"This place has seen better days," Tom mutters.
They're walking through the pipes leading to the Chamber of Secrets, shattered skulls crunching underneath their feet and water dripping from the roof in the distance – and Harry honestly has to agree. While the Chamber remains much the same physically, the air is different. In Harry's second year, it'd been sharp and hard, coiled tightly like a snake ready to spring. Quite the contrary to the heavy and sluggish atmosphere now.
"You've been in here, Malfoy?" Theodore asks, eyebrows tilting up in surprise.
Harry and Tom exchange a look. How much are they agreeing to say? How much should Theodore know? Is he valuable enough to know?
"Don't ask, Theodore," Draco says, solving the problem quite nicely. "You don't want to know."
Theodore frowns, tilts his head and gives Harry a look that screams I deserve an explanation, but thankfully lets it go. Well, for now, at least. "Do we know where we're going?" he asks instead. His voice echoes.
"Absolutely," Harry mutters, increasing his pace. God, in moments like these he misses his Healer Robes – the Hogwarts uniforms aren't nearly dramatic enough for chases. Then again, he's not here for dramatics. He's here to save Hermione from certain doom. "I was here in second year. Killed a basilisk and all that." He hums, tilting his head to one side as he stares thoughtfully into the roof – all without breaking his pace. "Wonder if it's still there."
" – basilisk?" Theodore squeaks.
"Don't ask, Theodore," Draco repeats drily. "You don't want to know."
They step up to the round, snake-inlaid door leading to the actual Chamber of Secrets. "Open," Harry commands, handing the two-way mirror to Draco.
The snakes start to slither away from the door.
The seconds pass.
The tension rises.
Harry's quivering, knuckles gone white with how tightly he's gripping his wand. Whoever is on the other side of this door… they've hurt, kidnapped, scared, and threatened one of his best friends.
He grits his teeth and raises his chin. He's prepared. This person will not escape this unharmed.
The door swings open.
He takes three purposeful steps into the room, and then his gaze lands on Hermione.
She's tied to a pole, a pile of logs gathered below her feet. The rope digs into her flesh, leaving her skin red and angry. She's bruised and bloody, usually lively hair now hanging limply over her shoulders. Her chin is touching her chest, head lolling to one side. Her eyes are closed, but she's breathing, so that's something.
Harry's gaze turns back to the logs gathered below Hermione's feet.
The kidnapper means to burn her.
Terrified anger coils up within Harry's chest and claws its way up through his throat, leaving a bitter and salty taste on his tongue and threatening to spill out through his lips.
"Ah, Harry Potter," a silky voice drawls –
but Harry spins towards the source, wand ready and mind set, and he cries out a thundering "Crucio!"
The girl falls to the floor with a scream.
There are several gasps behind him. Probably Hermione, Theodore, and maybe Draco or Tom. Not that it matters. They'll all have to know one way or another sometime soon.
Harry narrows his eyes and keeps the wand aimed at the girl. Tom had described to him the feeling of using crucio as a pleasant and wild experience, addicting in the way some drugs are – but he doesn't feel it. It's not pleasing at all, just a numb carelessness. Maybe it's because he's not a Dark Wizard, maybe it's because he doesn't enjoy torturing people, maybe it's just a fluke. It doesn't matter. The girl writs on the floor, back arching and toes curling with her screams.
Harry ends the curse with a flick of his wand, feeling disgusted at both himself and the girl and not really knowing what to do with that.
The girl lies gasping, eyes closed and chest heaving with each breath she desperately draws. Her hair is plastered to her forehead with the sweat that broke out during the torture.
She's younger than Harry's body – no older than fourteen, for sure. Most likely a third year. The crest on her chest displays for the whole world which house she belongs to – the Eagles. It's a surprise, but not that big of surprise.
Harry lowers his wand. "So young," he mutters mournfully, shaking his head with a sigh. "What possessed you to do such things?" Without another word he casts a stupefy, conjures some ropes and ties her, before grabbing her wand and sticking it into his back pocket.
Harry turns around to see Hermione limping towards them, supported by Theodore on her left side and with blank eyes. Her arms are around Theodore's torso as she stumbles forward, but even though she's weakened, she still manages to glare through her tears. "You," she breathes, looking at Harry, her voice rasping through her throat and sounding more broken than anything Harry's ever heard, "have so much to explain."
Harry laughs; a breathless, relieved laugh. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, I do. Come on." He takes her from Theodore, mindful of her bare feet. They're covered in small cuts – and now that he looks for those cuts, he sees that her hands and upper arms are covered in them. There's blood trickling down her arms. The cuts are probably deeper than they look, and Harry could bet his Healer robes that they require immediate assistance. "Alright, sit down, please," he says calmly, easing Hermione down to the dirty floor. "I'll cast some diagnosing spells, a few cleaning spells, and then I'll heal those cuts and any other damage you might've gotten," he says, following protocol as well as he remembers, before once more drawing his wand.
Theodore, who's sat down next to Hermione, looks up at Harry with narrowed eyes. "You better not fuck up," he warns sternly.
"He won't," Draco mumbles. He's leaning against one of the big snake statues, probably waiting for an order and not wanting to mess anything up by acting without one. "Trust me."
While Harry begins to cast the diagnosing spells, Theodore worriedly pets Hermione's hair while muttering soothing words and gentle questions – "What did she do to you?" "Does it hurt?" "It'll get better soon."
Harry doesn't mention the fact that Hermione doesn't look to be in much pain, and only smirks up at Draco when he notices his surprised look. Told you so, he mouths.
Draco huffs and looks away. Clearly, he's not ready to see the truth.
A few minutes later, and Harry's got Hermione all patched up. "Alright," he says, standing up and brushing down his robes. "I'm sure you two have a lot of questions." He nods to both Hermione and Theodore, the latter currently helping the former into standing. "I'll get around to answering them eventually – but first," he says, prodding the unconscious Ravenclaw girl with his shoe, "Tom and I need to have a talk with this girl. This sort of behavior is not acceptable." The last words are punctured by a sharp look at both Draco and Severus, who both nod to show they understand.
"Agreed," Tom chimes in from over the mirror. "You're coming over, then?"
"I am," Harry nods. "I'll be portkeying right in from here. The wards don't reach this far down, as you surely are aware." When Tom nods, Harry turn his focus on the two minions in the room. "Draco, Severus - " Hermione gives a soft gasp at this blatant disrespect, but Theodore shushes her before she can complain. " – you'll get Theodore and Hermione back up to the surface. I expect all of you to get a good night's rest. Especially you, Hermione." Here he lets his gaze rake over the group. "And not one word to Dumbledore. Got that, Severus?"
Severus' expression is very tight when he nods. He's still not gotten over the fact that Harry's his Lord, but eh. That doesn't really matter. His problem, not Harry's.
"Otherwise," Harry says, absentmindedly twirling his wand between his fingers as he raises his eyebrows at the group gathered before him, "I don't think I need to remind you not to tell anyone about this, hm?"
"No," Theodore says, shaking his head with a slight frown. "We'll keep quiet."
"But we expect answers!" Hermione buts in.
"Of course," Harry nods. "Tomorrow. Alright?"
She frowns, but nods slowly. "Tomorrow," she whispers. "Yeah. I can do tomorrow."
"Great," Harry says. He smiles softly. "I'll see you then."
And with that, he places his wrist – and with it the bracelet portkey from Tom – against the Ravenclaw's bare skin. "Safety," he intones.
Perhaps not as true as it's been previously – Harry's going to safety.
The Ravenclaw girl sure as fuck isn't.