AN: Gah! I can't believe it took so long to update! I'm sooooo sorry for that, by the way. There was just this one part that I was having some extreme writer's block over... But it's here now, so yay~


Betrayal is never easy to handle and there is no right way to accept it. –Christine Feehan (Dark Demon)

Empty portraits hung on the stone walls of equally empty corridors. Silence had settled over the castle, giving the illusion that his footfalls were echoing about at the same volume as deafening thunder. Autumn air floating through the open windows whipped around his face, throwing this already messy hair into even greater disarray and putting his much-hated scar on display for the world to see.

Not that there was anyone around to view the disfigurement.

As the door at the end of the hall grew larger and more defined with every hurried step he took, Harry's sense of urgency heightened. Blood pumped through his veins and pounded in his ears. He didn't slow or stop as the door grew closer. Bracing himself, he slammed it open, crossing the threshold of the bathroom and colliding easily with the marble sink. The entrance to the Chamber.

"Open," he hissed, nerves tingling with uncomfortable anticipation at what he'd find at the other end. He wasn't sure why he was trying to get into the Chamber of Secrets, he didn't know what he expected to uncover when he got there. But something in the back of his mind drove him forward, overpowering any sense of logic that would have given him reason to pause and think the situation over.

The faucet sank into the ground soundlessly, revealing the large, dark, slimy tube Harry hadn't seen in over a decade. He could feel cool air wafting up from its inner depths, dancing over his face and drying his eyes.

Without any hesitation, he took a single step forward and plummeted down the endless shaft, dirtying his robes in the process. He hit the floor at the bottom and sprung up, continuing on his way. There was no need for him to cast Lumos to see, an eerie green light lit his path easily. He scrambled over the shed skin of the basilisk, eyes focused on the hall ahead. In this version of the Chamber, there was no rubble to indicate where Lockhart's Obliviate had gone wrong.

The towering double doors at the end of the hall had no handles. Only two large pillars with carved serpents jutting out of the smooth stone–large, glittering emeralds set as eyes–stood like sentries next to them. Harry knew what he had to do.

"Open." That single word, spoken in the language of snakes, and Harry could get anywhere he pleased down here. The doors gave way and he pushed through, each new hurried step reverberating off the marble floor and high, cathedral ceiling.

And then he saw him, standing there in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the gargantuan statue of Salazar Slytherin before him. Harry stopped a few paces behind his target, little puffy breaths visible as a white mist leaving his lips.

The other boy didn't even turn. "Why have you come here, Harry?"

Harry's fists clenched unconsciously at his sides.

"You can't do this, Tom."

"Can't I?" The older boy finally turned, eyes devoid of any emotion. Just two dark, empty pits placed on either side of his aristocratic nose.

"No." Harry's voice was firm, unwavering in his decision. "You can't. I won't let you."

"Oh?" Tom allowed a wicked smile to play across his thin lips and subtly tilted his head to the side. "And how–" he took a step forward, "–do you plan–" step, "–on stopping me?" He was right in front of Harry now, allowing his greater height to contribute to his overall imposing form.

The younger boy gulped but didn't back down. "I-I won't let you," he repeated, the confidence in his voice faltering, making him sound weaker, less sure of how he'd accomplish his end goal. "I'll find some way of stopping you, stopping this. I know I will, somehow…"

Tom's smirk widened, not missing the catch in Harry's voice and understanding what it meant. He leaned forward so that his mouth was centimeters away from the smaller boy's ear. He was so close that, when he spoke, his breath easily warmed the side of the other's face.

Harry shuddered. It was too real.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Tom whispered patronizingly, enjoying every nervous fidget Harry made at the closeness of their position. He leaned out just enough that he'd be able to see whatever emotion flickered across the younger one's face, enunciating every word slowly and clearly.

"You. Can't. Stop. Me."

Closing the distance between the two, Tom's frozen lips had barely touched Harry's own, shocked pair, when the Chamber and everything in it began to dissolve in a whirl of darkened color.

"Wake up, wake up. Merlin, I'm hungry, Harry."

Green eyes blearily blinked open, taking in a practically abandoned library.

"I swear, if all the best treats are gone before we get to dinner, I'll string you up by your ankles! I'm sure there must be at least one room full of fun little toys for torture in this whole God forsaken castle…" Dmitry threatened, giving Harry's shoulder another violent shake.

"The house elves in the kitchen would never let the food run scarce on Halloween," Harry mumbled, unperturbed, sitting up and batting Dmitry's pale hand away.

"Finally." Dmirty picked up his bag and danced away, turning his head back to Harry's motionless body once he'd reached the door. "Well, don't just sit there. I didn't wait around to wake you just so you'd miss out on the feast once you were up."

Harry yawned and stretched, enjoying the protesting of his stiff muscles. "Where's everyone else?" he asked once he'd made it to Dmitry's side.

"They left a while ago. I would have roused you and left with them, but you looked like you were having a rather interesting dream." Ice-blue eyes slid to observe the boy walking alongside him. "What sort of dream was it anyway, if you don't mind me asking? You were muttering a bit, unintelligibly, and kept adjusting yourself in your seat. I thought for sure you'd fall out on your arse and wake yourself up…"

Harry kept his facial muscles schooled in a mask of indifference as the strangeness of his subconscious encounter with Tom returned to him. He couldn't help but be intrigued at what had occurred. According to Cinderella's fairy godmother, dreams were wishes of the heart, but Harry didn't think he really wanted to kiss Tom. Or be kissed. Or whatever. And he seriously doubted he wanted to take a trip down to the Chamber of Secrets, especially with the basilisk still alive…

Not to mention the fact that Cinderella was pure fantastical fiction.

"I don't remember."

Dmitry kept his curious eyes trained on Harry for a few steps longer before returning their sight to what lay ahead of him. "Yeah, that happens sometimes. I mean, I'll be having a dream, and I know it's amazing, but when I wake up, I can't remember anything. But usually I'm left with a longing to figure out what occurred during my REM state… Do you wish you could remember what you'd been dreaming of just now?"

"No."

Dmitry hummed absently but didn't pursue the topic. They walked in comfortable silence through the mostly quiet halls until the dim buzz of hundreds of conversations could be heard. Together they entered the Great Hall, but no one paid them any attention. The student body and faculty alike were all whole-heartedly consumed with gossiping and enjoying the mountains of sweets always provided by the house elves on Halloween.

They casually strolled over to their House table and sat with their small grouping of friends. Even though the seat next to Tom, always reserved for Harry, was empty, the younger boy opted to sitting in the free spot beside Orion, as far away from the other boy as possible. He wasn't completely comfortable with sitting so close to Tom after the strange dream he'd had. The other four Slytherin boys noticed something was a bit off with Harry, but Abraxas was the only one who commented on it.

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" he asked, brow creased in obvious concern. As much as Abraxas enjoyed keeping up appearances of a cold and aloof Malfoy, he was very much like a mother hen when in came to his friends' health. "You're looking a bit pale. Would you rather skip dinner and go to bed?"

"Wouldn't skipping dinner make any possible condition he has worse?" Orion pointed out, sorting the peas out of his shepherd's pie. It wasn't as if the Halloween feast didn't consist of actual food too; it was just mostly filled with candies and pastries. And, though he severely wanted to pile up and consume only food that would surely give him cavities, Orion wasn't dimwitted enough to only eat the sugary products and give himself a horrid stomachache later. "He should put something in his body, even if it's only a piece of bread." He grinned wickedly. "It will hurt less if he pukes it back up later."

"Don't say things like that, Orion. Making him worry about vomiting isn't going to help his appetite any, and it might even make it worse," Abraxas snarled, poking at his potatoes a bit harder than was necessary.

"Fine, fine… It could be that Aquila cursed him when he walked in, though. Giving him symptoms of an illness when he isn't really plagued by a real one. She's been glaring daggers at Harry since he walked in here."

"And how would you know that? You haven't even looked up from your food since it appeared in front of you. In fact, you don't have the right to play Healer and diagnose him since you haven't yet seen his complexion," Abraxas commented with a sniff.

Orion huffed indignantly and sent a swift glance Harry's way before returning to his plate.

"There. I looked at him."

"It couldn't be Aquila, just saying," Dmitry put in. "He's looked rather pale since he woke up. I think he was having a nightmare, probably, but he says he can't remember."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably as he felt his friends' eyes on him. "Look, it's nothing. I'm alright, see?" He quickly grabbed the closest food item–a cauldron cake–and took a huge bite out of it. The act seemed to placate most of their worries, and they went back to their own meals, but Abraxas still shot him anxious glances when he thought Harry wasn't paying too close attention.

The banter that passed between them was normal, casual, didn't call anything of any particular interest to attention. The conversations Harry tuned into around him were basically the same as well. A few were more animated, but they came from the more boisterous Ravenclaw table behind him. He propped his elbows up on the table and rested his chin on his fists, gazing up at the darkened ceiling and the hundreds of jack-o-lanterns floating above.

"PROFESSOR DIPPET!"

The piercing feminine shriek caused Harry–and many others– to involuntarily jerk his head around to stare at the girl who was running down the center aisle towards the staff table. She wore Hufflepuff robes and was in her fourth year, if Harry was remembering correctly. What startled him the most, though, other than her desperate call and the way she was running, most ungracefully, to the headmaster, was the stream of tears running down her face and the pure, utter terror that was clearly etched there. Any and all conversations ceased immediately, everyone's attention drawn to the 'Puff.

Professor Dippet, along with Dumbledore and a few other members of the staff stood.

"What is it, Miss Patterway?"

Breathless and choking on her sobs, the girl stopped in front of the steps up to the raised dais where the staff table was located. Her body shivered uncontrollably and collapsed. It was a good few moments before she was able to say anything coherent.

"Abby… Abby Wouters, Sir… I-I think… I think she's dead."

If the silence was stunned before, it was completely, irreversibly shocked now. Harry swore that if a pin had been dropped in the corner furthest away from where he was in the Hall that very moment, it would sound like a gigantic boom to him.

Why did his peaceful evening feel the need to be shattered so violently?

"Dead." The headmaster's eyes were wide and filled with the most astonishment of all. "That's impossible; where is she, how can you be sure?"

"She… she's not moving… b-but her eyes are open… and sh-she's on the floor… and…" Patterway let out another horrified sob. "Sh-sh-she's s-so cold." The girl buried her face in her hands and continued to cry hysterically, convulsing quite intensely, in Harry's opinion.

"Where is she?" Dippet asked again, in a much harder tone than before.

"F-fourth floor c-corridor. By-By the painting o-of the fairy tea-gathering."

Professor Dippet nodded, not that the girl could see, and looked up at the rest of the student body.

"Prefects are to escort their Houses back to the dormitories immediately. That goes for the Head Boy and Girl too. Teachers are to go to the staff room; Albus, you come with me, Colletta, well, Miss Patterway's in your House…" Dippet glared sternly out across the student body. "No one is to leave their common room until tomorrow morning. Of course, we will be sending your Head's of House's in to explain the situation to you once the situation is sorted." He paused and waited for people to move. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go!"

There was a mad scramble as everyone got up to leave the Hall as one great mass of black-robed students. Harry would have surely gotten separated from his friends if it weren't for Orion's strong grip on his shoulder, guiding him through the swarm. Soon enough, he and the rest of his House were back in their common room, though he had become separated from Orion's hand once he had reached the dungeons. With the excitement of what had just occurred, no one in his or her right mind was even thinking about sleep. The first and second years crowded in the stairwells, with the third and fourth years creating their own little cliques around the walls. Most of the fifth and sixth years were also clustered about with a few sprawled out on various couches. The seventh years had taken control of the furniture surrounding the fireplace and relinquished their sacred spots to no one.

Or, at least, that was how it was supposed to be. That was how Slytherin politics were supposed to work when everyone was crowded into the common room like they were now. It was how it had worked any other time they were all confined to the common room.

But things weren't working as they should. The most blaringly obvious change was the single leather armchair; unarguably the most comfortable spot in the room. The chair always held a seventh year, always. Ever since Harry had first arrived in Slytherin. It didn't matter what year you were in, if a seventh year was there, you moved your arse away from the seat. It belonged to the seventh years. The special spot they'd earned after spending so many years at Hogwarts, giving up the same chair to people older than them. So when Tom strode in and over to the plush seat, followed closely by Dmitry, Abraxas and Orion, the last thing Harry had expected was for the seventh year who had already laid claim to the chair, to look once at Tom's approaching figure and practically leap out of it, handing it over without a fight. It was even more interesting to observe the other three position themselves around the chair; cold, scrutinizing masks perfectly in place.

Harry hadn't spent four whole years in Slytherin and not learned how to detect when something so conspicuous was clearly just plain wrong. As a Gryffindor, he might have taken notice of the act for a moment, pondering it before shrugging it off and deeming it unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but not now. Not here. It could be potentially dangerous and harmful to ones health to be unable to recognize such a blatant power-shift. However, instead of going up to question his friends about it, he crossed his arms over his chest and allowed himself to slink backwards, into a shadowed corner of the room and simply observe. He was, after all, a Slytherin.

Though, he didn't particularly like what he saw.

The curious gazes sent Tom's way over the past few weeks were starting to make the tiniest bit of sense. The older years' eyes were all simply fixated on the boy now, hard and unwavering; cataloging any and all information acquired in the tight-lipped minutes that passed between them. Not one of them talked like the younger students. No one had any theories of the "death" that had been so publically announced. He could, from where he stood, see Tom's eyes slowly and cautiously scanning the room. A tiny part of him said the boy was looking for him and he should make his presence known, but another part ordered him to stay put, just outside of Tom's peripheral vision. In the dark, where his friend seemed to have kept him all year.

It was only a minute before Tom's searching ended, and another ten or twenty before the portal connecting their common room to the rest of the castle appeared and Slughorn stepped into the room. All hushed conversations ceased and everyone's undivided attention was focused on their Head of House.

The man looked tired and far older than Harry had ever seen him in either lifetime. He ran a pudgy hand through his thick hair and sighed audibly in what could only be described as defeat.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" Tom politely inquired from his newly acquired position of power. "Headmaster Dippet said something about you explaining the situation to us?"

"Yes, yes… the situation…" Slughorn mumbled. His eyes raked over the faces of the children of his House, not even bothering to hide their curiosity. "Well, I've been told not to give away too many details, but I don't know how they're going to keep it covered up. As soon as students are up and prowling about, you all will be sure to go visit the scene–not that I'd blame a single one of you. Such an event… It's never happened before! And it's not like the message will be gone anytime soon," he muttered, more to himself than any of the surrounding Slytherins. "It's written in blood, after all."

There were a few, collectively sharp, intakes of breath at the Professor's words, but no one spoke, the gravity of the situation seeming to begin to fully sink in.

"So?" Tom asked, breaking the thick silence. "Is she dead?"

"No, no. She's not… dead, per se–thank Merlin for that. She's been petrified, poor girl. By whom, or how, is currently unknown and is very vexing to both Professor's Dippet and Dumbledore… Very, very Dark magic. I don't know why Dumbledore suggested it could be a student," Slughorn commented with a scoff. "The only clue left behind was a message, written in blood, yes, but not the girl's. What it said will bring nothing good for Slytherin this year," Slughorn noted with a slightly dramatic sigh.

"And what did it say?" Tom asked, magnificently going along with the slightly overdramatized words.

Slughorn snorted sardonically. The action caused his bulging stomach to ripple and Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. He noticed Tom barely keep his lips from twitching into a sneer. Neither boy held a very high opinion for their Professor, who had a great habit of playing favorites and dropping names.

"I really shouldn't say, Tom, I really shouldn't. But whoever attacked the girl left a message that read, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemy of the Heir, beware.' And that's it. Word-for-word."

Harry would have snorted in amusement if not for the stiflingly serious atmosphere. It was almost exactly what Tom had forced Ginny write on the wall when the diary was possessing her.

"And you think that because the Chamber holds a monster able to be controlled only by one of Slytherin's heirs that the majority of the blame and suspicion will fall on us, resulting in a far from comfortable year?"

Harry rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see him. Tom knew exactly how to play Slughorn's game and was making excellent use of his acting skills.

"Well, yes, that's just it, Tom." Slughorn let out an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes in exasperation. "For all you new students who have yet to experience it or are too… unobservant to truly understand, the other Houses don't think fondly of Slytherins. And now that this, this heir has come out and has attacked an innocent muggle-born student… Well, let's just say things will most likely become much harder for all Slytherins."

His eyes snapped open and he stood up straighter, attempting to look more authoritative and intimidating. "Therefore, I must ask you all to please try not to start anything unnecessary with the other Houses–Gryffindors especially–and keep out of trouble as much as you lot can. Stick close to each other and don't let the comments thrown about carelessly by other students get to you. They don't understand, and they never will because they don't try." He paused and let his gaze travel over each student's solemn face. "Now, the feast was interrupted, wasn't it? Yes, the house elves will be bringing some food here soon, but don't stay up too late. Classes begin again tomorrow like normal. Have as lovely a night as you can."

Slughorn turned on his heel and lumbered out of the common room. The second the wall closed behind him, excited whispers broke out in waves.

"The Chamber of Secrets… do you think it's true?"

"Slytherin's heir! I never would have thought…"

"Maybe now they'll think twice about letting all those mudbloods into the school…"

"I'd heard a rumor from one of the upper years about something big happening this year… Could this be it?"

Harry's already narrowed eyes completely closed and he strained his ears to try and block out everyone but the other fifth years standing near him.

"–talking about? Who'd you hear that form?"

"Well, I didn't hear it from anyone, exactly. Or, well, they weren't talking to me. It was a conversation I overheard between the seventh year prefect–"

"Pucey?"

"Yes, him and Malfoy."

Harry sucked in his cheeks and bit down on them, hard. He cracked open his eyes and glared ferociously at the stone floor. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it, but the proof was there, frolicking stark naked in front of him. Abraxas had known, and he hadn't. Pucey had develped an inkling, yet he, Harry, was left out. Undoubtedly, a large number of upper-year Slytherins seemed to have had suspicions, but he'd been obliviously living through his days.

It hurt. A lot.

"Malfoy… Abraxas Malfoy?"

"Of course it's Abraxas, do you know of any other Malfoy at this school?"

"Do you think he's the heir?"

"I would, if my mother hadn't forced me to learn pureblood genealogy. The Malfoy's were one of the families she had me practically memorize in hopes that it would help me one day marry into the family. They aren't related to Slytherin at all."

"Who is? I heard that the line's been extinct for at least a century."

"No, they married out of Britain. Into a Greek family, I believe."

"No, it was Russian. I'd bet a hundred galleons they married into a Russian family."

"Anyway, I heard them talking. I couldn't completely understand everything, they were speaking rather quietly, but I think the gist of it was that something big was going to happen this year that had to do with Slytherin and the rest of the school."

"So Malfoy already knew? Or was it Pucey?"

"Malfoy was telling Pucey about it, I think. Pucey definitely had more questions and Malfoy had more answers…"

The group was silent for a moment. Harry attempted to relax his muscles, which he hadn't realized were tense until now.

"Do you think it's Riddle?" He froze.

"That would explain why he's sitting in The Chair…"

"But Riddle is so… It's not a Pureblood name…"

"But just look at him. He's surrounded by sixth and seventh years, and none of them are trying to have him move."

"So? I mean, sure, he's not a seventh year, but maybe they're letting him sit there as an exception to the rule because he's so powerful. You can't deny he's beyond superb with magic, even if his surname's muggle…"

"Seventh years have never made an exception before."

"That we know of, you can't say for sure it's never happened in the past…"

"They're all talking with each other too."

"That's because they're sitting near each other. What, you expect them to try shouting across the room to talk with us?"

"It's obvious they've got a privacy ward up, though, since no one can hear what they're saying…"

"But look at the dynamics of the group. Every single one of them can't keep their eyes off Riddle. Even if he doesn't turn out to be the actual heir, he knows something."

"And who says it's even the heir anyway? Maybe it's a student who's really good at Dark Arts and thought it would be funny to try and scare the school."

"While putting the blame on the Slytherins, effectively keeping everyone's eyes off the real culprit."

"It's a good plan…"

"We should ask Dmitry if Riddle knows anything tomorrow."

"Or Harry. He already knew Riddle before Hogwarts. You saw how chummy they were after he was sorted. Didn't even sit with us, went right over to where Riddle had saved him a spot."

"Yeah, we should ask Evans. If anyone would know what's up, it's him."

Except I don't know, Harry thought bitterly. Or rather, I know, but not because Tom told me.

Furious with Tom for keeping secrets, his so-called friends for going along with it, and himself for not trying harder to investigate Tom's glaringly obvious strange behavior further, he violently pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against while listening to the conversation. He stalked straight through the room, his face not giving away the fact that he knew anything or that he was enraged with anyone. Slytherins, having a sixth sense that allowed them knowledge on sensing danger and how best to preserve themselves, moved out of his way without question. He glided down the stairs, past the first years that pressed themselves against the walls to get away from him, and into his dormitory. Only when the door was shut behind him did he let his face twist with wrath. He strode over to his bed and threw himself onto it.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Anger was replaced with brief surprise as Nagini slithered up onto his mattress. He hadn't seen her in a few weeks since she usually stayed with Tom in his room or explored the Hogwarts grounds and castle.

"Nagini…" He looked at her and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Did you know?"

"I know many things, Harry. You must be specific."

"The Chamber of Secrets… Did you know?" Nagini stared at him, unblinkingly, without an expression on her face. "Nagini?"

"I am sorry."

Harry closed his eyes, reigning in his temper. Even Nagini had been keeping it from him…

"So you knew?" She hissed out a positive.. "And you were aware that I did not?" She hissed again and Harry sighed.

"I truly am sorry, Harry," Nagini hissed softly, moving her body so that she was completely on the bed and in front of his face. He cracked open an eye and met hers. He could see the honesty that resided there. "If I could have told you, I would have, but he bound me to my word. He made me promise I would let nothing slip to you. I still am unable to tell you the specifics unless you ask me directly. But I thought…" She hesitated. "I thought he would have told you before now. You two are such good friends–"

"Yeah, we're such good friends that he would allow me to wander the halls, unaware, whilst he lets his pet basilisk out to play," Harry spat venomously. Nagini eyed him sharply.

"You know of the Serpent King?"

"Yes," Harry said stiffly. "But don't tell Tom I know. I don't want to have to answer his questions."

"So it seems Tom wasn't the only one keeping secrets," Nagini pointed out slyly. Harry scowled at her and she let out a tiny chuckle. "Don't worry. I will not tell. It's the least I can do, though I do not think either of you should be keeping these types of secrets from each other."

"Well, when he finally grows the balls to tell me about his plans with the Chamber, then I'll let him know that I've figured out the creature is a basilisk," Harry said snarkily. "If Tom can have his secrets, then I can have mine."

"I'm sure he had a good reason as to why you weren't informed… maybe…"

"It doesn't excuse the fact that he put more trust in people with whom the only relationship he holds is one of distant acquaintance than he did with me," he stated, thinking of the seventh-year prefect.

"I know," Nagini hissed soothingly, maneuvering over Harry's shoulder blades and back around to face him in an attempt at giving him a comforting hug. "I do not try and say that what he did was right, and I would have told you the moment I knew, if I could."

Harry rubbed his forehead. Being angry took a lot out of him. It made him easily tired and worn out. It left him feeling ancient and older than his body outwardly showed.

"I know you would have, Nagini."

"Are you terribly angry with me?"

"I… I could never stay mad at you, love. It's more like a fleeting annoyance that, yes, was directed towards you, but has now shifted onto Tom."

"You shouldn't stay mad with him either. He should have told you, but–"

"Don't." Harry snapped. He didn't need, nor did he want, anyone defending Tom's actions. His friend was to be held entirely responsible for his decision not to include Harry, and nothing would change that. "Just don't."

Nagini let out a soft hissing sigh. "For now, I will concede. But Tom cares about you, Harry. More deeply than he does about anyone else. I know because I have seen it. I see how he treats you compared to how he treats others. I see, I know–" She struggled with herself, trying to find the words. "Just promise me you'll forgive him for this. Please? For me? He must have thought that what he was doing at the time was best for you…"

"I don't think so, Nagini. I really don't."

"Harry–"

"But I'll think about it," he swiftly amended. "If only because you asked me to, but I don't promise it will be better by tomorrow morning. I won't swear to you that the sun will be high in the sky, shining down on us as we laughingly skip through a field of daisies by the end of the week, either. I want to forgive him, I do. He's my best friend and we've been through so much together. I just don't know if I can."

Betrayal was a deep and stinging wound.

"I understand, Harry. But now you are tired. Now you are overflowing with a cornucopia of different emotions, each one raging a different battle within you. Sleep on it, and maybe you will feel better in the morning."

Harry snorted. "I doubt it, but I'll try. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Harry wandlessly shut the hangings around his bed and spelled them to stay closed. He didn't want to be pestered by anyone that night or the morning to come.

He was awake after Nagini began to slumber. He heard his roommates enter the room and begin preparing for bed, still talking about the Chamber. He had yet to fall asleep, even when he could hear the soft breathing and snores of the other Slytherin fifth years. He knew when Dmitry finally came in, nearly an hour after the rest. He listened while the other boy clambered into bed. He allowed his eyes to shut and he tried to reach the realm of dreams, but that night, it never came.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry's eyes were mildly sore the next morning from having been awake all night. He slipped out of bed after he was sure his dorm mates were gone, and went through his morning routine. Nagini was nowhere to be seen, but that was because she had left in the early hours of the morning. To where, Harry didn't know for sure, but it wasn't too important. She did like exploring the castle, even if she already knew the entire layout down to the last mouse hole.

While attempting to sleep, he'd allowed his thoughts to linger on Tom and the Chamber of Secrets. Nagini would have scolded him and said that was the reason why he'd not gotten any sleep, but he needed to think about what to do. His anger towards his friend had not subsided. It wasn't because Tom had opened the Chamber, he'd realized after pondering over the emotion long and hard, but more due to the fact that he'd been left out. Harry hadn't been able to hold in his snort at the irony of the situation. He wanted to be involved with the opening of the Chamber. He wanted to know about what Tom was up to from the other boy's mouth directly, but he had no inclination to stop his friend's actions at all, no matter what his dream in the library had tried to prove otherwise.

He was sure that if his friends from the future knew how he felt, they'd hate him for sure. They wouldn't be able to understand why he didn't want to stop the muggle-borns from being harmed. Hell, he wasn't even one hundred percent sure why he didn't want to stop Tom. It wasn't that he thought muggle-borns to be the scum of the earth like the other Slytherin students…

The best excuse he had come up with was that he didn't want to stop Tom because he'd meddled enough with history and losing Myrtle wouldn't be that big of a loss on wizarding society as a whole. But even that justification had too big a hole in it. Since he'd arrived at Wool's he'd been on a direct course to upset one of the biggest events in wizarding history: the rise and reign of Lord Voldemort.

In the end, Harry had ended his attempts to understand his own reasoning simply because it gave him too much of a headache. Instead, he let his thoughts wander back to Nagini, after she'd moved from his bed, and how he'd fulfill his promise to forgive Tom. He had come to terms with the inevitable opening of the Chamber and had even eventually reproached himself for being caught off-guard with the sudden appearance of the basilisk simply because she hadn't shown up last year, Tom's fifth year, when, in Harry's timeline, the Chamber had first been opened. But, because he'd led Nagini to believe that he'd eventually forgive his friend, Harry had decided that the best course of action was to simply avoid. If he avoided Tom, he'd (probably) be able to get over the betrayal. It had worked for him in the past; it should work for him now.

After all, the best way to keep a wound from growing is to stay away from the weapon that created it in the first place.

With that thought running through his head over and over again like a mantra, Harry made the moderately short trek from the Slytherin dungeons to the kitchen. He wasn't starving, but he didn't want to lose his already-small appetite by going to the Great Hall and having to look at Tom's face.

The few Hufflepuff students he passed gave him odd looks but made no attempt to stop him on his journey. They, like the rest of the school, had undoubtedly heard about the Chamber of Secrets and the message about Slytherin's heir, and were probably too scared of Harry at the moment to try and force a conversation out of him. He hoped it would be like that with the rest of the school's population as well, but knew he'd probably get at least a bit of grief from the rowdy Gryffindors.

The kitchen was exactly as Harry remembered it in the future, minus a hyperactive Dobby and a drunken Winky. House elves bustled busily about, placing platters of food on the long tables mimicking the ones in the Great Hall and taking nearly empty plates away. When spotted, Harry was ushered over to a small table in the corner, out of the way, and had a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast shoved in front of him with a glass of pumpkin juice. He mumbled his thanks and the elves that'd brought him the food bowed happily before rushing off to do their jobs.

He picked at his food and ate slowly, trying to take up as much time as he could before he had to go to class and see Dmitry. He wasn't looking forward to seeing his Russian friend. After he had made his decision to ignore Tom, he'd decided it would probably be best to ignore the others as well, until his temper had subsided. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he exploded and threw poisonous words around like rice at a wedding.

When his prolonged meal was finished, he once again thanked the over-exhilarated elves for their hospitality. He left the kitchen and climbed the many staircases to the History of Magic classroom. When he arrived, there were already a few students there, idly chatting with each other. One boy, a Ravenclaw, had already stacked his books up on the desk and was continuing his sleep, interrupted by breakfast, from the previous night. The fifth year Ravenclaws shared the period with the Slytherins, and Harry couldn't help but be amused when he realized that not even the bookworms took Binns' class seriously.

He swiftly weaved his way through the desks and took a seat in the back corner of the room. With the lack of seats surrounding him, it was easier to hope that they would all be filled before Dmitry entered the room. Unfortunately for him, everyone in school knew he and Dmitry were friends, and no one was willing to risk bodily harm by trying to impede on their friendship by filling at the empty spaces around Harry.

As predicted, just before the bell rang to signal the beginning of class, Dmitry swaggered in with a silly, superior sort of smirk on his face. He immediately caught sight of Harry after a quick scan of the room, and wandered over. He slid into the open seat on Harry's right and took out his book, parchment and quill. He was one of the few who liked to give the ghost-teacher the impression that they were paying attention, not that it really mattered. Binns never looked up from his teachers text.

When the bell did ring, Professor Binns floated through the blackboard like he'd done every class Harry'd ever had with him, and flipped open the large tome resting on a pedestal at the front of the room.

"Today we'll resume our discussion on the Goblin Rebellions," he droned out in the monotone that had never failed to K.O. at least one student per class.

Does he ever teach anything else?

Professor Binns continued his speech and Harry tuned him out. He'd decided long ago that, since he was given a second chance, he should try to be a better student in the past than he was in the future. So, every History of Magic lesson, he ignored Binns and read straight from the book. There was no reason for Binns to always focus so greatly on the Goblin Rebellions, Harry thought, when there was so much more history wizarding Britain had to offer; a substantial amount of it more interesting too.

Normally, when he was ignoring the world around him, he was left alone. But not today. No, he could never catch a break. Everything had to come at him like a fastball. Fate was never kind.

"Hey, Harry. Harry."

Said boy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from replying and tilted his head a fraction of a centimeter down and to the side, eyes sliding in their sockets to connect disinterestedly with Dmitry's curious gaze.

"Where were you at breakfast today?"

"Kitchens," Harry replied after a moment's hesitation. There was no way he could avoid this confrontation, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try to be calm about it.

"What, why?" Dmitry asked, clearly confused. "You've never eaten there before… I men, we get snacks from time to time, but… Is everything okay?"

Harry didn't answer. What was he supposed to say? No, everything was not okay and he felt like shite for being left out of Tom's plans for school-wide domination through fear?

"Well," Dmitry continued, hesitating for a moment at Harry's silence. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone at least. You know… with… the Chamber of Secrets and everything…"

Harry's eye twitched subtly and he returned his harsh gaze to the open book in front of him.

"I don't think it's that big a problem," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice under control. "Probably just some student's idea of a joke."

"No!" Dmitry's exclamation was a bit too loud and he worriedly looked around at the other lazy students before deeming it safe to continue. "No, it's no joke. Some girl was petrified–there was a message in blood on the wall–"

"From Slytherin's heir, so Slytherins should be safe either way," Harry said, sneering. "Do you even know who the so–called 'enemy of the heir' is?" He didn't wait for a response before continuing. The question was mostly rhetorical anyway. "Muggle-borns. Salazar Slytherin abhorred the idea of muggle-borns–the spawn of muggles–being allowed to learn magic with other half or purebloods. Muggles, who ostracized any they believed to be magical. Muggles, who, in the earliest of days, took pleasure in hunting magical creatures to near-extinction. Muggles, who lived among the filth and pigs of the land at the time of the Founders. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were more forgiving of the magical children birthed from non-magical peoples, but not Slytherin. It was what eventually drove him out of Hogwarts altogether. So, obviously, the only ones who should be worried about the Chamber of Secrets, the monster within, or the person allowing it to attack students, should be muggle-borns and muggle-borns alone."

"But," Dmitry tentatively pointed out, "you're–um–no one really knows your blood-status, being from a muggle orphanage and all. So you could be a muggle-born, and by your own logic, a target. Which is why you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself. Not saying that you are a muggle-born, you might not be," Dmitry hastily amended, color vaguely draining from his face.

Harry's hands became fists, knuckles white with barely contained anger at Dmitry's comments. He slowly turned back around to look at Dmitry, upper lip curling into a snarl.

"Then, let me put it like this," he said in a deathly quiet voice devoid of any emotion at all. "I can wander the halls all I like without fearing an attack from the heir because I highly doubt that my friends would sick the beast on me."

He couldn't help the small flame of joy that lit up within him as he relished the complete look of shock and fear that molded itself on Dmitry's face.

"Although, maybe I should be worried for my life," he continued, keeping his gaze on Dmitry's face whilst he closed his book and shoved it in his bag, "if my friends can keep such a big Secret from me." The last part of his accusation was hissed out, nearly in Parseltongue, which seemed to frighten Dmitry even more. But Harry couldn't care less at the moment. He stood up and hauled his bag up onto his shoulder.

"Professor Binns, I'm feeling unwell and am going to the hospital wing."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry left a startled professor, an astonished class, and a dumbfounded friend behind. He did exactly what he said he would and made a beeline for the hospital wing. Once there, he quickly explained his no-sleep situation to the nurse and was allowed a bed to rest upon. He fell upon it and pulled the sheets up over his head, curling into a ball as well. The nurse, sensing the obvious distress rolling off him in waves, flicked her wand and the curtains around his mattress closed, giving him privacy. He would have to remember to thank her later.

Whilst in fetal position, Harry's erratic breathing began to slow and he thought about what he'd just done, what he'd just said. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn't believe he'd let his feelings get the better of him and made that admission to Dmitry. It was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. He hadn't wanted to shower anyone with the acidic rain of his rage. He hadn't wanted to let his friend know that he knew of the Chamber, or anything about Tom's secrets. He'd let his temper get the best of him and for that he was ashamed. The blame could easily be placed on his lack of sleep the night before, but he wasn't about to let that excuse stick. Any unwanted attention hurled his way now would be his fault and his fault alone.

With those thoughts drifting around his mind, he allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter closed. It was less than a minute before he was completely asleep.

Hours later he was shaken awake by the nurse who, when he asked, informed him that she was the assistant to the Healer employed at Hogwarts. The Healer was currently away at St. Mungo's attempting to obtain any information from his colleagues about the state about how to un-petrify the girl two beds down from him. She also informed him that his teachers had been sent notes about his current residence in the hospital wing and excused him from the classes he missed.

"They sent you the homework due for next class and expect you to turn it in along with what was supposed to be due today."

"Thanks." Harry graciously accepted the assignments she was holding and stuffed them into his bag.

"It's nothing. I'm just doing my job. Now, get down to the great Hall for dinner. You seem to have recovered mostly from your lack of sleep; it wouldn't do for you to be back in an hour due to hunger."

Harry shrugged half-heartedly in acceptance and left. He made sure to sit as far away from his friends as possible at dinner to avoid any more unwanted confrontations. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Dmitry had already informed the others about his little outburst, and it was only a matter of time before they descended on him.

He smirked despondently at the half-eaten food on his plate. He hated confrontations.

Finishing the rest of his meal with graceful hurriedness, Harry left the Hall and moved back up the stairs to the library. Since he'd been absent from his classes that day, he had no notes from which to reference the multitude of essays he'd been assigned.

The library was also a wonderful place to hide, what with the towering bookshelves and hidden niches in which to read.

Eventually, Madame Pince kicked him out of her library because it was nearing curfew. He wandered the desolate halls at an agonizingly sedate pace, trying to reach the common room just before he was required to be there. He passed a few Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students on his way down as they traveled up, but he didn't run into any Slytherins. When he reached the second floor, he sped up and hurried past Myrtle's bathroom, eyes on the floor. He didn't really expect Tom to let the basilisk loose two nights in a row, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

"Purity," he spoke when he was in front of the expanse of wall that hid the Slytherin common room from anyone not in the House of Snakes. He sighed internally as the wall shimmered away, revealing the passage into the hidden room. The password had been in place for weeks now, but after what happened last night, he could appreciate the sardonicism of it.

Because the heir would purge the school of those impure, born from two muggles.

But, one could argue, the Slytherin passwords always had something to do with the Dark or blood status.

Because of the lateness of the hour, the common room was only half-full. Tom had taken a seat on one of the couches that faced the door, and could clearly see Harry when he entered the room. Their eyes met and Tom cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to symbolize an order disguised as an invitation for Harry to join him and the others surrounding. But Harry wasn't about to give in. He stuck his jaw out defiantly and glared at the older boy before pointedly breaking eye contact and stalking away to his dorm. His roommates were all still downstairs–they had been a part of the group surrounding Tom–so he wasn't worried about one of them having the stupidity to approach him and question him about Tom's connection to the Chamber of Secrets.

As he changed into his pajamas, the door behind him opened and shut quietly. He half-turned and was very mildly surprised to see Tom standing there, eyeing the other beds disinterestedly. Silence passed between them for a long while until Harry finally deemed it necessary to break the quiet.

"Do you want something?" he asked, leaning back against one of his bedposts and crossing his arms.

"Do I have to want something as motivation to speak to one of my friends?" Tom inquired, dark eyes finally landing on Harry's face. Nothing about Tom's posture gave away what he was feeling; he wore his emotionless mask well.

Harry snorted in disbelief before chuckling dryly at Tom's statement. "Yes, I think you must. Or, at least, you must really want something if you finally deem it necessary to speak with me."

Tom tilted his head to the side like a bird, eyes calculating. "I speak with you on a daily basis, Harry."

"No," Harry snarled, "you lie to me on a daily basis, Tom." He gave a humorless laugh. "And here I thought we were friends."

"We are–"

"You felt it necessary to hide things from me," Harry said loudly, overpowering Tom's sentence. "You haven't told me a thing about your plans, a thing about your inner thoughts since this year began. And what's worse? You shared everything with Dmitry. With Orion, with Abraxas."

"Fine, you want to know?" Tom snapped, narrowing his eyes and smirking at Harry. He opened his arms to a forty-five degree angle away from his sides. "My inner thoughts? I'm Slytherin's heir. My plans? To help Slytherin reach his goal of ridding the school of mudbloods." Tom's gaze was mocking. "There, do you feel better now? Do you feel placated, included?"

Harry didn't understand what was going on with his friend. He didn't know why the other boy was acting the way he was, and Harry certainly didn't feel as though he deserved Tom's scathing attitude. He'd just wanted the other to be honest with him, like he used to. All he'd wanted was to be included, all he'd wanted was an apology and for Tom to come clean. It wasn't too much to ask for; the older boy had apologized for his actions in the past when they ended up hurting Harry. Where was the Tom he'd gotten to know? Where had his best friend gone?

All he wanted now was to be alone. All he wanted was to cry.

He felt the despair as it merged with the other emotions in his chest. It covered them, wrapping them in a cocoon of silken anguish. He slowly let his eyelids fall shut to keep himself from letting the tears fall. He would not cry, not in from of Tom. His heart pumped faster and he swallowed the great lump that had formed in his throat.

"I thought we were friends," he repeated softly, voice barely above a whisper. "You were my best friend, Tom. True, our first meeting wasn't the best, but together we got through all the bad things the orphanage threw at us. Together, we got through the hurtful things said, we got through the other orphans hate, we got through the punishments given by Mrs. Cole… And then Hogwarts. We both ended up being magical, Slytherins, Parseltongues… And now you've ruined it. You lied to me, you kept important secrets from me whilst sharing them with others. Tell me, Tom. Has Abraxas ever nursed a physical wound given to you by a classmate? Has Orion ever listened to you when you were sad, comforted you when you were depressed? Has Dmitry ever snuck you food when you were denied meals? Have any of them cared about you in any way, ever, like I have?"

"Harry–"

Viridian eyes snapped open, outrage visibly there and covered by a glossy sheen of unshed tears.

"I don't want to hear it, Tom. You made your choice. You didn't want me in your life, now get out of mine."

Harry turned and climbed into bed, swiftly closing the hangings before Tom could say anything. He pulled the duvet over his head and pulled his knees up under him. Hot tears that had been threatening to escape finally rolled down his cheeks. His body shook only slightly and he tried hard to keep any noise from leaving his lips other than his muffled, haggard breaths. Tom had looked so shocked, so taken aback by his words. It was obvious to him that the older boy had had no inkling of how affected Harry was by his actions. His eyes had held a sort of desperation and fear, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. He felt his chest tighten in guilt that he was the source of his friend's unhappiness, but it didn't last. Harry was an emotional wreck because of the other boy, and this would be Tom's punishment.

0 /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 0

Harry's eyebrow twitched as a group of Gryffindor girls two tables over collapsed into another, particularly loud, round of giggles. He now understood how Hermione must have felt during fourth year when Krum's fangirls invaded the library. Only, the girls currently annoying Harry weren't there for anyone in particular. They were just there, led to the library by a higher power hoping to seek some sort enjoyment in Harry's dwindling patience.

And where's Madame Pince anyway? I distinctly remember a few weeks ago when she threatened to kick me out of the library for sniffling too loudly. It's prejudice against the Slytherins I tell you. Prejudice!

Once of the girls gave a screeching cackle at exactly that moment, causing Harry–who really should have been expecting it but wasn't–to puncture his parchment with the sharp tip of his quill and leaving a stain on the wooden table. Growling in frustration and shooting the girls a look that could kill, he packed up his things and moved to a work station further back in the depths of the library. One of the few hidden in the darker corners of the room, obscured by the towering shelves unless you were looking at it from just the right angle.

Oh how I wish I had the eyes of a basilisk…or the power of a glare Snape so often wielded.

Harry sighed as he plopped down into his new seat, rubbing his face dejectedly with his hand. It had been two weeks since his fight with Tom, two weeks since the Chamber had been opened, and Tom had yet to come up to him and attempt to restore their presently broken friendship. Though, there hadn't been any attacks either, but Harry couldn't be sure if that was Tom being moody and depressed about their fractured relationship or completely normal. He would have thought Tom would try to exterminate all the muggle-borns from the school as soon as possible, but it could have just been the older boy being cautious. It wouldn't do for him to become overzealous, make a mistake, and get caught.

Harry had come to terms with his anger towards Tom for keeping him so deeply shrouded in the dark the other day, but hadn't gone back to his friends yet because he was embarrassed. Rage and anger, stirred to a boiling point by jealousy, had eventually simmered down and all that was left in its place was a burnt up pile of flustered shame. He was, quite frankly, slightly appalled by his behavior. His body might resemble a fifteen-year-old, but his mind was that of someone in his late twenties. It really wasn't acceptable for him to be throwing temper tantrums solely because he wasn't included in something. It was embarrassing.

He regretted ignoring Dmitry, Abraxas and Orion for something that really wasn't entirely their fault. After all, the possibility that Tom had made them swear an Unbreakable Vow or a Wizards Oath to keep them from letting anyone know the specifics of the Chamber situation was very high. And he really couldn't blame his friends for being curious and going along with it. They hadn't known–he hoped–that Harry wouldn't be let on to the secret. Dmitry had even attempted an apology the day after Harry and Tom's fight, but he'd ignored it. It wasn't from the person he truly wanted the expression of regret to come from, so he'd callously brushed it off and kept his icy shoulder directed at his fellow classmate.

Harry ran a hand through his messy locks, frowning down at his parchment and pushing the rest of his unnecessary thoughts from his head. With all his new free time that used to be devoted to his friends, Harry was able to dissect his book on creating Latin spells at a fairly quick pace. It had taken him a while to remember the exact words of the spell that had brought him back in time, and in the end he'd needed to create a makeshift pensive so he could view the memory of the event from third person, copying down the words as his memory read them aloud. Once that was done and he'd gotten the correct words, he looked them up in the dictionary portion of the tome. So he could understand exactly what he'd said, of course. But he hadn't liked what he'd found. Not. At. All.

The spell, which he'd discovered in a text devoted to warding, was supposed to keep his home safe from unwanted persons, standing strong and impenetrable though time until the day he died. What it had instead done was transport his soul through time to a "safe place"–though why it had chosen 1932 London was a mystery he wasn't even going to try and unravel.

Yep, when he got back to the future, he was so finding the author of that book and suing them for everything they were worth. Who knew how many countless other innocents had been trying to protect their home and family inside, only to instead get a trip through time.

And he did have to return, not just to save future ignorants and avenge the fooled others. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to go back–his new life in the past was, in some ways, much more gratifying than his old one in the future–but it was impossible for him to stay. If he stayed, it would mean that, when he was born in 1980, there would be two Harry's in the same time, and the fabric of time in his reality would unravel and the universe would be destroyed.

Or so he'd read.

That was why no time-turners had been created that went back more than a day. That was why it was so amazing that he'd managed to travel back over fifty years.

And so, once he realized he had to return home, he began researching how to do it, and if there were any loopholes that would allow him to stay. After all, one shouldn't put their full and complete faith in everything they read.

The rest of his afternoon that day was spent doing homework and creating a formula for a return spell. But there wasn't a real hurry to do so. He had thirty-five years until his mother would give birth to him.

However, when he left the library to go to dinner that night, he heard of the newest attack. It was on a girl from Gryffindor. A muggle-born, one year below him. She'd been found on the third floor, ironically, down the hall and around the corner from the hospital wing. It was as he was walking down the staircase that the announcement was made by Professor Dippet, his magically magnified voice booming through the halls, for everyone to immediately return to their respective common rooms where dinner would take place. Harry only knew the details about the girl because he passed her on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons.

As he moved to the side at the bottom of the staircase on the third-floor landing to avoid being unceremoniously jostled by the uncaring student population making their way up the stairs, a swishing cloak seen from the corner of his eye caught his attention. No one should have been moving down that hall; there were no short cuts to help one get to their common room in that direction. Curiosity peeked, Harry stealthily moved towards the person, staying expertly hidden in the shadows.

It turned out that the "student" he was following wasn't a student at all, but was, in fact, a teacher. Professor Tilbet, who taught Arithmancy. The old man came to a stop in front of Professors Dumbledore, Dippet, Slughorn, and two other Gryffindor girls. Harry recognized them immediately as part of the group that had been appallingly loud in the library earlier. Their friend was lying petrified on the ground in the center of the group. He slipped behind a nearby pillar to observe the scene before him.

"I got here as quickly as my old bones would allow," Professor Tilbet said, announcing his arrival upon the group. "What happened exactly?"

"Thank you for taking care of my class–"

"Think nothing of it, Albus," Tilbet waved off. "It was no problem, and you really did need to come check on these girls claim... Unfortunate that it turned out to be truth."

"So you would have preferred us to be lying?" the girl with twin plaits in her hair questioned angrily.

"In a situation like this, my dear, I would have preferred the Minister of Magic himself to lying. Terrible thing these attacks. Makes me glad that I'm to be retiring after this year."

"Oh, come now, Geoffry," Slughorn said nervously. "You can't honestly expect these attacks to continue on into the next school year?"

"If they do, I don't know how we're going to keep the parents from worrying..."

"Forget next school year, if someone isn't caught by the time this school year lets out, I don't see how we're going to be able to hide it from the parents, what with the students returning home for break," Dumbledore pointed out in a grave voice.

"And you think they'll be able to stay quiet during the Yule holidays?" Professor Slughorn raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Our students are not stupid, Horace. I'm sure they realize that if they were to breath a word about the attacks to their parents over Yule, they wouldn't be returning for the rest of the school year, at least." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "But that is the future. At the moment, we should focus on the present. Now, girls, if you would please explain to the other Professors what you told me?"

The girls nodded and the one with short, curly blonde hair began.

"We were all in the library–Alyssa, Victoria, Aurora, Justine, and me–studying for the test in Divination that's tomorrow."

Harry snorted quietly. Gossiping about boys and talking poorly about their classmates was what it sounded like to me.

"And then, about an hour ago," the girl with braids broke in, "Alyssa said she needed to use the restroom. Olivia offered to go with her, but she declined, saying that it didn't require two people to make use of the toilet."

"I didn't mean it like that or anything though," the blonde defended. "Sometimes us girls like to have company when we go. To talk with. And I didn't know she actually needed to go, I thought maybe she wanted to fix her make-up."

"Anyway," the other girl continued, "Aurora and Justine thought she was going to meet someone. A boy."

"They wanted to follow her, but Victoria said we shouldn't. Said we could pry all we wanted later, but we should leave them be for now."

"I wouldn't want someone following me on a private date," Victoria said with a shrug. "Anyway, we spent the rest of the hour there before deciding to head down to the Great Hall for dinner. Justine and Aurora went to the Tower to put their bags away, and Olivia and I started down the stairs."

"We got to the third floor and I heard a noise down this hall–"

"What sort of noise?" Dumbledore interrupted sharply.

"I don't know, just like something sliding across the floor–"

"I didn't hear it, but we both heard the thump." Olivia vigorously nodded her head in agreement with Victoria.

"So we decided to investigate. Someone might have been hurt."

"And we came around the corner and saw–"

"Alyssa," they finished together.

"And you know the rest," Olivia said with a shrug, biting her lower lip. "We were so shocked. Who would want to hurt Alyssa? She's so nice; to everyone. I don't understand it..."

"Yes, Miss Stormfelt was a very lovely girl," Professor Dippet placated. Harry rolled his eyes. He'd heard many a Slytherin complain about her catty remarks and appalling behavior towards their House in general late at night in the impenetrable fortress that was the Slytherin common room.

"Well," Victoria said, as if trying desperately to remember some sort of important detail she'd forgotten. "There was the Slytherin boy today, in the library. Do you remember him, 'Liv?"

Olivia scrunched up her face in a rather unattractive manner. "Which one?"

"The one that kept glaring at us until he left."

There was a pause, and then-

"Oh, you mean Harry Evans!"

Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins. It couldn't be happening, not again...

"What about Mr. Evans?" Dumbledore prodded inquisitively.

"You don't seriously expect Evans to have something to do with it, do you Albus?" Slughorn demanded, looking as I'd he smelt something foul. "He doesn't have a spot on his record, always polite to the ghosts and the staff, he does well in his classes–why, accusing him of attacking students and claiming the title of Slytherin's 'heir' is like accusing Tom Riddle!" Slughorn chuckled at the absurdity of declaring Tom to be a menace, and was joined half-heartedly by Professor Tilbet. Professor Dippet gave a small smile while Dumbledore frowned sourly.

"No one is exempt from suspicion, Horace."

"And I say innocent until proven guilty," Slughorn snapped back. "Now, I turn my back and pretend not to take notice of how you treat my Slytherins, Albus, but accusations without hard facts to back them up–I won't tolerate it! I said it before; I'll say it again. With what we know about the attacks so far, there's no way to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it's even a Slytherin committing the crimes!"

"It's a very Dark bit of magic, petrifying these students in the way the heir's been going about it–"

"And it could be anyone," Slughorn spat, red in the face. "Anything you have against Harry is circumstantial at best. He may have been glaring; it might just be these girls opinion when really he was just concentrating on his studies. He might not even have been looking at them, you don't know because you weren't there."

"We could retrieve the memory from a pensive–"

"Which is illegal to do from a minor, even with their consent, unless express permission has been given by their guardian and he or she is in the room when the extraction takes place," Slughorn sneered. "Tell me, Albus, do you really want to inform the parents about these attacks? Has your opinion changed that drastically from five minutes ago?"

"He left the library before us, if that helps any," Olivia piped up, hoping to aid her Head of House in any way possible. Harry could have strangled her.

"No, it doesn't, unless you want to begin accusing all those who left before you because I doubt it was only him." Slughorn pursed his lips. "And I don't want to hear that you girls have spread your incorrect assumptions throughout the school either," he added as an afterthought. "If I do, you can rest assured that you both will be in detention until the end of this term."

Having heard enough, and not wanting to be caught at the scene of the crime, Harry silently retreated back to the stairwell and hurried down to the dungeons. It wasn't fair that those girls were trying to blame him. It wasn't right of Dumbledore to jump to conclusions like he was, even if they were half-right. He hoped against hope that those girls took Slughorn's warning to heart.

Unfortunately, life hated him. By noon the next day, over half the school believed him to be Slytherin's heir... again. And this time, he hadn't even revealed that he could speak Parseltongue, or shown up in the wrong place at the wrong time with a petrified body or two.

And it was all the fault of those two girls. Those two, stupid, annoying, gossipy Gryffindor girls. If he were on speaking terms with Tom, he'd have the older boy send the basilisk after them immediately, cackling maliciously in the background as he watched their bodies be gobbled up rather than left to dirty a hospital bed.

By the end of the week, over two-thirds of the school believed him to be the heir because he was always alone, and he had no alibi for the second attack. Honestly, he was becoming quite fed up with the student population of Hogwarts. Even a few of the younger Slytherins were suspicious of him. A group of over-eager Gryffindor fourth year boys, hoping to achieve recognition by catching him in the act, had taken to stalking him around the castle. The only joy that came from his days now was taking sadistic pleasure in losing his group of self-proclaimed guards, or shooting stinging hexes at them while they weren't looking. He relished the fact that they had yet to prove he was their attacker.

He would occasionally see friends looking at him with a small amount of pity in their eyes, and more than once he'd stumbled across Dmitry defending him against the claims of the other students, though the other boy didn't know he knew. Every time he found Dmitry laying into another student or group of students, the guilt on his shoulders got a little bit heavier. That was why, by the time the second week was halfway over, he'd decided to make up with his Russian friend.

Plus, Harry thought in anticipation behind the curtains of his bed as he waited for the rest of his dorm mates to shut their own, he was just following the orders of an older, more powerful Slytherin. And that's just how Slytherin politics work. Not that he liked or approved of it. He wouldn't lie; the complicated workings of Slytherin House often made him crave the simplicity of Gryffindor.

Once he was absolutely certain that all the hangings of the other Slytherins beds were closed, he quietly opened his and stealthily crept out. Dmitry's bed was just next to his, so he didn't have to travel very far. He took out his wand.

"Muffliato." There was no need for the other boys to know anything about the conversation soon to take place. Harry placed his wand back on his bed and closed his hangings to give the illusion that he was still inside before moving to pass through Dmitry's charmed ones. Harry carefully crawled through and onto Dmitry's bed.

As soon as he felt the dip in pressure, Dmitry's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. Anything he was about to say was silenced as his eyes took in the figure now seated atop his covers.

"Harry?" he tentatively asked. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but what are you doing in my bed?"

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked up in amusement. "I want to talk."

"Now?" Dmitry half-whined. "You've been avoiding me for the past near-month, and you want to talk now?"

"Well, I could leave–"

"No, no," Dmitry quickly shook his head. "We can talk, I guess…" He blinked somewhat sleepily at Harry. "Does this mean your not cross with me anymore?"

Harry's eyes softened at the hope he saw on Dmitry's face. "No, I'm not mad at you. Honestly, it was Tom who I was really pissed at. My anger just sort of… rolled over onto you, Orion, and Abraxas I suppose. Then, couple that with the jealousy I felt because Tom trusted you all more than he trusted me, and we get the gigantic mess that has been the past few weeks."

"I'm sorry." And he looked it. Dmitry's eyes were sad as he gazed at Harry. "I didn't mean to keep things from you. I didn't mean for you not to know. Actually, I'm not sure even if I would have been let in on the secret if I hadn't stumbled upon Tom leaving the, ah, the Chamber."

Harry snorted in lightheartedness. Dmitry's eyes brightened at the noise and he grinned happily at the boy in front of him. "Yes, I imagine it would have been rather hard for even Tom to explain why he was leaving a girls bathroom. Though, he could have just Obliviated you…"

"I'm rather glad he didn't."

"I'm sure you are," Harry said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"Well, you seem to know more about the Chamber than you ever let on," Dmitry noted. "Did Tom tell you about it, that the entrance is in a bathroom? The day you two had your row?"

"No, he didn't. I just… found it. Because I'm a Parselmouth, and Slytherin was a Parselmouth–when I discovered that, I read up as much as I could about him. I read about the Chamber of Secrets a long time ago and took it upon myself to find it and prove that it wasn't just a myth. Call it a self-proclaimed quest if you want, but I eventually found it at the end of last year. I never told Tom though 'cause we were busy with other things. And he never told me he knew of it either."

Harry felt bad about lying to Dmitry after he hadn't been on speaking terms with the other because of practically the same thing, but it wasn't like he could easily explain away his knowledge with claims of being from the future. Using the excuse of being interested in Salazar Slytherin was less challenging. And Dmitry knew he'd been a Parseltongue since first year.

Dmitry hummed softly. "Makes sense, I suppose." A pleasant silence passed between the two.

"How did he do it, anyway?"

"Who? What?"

"How did Tom get the… attack to happen when he was at dinner with the rest of us? Or did he not share that information with you."

"It was a timed illusion charm," Dmitry explained, gazing past Harry at his emerald, velvet curtains. "He'd already written the words, and the girl had already been petrified. The spell was timed to break whilst everyone was eating. He'd done it all earlier–you remember when you came to the library and he wasn't there?"

"Yeah…"

"That was when he carried out his plan."

"But wouldn't people still trip over the girl, even if they couldn't see her?" Harry pointed out skeptically.

"Nope. There was also a mild compulsion charm in place to keep students from walking over her petrified form. Anytime someone got close, they felt compelled to take a path around the empty space, rather than through it."

"That's a lot of trouble to go to simply to throw suspicion off oneself," Harry commented lightly. Come to think of it, he'd never given much thought to how Ginny had been able to get away with her attacks on the student body…

"Yeah…"

Neither Harry nor Dmitry spoke for another minute, neither quite sure of exactly what to say. Their silence was eventually punctured with a large yawn from Harry.

"Well, I think I'll go to sleep now. I'm tired, but I wanted to clear the air between us first."

"So… You'll talk to me again? In public?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll allow myself to be seen with you. But not when you're around them. Not yet. I may be over it for the most part, but I don't think I could welcome you all back at once. It would put too much of a strain on me, if you know what I mean…"

"I understand. But Tom will throw a fit when he sees you talking to me and not him," Dmitry said pointedly. "Still, I'm very… glad, that you chose to speak with me first. It makes me feel…" He looked to be struggling for the right words before sighing. "Never mind. You understand, right?"

"I think I do, yeah," Harry said with an easy grin.

"Good." Dmitry 's smile dropped and he bit his lip, looking down at his lap with pink-tinged cheeks. "Then, would you…stay here…tonight?"

Harry blinked rapidly, not quite sure he heard correctly.

"What?"

"Would you sleep here, in my bed, tonight. I do it with my cousins all the time, because we're friends. I just…" Dmitry mumbled something in Russian and Harry tilted his head to the side in clear confusion. "It's like… conformation for me, for tomorrow morning, that everything's okay between us again. That this conversation was real. Besides," he commented offhandedly, "you used to sleep here sometimes during first and second year."

Harry's cheeks burned at the memory. "That was because I was having nightmares–and we were a lot smaller then!"

Dmitry looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. "Please?"

Harry sighed at the puppy-dog eyes sent his way. No matter which time-line he was in, he would always be weak to any variation of those eyes. "Move over."

He blamed his cave-in on the eyes and the miniscule amount of guilt he still felt for his actions towards the other.

Smiling brilliantly, Dmitry scooted over. Harry slid under the covers and lay on his side with his back to Dmitry. "Kick me while you sleep and be prepared to land on that lovely and chilly stone floor. Hard." He felt and heard Dmitry chuckle beside him.

"Of course."

Nothing was said after that, and Harry listened with his eyes closed as Dmitry's breathing slowly evened out. He wasn't sure when exactly it was he fell asleep, but when he did, it was with the pleasant warmth of a companion, a friend, beside him.