Innocent Darkness

Ch.1

Otherness

The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir Beware. That single phrase danced in Harry's mind endlessly since he, Ron, and Hermione found the message written on the wall with Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hanging petrified from a torch near it. He didn't know why however he just knew that it linked, somehow, to the voice in the wall that only he was able to hear. Especially now as he and his friends walked out of History of Magic where, under the pressure of the students, Professor Binns told them about the Chamber of Secrets.

A place that can only be open by Slytherin's true heir… he thought, his mind reeling back to last year and his Sorting. He never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could remember, as though it was yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before: You can be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that…

Harry couldn't help but feel doubts and a sense of otherness from his fellow Gryffindors the more he thought about it. This is nonsense, he thought, I'm a Gryffindor! I belong here! And yet… the strange sense of otherness lingered. Too many strange things happening. The voice that only he can hear, his ability to speak to snakes that only, according to Ron, Slytherin can do, and now the Chamber of Secrets opening…

As he walked through the corridors, he received strange, scared looks from the other students. They probably think I'm the Heir of Slytherin, he thought to himself. At least, that is what he thinks Colin Creevey was trying to say before he was taken away from the tide of students bearing him toward the Great Hall, disappearing with a squeaky, "See you, Harry!"

"Do you think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be—well—human."

Harry wasn't paying attention. He was too lost in his own head and feeling of otherness to really contribute. Following Ron and Hermione, he moved automatically as the two talked Now taking their way back to Gryffindor Tower, it was then that Harry noticed something weird.

It was about Ron. Harry couldn't help but notice that Ron's lips had a small twitch every time he said something he liked. Like each word caused him to smile. And every now and again Ron would say something, and, for whatever reason, it effected Harry in a strange way. He found his cheeks going a subtle red whenever Ron said his name. He didn't know why this was happening. It didn't happen yesterday, or the day before. Yet for some reason, out of the blue, Harry just started notice these small details about Ron as the three walked back to Gryffindor Tower.

"So Harry what do you think?" Ron asked.

"Huh?"

"About who the Heir of Slytherin is," Hermione said.

"Oh right," Harry said. He frowned in thought, "I'm sorry but I can't think of who would want to frighten all the muggle-borns out of Hogwarts."

"Let's think," Ron said in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy—" Hermione said.

"Of course I am!" Ron said. "You heard him—'You'll be next, Mudbloods!'—come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him—"

Harry envisioned Malfoy's face. True, he could see how Ron could describe him as 'rat face' however the more Harry thought, the more he thought about Draco's nose. It wasn't particularly ratty, but button-like, cute even. Why am I thinking of Malfoy as cute? Harry thought. A disgusting confusion flooded Harry.

"Look at his family," he said rather viciously, "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin: he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" Ron said. "Handing it down, father to son. …"

Where did this come from? Harry frowned as Hermione talked. He never spoke so vicious or cruelly about anyone, not even Malfoy, even though the boy deserves it. After all, for a nanosecond Harry thought of Malfoy's nose as cute… why did he do that though? Needing to get out of his own confusing thoughts, Harry forced himself to pay attention to Ron and Hermione before they notice he wasn't listening.

"…It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," Ron said frowning, "what if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"It only lasts for a while," Hermione said.

"I like the idea," Harry said, drawing their attention. "This Polyjuice stuff? I like it," he said. "Let's do it."

"Good," Hermione said. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be I the Restricted Section of the library."

"How are we going to convince a teacher to give us permission to get us that book then?" Harry frowned.

"We can say that we're interested in the theory…" Hermione said.

"Oh come on! None of the teachers are going to fall for that! They have to be really thick," Ron said.

"Lockhart is thick," Harry said automatically. Hermione nodded in agreement and Ron looked between them.

"Ohhh," he said coming to realization a couple moments later. He grinned widely which caused Harry to blush again, "that could work," Ron said, as though he made up the idea himself. Harry couldn't help but stare at Ron the strange feeling again filling him. The strange feeling caused Harry to smile though he quickly hid it.

The next day Harry paid particular attention to Draco Malfoy. The first thing he noticed was that he did not have a rat face. In fact, much to the disgust inside him, Draco Malfoy looked rather pretty. His hair was blonde and slick back, revealing a rather sizable forehead that Harry thought Draco might grow into. His eyes were light, almost silver-looking, and when they weren't glaring at Harry, the Gryffindor saw that the silver eyes were capable of shining happily as he talked with two Slytherins Harry couldn't remember the names of. They must be his true friends, Harry thought to himself. Not like Crabbe and Goyle. His nose was bunny-like, cute and small just as Harry pictured the night before, and his lips were a faint pink, nice and a little plump—wait. The disgust took over Harry. Why was he noticing these things? He shouldn't notice how nice Draco Malfoy looked! He hated him!

Groaning, Harry forced himself to just not look at Malfoy, or anyone, during the day Unfortunately that did not stop Professor Lockhart from picking him to help demonstrate reenactments of particularly dramatic bits of his books. This time he was acting like a werewolf, or what Harry suspected was Professor Lockhart's idea of a werewolf. If he hadn't had a good reason to keep in Lockhart's graces, he would have refused.

"Nice loud howl Harry—exactly—and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced—like this—slammed him to the floor—thus—with one hand, I managed to hold him down—with my other, I put my wand to his throat—I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm—he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—good—the fur vanished—the fangs shrank—and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective—and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet. Harry rubbed his chest in slight pain. "Homework—compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes as he returned to Ron and Hermione as the rest of the class left. They waited until everyone was gone then Hermione approached Lockhart while Harry still nursed his chest. He kept away from the two as Hermione talked with Professor Lockhart, scowling slightly. "Wish he would choose someone else, this time it hurts!" he muttered to Ron.

"Gotta admit it was a bit funny to watch," Ron whispered. "And you howl good."

"I-I do?" Harry asked, his cheeks reddening for some reason.

"Yeah, Ron shrugged, not noticing the change in his friend.

"So Harry," Professor Lockhart said, getting the boys' attention while Hermione slipped a piece of signed parchment into her bag, "tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, eh? I was a Seeker too, you know. I was asked to try for the National Squad but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players…"

Wow, I feel so honored, Harry thought sarcastically. He made an indistinctive noise in his throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione. "I can't believe you got it—did he even look at it?" He asked Hermione.

"Of course, not he's a brainless git—"

"He's not a brainless git," Hermione said shrilly than they ran off to the library. Harry was focused on keeping up with Ron and his long legs that he didn't notice something protruding from the floor in front of him until it was too late. "Ahh!"

His body slammed on the floor as he groaned to look at what he tripped over. "Harry!" Hermione yelled, her and Ron stopping to look at him.

"I'm fine!" Harry said, feeling totally embarrassed. "Tripped over something," he said as he got into a sitting position on the floor to look over his shoulder to see what he tripped over.

"A book," Hermione said, and Harry nodded. Behind him, laying undisturbed, was a yellow-paged book with a black leathered cover. Curious, Harry reached for the book and leafed through it. The pages looked old yet still durable but there was nothing written on them. "It's empty," he said.

"Looks like a diary," Hermione said, look in the cover, the owner might put their name in it.

Harry checked and saw that Hermione was right. The faded year on the cover told him that it was fifty years old. On the first page he could make out "T.M. Riddle" in smudged ink. On the back of the cover, Harry saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

"An old diary," Harry said. "A very old diary."

"He must have never written in it," Hermione said. "T.M. Riddle."

"Let me see," Ron said, moving between them. Harry got a whiff of Ron's smell and again his cheeks blushed for some reason. "T.M. Riddle… I know that name. T.M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How on earth do you know that?" Harry asked.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," Ron said resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

"Strange though," Hermione frowned. "Why would his diary be here?"

"I don't know… but since he never wrote in it, I don't suppose he would miss it much," Harry said, standing up with the book in hand. "Might be useful," he said.

"For what? Writing secret poetry?" Ron suggested in a mocking tone.

"No, for writing down how much of an insufferable git my best friend is," Harry said with a joking smile.

"Ouch, I'm not that insufferable," Ron muttered.

Hermione looked at the two, "Anyway, I want to get to the library before we run into any other teachers… or trip over any other books." Ron and Harry agreed and the three sped off towards the library once more.

Harry kept a tight squeeze on T.M. Riddle's diary, smiling to himself as he held it close to him. At least now I have a place to put my strange feelings, he thought to himself. Might be helpful to actually see them. Harry was too busy running to keep up with Ron that he didn't notice a soft warmth that came from the book as he hugged it to his chest, as though it could hear Harry's thoughts and was anxious to hear his problems.