of additional money, though Nicolas thought it was too low for a family that could have been in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He speculated that the Potters might have kept the bulk of their wealth outside goblin hands. Something to look into in the summer.
Harry was just glad it was over and immediately put it behind him.
Then he almost died during quidditch again. During the first match of the year (again). To an assassination attempt (again!). And the assassin didn't even do him the courtesy of actually trying to assassinate him this time, even though he did a much better job of it than the first one, how was this Harry's life? What did he do to deserve this? If Dobby the House-Elf hadn't let slip that bit about the Chamber having been opened before, Harry might have strangled him. How could he make this creature leave him alone before he went and finished making Harry feel sorry for him? What was the point in having enemies if your allies decided the best way to keep you safe was to try and murder you? House elves were crazy!
At least Nicolas had stopped Lockhart from… whatever he was about to do to make his shattered arm worse. That had been a surprise to both of them. Harry being on the quidditch team had apparently slipped Nicolas’ mind completely when they’d parted last. The man certainly didn’t waste time fixing his oversight though, and he decided the best way to do that was to show up for Harry’s first game of the year unannounced. It was brilliant!
Madam Pomfrey still had to vanish half of Harry’s radius, though. And a bunch of bone chips. And give him skele-gro. That cursed bludger had done some serious damage.
Re-growing the bone hurt like hell. It was pretty wicked that wizards could regrow bones though. And nerves too, apparently. He’d asked.
Harry cursed Snape for ruining potions for him, he’d been looking forward to the class so much, it would have let him get ahead at the Dursleys even without a wand he was forbidden from using.
The upside to his latest brush with death was that Ron and Hermione got to meet Nicolas and found out about the Christmas invitation. Being the bloody brilliant friends that they were, they immediately made common cause to persuade Harry that he shouldn’t miss such an opportunity and that Hermione didn’t need so many extra hands for the brewing anyway, really. Harry felt like he should have insisted, but he didn’t have it in him. He wanted to accept Nicolas’ invitation so much.
So he did.
There was still a while before break though, so he set about investigating the few loose ends left with a spring in his step.
Said spring in his step threatened to leave him almost immediately, when one of the last unfulfilled visions finally caught up to him. Which is to say, a Duelling Club was started by Lockhart and Snape, his least favorite teachers. To ‘give the young ones an outlet other than brawling all over the quidditch pitch’ Lockhart said.
Remembering what he’d seen in that painting, Harry decided he didn’t want to let himself be embarrassed by whatever hex or curse would be cast on him to make him stop in the middle of his duel with Draco and hiss at the snake like a crazy person. He was briefly tempted to go anyway, because of the opportunity it represented. Whoever could make him forget wizards could just talk to snakes normally was probably capable of making him forget other things too. Like being imperiused to petrify Filch’s cat. But contrary to what people thought about him, Harry didn’t, in fact, like putting himself in danger.
“Harry, wait,” Hermione stopped him mid-way through his explanation, looking at him as wide-eyed as Ron as they watched Hedwig leave with his owl orders from the top of the owlry. “You can talk to snakes?”
Apparently, talking to snakes wasn’t normal. And should be kept a secret. Otherwise everyone would start thinking Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. Because of course they would. Who knew?
He didn’t sign up for the duelling club.
He heard later that Neville ended up matched against Draco instead. And got a draw. Harry couldn’t help but feel smug. Then Neville stopped being suspicious or awkward around them immediately and Harry felt triumphant. Take that déjà vu!
Unfortunately, the rest of Harry’s plans for the semester didn’t go anywhere. He was still unable to induce lucid dreams on purpose. Draco was no longer easy to rile up after his loss of face due to his epic quidditch loss and even more epic duelling non-performance. And the only crystal spheres and rainbow gas Colin Creevey knew of were complete fancies from a muggle board game with the most ridiculous magic rules, so that was another dead end. Hermione had a lot of funny things to say about spelljammers though, even if Harry secretly thought they were a neat idea.
Oh well. It was a long shot anyway!
When break finally arrived, Ron, Hermione and Neville all came to the train station to see him off.
“Have a great holiday, Harry,” Hermione said with a hug. “I’ll make sure the potion is perfect.”
Harry hugged her back. “I know you will.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Ron said when it was his turn, referring to the Marauder’s Map Harry was leaving with them. “If anyone skulks around where they shouldn’t, we’ll know.”
Harry wished him luck, he could barely keep track of all the changing levels of the castle, let alone all the people roaming around at all times of the day. It was much easier at night, but Mrs. Norris had been petrified before curfew. Anyone out to attack people would need people around to attack. And they would attack again, no matter what everyone else thought. Yes it had been weeks, and writing in chicken blood on a wall after petrifying the most hated animal in the castle looked more and more like a prank the more time went on, but Harry was sure there was more to it, somehow he just knew it.
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But Harry couldn’t keep thinking about that right now, he was going on holiday with his- what even was Nicolas anyway?
Harry turned to Neville.
“I know you’ve got some scheme in the works and you wouldn’t have invited me into your group otherwise,” Neville said, shaking hands and wait, what did – he just said – shite. “But I’m not mad. If you figure I don’t work after, that’s alright too. It’s been nice.”
Now Harry felt really bad. And he deserved it. “We won’t.”
Neville smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”
Harry got on the train and enjoyed the long, pleasantly quiet ride. He was glad that Malfoy was staying at the castle. He did his best not to feel lonely in his empty compartment.
Nicolas was waiting for him on the platform, welcoming Harry with a smile and a hand on his shoulder, which he used to present Harry to his wife like… like someone showing off his-
“Well met, Mister Potter.” Perenelle Flamel was a stately woman dressed in a flowing blue gown with elbow-length sleeves of silk and a parasol despite the dreary weather. She looked like the stereotypical blue-blood matron, except she didn’t feel or look at him like Narcissa Malfoy at all. She took Harry by the chin and inspected him critically. “My husband truly does good work. I hope this healthy pallor means you’re ready for a bit of a walk, child, because we have shopping to do.”
“-. .-“
‘Shopping’ turned out to be merely groceries. Except there was no ‘merely’ about them because they were groceries for the little family(!) feast that Nicolas’ wife was cooking for Christmas. The Christmas which the Flamels hadn’t celebrated since Nicolas ‘death’ because real Yule was actually around mid-January.
The Christmas they decided to celebrate this year just for Harry’s sake.
Harry was so overwhelmed that he did the only thing he could think of – he pulled a Hermione and tried to distract himself with studying. Nothing class-related because he was still Harry Potter, not Hermione Granger, but still.
“What you need, child, is to think outside the box,” Perenelle Flamel told him as she turned the roast over. “Your ancestors got sick of people having to argue with the ferryman and just buried them with a boat. That's quite the workaround to solve an old problem that comes up time after time in the old stories.”
Harry was touched that neither her nor Nicolas thought he was a silly child for wanting to prepare for the worst, but… “What does that have to do with anything?” Harry completely failed to see the connection between his continued failure in information gathering and taking your money to your grave.
“It has to do with how well you control what you control. You’re still fixed on gathering more information, but have no idea where to start except existing prejudice. Have you done all you could with the things you already have? Consider Albus recently – he’s gotten so used to appeasement plays that Lucius Malfoy was almost able to wrest control of a situation Albus himself set up. Malfoy, meanwhile, is a credible threat to the life of your innocent godfather despite having no rightful authority in the matter, just because he knows what means he has available very well.”
Perenelle Flamel, Harry had been surprised to learn, was the less gentle of the couple. She preferred to show feelings through actions and gestures. Like commemorative statues and charity. And inheritance. Inheritance like the 5,300 Tours pounds that she ‘left’ her husband when she ‘died’ in 1397. Which her sister then promptly contested in court, stealing Nicolas’ ‘inheritance’ and prompting Perenelle to privately disown her and her husband and all their children and heirs for the rest of time. After which she used an assumed identity to beggar the couple too, just to be thorough.
Perenelle was watching him expectantly.
“… I should find out more about what happened when the Chamber was opened the first time,” Harry said. It was a shot in the dark, but it was a good idea, wasn’t it? “And maybe talk to Ginny directly? Narrow down what I already know, right?” Magic, for once, wasn’t making things any easier. There were a bunch of ways to petrify people, especially when you were doing it to something as magically vulnerable as a measly cat. “What if the message was a lie too?” Harry wondered. “It could just be a stupid prank.” But he still didn’t believe it. Was that strange?
“You don’t strike me as the sort of person whimsical enough to have visions about mere pranks, more’s the pity.”
Harry scowled. “I could be though.” Perenelle pointedly allowed herself to be ‘distracted’ by the closed oven. “I totally could! My dad was the leader of the Marauders you know!”
“Clearly, the wind must have blown the apple to the other side of the mountain.”
Harry gaped in affront. How could she? He was supposed to finally be with grownups that actually took him seriously, what was this betrayal?
Oh, but why was he surprised? Magic had betrayed him too! After listening to the treasure trove of information that Nicolas and his wife could just call up from memory, Harry had been almost certain Slytherin’s monster had to be either a cockatrice or a basilisk, if only because Slytherin wouldn’t have settled for second best. After all, it was pretty simple, wasn’t it? A parselmouth called Salazar Slytherin builds a secret chamber of which the other Founders somehow knew nothing, despite them (or Gryffindor at least), having (shared?) control of the wards of Hogwarts. Then Slytherin seals the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school (which should logically have been within his lifetime). The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic. It seemed so obvious, right? As much as anything was obvious in a tale that had obviously grown tall in the telling over the past thousand years.
Except the basilisk and cockatrice didn’t petrify you, you just died instantly.
Nothing in Harry’s life could be easy. Harry was dumb to ever hope otherwise, considering that his first source had been Binns, of all people.
I probably shouldn’t be annoyed at this, Harry thought in dismay. It’s not like I wish Slytherin’s monster was anything that dangerous. I don’t!
It was frustrating though, that neither magic nor history of magic was any help to narrow things down. Unless Slytherin had somehow stuffed his Chamber of Secrets with a live gorgon, and that gorgon hadn’t escaped or died in the time since, and it fell under the control of a Hogwarts student instead of killing him – and whoever else got in the way of her leaving for greener pastures – there wasn’t much of a lead to follow at all.
Not unless the heir struck again. Which he had gone a long time without doing, but it only made sense after the Pettigrew mess, especially with not just Dumbledore on alert but also Nicolas Flamel in the castle for a while there. With both of those factors gone, Harry was sure there would soon be a repeat performance. Something Harry wasn’t willing to just wait and see. Putting his plan into action was more important than ever. He’d have to do something nice for Neville. Something that didn’t make Harry feel any slimier than he already did.
“But enough about business,” Nicolas declared. “This is supposed to be a holiday!”
It was indeed a holiday. The greatest holiday. Harry spent it with kind people, he got presents, he gave presents to everyone who got him presents even if they weren’t anything special, and he wished it would never end. He felt stupid for ever wishing the Dursleys could act like real parents. He felt guilty for enjoying the holidays so much like he was betraying his real parents.
Christmas morning found Harry feeling happy and guilty at the same time. He wished Sirius Black could be here so he could finally have a link back to his parents and get over his confused feelings, but apparently his time in Azkaban didn’t leave him in a state fit to entertain children.
“You think I should have got him a present?” Harry wondered as he inspected the Flamels’ joint gift. It was a tablet made of some green gem-like material, hazy and misshapen at the edges. There was writing on it in raised letters, but he didn’t recognize any of them. The note said not to ask questions about it until he found out what the language was. Without help.
“I gave Black the Elixir, did I not mention that?” Nicolas asked absently, as if that monumental revelation was a trifle compared to casting animation charms on the palm-sized thestral that Harry had transfigured himself. “I dare say his physical recovery will swiftly make a difference. It’s too early to know how it will affect his mental faculties though, if at all.”
“Oh.” Harry couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “I thought the Elixir fixed everything?”
“A good question you might find more useful researching yourself,’ Nicolas mused with a final flick of his wand. The thestral stretched its wings and flew over to take a prominent spot on the mantelpiece. “Freeform assignment. No deadline. Title – Elixir of Life and Neuroplasticity.”
“That’s not fair,” Harry whined, he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help it. “I have no idea what the Elixir of Life even is.” Nicolas refused to tell him, saying it had to be his ultimate test as an alchemist if he ‘chose to walk that path at some point,’ as if he’d do anything less!
It had been close though. Not that Harry would admit it, but knowing about alchemy’s non-magical parts wasn’t the same as seeing what that meant. Harry had been very interested in how you could unboil an egg without magic, but when he actually saw it happen he immediately wished he’d never asked. Magic was weird, but muggle chemistry was outrageous.
Wait, what even was neuropastilicy?
“That’s a good point.” Nicolas mused, unaware of Harry’s inner torment because he didn’t read minds willy-nilly like some people. “A different assignment first, then. Try to deduce what the Elixir of Life does to a human body and why. I’ll give you a hint – I’ve taken to calling it ormus this century. Do your best.” That wasn’t helpful at all!
Harry was going to need outside help on this one, wasn't he? Unfortunately, Ron and even Hermione were out because none of this was taught in class, and he didn't know any adults who would help.
Maybe Sirius Black would know. Unfortunately, he was being held in a secret, secure location, receiving counselling pending his much belated trial which was scheduled for way out in March for some reason that surely wasn’t suspicious at all. At least nobody could arrange any accidents and claim sickness or weakness from his time in Azkaban, now that Nicolas had given him the Elixir. The last dose Nicolas would part with for the foreseeable future, apparently. The Elixir of Immortality didn’t spring eternal, it turned out. Well, it did but also not? Or something? Come to think of it, Mrs. Perenelle looked a bit older than her husband. Harry asked Nicolas about it when she wasn’t around. Nicolas made it another thing Harry was supposed to find out on his own as part of learning alchemy. Which he would. As soon as he didn’t get queasy every time he thought about muggle science.
At this rate the curiosity would kill him way before the heir of Slytherin could.
Life caught up to him eventually though, and soon enough Harry was reluctantly ending the hug he’d been brave enough to steal before boarding the train back to Hogwarts.
“Make sure to apply yourself from now on, Harry,” Nicolas told him as he held him, then pulled away because Harry wasn’t going to. “I want to be proud of everything else you do too.”
“Right.” Harry sniffled, wiping at his nose and breathing deep for his eyes to clear up. There, he could still pretend it was a cold. “I’ll do my best.” He was going to ace all his classes and do everything else he needed or wanted and nothing and no one was going to stop him.
Nicolas must have seen something on his face, because he smiled and nodded solemnly as if acknowledging some great oath.
Harry’s heart fluttered all the way back to Hogwarts, back to his friends, classes, free periods, and the news that the polyjuice potion was ready to enact Hermione’s grand plan.
So Harry finally told them his grand plan. Sure, it hinged on using the map to keep track of everyone, which had already proven impossible, but they’d just been going about it the wrong way. They didn’t need to track everyone, they only needed to track whoever was going weird places during those times when everyone knew where everyone should be. Like classes. And meals. And feasts like not-Halloween, when everyone knew where everyone was the whole time.
Neville was all for it. Ron didn’t let it go so easily though. He still thought his idea deserved following up on, and Hermione sided with him because she actually thought it was less crazy than what Harry wanted to do, the nerve of her!
They compromised and Ron polyjuiced into Crabbe. And so Ron Weasley became the only Gryffindor they knew of that not only knew where the Slytherin Common Room was, but actually made it inside. The escape was not as clean, but Ron managed to prevent people from recognising him through his failing transformation by nailing Draco with a bat-bogey hex on the way out. Ron was smug for weeks, even though it turned out he was wrong – Draco was not the Heir of Slytherin.
Ron also learned that the last time the Chamber was opened, a Muggle-born girl died and whoever was responsible was expelled. And that was far as Draco got before he began complaining about Harry and Dumbledore and how the headmaster was the worst thing to happen to Hogwarts. Malfoy’s dad also had a secret stash of illegal artefacts in Malfoy Manor, incidentally. Ron didn’t waste time sending his dad a note about that and wow, Draco was kind of bad at keeping secrets, wasn’t he?
They had two polyjuice doses left.
The first one went to waste on a wild goose chase through Hagrid’s chicken coop, only to end ignominiously when Harry invisibly turned a corner and ran straight into Ginny Weasley, who was using her free period to take a walk. The ordeal ended with the both of them covered in mud and feathers. It was embarrassing, especially since Ginny had only gotten weirder since Harry had last talked to her. Not that he was much better with how awkward it was to talk to an eleven year-old version of his dream wife. The excursion did tell him two important things though: whoever was up to no good had his own way to be invisible, and their name showed up as a constantly changing letter salad on the map.
When he met up with his friends again, Harry learned that Neville had won him twenty points in Herbology. He also learned that Hermione and Ron had managed to confirm that nearly all of the other upper years had had classes at the same time and didn’t have any absentees, because house point awards and penalties were public and nobody had lost any for skipping classes in that time. The only ones who had a free period were the Slytherin fourth and seventh years. So.
The heir of Slytherin was from House Slytherin but nobody in House Slytherin knew that he was the Heir of Sytherin. It wasn’t much, but it was a lot more than they previously had.
The Gryffindor Four retired to the Common Room in high spirits.
Only for those high spirits to crash and burn when the vast majority of Gryffindor House that still attended Lockhart’s joke of a duelling club – like the vast majority of all other houses who didn’t want to give Snape ammunition – returned to the Common Room escorted by McGonagall, minus one.
Colin Creevy had been petrified. He’d been found with his camera containing film that had been burnt to the melting point.
The four Gryffindor second years looked grimly at each other. “Should we take what we know to McGonagall?” Neville asked, though he seemed dubious.
It said a lot that it was Hermione who shook her head, however grudgingly. “McGonagall never followed through on anything we told her, even last year when it was literally a matter of life and death. And, well…”
Ron curled his lip. “McGonagall gave Harry and me each five points for saving Hermione’s life from the troll, and she took five from Hermione when she said she’d gone looking for the troll. But then she took fifty off each of us when Malfoy snitched on us for being out after curfew. That means Hermione’s life is literally worth ten times less to her than being out of bounds. And she only took twenty points off Malfoy for the same thing, which I guess means she values the lives of Slytherins more than Gryffindors.”
Well, that wasn’t quite how it happened – McGonagall was harder on them because she assumed they had fed Malfoy the dragon story to get him in trouble. Of course, the way she automatically assumed the worst of them in favour of Malfoy was actually worse. And now McGonagall had also punished the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team with a bunch of lost points and detention for brawling, but did nothing to the Slytherin team even though the Slytherins had given as good as they got, and it was Draco who started it by calling Hermione a mudblood,. If Harry was any braver, he would have cursed Malfoy himself.
No, they wouldn’t be believed unless they could literally show the teachers Slytherin’s chamber. And probably not even then unless they had a monster to show off right then and there. They had to bide their time and handle this themselves.
The opportunity came when Lockhart officially lost whatever was left of his mind on Valentine’s Day
It was a circus.
“-.February 14, 1993 .-“
Lockhart was officially insane. The nut took a break from his narcissism just long enough to realise that the atmosphere at Hogwarts had turned tense and gloomy after the attack on Colin. His ‘solution’ was to decorate the Great Hall with large, lurid pink flowers, get heart-shaped confetti falling from the pale blue ceiling, wear lurid pink robes to match the decorations, and send everyone all over the place shrieking in horror because the lunatic had spread not-dwarves dressed as cupids throughout the school to receive and deliver valentines.
All day long, the imps kept barging into the classes to deliver valentines, to the point where even the teachers completely lost patience and began to glare at Lockhart in disgust. When Ron nudged Harry during the evening feast and showed him Hermione’s opened book with the Marauder’s Map spread over the pages, Harry met the sight of the Letter Salad dot with absurd relief.
Harry met the eyes of his friends one after the other, and they rose as one to leave the Hall in all too real disgust. But of course fate wouldn’t let things just go, because a cupid-imp decided that was the perfect time to tangle in his feet. Harry tripped over the thing and fell with the sound of a distinct crack inside his bag.
> “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
>
> His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
>
> I wish he was mine, he's really divine,
>
> The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”
Harry gaped in horror. Who wrote such crimes against poetry? “You bloody imp, you spilled ink all over my things!”
“Language, Harry,” was Hermione’s incorrigible reaction, even as she helped him dig through his bag and dab the stains. “It’s no use, Harry, we need to get to the Common Room to salvage this.”
It was the perfect alibi, but somehow that didn’t make Harry want to turn the thing into a slug any less.
They power-walked out of the Great Hall and made a beeline to the nearest boys’ loo, where Hermione waited outside while the three of them went in for the switch. Ron held their bags while Neville took a thread of Harry’s hair and added it to their last polyjuice potion, which he promptly drank. Neville didn’t enjoy the transformation much better than the first time, but he was proving to be made of far sterner stuff than anyone had thought.
And so the Golden Trio made a very visible march back to Gryffindor Tower while Harry Potter put on the Cloak of Invisibility and went to unmask his second rat. It was the perfect crime.
The Marauder’s Map led him to the second floor girls’ bathroom.
Harry stopped and stared blankly at the entrance to the place where they’d spent weeks and weeks doing illegal brewing.
What.
Double-checking the map showed Letter Salad right inside.
The Heir of Slytherin is a pervert, was Harry’s first thought. His second thought was to give him the benefit of the doubt because anything else would be a double standard, but that seemed silly to do for someone trying to commit mass murder. His third was that this bathroom was avoided for a good reason called Moaning Myrtle. Why’d he go in?
The faint sound of grinding rock snapped Harry out of it the same moment the Letter Salad dot disappeared.
Harry rushed into the bathroom and stopped dead at the sight of Ginny Weasley’s back disappearing into the darkness of a massive pipe in the wall behind the spot where the main sink had once been. The sink whose tap never worked.
Holy shit. Harry thought dumbly. It is Ginny under Imperius! “Expecto Patronum,” he hissed as low as he could “Guys, it’s the bathroom! The potions bathroom, I just saw Ginny go through a hole, there’s a pipe behind the broken sink, shit it’s closing, get Dumbledore!” Harry barely made it before the sink covered up the hole. He nearly missed a step and gave himself away because the pipe was old and rank and slippery, but he didn’t because he was a seeker with unequalled reflexes, everyone said so.
The pipe was scary dark and went on and on, but it came with that weird feeling Hogwarts gave when you seemed to be walking in a straight line but really weren’t. Even after the pipe ended, it only led to more tunnels even more blatantly magical than the first. It seemed to take forever to reach the end, and when Harry did he almost panicked when he stepped out and bones cracked under his feet. Only risking a lumos because no other feet were going crunch in the darkness, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They were just rats and other animals, no human bones in sight.
Harry deliberately didn’t dig past the top layer.
Moving on, Harry almost tripped when he saw a massive shed skin. Holy hell, is it a basilisk after all? But this skin is huge!
Harry Potter very nearly turned back and fled.
But that would leave Ginny Weasley at the mercy of this Letter Salad person.
Harry set his jaw, turned off the light and hurried past the skin as fast as his Cloak let him walk without causing a ruckus. His haste paid off because he finally spotted Ginny again through the gloom. Only her. She came to a stop ahead of him in front of a stone wall with a snake engraved on it, at the same time as a distinctly male voice said “Open!”
The noise of grinding stone cut through the darkness as the door to the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Harry swallowed dryly. That proved their hunch that the Heir had a way to go about invisible, but did it have to be as good as his?
Harry didn’t wait until the last moment to go in this time.
The Chamber of Secrets was a massive, cavernous place of absolutely surreal grandeur. As if detecting their presence, braziers lit up with pale green flames, allowing the place to be seen. The Chamber was half-flooded, but even then it was positively gigantic, framed with towering pillars that were entwined with carved wood all along the walls. At the far end, a gigantic Statue of Slytherin stood, towering and life-like, flanked by the four largest and most ornate of the columns. Harry almost forgot to watch his step as he tried and failed to spot whoever was controlling Ginny to come down here.
Failing, he skulked over to the side pillar furthest inward that he could hide behind without wading into the water and giving himself away. Each of his step was a mirror of Ginny’s so that what little noise he made was concealed. He was debating whether or not to stick his head out or try and signal Ginny some other way – could people even defeat the Imperius? – before Ginny stopped and opened her mouth.
“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!”
Harry’s mind went blank. It was the man’s voice. The man’s voice came from Ginny.
The ceiling groaned. The pillar trembled under his hand. Harry gulped and turned toward the statue of Salazar Slytherin again. The stone slab concealing the statue’s mouth started descending as he heard an ominous snarling that seemed to be coming from inside. Dimly he could feel his throat going dry and his lungs start to hyperventilate as something shrieked “Hungry!” from within the statue. The stone slab concealing the statue's mouth stopped descending. A split second afterwards, the Basilisk emerged from the darkness and started to come into the light, hissing menacingly as it slid down the statue to the watery ground while its tongue tasted the air. The creature was a monster, a gigantic serpent of titanic size, dark green scales, and deep yellow eyes.
Harry watched in horror as Ginny Weasley led the Serpent of Slytherin out of the Chamber of Secrets and outside his sight. He told himself not to scream. He told himself not to move. He told himself not to blink. He told himself to breathe. He couldn’t.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t move at all. He wanted to scream.
He couldn’t scream.
He couldn’t do anything at all.