Alright, I've decided to continue this story so here it is: Year 2! Thank you all for the reviews – they were what really brought me to write this!

Second Year

Hermione anxiously ran her ink-stained fingers down the shelf, seeking the familiar gold font of her favourite book: Hogwarts, A History. She'd already searched for it four times in a matter of two hours, but had resolved she would not stop checking until she found it. It was foolish of her to leave it back at home, and she regretted it deeply. With all the talk about the Chamber of Secrets, she probably wouldn't be able to borrow it until third year.

Hermione sighed and walked back to her table. As she weaved through the shelves, she tried to think of other books about Hogwarts that might talk about the Chamber – thus providing the evidence that Harry was not Salazar Slytherin's heir. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice that her seat was occupied until the occupant spoke up.

"Granger," Montague drawled. He was idly reading the Transfiguration essay she was working on. "You've been slacking off, thank Merlin. The difference is obvious between this one" -he held up the three inches she had written so far- "and the one last week, which was three feet longer than it was supposed to be."

The two had become close friends by now – Hermione fancied he was almost as close to her as Harry and Ron were – but coming from rival houses, they only met when there were no prying eyes or accusatory looks coming from their houses; therefore resulting in their habit of calling each other by surname.

"Give it back," said Hermione snappishly, grabbing the parchment from his hands. "I'm not done yet."

She took the seat opposite him, and started to flip furiously through her Transfiguration book, trying to find the section about wand cores and their effects on enlarging items.

"I take it it's not there?" came Montague's voice. He wasn't talking about her Transfiguration homework.

"No."

There was a pause where the only sound was of Hermione's quill scratching on parchment. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Granger, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times – Chamber of Secrets simply doesn't exist, and I'm in Slytherin, so I should know." He leaned back again, and nodded in satisfaction at his argument.

"Yes, I know you've said that," she said impatiently, "but that does no good for Harry – have you seen the Hufflepuffs these days? If someone doesn't prove that Harry's not the heir of Slytherin, then there's no chance they'll stop being terrified of him!"

"Well that's Potter's problem, not yours," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione huffed and slapped down her quill. "That's like telling me not to be friends with him."

"Maybe that's a good idea. Ever thought of that, Granger?"

She glared at him. "Why in the name of Merlin would that be a good idea?"

"Listen," Montague said, pronouncing each word carefully and quietly, "you know Draco Malfoy, the one who called you Mudblood?"

Hermione nodded tersely – it wasn't something she could easily forget.

"Well, he's always harping in the common room about how his dad believes You-Know-Who will come back, and I reckon he's right."

"What?!" Hermione gaped at him. "What's that supposed to mean, and how is this even related to the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Think about it, Granger," Montague said seriously. "You said Potter's been hearing things, and there's that whole thing with the Dueling Club – if Potter's not a Parseltongue, I don't know what he is, and if he's a Parseltongue, he's got to be related to Slytherin."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So what if he's related to Slytherin? You're in Slytherin. Besides, there could be other reasons for why he can speak Parseltongue..."

Montague sighed and muttered exasperatedly, "And you're supposed to be the smartest witch of your year…" He cleared his throat and stated simply, "You-Know-Who was the last known relative of Salazar Slytherin."

"I don't believe you." Hermione felt a wave of horror and disgust. She'd always looked up to the Founders, Slytherin included, and had never harbored any less admiration for him than the others. But if Montague was telling the truth…how could one of the greatest wizards of all time be related to You-Know-Who? And if Harry could speak Parseltongue…

"No." Hermione stood up defiantly.

"No, what? It's true."

"I'm not saying it's not. But even if it is, I'm still going to help Harry."

She stalked down the stacks of books again, Montague blundering behind her.

"Stop stalking me," she said shortly as they both rounded a corner.

"I'm providing you help."

"I don't need your help."

"I've got Quidditch practice at six."

"How fortunate."

Silence followed these words.

"Granger."

"What?" she asked irritably, stopping in her tracks to glare at him.

"Malfoy's not the person you're looking for."

Hermione felt her jaw open widely, and quickly shut it, while lowering her eyes. He couldn't have possibly found out, could he? She shook her head, and tried to convince herself he could not know.

"Granger."

She looked up at him again, terrified for what would come out of his mouth.

"You want to be more careful, when you talk about your potion." There it was, the dreaded word. Potion. Hermione cringed. "I recommend you turn Slytherin - you could learn to be more cunning."

She pursed her lips and frowned at the ground. "What else do you know?"

"That I've got to get going down to the pitch now, or Flint'll have my head off." He grinned at her, a gesture she did not return. "See you around, Granger, and remember what I told you about Malfoy - he's not the one."

With that, he turned back out of the aisle, leaving Hermione staring bewilderedly in his wake. She shook her head again, and sighed. If he'd known all that, then others probably did as well. She would have to make sure to tell Harry and Ron to be careful...

And he'd said Malfoy was not the one, which presumably meant he wasn't the heir, but how would he know? Unless he actually knew who was behind all the attacks... But he would have told her, wouldn't he have? She growled in frustration and muttered, "Blasted Slytherins."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the shelf that should've held Hogwarts, A History, but sadly did not. She knew Harry could hold his ground against the rumors, but it still worried her that her best friend was, yet again, trapped in the center of unflattering and unwanted attention. She supposed this wasn't to be reckoned with, as he was Harry Potter, but she wished she could help him in some way.

It was this that immediately dispelled thoughts of telling Harry and Ron that they shouldn't follow out the Polyjuice plan. She'd had her doubts - if Montague was right, they would be wasting time and effort into something that would bring no results. But the Polyjuice would be finished in two weeks, during Christmas holidays, and it wasn't as if Harry or Ron had secret Slytherin friends who told them who was likely to be the culprit and who was not.

No, Hermione firmly decided. She would continue to brew the potion, whether Montague was right or not. Draco Malfoy may not be the heir, but he could potentially reveal valuable information. Besides, it occurred to her that Montague may have been lying. After all, Slytherins were Slytherins, whether they were semi-best friends with Gryffindors or not.

Montague sighed heavily and placed his head in his hands. Stupid of me, stupid. He would've cursed himself the second he'd heard about her, but he had been surrounded by gits like Malfoy who were heavily rejoicing at the Muggleborn's attack, and who was he to tell them to shut up? He had desperately tried to visit her during his free period but it was all in vain, as Madam Pomfrey had become extremely strict about visiting the Petrified patients.

"She's Petrified, for Merlin's sake! You wouldn't be able to talk to her even if I allowed visitors, and I no longer do." she had told him, glancing suspiciously at his green and silver tie.

This was to be expected, of course. Even the Ravenclaws, who had never shown too much dislike for Slytherins, scampered in fear whenever they were so much as in the same corridor.

So, as he was unable to visit Granger in the day, he'd come by night. He thought of it as checking up on a friend, but he supposed Madam Pomfrey would call it "breaking and entering" if she caught him. No matter - she wouldn't catch him.

"All my fault," he whispered into the room. If he'd told her what he knew, she and Potter and Weasley could have done something stupidly heroic, could've saved the day. She was always harping on about how Potter and Weasley were more than they looked, but honestly, only Granger's brain could figure this one out.

And now she was lying in front of him, her eyes open but not seeing, her body fixed in place.

He'd known of the basilisk. His father (who was not afraid to boast to his son of his years as a Death Eater) had relayed enough stories of the Dark Lord for Graham to realize that the basilisk was mentioned every time the word 'Slytherin' or 'Parseltongue' came up. He knew the legend of Salazar Slytherin's magical creature, and he'd almost immediately connected the basilisk to the whispers Hermione told him Potter had heard.

Yet he didn't tell her any of it.

He glanced sadly down at her face. He'd known, of course, that she was a potential victim, as she was both Muggleborn and Gryffindor, but he'd never truly imagined himself looking down at her frail, helpless body lying on the Hospital Wing bed.

She'd been found with a mirror, hadn't she? He hadn't listened very carefully to Snape while he was talking - he was too busy trying to take in the fact one of his best friends had just gotten attacked. But yes, that was what his Head had said. Except why would she have had a mirror in the first place?

Montague sat up straight and stared at Hermione's face. Why, indeed, would she have a mirror? And why would she and the other girl - Penelope Clearwater was her name - be sharing one, unless...

His eyes were drawn to the position her hand was in. Her arm was frozen up and in front of her (he briefly wondered if that was a strain on her muscles), bent at a right angle, yet her fingers... they were pointing downward. An unusual position it was, and how strange it was, that at the very spot beneath her fingers, illuminated by moonlight, was a bulge in the pockets of her robes.

He glanced at the door that led to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. There was no sign of a light or any notion that she had awakened. Carefully, he slipped his hand into Hermione's pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper between his two fingers.

"Lumos," he whispered, to see the words inked on the parchment.

It was obviously torn from a book - he smirked, this would be something to tease her about later - and a very old one at that, most likely from one of the tomes she liked to borrow for 'light reading'. The passage read:

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none
more curious or deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents.
This snake, which my reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is
born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are
most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has
a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer
instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and
the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

And there, below the passage was a single word, written in a sloppy version of her handwriting, as if she had done it in a hurry: Pipes.

Of course. He leaned back in his chair, almost literally clapping a hand to his forehead. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it before? Potter heard the voices within the walls - of course it'd be using the plumbing. He, once more, cursed himself for not telling her sooner.

The truth was, he hadn't told her because he had been worried she would judge him. Even though she was a muggleborn, Hermione had educated herself enough in the Wizarding World to know that if his father told him bedtime stories about the Dark Lord, he was likely to have been a Death Eater. And he couldn't tell her that if the Dark Lord managed to return, he himself would be next in line.

But then again, he reflected ruefully, he needn't have told her about the Dark Lord, he could have simply stated he'd found it in a book, or heard it from a friend. All he needed to tell her was one word, basilisk, and she'd have been off to tell Potter and they'd save the day. But now who was going to tell Potter? It was foolish to think the little brat would even listen to Montague, assuming Montague would speak to him in the first place.

He frowned and turned to the note instead.

Granger had left the note in her pocket for a reason; he presumed it was so the professors or Madam Pomfrey wouldn't find it in her hand and take it. But her fingers had been pointing at it, so she had definitely wanted someone to find it.

With a grimace, he held up the paper in his hands. Perhaps she'd meant Potter to find it after all. He wondered how he could get the information to Potter without seeming suspicious. He could give it to a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw - pay them handsomely to ensure they didn't dare speak even his house - but that came with its own risks. The only person who connected himself and Potter was Granger.

He folded the paper crudely, then took a good look at her hand. If he angled the roll of paper, he could make it fit snugly in her hand, then clamp down her fingers so the only part visible would be the edges at the sides of her palm. It was all he had, and Montague set to work. After a few minutes of squeezing Granger's hand around the paper (an amazing feat for someone who was Petrified), Montague stood up in satisfaction.

Grabbing his wand (and realizing he could have very well used magic to help him), he crept to the door and looked back at Hermione's troubled face and the hand that held the most important library book page there could possibly be for this situation. He sighed yet again, then slipped out into the dark corridor.

Hopefully, Potter and Weasley weren't as dimwitted as they looked.

Hermione strolled happily through the halls, waving to Percy and Penelope, whom she had known were together even before Ginny had. She had never before appreciated walking through the corridors so much - or, in fact, the freedom of stretching her limbs. She hadn't felt anything while she was Petrified (or known anything that had happened after they saw the Basilisk), but when she woke up, she could hardly move for the stiffness of her bones.

As she turned the corner to the hall that had once bore the message of the Chamber, a sudden thought crossed her mind, and she wondered why she hadn't thought of it when Harry and Ron had relayed their story. But before she could start thinking about it, she was pulled rather forcefully by her arm.

As she opened her mouth to scream, she heard a "Shh!". She screamed anyway because it was all she could think to do. After all, what else was she supposed to do when she was pulled from a perfectly innocent stroll into the wall?

The sensation was not unlike that of going to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the first time: simply like walking through nothing. When she regained her balance, her jaw dropped at the sight in front of her.

"What in the name of Merlin is this place?"

Hermione gazed, awestruck, at the room that was apparently hidden behind the tapestry. It was simple, comfortable, and circular, and the only pieces of furniture in it were two plush chairs and a book lying on a coffee table between the chairs.

"I found it in my second year, accidently," came Montague's voice from behind her. "The only way you can find it is if you need a place to meet up." He plopped himself on one of the armchairs. "Sit."

She walked over to the red chair and sat down slowly. Curiously, she picked up the book. "Isn't this...?"

"Yeah, it's the book you tore the page from. I thought you might want to fix it. Although who knew Hermione Granger could purposely damage a book?" He smirked at her.

Hermione looked up at him. "So it was you!"

"Me what?"

"You were the one that put the note in my hand!" She inwardly sighed in relief and hid a small grin - if he had put the note in her hand, that meant he had visited her while she was Petrified.

His face turned slightly red. "Oh. Yes, I did."

"I was just thinking about how Harry and Ron said they found the page in my hand, but I was certain I had put it in my pocket," Hermione said, "so I wondered how that happened, but of course, it was you!"

Hermione opened the book and flipped to the page that she had torn the paper out. She had regretted it, of course, but it had been necessary. She tapped the page with her wand and said, "Reparo."

As she did this, Montague raised an eyebrow and said mockingly, "I'm offended, Granger. Did you think I wasn't smart enough to find it in your pocket? That's low, even for people with brains like yours."

She stuck her wand back in her pocket and pushed him playfully. "Well, I'm just glad it's all over - although I expect Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will never let Ginny alone anymore, they were so relieved she was okay."

"The Weasleys have enough kids as it is," Montague grumbled. Hermione shot him a warning glare, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Just kidding, Granger, take a joke." Under his breath, he muttered, "Bloody Gryffindors."

"Language," she said reproachfully, then, taking on a more serious tone, said, "But honestly, if you would just try to get along with Harry and Ron, just meet them-"

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Stop right there. The only time I'll ever be seen with Potter is when we're on the Quidditch Pitch and we're beating their team to pulp. As for Weasley, those twins have pranked me far too many times for me to have a civilized conversation with any of them."

"Well, I'm not into Quidditch, but as we've done quite well in the sport these two years, especially with Harry, I'd reverse who wins and who sulks off the field like spoiled children. As for Ron, he's not like Fred and George, not quite, anyway. Besides, you've witnessed some of my conversations with Ginny, and you don't find her all too bad."

"What about the prefect one, what do have to say about him?"

"Percy can be a right pain, but he's actually quite pleasant to talk to about my studies," she said, stifling her laughter at his disapproving look.

"Granger, I'm limiting your time you can spend with your fellow know-it-alls. You're too brainy as it is - I think you need another Quidditch ride."

Her eyes widened and she got up, horrified, bringing the book with her. "I think not," she said in a high-pitched voice.

"But look at the day, Granger! It's perfect flying weather, and summer break is in two days!"

"Yes, but I really have to go return this book, and spend some time with Ginny to make sure she's okay," Hermione squeaked, walking backwards to the tapestry as Montague advanced in front of her, grinning.

"The Weaslette's fine, and the book can be returned later. What you really need now is some Quidditch training, to get you into the sport. After all, the Quidditch World Cup is coming up. Besides, everyone's outside, enjoying themselves."

"You forgot, though," she said teasingly, backing out of the hidden room to the hallway, "we can't have everyone seeing a Gryffindor and Slytherin together, can we?"

With that, she sprinted down the corridor, laughing as shouts of "Granger!" echoed down the walls.

"I'll see you next year!" she yelled back as she went off in search of Harry and Ron.

So what did you all think about this one? My favorite scene was probably the Hospital Wing one. Please review, my lovely readers!