Harry woke up, feeling slightly tired from everything. His 'adventure' into the Chambers had apparently been taxing on his body, although it didn't feel like that during the early morning. Slowly, he got up and glanced around, hearing the fire still crackling lively, and saw that Daphne had left. Accepting the fact that she saw him lying here, he cast a quick Tempus and started to mentally plan his day as he made his way towards the dorms. At 5:00 a.m., the halls were oddly warm and logically empty. Most didn't wake up at that time, other than the house elves, as they were incapable of doing such a thing. Although there were several who did, as Harry had assumed, few actually ventured out into the castle.
The first thing that entered his mind was the Mirror of Erised and he inwardly cringed at his actions, knowing that he had cursed at the Headmaster. It was a miracle that points were not taken off and detention hadn't been administered.
Forcing his mind from that line of thought, his mind shifted to the things that he had learned from the books. Parselmagic seemed to be based upon wand movements. There were no chants, no long strings of ancient words. One would say the word in 'parseltongue' and move the wand as the book depicted. The vast majority of the offensive wand movements were minimal with that entire spell branch being based upon the idea of casting as fast and deadly as one can. It was a precise, rapid art, being lethal when necessary.
The defensive spells were unusual, to say the least. One of the authors had experimented with the Protego charm and discovered that saying the incantation in the tongue of the snakes had the ability to create a stronger shield. There were other spells in Parseltongue that created shields, of course. These shields seemed to be quite easy to cast and, from the notes, effectively shielded against most spells.
With all of this, Harry was determined not to let anyone know about these spells until it was necessary, whether in a duel or in a fight. They would be able to give him an edge in the fight, catching his opponent unaware.
As he walked down the halls, heading towards the Great Hall, he noticed a figure that seemed to be headed to the greenhouses. Neville, Harry presumed.
Neville was a chubby boy with slightly buck-like teeth and short, straight brown hair. From what he could see, he had a severe problem with confidence. He cowered under the gaze of Professor McGonagall and sweat whenever things started to become slightly hostile whether towards him or another.
In the few weeks that he had been at the school, he had seen and heard of the things that the other had done to mock and put Neville down. They bullied him for his inability, forcing him to go barefoot many times. They stole his stuff, shouted at him, cursed at him, and sent hexes. Some even sent the hex for pimples at him, causing a horrid batch of pimples to appear on his face. It was disgusting. Other than that, they tried their best to sabotage his academic work, 'accidentally' spilling ink over his work and stealing his quills. They constantly sent tripping jinxes towards his way while they knocked his books over and over. It was ridiculous.
The teachers, who must have noticed something, said nothing. They didn't seem to know of it and Neville was too scared of the others to go to the teacher. Countless times, Harry saw Neville running off, crying. In the mornings, Neville constantly looked backed, watching for threats to him as he headed towards the greenhouses. Harry couldn't do anything about it due to the fear of sullying his reputation with the Slytherins. Normally, he would have despite the thoughts of others. But he had learned from Daphne in between the classes that his reputation was legendary and held the ability to influence the people around him. It wouldn't do to further destroy that reputation by being seen with the Gryffindor outcast.
His train of thought was broken when he saw Daphne sitting there, an emotional mask on her face. Harry, surprised at her behavior, went to sit down across of her. There was a reason as to why she was acting like this.
"You slept in the common room," Daphne said softly, not touching the plate of bacon in front of her.
"Yes, yes I did."
"Why?"
Is that was what this is all about? About the fact that he wanted to make sure no one could touch her?
"Because...you were alone in the common room, vulnerable."
"Yet, you didn't do anything," she said suspiciously.
"Why would I? I respect you, your personal space, and everyone else's. Except Malfoy's. He's a git."
"Good answer Potter," she said, something unrecognizable flooding her face. She started to eat her food.
A plate appeared in front of Harry and he started to eat as well. It was silent, the Great Hall, with the two of them eating. There was no one else in there to break the silence at around 5:30 in the morning. It couldn't be described as awkward, but then, it wasn't necessarily comfortable.
Harry, in a conversational tone, asked a rather boring question in a slightly tense situation. "How are you?"
"Good," she responded, mentally searching for a topic and shoving a spoonful of egg into her mouth. When she swallowed, she decided to ask a question, but Harry beat her to it.
"What was up with that? The sudden level of suspicion?" Harry asked, chewing a piece of bacon and addressing the elephant in the room.
"Well, I had to know your intentions. We're not exactly friends."
"Aren't we?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We are?" Daphne hesitantly asked.
"Well I thought..." Harry trailed off, unsure whether or not to continue
"Then in that case…Friends," Daphne said with slight hesitation.
"But not like Blaise?" Harry asked smiling, knowing that he was entering dangerous territory.
A faint blush entered Daphne's cheeks. "Damn it Harry! We have nothing going on between the two of us." She tried to adopt a serious look, quite spectacularly failed.
"Are you sure? I thought I heard that you were snogging in one of the broom closets?" Harry was loving this. He was suicidal.
Daphne's face turned extremely red. "We did not!"
"Then why are you blushing?" He raised his eyebrow again, discreetly pulling out his wand.
"Merlin! You. Are. So. Infuriating," she said, pulling out her wand and emphasizing each word with a jab.
Cheekily, Harry smiled. "I know."
With that Daphne sent hexes and jinxes of all sorts, and Harry dodged, conjuring shields when necessary. His laughter echoed throughout the Hall. They talked until the sun started to rise, leaving when they realized that they would be seen together.
It was annoying, rumors and things of that sort as they seemed to fizzle into existence, taking hold of minds.
Slowly, Harry went back to his dorms, knowing full well that there were people in the halls. After reaching the common room, he approached the doors to his dorm, which opened to the lovely sight of Draco Malfoy.
"Well, well," the ferret drawled. "Where were you last night, Potter?"
"Somewhere over there."
"A straight answer Potter," he demanded.
"Over the rainbow," Harry replied, smirking.
"What?" Draco was completely confused.
"Leave Harry alone Malfoy," came a voice to the left.
Malfoy seemed to bite back a retort, retreating under the gaze of the boys.
Blaise was already up, dressed and ready for the rest of the day. He approached Harry.
"Up already?"
"Obviously."
"When do you get up?"
"Early in the morning." Harry smiled
"Will I get a satisfactory answer?"
"No," his smile became wider. "What do you want?"
"Notes for the History of Magic."
"Of course," Harry sighed. "You know, I think Hermione and me are the only two who are able to stay awake in class. Even Daphne falls asleep."
"I think that you are the only two in the past 50 years who have been able to stay awake during that class," Blaise said, smirking.
"Thank you," Harry trailed off in a hesitant tone, not knowing whether to take it or not. "Are you comfortable with Draconifors spell?"
"Good enough. That was a fun class."
"Yes, it certainly was…" Harry trailed off for the second time, thinking about yesterday.
-Flashback—
It was the first class of the day and a significant number of the class was still bleary eyed and excessively yawning.
'Merlin, couldn't these people at least try to wake up and wash their face?' Harry mentally asked, annoyed by all the unnecessary noise that was being made.
As the door opened, students filed in, seeing Professor McGonagall sitting at her desk and the massive chalkboard was divided into two sections.
As everyone took their seats, Professor McGonagall stood up and called for the class' attention. "I have decided to divide this class into two groups." This caused a slight murmur. "Half of you will continue working on the lessons that are for first years while the other half will work on Transfiguration meant for second and third years. Wait," she then said, wanting to stop the protests. "The reason as to why I am doing this is because half of you have shown that you are able to handle the rigor of taking advanced classes and the other half, while showing merit, has not made any effort to get grades higher than an A even though I promised that they would miss a significant number of their classes. Now, if you will draw your attention to the board…"
And so the class did. Of 30 students, the 15 who stayed behind included 8 boys and 7 girls while the other 15 was the opposite—with Harry, Blaise, Finch-Fletchley, and four other boys. Those in the first group looked jealous but said nothing. Professor McGonagall's time seemed to be divided into two sections. The first part of the class was for those learning the original curriculum while the rest looked at their textbooks and started to practice the wand movements. When she was done with those stuck with the original curriculum, the professor moved on to teach the other half, allowing them to try out the Draconifors spell.
As a result, there were many cups and statues of snakes flying around with tiny dragon wings or stumbling around on stubby scaled legs. Only Harry and Susan, who he was partnered with, were able to create actual dragons. She was smiling at the end of that, and, Harry decided, that was a good thing.
Harry was busy helping the others in his class when Susan slipped a note into his pocket. There seemed to be a lot of note slipping in this school with students needing to uphold their reputation. Sadly, it seemed that rumors popped up around him on a consistent basis. He wished that he could have a life where all of this Boy-Who-Lived nonsense could stop. Leaving Blaise, he started to pack his things, knowing that it wasn't time to go yet. But the professor called him to his desk.
"Mr. Potter," she started. "You've done a magnificent job helping your peers, so I would say 5 points to Slytherin. I would venture to say that you'd make a good teacher. If you would like, I could teach you a few things that the books don't tell the reader."
"Yes," Harry said, "I would like that."
"Then meet me here on Sunday, if you don't have any religious beliefs."
"Thank you, Professor," he said turning away.
-So Ends the Flashback—
Upon later inspection, the note was a poem titled 'Nightmares.' It was well-written to say the least.
"Harry?" Blaise asked, knowing full well that Harry was thinking of something.
"Oh, yeah…sorry."
"See you later."
"Goodbye."
Harry slipped into his bed and slept, reclaiming the previous night he had spent working on homework.
A Week or Two Later
It was Hallowe'en and Harry absolutely refused to go down into the Great Hall despite the threat that Snape shot at him and Dumbledore coming to his dorm in person with the help of a phoenix. They had both asked him to go up to the All Hallows' Eve Feat, and they both gave up when he talked about his parents, understanding his grief. Snape seemed sad, emotion flooding his face at his words while Dumbledore seemed to age in an instant, his face looking his age.
Harry, in one word, was miserable. He could remember his mother's screams, the horrid things that Voldemort had done to his parents. It was both a curse, his dreams, as he remembered his mother's screams that pierced his ears. He could see her body writhing in pain, his father lying dead in the hallway with a blank look on his face. He could remember them so vividly as if by magic, and the memory had plagued him for the past few days. He spent nights simply studying, trying to keep his mind distracted. It was a futile effort with the need to sleep overpowering his want to work.
Today, though, was extraordinarily painful. Everyone celebrated the death of fucking Voldemort and expected him to jump for joy at the sacrifice of his parents. He knew that this would pass, remembering the times with the Dursleys when he suffered the dreams. It always did. It had to.
So, Harry, finishing the books that he had, went back into the Chambers. 'I could call it the Secret Chambers,' Harry mused, thinking of the way that he had to keep the chambers a secret. 'Or the Chamber (Chambers?) of Secrets. On another note, could actually have a name. I'd better research it, maybe ask Professor Binns. He is the Professor for the History of Magic.'
Descending into the madness of passages, Harry decided that it would be best to explore the rooms and passages after grabbing new books, returning the old ones. When he had finished shoving the books into his bags, he set off, oddly not feeling the fear he had felt last time. The passages required a continuous Lumos as there were no torches to light with an Incendio and it wasn't possible for him to conjure a torch, one composed of various materials. He wasn't there yet and that was annoying. Willing the light to become a slight hue of orange, his surroundings were suddenly bathed in an orange light. He discovered a study tucked away in a corner that was filled with notes and what seemed like journals placed on a shelf. Taking the first one, Harry decided to start reading it back in his dorm. Leaving, he discovered something that resembled a room for practicing spells, dorms, and a personal bedroom. He made his way towards the first chamber which held the closest exit, and oddly, he was able to retrace his steps from weeks before. That was another inexplicable thing, perhaps magic was able to improve one's memory. 'Maybe,' Harry mused. 'Probably not because of the way that students at this school forget things, save for a select few.'
Harry, willing himself to speak 'the language of the serpents,' shouted "OPEN," at the tunnel. The statue, behind him, seemed quite impressive. He could possibly scale the thing and read up there, although the draft and height might be a bit too much. His thoughts being blown away as the final step made a soft click, Harry bounded up the steps. Hoping that the opening of the passage was silent, he stepped out into the girl's bathroom and the exit, or entrance, closed behind him. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, thankful that he had memorized the passages that didn't move. He could hear the clamor of Great Hall and saw Professor Quirrell step in, sweating and jerking slightly.
He walked past the massive oaken doors once they closed and heard the cry of "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!"
Damn. He couldn't go back into his dorms. As a result, he started heading towards the library, knowing full well that Madam Pince had a system in charge for those wanting to check books out. As he was heading there, he heard lumbering footstep and a shriek from the girl's bathrooms. He ran.
A/N: Hopefully I didn't move too fast at the end. Thanks for reading. And if a person wants to beta read my chapters (not the entire story) then go PM me (probably using the term incorrectly). Life is busy, essays, homework, and other stuff. You should understand the implications of that. Originally, I had intended for Harry to start in his third year, or fourth, wanting to use his abilities, relationships, and access the Chamber. But this works out just fine. I probably messed up the paragraph after the final transition, but I think (not feel nor know) that I did my best.
Once again, if anyone has tips for me, then go right ahead and write your thoughts out. I will update, only sporadically. And updates for this story will come in between those of the other one.
Smutley-Do-Wrong: That makes sense. His suicide was actually in an earlier draft of the chapter. But I decided against it, for some odd reason. I guess I used the excuse of 'death changes you' and tried to emphasize the impact of his change, and probably failed. I'm trying not to use that many cliches. And on a separate note, I am a very contradictory person.
