I am so sorry for my absence - I've been quite busy lately and have had trouble finishing this. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)
Also a point - on my transitions (asterisks etc) don't work, so occasionally a new paragraph might begin in a completely different time and place, and you might feel confused. That's where normally an asterisk would be, so you'd know. I am sorry about this, I haven't figured out how to fix it yet.
Chapter 10 - A Gringotts Vault
It was a strange sort of compulsion that drew him toward the library instead of the potions lab. A craving for knowledge that left him almost breathless.
He walked over to a table near a fogged up window. There was no rain today, and through the glass Harry could see the icy mist that rolled through along the Hogwarts grounds hinting at the emergence of November. He placed his hand upon the glass. The chill had helped take away the heat in his cheeks, the strange buzzing in his ears.
"Harry?" Tom asked, the grassy scent of his confusion in Harry's head. "Don't you need to go to the Room of Requirement?"
Yes. He did. But he couldn't. He shook his head, feeling dazed and walked over to the library shelves after placing his possessions down on the table. He found a shelf labelled 'Hogwarts Archives 990AD-1945AD', and in it, a box of papers from the 40s. When the Chamber of Secrets had last been opened, fifty years ago he knew.
And although Harry really should've been on his way to the RoR, where he knew Ron was grinding Rhinoceros horn, and Hermione was carefully collating the Passionflower petals from Professor Sprout's store, Harry was… he was curious, for lack of a better word.
Sitting back with his face to the smoky glass, Harry's fingertips ghosted over the tired parchment, eyes skirting over the old calligraphic writing from so long ago. The founders… The Chamber of Secrets… The words from the blood from the writing on the wall seemed to echo inside of him. And he read.
It was many hours later that his friends found him, nearly buried within the library's shelves.
"Harry…" Hermione murmured, coming towards him. She looked at the newspaper fragment that Harry gazed at, barely acknowledging her presence.
"Fifty years ago? Why are you researching that, Harry?"
Harry didn't reply. His mind was awhirl, reading the words over and over.
Strange happenings at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have allegedly caused the Headmaster, Professor Dippet to consider closing the school early. This includes the death of fourteen-year-old Myrtle Warren, under mysterious circumstances. It still remains to be seen whether the school will open for 1944-45. If it does, parents must consider if it will be safe for their children after the events of this year.
This was when the Heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber fifty years ago, Harry thought to himself. Tom had mentioned this; the same person who had imprisoned Tom's soul in a diary just so that he could open it again. But… he found the paper, an old copy of the Daily Prophet dated a month later.
Word has it that Headmaster Dippet of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has decided to keep the school open, after the expulsion of third year Rubeus Hagrid. The recent injuries and one death have been attributed to the young Acromantula the boy was hiding at the school. Reports have said the boy was raising werewolf cubs under his bed, and regularly went to the Forbidden Forest to meet with trolls. Fifth year Prefect Tom Riddle has won an award for Special Services to the School for his identifying of the boy's activities. Professor Dumbledore however, proposedly intervened, arguing that the death of fourteen-year-old Myrtle Warren was an accident, allowing the culprit to stay on the school grounds as Groundskeeper…
They were papers dated for 1943, and Harry stared blankly at them.
"Harry, mate? What is it?" It was Ron's voice this time, and it was soft, as if speaking to a fragile thing. He slowly handed the piece of paper open to his friends, face carefully blank.
"Hagrid is not the Heir of Slytherin," he told Tom. "Why did you accuse him? The monster of the Chamber is a basilisk. It couldn't have been him."
"I know that now," Tom responded, all glassy. "But at the time I had no idea of who the true Heir was."
"Who was it? Who did this to you?"
"Do you think…" Hermione asked him pensively. "Harry, do you think this happened before? Fifty years ago in 1943?"
"What!" Ron exclaimed. "Hagrid's not the Heir of Slytherin! Knowing Malfoy, it'd be a snake or something going around and petrifying people's cats."
"You're right," said Hermione slowly, while Harry tried not to scream at their ignorance, even whilst knowing it wasn't their fault. "But Myrtle… That's Moaning Myrtle! We could ask her. And we could ask Hagrid about this Tom Riddle person. He… was the person who apparently found out about illicit use of the Befuddlement Potion. That's a little odd, isn't it?"
"That information is irrelevant," came Tom's flat voice. All walled off with in his irritating fortress because he wouldn't tell Harry anything when it counted. Nothing. "All we need to do is get the diary now. There is no need for all this research. I don't understand why…"
"He sounds like a real Slytherin to me," said Ron. "I bet he was the one using the Befuddlement Potion out on students. Probably first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs too. Maybe he's the Heir."
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione replied. "He would be in his sixties now, probably living in a nice little cottage on the English coast. Have you ever met anyone named Riddle? No, it has to be someone who has a definite family line."
"Riddle doesn't sound like a Wizarding name, that's true," Ron said.
Harry rubbed his eyes, listening and wishing he could spill out everything, all the knowledge he already possessed but he couldn't, he wouldn't. This was all meaningless, they should be doing the Potion but he needed… he needed…
"Harry I think we probably should go to bed. It's really late. I don't know why you didn't come to the Room of Requirement with us, but I don't think all this research about the Chamber is healthy. We're students. Not teachers," Hermione's voice came softly. Carefully.
"You're saying that? Really, Hermione?" asked Ron in a whisper. The library was darkening, and they were the only ones left.
Harry didn't reply. He was researching. Hours passed.
"Please stop this."
"Harry…"
"Leave me alone. I need to research."
"Harry, it's past midnight! We're all scared of what's happened but you don't need to take it upon yourself!" Hermione's face was grey with exhaustion, her bushy hair a tangled mess. She rested her head in her hands; her elbows were positioned the library table beside Ron, who was dozing, his cheek laid on a History book that Harry had discarded an hour ago.
Opposite them, Harry sat with his nose touching the page of the ancient tome he'd found after scouring for it in the library. He was positively cocooned by the tall piles of books that surrounded him, and in the darkness of the library, his friends faces seemed like pale smears.
Harry wasn't paying much attention to them however. His eyes scanned the small words of the book he'd found:
…Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it…
But he already knew all this. Tom had told Harry about the basilisk weeks ago; it was unbearably frustrating that no matter how hard he looked, he could not find any more information.
"Harry," Tom murmured to him. It was only then that Harry realised he hadn't answered Hermione. He looked up, but only saw the dark outline of her bushy hair against the wooden table. She was fast asleep; how much time had passed?
"Tom?" He said, blinking as if from a daze. "What time is it?"
"Far past the time that you should be asleep! Why haven't you been listening to me?"
Harry shook his head, glancing down at the grainy image of the page. He could barely make out the words it was so dark. "You don't understand. I must research. I have to, the basilisk and the Chamber, I can't stop I-"
He stopped. He could hardly speak coherently it seemed. His entire being seemed to ache with exhaustion, but after Halloween, after that night, he couldn't stop. Harry had to research, he had to know everything, he had to ask questions and look. And the strange thing too was that he could always taste the faint sweetness of sherbet, alongside the bloody tang of Tom's worry for him in the days that had passed. But if Tom was so upset with him, why would Harry taste sherbet?
"Harry," Tom interrupted his thoughts. Although his body ached, his mind blazed with energy, a kind of ceaseless buzzing that had taken over him since that night. "Harry you need to sleep. Please, just…" Harry felt the stormy wave that was Tom's despair (and even guilt?) but he knew that Tom was only sharing that because he wanted Harry to sleep. It suddenly occurred to Harry then; could emotions be constructed? He didn't think so… But it was always possible. He had the sudden idea to experiment. But only after researching about the Chamber of Secrets and the Founders of course.
"How will you create the Befuddlement Potion if you haven't slept?" Tom tried again.
Harry conjured a small light to hover over the yellowed pages, not even bothering to touch his wand. He wondered if he should put up the glass wall, so that he could study in peace. That might be better.
"Why aren't you listening to me?" A kind of hot, molten sadness, anger, terror crept into Harry's chest at Tom's words.
"If you're so anxious for me to sleep, just possess me," Harry snapped.
The deep reverberating sigh Tom made, caused Harry to want to separate himself, to crawl into the glass of a mirror that reflected back at Tom, so that Harry couldn't ever be seen.
"No. I won't." The words were all icy.
Harry, momentarily distracted from the thick tome wondered at the frost and the rotten taste and the heady sherbet on his tongue. He tried to creep into Tom's essence without being noticed, imagined that he was that mirror again reflecting Tom's image.
The thoughts were too complex for him to understand. They whirred around at a dizzying pace, like mechanical clockwork that multiplied and grew in a labyrinthine forest, all dark and quick and shadowy. But there were glimmers of gold and light and thought, things like "Harry" and words like "secret" – "Slytherin" – "compulsion" – "sleep" and
"Forget… Forget… Forget…"
And
"Not ever again."
Harry woke when Ron woke; that is, when the pile of books next to Ron toppled all onto his head. He groaned, and that's when Hermione woke too, a mumbled "Is there any homework, Professor?" and she was up, swaying.
"Oh no!" she gasped, casting a quick tempus. "Class starts in ten minutes!"
Harry blinked at her, as did Ron, before they were all of them off, sprinting to Gryffindor tower, minds blurred and lungs burning. They arrived at Transfiguration red-faced from exertion without having eaten breakfast; Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at them, but allowed them to skulk into the classroom without a word. And so the day continued.
Harry however, felt more clear-headed than he had in days, as if some parasite had been eating away at his brain but had only now miraculously vanished. Although the trio were exhausted still, it was a different change but that was difficult to describe. Harry's thoughts were slow and ambling due to his sleepiness, but at the same time, these thoughts felt more his than before.
That afternoon, the trio completed their homework as quickly as possible, before racing to the RoR to make a start on the potion. Sitting down on the three stools at the Potions counter, the three released a simultaneous sigh.
Hermione was the first to speak.
"Harry… Are you feeling any better?"
She was met with an embarrassed nod. But Hermione didn't ask Harry to elaborate; he felt a sudden appreciation for the latitude.
"I am so glad that you slept." Tom's pleasure communicated itself in the flavour of honey that Harry suddenly tasted. He wondered at the absence of sherbet. "You were hurting yourself."
Hermione was still speaking. "About the Chamber of Secrets… I think that Harry's researching has given us enough information. Mrs Norris must have met the basilisk's eyes in the reflection of the water. Remember – Moaning Myrtle's bathroom flooded! But the question is… who is the Heir of Slytherin?"
Ron scoffed. "It's obviously Malfoy. You weren't there Harry, because you stayed to talk to Nick. But as we went out of the Great Hall, Malfoy said 'You'll be next, mudbloods.' How stupid must he be, saying that in front of the whole school?"
Hermione frowned. "But that could just be Malfoy being Malfoy. We don't know. They say it's the always the quiet ones."
"But we know that it's the diary," Harry muttered to Tom. "Using Ginny."
"The entire school being aware about the Chamber of Secrets opening may be troublesome, Harry."
"But what if…" he had an idea. "What if we use the Befuddlement Potion to ask him?"
"Who?" Ron asked.
"Malfoy?" Hermione asked at the same time. "But what a good idea, Harry! Although we'll have to speed it up a little; I snagged the Passionflower petals from Professor Sprout weeks ago. November 6th is in three days, and the forecast is slightly cloudy. We'll have to go after dinner that night."
Harry nodded, internally quite proud at his plot.
Tom meanwhile, chuckled, a strange thing that seemed to lick at Harry's insides, like the tongues of a flame. "And you say I'm manipulative? I guess this could be a motivator for your little group. But there is a problem. Even if we manage to obtain the diary from your friend's sister, they will still want to test it out on Malfoy."
"That's fine," Harry replied. "I don't see why we can't. I've always wanted to see the Slytherin Common room anyway. Just to prove that it's not as good as the Gryffindor one."'
"And you have your Bulbadox juice, Harry?" Ron asked Harry, diverting the two from their private conversation.
Harry nodded, pointing at a small vial on the ingredient shelf on the wall.
"Alright," Hermione was nodding excitedly. "Lets stew the fairy wings in the Bulbadox juice now. Six hours yes? Someone will have to come in later at near midnight though."
And so they made their plans.
A week after the discovery of Mrs Norris and the bloody words on the wall, the castle was still in chaos. Students had frenzied conversations about the Chamber of Secrets in the hallways, and during class too, theorising about the legendary monster. This was of course, after Professor Flitwick's class, which had been enlightening to most, except for Harry. And Tom, of course. What was more confronting to Harry, was the sudden fear that flooded the student body.
The fear wasn't bad in itself. The fear was logical. What was terrifying was the blame and the distrust and the wary looks that people cast upon each other now, suspicious of everyone. Suspicious of everything. The Slytherins were spreading rumours that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, whilst many were pointing fingers at Malfoy, others at Terry Boot (a Muggleborn of all people?) and some at Susan Boots (It was the quiet ones, they said).
"It is always the same," his friend said, as Harry stirred a watery solution in the Room of Requirement's Potion Lab during lunchbreak. It had turned a deep, cherry red after he'd added the Passionflower Petals, Hermione counting seconds in the background, testing that it was exactly right. "When people are scared of something, they seek to place blame. It doesn't matter who or what. Being suspicious helps to distract people from their fear. If anything, they are cowards."
Although this wise speech, and the many others like it, that Harry head heard from Tom didn't make him feel better, they did help to calm him down from any emotional turmoil he might have been feeling. Harry could ignore the suspicious looks from some of his more gullible friends… what was more important, was that he keep an eye on Ginny.
It wasn't particularly difficult, although Harry still felt like his blood froze in his veins whenever he saw her. He and Tom didn't speak of it; they both desired the diary. It was to save the school from the basilisk hidden in the Chamber, to prevent the Heir of Slytherin's intentions being found out. But it was more than that. Harry needed the diary. And whenever he saw Ginny, he felt it.
But he and Tom didn't speak of it.
Harry could hardly bear his classes. He sat through each with his mind on other matters, could hardly focus at all, and still managed to cast most spells flawlessly. Sometimes the frustration was so strong that he had to take several deep breaths, before he could calm down.
Thank Merlin for Tom, was all Harry felt at these moments.
The worst class wasn't Potions. Lately Potions had been one of the only classes Harry could remain focused in. Every now and then Snape would list some property that related to the Befuddlement Potion's crafting, or mention one of the ingredients, and Harry would straighten as if possessed, his ears alert for any new knowledge to be gleaned.
He hated Snape. But he liked Potions more, believe it or not.
What was unbearable was Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was the one class that Harry had to remain focused in, because Professor Lockhart loved calling him up for examples so often. He had to remain vigilant in case the foolish blonde Professor took his eye out with his wand or some other dangerous absurdity occurred. The matter of Professor Lockhart was one where Tom, Ron and Harry were all in agreement, and Hermione was not.
"He's a fraud!" Ron would complain after each lesson.
"No he's not," Hermione would reply crossly.
"Yes he is," Tom would say.
"I agree," from Harry.
The moon crept into the sky slowly on the night of November 6th. The billowing fog had made an appearance too, so that the grounds of Hogwarts seemed whiter than anything else. More importantly, any stars were hidden by the dustings of milky cloud. In Ron's words, it was 'bloody brilliant. Imagine if it had rained! Glad we didn't need to wait another month.' The weather had surpassed all expectations for Passionflower petal boiling, it seemed.
The swollen waters of the Black Lake, the edge of which they now sat, had abated somewhat after the rain of October, and although the ground was moist, it was not muddy. Tom, who had come to have a chronic dislike of the wet after Harry's Quidditch practises, had had the foresight to think to bring a blanket, which Harry now laid down on the grass. From here, the Passionflower petals had the best access to the moonlight, and indeed, rays shone down on them softly from behind the clouds. Hermione had brought a small copper cauldron along with her from the RoR, empty of course, and was using Aquamenti to fill it with water. She scattered the purple petals into the cauldron and cast a heating charm; the water began to bubble. They watched as the water began to glisten, a lavender tinge beginning to appear in the liquid and the petals wilting under the moonlight. It was surprisingly beautiful, until a voice shocked them out of their trance.
"Harry? What are yer three doin' here?"
The three students bolted upright as if guilty of a terrible deed. Horror was etched onto their faces as they stared up at Hagrid, who looked down at them with wide eyes.
"Oh! Hagrid!" Hermione said nervously. "Well, we were just… um-"
"We're working in the potion," said Ron, glancing at Hermione. "The Befuddlement Potion, remember?"
Hagrid frowned down at them, obviously unhappy. "Yeh shouldn' be up at this hour. It's dangerous; I'm sure yeh know what's bin goin' on, lately?"
Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. "We know. We're half finished though, so you wouldn't mind staying for fifteen minutes longer with us? Surely we'll we fine with you here."
Ron and Harry nodded along enthusiastically.
"I dunno, Hermione," said Hagrid looking around. "I'll stay but it doesn' mean much in these times."
They turned back to the potion, obediently stirring counter-clockwise every few minutes, or whatever else the recipe said. Hermione glanced at Harry meeting his gaze, and nodded her head at the silent Hagrid, who sat beside him. Talk to him.
"Hagrid…" Harry began. "This happened before, didn't it? What happened to Mrs Norris that is, and the Writing on the Wall."
Hagrid glanced at him sharply. "Might've had. Yeh've no business asking, though."
"He knows what you're asking," Tom murmured. He'd been quiet all night, but now his presence arrived, Harry could feel the difference. A certain warmth. "He won't answer if you ask too directly."
"Well," he continued. "We were just thinking that you might remember it. See, we found some copies of the Daily Prophet from fifty years ago, that talked about similar things happened at Hogwarts. And we thought… well… you were at school, weren't you? As a student?"
The half-giant released a deep sigh, and stared at the cauldron. "How much longer is there to go?"
"Ten minutes," said Hermione smilingly.
There was another sigh. "I remember. None of us knew what was happenin'. None of us. Not even Tom Riddle."
Harry straightened.
"Tom Riddle? That Slytherin again?" Ron asked. "He keeps turning up. He won Special Services to the school, didn't he?"
Hagrid's face darkened slightly. "Yes. He did."
"That was because of Hagrid," Tom suddenly murmured. "As you read about, Harry. Because of Hagrid."
"Well…" said Ron. "What happened?"
"It wasn't Aragorn's fault," said Hagrid quickly. "Riddle was wrong, though they all believed him o' course. Hard not to, I s'pose. But it wasn't me."
Hermione stopped boiling the water, but stayed silent.
"Aragorn was meh only friend'," said Hagrid. "I was differen' see. O' course yeh know all about that. But Aragorn didn' kill no one, didn' hurt no one. But no one believed me after Myrtle."
"Hagrid," started Ron. "That's all fine and everything. But who's Aragorn?"
Hagrid blinked. "He's an acromantula. I thought yeh knew everything, already?"
Ron paled.
"Mostly," Harry smiled. But it lacked warmth. "But… if it wasn't Aragorn fifty years ago, who was it?"
He ached to know. For Tom.
"I dunno," replied the gamekeeper. "And Dumbledore doesn' know either. We're all of us, at a loss."
"Was it Tom Riddle," asked Ron. "The Prefect? He seems shady to me."
Hagrid shook his head. "No, not Riddle. He was a Muggleborn, though everyone respected him, even the Purebloods. I dunno how he did it. No one did. But we were all jealous of him fer it." He looked at the small cauldron in front of them then. It was no longer bubbling, and the purple petals were floating limply on the surface. "Yeh better get to bed. An' soon, before anythin' happens to yeh."
The moon's light had faded as the cloud cover thickened, and darkness had taken over, turning all colour to greys and silvers. "You're right," said Hermione. She collected the petals from the cauldron, and vanished the water. "Let's go to bed."
They walked back up to the castle, hidden beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak in silence. But this veiled the loudness of their thoughts.
"That wasn't enlightening at all," said Harry as they passed a particularly gruesome portrait on the fourth floor.
"There is no point searching for the Heir," replied Tom. "You won't find anything. He hid his tracks very well."
"It's only for you," Harry said. Arriving at the Fat Lady's Portrait, Ron whispered the password, and they walked inside. Then it was murmured plans for the next day and the potion, a meeting in the RoR at lunchtime and after class too. Harry and Ron went up to the Boy's Dormitory in quiet conversation, the redhead still thinking about Hagrid's words. Finally, after they'd both changed, and crawled into their beds, there was silence.
Tom could finally reply. "Don't. You won't like what you find."
Harry didn't remember anything after that. He'd fallen asleep.
They finished the Befuddlement Potion that Saturday night, Ron barely awake and even Hermione yawning. Grinning triumphantly, Harry filled up three vials with the now silvery substance. Placing the three vials on the bench, the Trio stared, silence filling the room. They didn't know what to say it seemed.
All at once, Harry was aware of the aches that filled his entire body. He sat on a comfy sofa that appeared, and after a moment in which they all looked at each other, Hermione and Ron followed suit. The sleepy sigh that followed came from the three of them.
"Finally," Harry murmured to Tom. "I don't think I ever want to brew another potion again." He giggled slightly, a hysterical edge to the sound that seemed to worry Tom deeply.
"It's done," said Hermione then. It was obvious from her tone that she couldn't really believe it. "It's actually done."
"Can't believe it," Ron yawned. "Now… we just have to try it on Malfoy!"
The couch widened as the room fell once more into silence. Harry's two friends were already sleeping. His eyes too, seemed to be already closing, but Harry struggled against the pressure.
"Sleep," Tom chided him. "You must sleep. You have not enough for too long. We can plan further tomorrow. It is a Saturday after all. So please, rest Harry."
"Wait," he mumbled, standing up and walking back to the bench where the silvery vials rested. Glancing back at Hermione and Ron, he pocketed one.
"Now sleep?"
"I'm worried they'll notice," Harry replied, not answering Tom's question.
"I'll cast a subtle but complex Memory Charm on them," Tom said sardonically. "Now please get into bed."
Bed? He suddenly noticed that the ever-widening couch had morphed into three separate beds, each with blankets and pillows and Gryffindor colours.
"Yes, I know. Red. I don't' care. Bed."
All Harry could do was release a snigger, before he practically fell onto the bed, the vial carefully spelled not to fall out of his pocket. Asleep.
Harry slept in till midday, and woke for the first time in weeks, almost well rested. Blinking, the boy stretched, wiggling his arms and legs and toes, burying himself under the covers to feel the soft linen against his skin, even as he yawned, and his eyes fluttered. Suddenly however, Harry remembered the events of the night before, and sat up instantly, eyes wide and grinning wickedly. "We did it Tom! We actually did it!" Tom's contentment and pride washed through him then, like a warm waterfall. It was difficult not to fall back against the covers, and let the sensation wash over him.
"Yes. I am very proud of you Harry. You have worked tremendously hard. You are only twelve years old and yet you brewed the Befuddlement Potion, are taking the responsibility of the whole school's safety on your small shoulders." Harry could only smile at the praise, eyes shut but face radiant.
"You're awake!" came Ron's voice. Harry looked over to his friend, who lay in the bed beside him with a tray of a half eaten hot breakfast on his lap. Hermione, only her bushy hair visible in the third bed, was still deeply asleep.
"I didn't know that the RoR could make breakfast," Harry said, staring enviously at one particularly juicy-looking piece of bacon.
"Oh no," said Ron, his mouth full of what looked like scrambled egg. "It was Dobby."
"Dobby?" Tom muttered, a sliver of exasperation slithering across the link.
"Dobby?" Harry repeated, surprised. To his greater shock however, the elf appeared with a loud pop.
"Harry Potter called, sir?" the house elf asked, eyes fixed hopefully on Harry's face.
Ron spoke before Harry could reply. "Harry… what if Dobby spiked Malfoy's Pumpkin Juice at dinner, or something?"
"What?"
Harry hadn't even thought about Malfoy since coming the 'fake' plan. However, with three vials (one of which his friends didn't know about), he saw no reason why they couldn't go ahead with it.
"You are quite devious, you know," Tom mumbled to him. "Although you refuse to admit to it, of course."
How Harry loved the taste of honey.
"Dobby could definitely do this, Harry Potter sir," the house-elf nodded fervently at Harry. Dobby's large eyes were wide, peering at Harry's face hopefully.
Tom snorted, and Harry attempted not to follow suit.
"Ah… yes," Harry shook his head, centering himself whilst mentally glaring at Tom, who's own laughter was making it difficult to continue to farce of doing so. "Could you please pour one of those vials into Malfoy's pumpkin juice tonight? But you can't be seen." He pointed over to the bench where the two vials stood.
"Could we get Dobby to pour one into Ginny's as well?" Harry asked. "It's just that Ron is here…"
"You're forgetting something, Harry."
Oh. "Dobby," he said. "Could you also put this vial into Ginny's Pumpkin Juice?" He gingerly handed over the one in his pocket. "Again, we don't want her to see."
"Of course!" Dobby practically jumped for joy, taking the glass vial reverently. "Dobby will do anything to help such a noble wizard as you, Harry Potter. In fact, Dobby wouldn't-"
"Thanks Dobby!" Harry exclaimed hastily. "Give me a sign once she's drunk it."
Ron was gazing at him strangely. "Harry… You don't have a crush on Ginny, do you?" The redhead made a queasy expression. "You're always staring at her, like really intensely. As her older brother, I think I need to tell you that using a Befuddlement Potion on my sister-"
"And Obliviate Ron please," Harry added cheerfully.
"What!"
"Of course, sir," Dobby nodded respectfully, and that was that.
He didn't notice Hermione's sharp eyes gazing at Harry from behind her pillow.
As the day went on, Harry grew more and more agitated, enough that Ron noticed even, and despite Harry's muttered "I really am fine"s, they refused to believe him (which was the logical thing to do).
They thought that it was about Malfoy drinking the Befuddlement Potion of course, which he let them believe because well… he didn't have a better explanation. Ron was gazing at Malfoy with anticipation in his eyes all through dinner, but Hermione was far less excited. She glanced at Harry speculatively.
"Harry," said Hermione finally, forthright as usual. "We are your friends. Whether you refuse to tell us what's wrong or not, it doesn't matter. We won't abandon you. What does matter however, is that you don't lie to us about being all right. I know you Harry. You're not alright." Harry of course, almost burst into tears at that (maybe he was still a little tired) but of course refrained because he was twelve for goodness sake, and wouldn't that be embarrassing, to cry in front of a girl?
"You guys are the best," he muttered back instead, ducking his head down hastily and staring at the floor. Luckily, he managed to sneak a seat next to Ginny, ignoring Hermione's raised eyebrows. She knew that Harry normally avoid this particular member of his "fanclub", Harry guessed.
Ron fortunately, did not notice at all, although he did make a small comment that caused his sister's face to flush. He received a slap on the arm for it too.
Harry poured himself a pumpkin juice, but couldn't bring himself to drink it. He had to stop himself from staring at Ginny's own drink, and forced himself instead into a conversation with Hermione and Ron.
"The game against Slytherin's next week, isn't it?" Ron chattered cheerfully. "How do you think you'll go Harry? No way you will Malfoy beat you. Maybe we'll even have exposed him as the Heir beforehand." He looked at the Slytherin table again, excitedly.
Harry threaded his fingers through his hair, staring at Ginny with his peripheral vision. She hadn't taken one sip of her pumpkin juice yet.
"What?" he said loudly. "Oh. Not good. They've all got 2001s, as you know."
Remembering the 'mudblood' incident, Hermione paled and Ron grimaced. "Merlin, Malfoy's a git. I'd say I can't believe that he actually bought himself onto the team, but I can believe it. Easily." Harry barely heard him. Ginny had picked up her cup of pumpkin juice, only to place it down again next to her plate of food.
"Harry," Hermione murmured in response to his silence. "Are you alright?"
He flashed a quick glance at her, saw her worried expression and felt guilt settle inside his stomach. "I'm sorry, really. I'm alright it's just-" Harry cut himself off. Ginny had just taken a sip from her cup. Dobby's form appeared for a millisecond (without the sharp crack) behind her. The elf pointed madly at Ginny, and then vanished. Harry realised that he was gaping again, open-mouthed at the spectacle. Hermione and Ron were staring at him as if he'd gone mad.
"Harry," Ron murmured, looking queasy. "Please don't tell me you've gone and got a crush on my sis-" Harry ignored him.
"Ginny!" he said lightly, gently. Tom's own anticipation thrummed in his veins. He barely managed to keep his fingertips from twitching. "Ginny," Harry repeated. The girl in question was staring at him with a dazed expression, a small smile on her face. "Give me Tom's diary."
It was as if the entire hall had disappeared. Harry felt as if he were underwater, the sudden pulse of his blood in his ears.
"Tom's diary?" Ginny gaped at Harry as if he'd just admitted to be being Lucius Malfoy in disguise. "How do you know?"
"Tom!" Harry hissed, shocked at the sudden panic he felt. "It's not working, why isn't it-"
He felt a soothing calmness melt through him. "Harry, it's alright. It is working. This is the beauty of the Befuddlement Potion."
Ginny hesitated visibly, before grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him up from the Gryffindor table. Ron made a disgusted sound, Hermione was quiet, and someone wolf whistled. Harry barely noticed anyone's flabbergasted faces.
"It's in my dormitory," Ginny murmured to Harry, leading him still by the hand to their common room. "I still don't understand how know about Tom, but…" the girl smiled at Harry breathlessly, "If you ask, I think he'll like you. He's very curious about you."
Harry gaped. "This potion is brilliant," he murmured to Tom. "I thought she'd be more…"
"Possessed?" Tom asked, amusedly. "Befuddled? No. Ginny trusts you completely now, enough that she'd gift you her beloved diary. And that diary will have needled itself into her deepest affections. Her priorities are befuddled." Of course. Harry realised it made sense perfectly. He had the sudden urge to cackle at the adrenaline running through him. It was made more powerful by the similar emotion passing through to him from Tom.
Finally they reached the Gryffindor tower, and Ginny left him in front of the fireplace, hurrying upstairs. She returned within the minute, smiling, blushing. She handed the diary to him, and Harry wobbled at the strong feel of Tom's magic, his presence on the object. It felt so different somehow. More. Energised and alive, both younger and older. Harry wanted to inhale it, wanted to never cease to touch it. It was like his fingers were glued to the small black diary in his hands. His fingers were stroking it, ceaselessly, softly, making small sparks flutter up his arms. Harry smiled at Ginny, a feeling of euphoria within him. "Thank you. Perhaps you should return to dinner? And please… don't tell anyone about this. I'm going to bed now, as I'm not feeling well."
Ginny nodded fervently, before hurrying off, leaving Harry alone with Tom and the diary.
"We did it!" he exclaimed then. His magic was thrumming in his bloodstream excitedly. He had been focusing on this, planning this for weeks. For months even. Now, finally, Harry could rest.
"You must destroy it," he heard Tom murmur. "It is difficult to do so, however. It might be better to hide it away until you are able."
Harry nodded, staring spellbound at the diary. It was beautiful, he noticed absentmindedly. A glossy cover, thick pages. He raised it to his face and breathed it in. It smelled like what Tom would smell like, he thought, if Tom could be real.
"I don't want to," Harry mumbled petulantly. And then more loudly, "I don't want to. It's part of you! Surely they must be some way to release it. To release you."
Harry hated Tom's pain-filled resignation. "There is not, Harry. I do not want you getting hurt."
He felt crushed beneath his own inadequacy. He couldn't release Tom from his mind. He couldn't save him from the diary. He couldn't do anything.
"No!" Tom snapped. "You have saved every muggleborn in this school by your actions tonight, Harry. Do not forget that. And… you took me from that darkness. You saved me. Please… do not ever forget that. I know I will not."
Harry slumped into the folds of a sofa-chair, staring morosely into the fireplace. He was still clenching the diary in his hands, stroking its pages fervently. "I don't understand," he said now. "If the diary is so dangerous, why aren't you?"
He felt Tom's sigh reverberate in his own deep exhale. It was a gentle thing, a small puff of coolness in his chest, that dissipated quickly. "The diary was made with a purpose in mind, as you know. However, I was made accidentally. With no purpose." Harry nodded slowly, still gazing into the dying embers of the fire. The common room was slowly growing dimmer, it's scarlet hues fading into rust.
"It's you," he whispered helplessly. "I could never hurt you Tom. Please don't ask me to. Not now, and not in the future, either." Even so anguished as he was, Harry could feel Tom's own conflict.
"Do you think I want to destroy a part of myself?" Tom hissed angrily. Harry was shocked at the fire in Tom's voice. "But I would not have you harmed. It is worth it, in the end, to see you safe." Harry couldn't argue with that. Not with Tom like this, willing to kill part of himself for Harry. He could only place the diary at the bottom of his trunk, under layers of protective enchantments Tom had taught him. He had not even opened it.
It was the next day that a thought occurred to Harry. "Won't the Basilisk still be awake?"
"Yes," Tom replied. "But it will fall into hibernation without the Heir controlling it through my diary. The students will be fine."
He breathed a sigh of relief.
The year passed peacefully after that. They didn't expose Malfoy as the Heir, though they did find out a few embarrassing things about Pansy Parkinson which they'd rather not know. Harry beat Malfoy in the Quidditch match, 180 points to 20. Harry's room was broken into (by Ginny presumably) but the diary remained safe inside Harry's trunk. Tom's protective enchantments really paid off. What was far more exciting was that Harry and Ron, with Tom's help, exposed Lockhart as a fraud, much to Hermione's dismay and embarrassment. Hermione also, for some strange reason, thought that Harry was in love with Ginny and forced them to sit next to each other at practically every interval. Other than that, Harry passed all his end of year exams with flying colours and before he knew it, the school year was almost over. He was as sorry as ever to leave Hogwarts. He knew that he would miss his friends greatly. However, now there was no pesky house elf to steal away his letters. And most importantly, Harry had Tom.
As for the diary, it lay snug in his trunk, untouched. But a trunk is not the same as a Gringotts Vault, and even a Gringotts Vault can be broken into.
And a trunk? Why… that's not secure at all.
The End
PoA to begin soon...