I've had an odd spurt in productivity and I'm giving you the next chapter way ahead of schedule. Welcome back to Harry Potter, everyone! I'll try not to stick so close to the books this time... which probably means second year won't take up nearly as many chapters as first year, unless I decide to add a double dose of Supernatural into the mix.
Thank you to luv-blonde-bunny, war sage, OtakuDrag0n, and Sailor Pandabear for your reviews! Just wondering, did the rest of you guys hate last chapter or something? I was a little worried about that.
I also find that I'm writing Harry a bit differently now. I don't know if it has to do with my mood or what. I hope he isn't very OOC, although of course this Harry is developing differently due to the house change and hunting.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except for parts of the story line and my little twists. Things you recognize are probably from the books or TV show.
BOOK ONE
Chapter IX
"You," said Hermione, with slow, concentrated fury, "are complete, utter git."
Harry winced and opened his mouth to explain, but she wasn't finished.
"You said you would write. You promised. I sent you five letters and you didn't even bother to answer one..."
Even Ron looked alarmed.
"All right, all right, calm down," said Harry placatingly. Hermione glared at him with angrily glittering brown eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. I couldn't. I didn't get any of them."
"You what?"
"I didn't get even one," Harry promised. "It wasn't my fault at all. I had absolutely no control over the situation. It was all Dobby's fault."
Silence.
"Who's Dobby?" Ron asked curiously.
His mild annoyance over the whole letter business had dissolved after the descent of the avenging angel (alternatively known as Hermione Granger) on Harry, and he seemed inclined to believe the best about his friend. Harry shot him a grateful look.
"He's somebody's house elf," he explained, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. It was a hot day and they kept slipping down. "I'm not sure whose, but he popped into my bedroom about a week ago and said I shouldn't go to Hogwarts because it was dangerous or something. He took all my letters; I think he thought I would agree to stay if I thought my friends weren't... my friends."
They were standing outside Slug and Jigger's Apothecary, Harry having already bought his potions supplies. He had been waylaid once he had stepped foot outside. To be honest, he'd expected it and braced himself as soon as he'd seen the cloud of frizzy brown hair heading in his direction.
"Oh." Hermione looked almost sheepish. "Well. I'm sorry, then. But you still could have sent some of your own."
"Yes, I could have," Harry acknowledged. "I'm sorry. I was caught up in a lot of stuff."
"Now that we're all done apologizing," said Ron, who was standing impatiently to the side. "How about if we get on with our shopping so that we can go somewhere that's actually interesting?"
"I've got to get my potions ingredients," Hermione told them. "Wait for me. I'll be out in a bit."
She disappeared inside the apothecary. Ron and Harry stared at each other for a couple seconds, neither quite sure what to say. Ron cleared his throat.
"Do you have the list of books for this year?"
"Yes... yes, I do."
Harry pulled the crumpled paper out of his pocket. He frowned at it.
"Hullo. Did you know that all the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks are by the same author?"
"What?" Ron peered over his shoulder. "I've heard of him," he announced, rather darkly.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry read aloud, slowly. He flipped to the back cover and came face to face with a moving picture of the author himself, beaming and waving. He closed it quickly. "That's a queer name."
"Not half so queer as the bloke himself," Ron assured him. "All the girls are batty about him, even Mum. They think he's some kind of hero, goodness knows why."
"He is a hero."
They both started as Hermione manifested silently right behind them.
"I've read every single one of his books," she said, in an enraptured tone. Ron looked disgusted. "They're absolutely wonderful. He's so brave... do you know how many evil creatures he's faced? Dozens! And then he writes books to help others understand how to fight them, and now he's going to teach us this year! I can hardly wait to meet him and have him sign my copies."
Her eyes shone. A ludicrous image of Lockhart the "hero" being strangled by the vengeful spirit of Julian Allen rose to Harry's mind and he choked on a laugh, coughing loudly to hide it.
"He sounds like a prat," said Ron sulkily, and without much tact.
Harry kicked him swiftly, but the shine in Hermione's eyes had already been replaced by explosive sparks. Her voice was deceptively calm.
"Thank you for your input, Ron," she said frigidly. "But have you ever faced an evil vampire without your wand? Or a rabid werewolf? No. All you do is sit in your safe, warm home and stuff your face with Chocolate Frogs."
Ron turned pink and Harry groaned. Not a day into the new school year and they were already having one of their spats. If only Ron would keep his mouth shut now...
"Yeah? Well... well, you're nothing but a silly, infatuated schoolgirl!"
Apparently that was too much to ask.
"You know what?" Harry suggested hurriedly. "I think we should get our books. Hermione, you're done here? All right, good, come on."
He dragged them off before they could protest.
A sizable crowd had gathered outside the book shop, and it was growing larger every moment. Harry paused as they drew nearer. Someone was at the center, talking loudly, and he caught a flash of immaculately groomed blond hair.
"It's him!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's Gilderoy Lockhart!"
And here he'd thought they had safely escaped the topic. The chap had absolutely terrible timing. Ron looked thunderous, but Hermione had already disappeared into the depths of the crowd.
Gilderoy Lockhart was vociferously describing one of his encounters (supposedly with a vicious kind of dragon) when Harry and Ron breathlessly joined Hermione, who had stopped several feet away from the author.
"Hermione. Books!" Harry hissed in her ear, hoping that it would snap her out of her daze.
Then the great Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes fell on him and lit up.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry's eyes widened, but the man was already herding him out of the crowd.
"Harry Potter!" Lockhart boomed, beaming. "It's a pleasure to meet you, it really is! Looking well, I see. Ready for your second year at Hogwarts?"
"Um... I..." Harry spluttered, acutely aware that every eye was glued to his face and that there was a lot of not-too-subtle pointing and whispering.
"Good, good," said Lockhart jovially, without waiting for an answer. "Harry, my boy, how would you like to take a few photos together? It'll be good publicity for you. Oh, and were you going to be in my Defense class? I'll give you a free copy of my books... and sign them, too, as an extra bargain."
He had to be stopped there. Harry wriggled out of his grasp.
"I don't want to take photos," he said, rather coldly. "And I'm not your boy."
Lockhart looked stunned – how often did people dare not to fall at his feet and grovel? – but Harry shoved past him into Flourish and Blotts. The book shop was pleasantly dim and quiet, with the dry, dusty smell of parchment in the air.
"Harry!" Ron exclaimed when he burst in. He got a pointed look from one of the employees and lowered his voice quickly. "That was terrific! You should have seen his face."
Hermione seemed displeased at his blatant disrespect for her hero.
"You didn't have to be so uncivil," she said reprovingly.
"I hate people staring at me. Anyway, he was rude first."
"That's not an excuse."
Harry stared down at the book he had picked up. Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Well, we're buying the whole lot of his books," he said unrepentantly. "I think that's enough of an apology if I hurt his feelings."
Ginny was staring at him from her place beside Ron with something that seemed akin to hero worship. Harry squirmed. Was this type of odd behavior what was called a crush? He had never had one or felt any inclination to have one. It was difficult to tell. Hopefully she wouldn't be like this all year.
The train shuddered, its squeaking bolts muffled by the thick upholstery of the seats and walls. Harry carefully avoided Ginny's eyes. He tapped his foot agitatedly and fingered the knife in his pocket (he had replaced the crummy iron one for another made of silver that Victor had offered before they parted ways) and felt utterly ridiculous.
Hermione looked up from her book with an irritated expression.
"Stop being so fidgety, Harry."
With difficulty, Harry stilled himself.
Footsteps neared their compartment and suddenly a girl was standing in the doorway. She gazed at them with a serene countenance, an almost ethereal quality to her form. Her dreamy eyes fell on Harry and paused.
"May I come in?"
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all turned to stare at the newcomer, who appeared untroubled by their scrutiny. She stared at Harry as if asking for his permission and he fumbled for a reply.
"Yes... yes, of course."
"Thank you."
Hermione smiled at her welcomingly and scooted over to make room. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she also wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and his fidgeting. The girl slipped into the spot smoothly.
"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry, by way of introduction, although she probably already knew that.
"I know," she replied, a tiny wisp of a smile on her lips, and he could have sworn she had read his mind and that his thoughts had mildly amused her. "And I'm Luna... Luna Lovegood."
"My name's Ron Weasley, and this is my sister, Ginny."
"Hermione Granger."
"I'm very pleased to meet you all," said Luna gravely. She delicately unfolded a paper – a newspaper, its name apparently beginning with "Qui" judging from the partially concealed heading – onto her lap. "I don't know anyone else. It's my first year."
That surprised Harry. There was a maturity in her expression, for all its dreaminess, that was far beyond her years. But then her expression changed and she suddenly looked her age. He frowned. Odd.
"It's Ginny's, too," said Ron, for Ginny seemed rather shy.
Luna shot Ginny a completely unexplainable look of distaste.
"I see," she said coldly, and begin studiously to read her paper upside-down.
Harry and Ron stared at each other, silently conveying their confusion, and then simultaneously shrugged and returned to what they had been doing.
Luna fit in seamlessly with their small group (exception of Ginny), and by the time they reached the station, it felt almost as if she had always been there. She and Ginny headed for the boats with the rest of the first years, careful to keep a distance apart. Harry watched them go and wondered why they seemed so repulsive to each other, but then Ron was grabbing his arm and pulling him along with the flow of students heading in the general direction of Hogwarts castle.
"What on earth?!" Harry exclaimed as they walked towards the carriages, for there was a horrid specimen of a horse-like animal harnessed to each one. "What are those things?"
He turned his head to question his friends, but they were staring back at him with perplexed yet unperturbed expressions.
"What things?" Hermione queried, without a bit of humor in her voice or expression.
"Those... dead horse things!"
One of the "dead horse things" turned its head and looked at him with a beady eye. Harry gulped. All right. Definitely not dead, then.
"What dead horse things?" Hermione asked, very patiently.
"The ones attached to our carriages."
Ron looked baffled and squinted at the carriages more closely.
"There's nothing attached to the carriages," he said. "I think they're charmed to move on their own."
"No, they're not," Harry argued, feeling rather like a stubborn two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum in front of his two disbelieving parents. He deflated. "You know what, never mind. Let's just go."
"Potter," Margaret greeted as he took a seat next to her at the Slytherin table.
"Margaret. How was your summer?"
She shrugged.
"If you don't count all the messy family power struggles, fine, I suppose."
At the front of the room, Dumbledore began his annual "welcome back" speech, which Harry didn't bother to listen to. Margaret didn't mention the letter business, but he felt he owed her an explanation.
"I only just got your letter."
"Oh?" she questioned, with seeming disinterest, but Harry saw her back stiffen.
"I'm sorry I couldn't reply. A house elf showed up and said I'd be in danger if I came to Hogwarts. Somehow stealing all my letters fit into that." He watched her carefully to see if she had been appeased, and added, "I didn't think to write to Ron or Hermione either, if that makes you feel better."
That drew a huff of laughter out of her.
"As if it would."
She didn't make comments about Gryffindor or mudbloods or blood traitors as she might have last year. Harry was grateful for that.
Dumbledore had finished speaking, and the first years were being sorted. Harry watched every now and then with a sort of vague interest, only perking up when Luna was called and sorted into Ravenclaw. Soon later it was Ginny's turn, and as the hat slipped over her head, Harry could have sworn that a tiny smirk graced her lips, and then...
"Slytherin!"
What?
What?
He stared in disbelief at the ginger girl as she made her way to join his house. She looked neither surprised nor disappointed.
"Harry," she smiled as she sashayed past him.
Open-mouthed, Harry whipped his head around, catching Ron's eye. Ron looked stupefied, and mouthed something at him that he couldn't make out. He shook his head lightly.
"A Weasley in Slytherin," Margaret drawled, a sort of freakish humor in her voice. "I never thought I'd see the day. I wonder what her family will think?"
"I have a feeling I'll find out soon enough," Harry muttered.
"I don't... I don't understand," Ron exclaimed, when they were all three together again. Hermione threw Harry an apologetic glance. "Something must have gone wrong. I mean, she's in Slytherin. And she's my sister. And... and You-Know-Who was in Slytherin."
Harry winced at that.
"Thanks for reminding me," he retorted, remembering all too well his feelings when he had first been told that particular piece of information.
Ron seemed to remember his presence and backtracked quickly.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said quickly, and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I didn't mean..."
"Look, it doesn't matter," Harry interjected wearily. "I don't mind, okay? After getting a wand with the same core as Voldemort..." Ron flinched at the name and Harry continued impatiently, "not to mention the oh-so-famous scar on my forehead, I've become pretty much immune to any connections of that sort. But I think you're being a little hard on Ginny. It's the hat that chooses what's best for the wearer, after all."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Ron mumbled, shifting uneasily on his feet. "Slytherin is the house for the cunning and ambitious, isn't it? I don't think Ginny is either..." His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no. There was that time we were playing Quidditch at home and she made raspberry crumpets and then she snuck behind my back and stole my broom!"
Harry snorted with laughter, and even Hermione cracked a smile.
"I... I don't think that's very dangerous," Harry gasped, when he had calmed sufficiently. "I doubt she'll turn into a dark lord... or lady... by making people raspberry crumpets."
Ron grinned reluctantly.
"Well, all right," he conceded magnanimously. "I guess we'll just have to see how everything turns out, won't we?"
"Brilliant deduction, Ron," Harry agreed dryly. "Good job."
"Thanks, I did think I... Wait, was that... sarcastic?"
He could see what was with Victor and the dry sarcasm now.
Draco Malfoy and a boy named Blaise something-or-other were thick as thieves this year. Crabbe and Goyle followed them like mindless shadows, but they seemed to irritate Draco more often than not. Harry caught him shooting them extremely piqued glances at their continued attempts to emulate him and he felt almost sympathetic. Almost being the key word, of course.
Ginny was doing all right in Slytherin, although she generally steered away from Harry (which was puzzling, given her earlier behavior), opting to curl up in a corner and write in the little black notebook that she carried everywhere. She didn't have a whole lot of friends, so nobody knew exactly what made up its contents. Harry caught her smiling at the pages after writing a particularly lengthy entry, and he wondered.
"Why do you not like Ginny?" he asked Luna one day, for this was another puzzle he had yet to solve.
The blonde Ravenclaw doodled a bit longer on her scroll absent-mindedly.
"There's something about her that's off," she explained, not bothering to refute the accusation. Harry found her frankness refreshing. "I think you should be careful around her, Harry. She's not what you think she is."
That was another thing he liked about Luna. To her, he was simply her friend, Harry. She never looked at him through the starry, Harry Potter-fied eyes that even Ron and Hermione, for all their closeness and time spent together, tended to lapse into occasionally.
"She does seem a little different," Harry agreed, resting his chin on his fist pensively. "I met her last year and she was very... Gryffindor, if you know what I mean. Very like Ron."
"I'm sure she was."
There wasn't a hint of irony in her tone. She started to draw again, lightly tracing the form of one of her strange and likely nonexistent creatures.
"What are you drawing?"
"It's called a Feathery Diviness," said Luna airily, sounding as if she'd made up the name on the spot. Harry wasn't entirely certain she hadn't. She added a few finishing touches to the figure and then folded her scroll neatly and handed it to Harry. "It's for you."
He took it.
"Um... thanks."
But she had already gone, disappearing into the bookshelves and humming a tuneless song.
Nearly a month had passed before Harry realized that he hadn't put up one single protection in his room.
Salt was first. He had a large bag of salt in his trunk (maybe he was forgetful now that school had started, but he hadn't been stupid) and he lined all the walls with a wide strip that his roommates would hopefully but not likely overlook. He could explain it away with paranoia, though, as many wizards were superstitious and salt was a well-known supernatural purifier.
For the door he made a similar contraption to the one he had used to trap Neville. Fortunately the bag was still more than half full by the time he'd finished. He couldn't get another until Christmas – he had to go back to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia because he'd promised John (he rather regretted that now) – so if he ran out he would inconveniently have to steal from the kitchens.
The devil's trap that he'd found during his summer of research he started drawing on the floor, before deciding it was too obvious and couldn't be explained away as easily as salt. So, casting Wingardium Leviosa on his shoes (it took a long time to do it properly as he was terrible with practically all spell work), he drew it as well as he could on the ceiling with ink.
Despite its magical properties, his bottle ran out before he was half finished (he wished now that he'd bought one of those self-refilling bottles) and he had to beg some out of his housemates. He was gaining quite a reputation for being the Slytherin oddball, what with his strange habits and strange friends and unremarkable appearance in spite of his celebrity status.
Margaret was unfailingly loyal in the midst of this.
"You should have been sorted into Hufflepuff," Harry told her.
"If that was supposed to be a joke," said Margaret, mildly, "you're not very funny."
"I'm hilarious."
She nodded with condescending tolerance.
"If thinking that makes you happy."
It wasn't long before one of his roommates noticed the large and rather obvious symbol on the ceiling.
"Potter! What the hell is that?"
There were further protests, both verbal and physical, but at least he knew one person who was definitely not possessed.
The stuff began to happen on Halloween. Harry thought back to the year before and wondered if there was a pattern, or if evil things really did lurk about on said day.
At any rate, Mrs. Norris was found frozen in place in one of the halls. He didn't actually see her, but it was the sole subject of the next morning's breakfast conversation. He couldn't bring himself to feel sorry because she was a horrid cat. It was the message written in grotesque red paint on the wall nearby that was concerning.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.
That sounded ominous. He was starting to think that Dobby had been right. Hopefully he wasn't an enemy of the heir.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Hermione read aloud, "was built in secret by Salazar Slytherin – how am I reading about it then? – and legend suggests he sealed a terrible monster into it that only his heir can control."
"Why is it always us?" Ron complained, kicking the leg of the table sulkily. The library was empty save for him, Hermione, Harry, and Luna, who was as calm as ever. The students who had come before in ones and twos to study were now wary of walking through Hogwarts' halls alone. "Can't we have a year of peace?"
"Apparently not," Hermione said shortly (she hated being interrupted). "As I was saying, only Slytherin's heir can control the monster." She slammed the book closed. "How perfectly wonderful. We're back where we started. The message gave us all this information already."
"But now you know that it's Slytherin's heir you have to look for," Luna put in, surprising everyone with her contribution.
"Now we have a shorter list of suspects," Harry said eagerly. "Ron, get out some writing materials. We'll make one now."
Ron, who was bored and showing it in increasingly obvious ways, grumbled loudly but dug into his sack. He spread out a scroll and held his quill poised over the parchment.
"So who's first?"
"Malfoy."
"Draco."
"We all seem to be in agreement about that," Ron muttered, jotting the name down. "But don't forget the girls. The message didn't specify whether the heir was male or female."
"It would have said heiress if he was a girl, but he isn't because it said heir," Harry told him.
"Maybe she isn't very good at grammar," said Ron defensively. "Or she ran out of paint."
Harry wrinkled his nose.
"But how would he know he didn't have enough paint if he wasn't done writing yet?"
"She was almost done."
"It doesn't really matter," Hermione interrupted, exasperated. "We need more names."
"Crabbe or Goyle?"
Hermione frowned.
"I don't think they're prime heir material, but I guess we have to consider all of our options."
"Crabbe..." Ron muttered under his breath, scribbling furiously, "and... Goyle. Oh," he said suddenly, looking up, "and of course you, Harry."
Harry very nearly fell off his chair.
"What?!"
"You're in Slytherin," said Ron, in a logical, superior tone. "And you're a Potter, one of the oldest pureblood families around. And you've defeated You-Know-Who. You're very prime material."
"But I didn't open the Chamber!"
Hermione glanced down at her book, saw that it was closed, and looked up again.
"It didn't say you had to," she pointed out. "Just that you could control the monster. It wouldn't be a bad thing, Harry. It would just mean we're in less danger."
"Rubbish! I don't want to be Slytherin's heir!"
"You're going on the list," said Ron decidedly. "Sorry, Harry."
Harry groaned.
Harry weighed his knife comfortably in his fist and flicked it up. Flipping neatly, it landed with a satisfying thud in his palm. He grinned proudly. He was getting better at that. That being a completely useless skill, but it made him feel adept and like a hardened hunter.
"Hey, Harry."
He spun around, flinging his arm up protectively and forgetting that he still held the silver knife.
"Ow!" Ginny exclaimed, clutching her arm.
"I'm sorry, Ginny, I didn't see..."
He caught sight of the shallow slice on her arm and paused. It was sizzling slightly.
If you're a shapeshifter or something nasty like that, it'll burn and I'll know you're not you...
The words floated crazily in his mind.
There's something about her that's off... she's not what you think she is...
Oh.
Can't we have a year of peace?
Oh, no.
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