CHAPTER ELEVEN: AN ANCIENT DANGER RETURNS

When I thought that Lockhart would be the bulk of my problems during my second year, I was totally and utterly wrong. Instead, I would have to deal with an ancient enemy of Hogwarts that would end up revealing the darkest secrets of my family, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Before the first sense of danger occurred, I was rudely awoken by Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's Quidditch teams Keeper and Captain, telling me that it was time for Quidditch practice.

Grumbling at the time, it was the crack of dawn, I stumbled out of bed and headed down to the pitch. Inside the changing rooms, I found the rest of my team mates getting ready, though all of them were still half asleep. Wood seemed to be the only one who was wide awake. To make matters worse, he began the practice with a long and lengthy lecture on tactics. Most of the team was sleep, when he had finished.

'Right, does anyone have any questions?' Wood asked, looking around at his team mates.

'I have one,' George yawned. 'Why couldn't you have told us this yesterday when we were all awake?'

Wood was not impressed, but I had to agree with George. He could have at least waited until we were wide awake.

'Now, listen here, you lot,' he said, glaring at them all. 'We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately -owing to circumstances beyond our control – '

I moved guiltily in me seat, after all, it was my fault. The Quidditch match was timed to be two days after I went down the trapdoor to protect the Philosopher's. As a result, I had been unconscious for the final match. This meant Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

'So this year, we train harder than ever before. Now, let's go and put our new theories into practice!' Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms.

Grudgingly, the team followed. None of them knew how Wood could have so much energy so early, though, the sun was now up.

As I walked onto the field, I saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands. I had left Ron a note explaining where I was before I left the dormitory.

'Aren't you finished yet?' Ron asked incredulously.

'We haven't even started,' I replied. 'Wood's been teaching us new moves.'

I then mounted my Nimbus Two Thousand and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the cool morning air.

We had just started our practice when Fred noticed several people in green robes walking onto the field with broomsticks in their hands. He was quick to point this out to Wood and the rest of the team.

'I don't believe it!' Wood hissed outraged. 'I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today! We'll see about this!'

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.

'Flint!' Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. 'This is our practice time! We got up especially! You can clear off now!'

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, 'Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.'

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

'But I booked the field!' Wood was positively spitting with rage. 'I booked it!'

'Ah,' said Flint, 'but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.'

He handed the note to Wood who read it aloud.

'"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker." You've got a new Seeker?' said Wood, distracted. 'Where?'

From behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco.

'Malfoy?' I laughed. 'You can't be serious!'

'And what is that supposed to mean, Potter?' Draco snapped, his grey eyes narrowing.

'Just ignore, Potter, Draco,' Flint told Draco, putting a restraining hand on the younger boys shoulder. 'Besides, we've got something that will surely wipe the smile off his face.'

All seven Slytherins then held out their broomsticks. They were seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

'It's the very latest model. Only came out last month,' Flint said smugly when he saw the dread pass over the Gryffindor's teams faces. 'I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps -' he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives ' - sweeps the board with them, and we have Draco's father to thank for them.'

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say, except for me.

'So you've finally admitted that you need all the help you can get to beat us?' I said innocently. 'But I hate to inform you that talent is that wins games, not equipment.'

'But they sure help,' Katie muttered behind me.

The Slytherin team was glaring at me, except for Flint, who was looking out across the field.

'Oh, look,' he said, 'a field invasion.'

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

'What's happening?' Ron asked me. 'Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?'

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

'I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,' said Malfoy, smugly. 'Why else would I be wearing these robes? Besides, everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team.'

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

'Good, aren't they? Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.'

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' Hermione retorted, shutting the Slytherins up immediately. 'They got in on pure talent.'

'Nice one, Hermione,' I laughed.

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,' Draco spat.

I blinked, having no idea what Malfoy had just called Hermione, but I knew that it must have been something disgusting by the looks on everyone's faces. While Hermione look hurt and upset, the Gryffindor team and Ron looked outraged.

Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, while ripped his wand out of his robes yelling, 'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!' and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass. Hermione and I were instantly by his side with the Gryffindors right behind us.

'Ron, are you alright?' Hermione squealed.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave a massive belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. It wasn't the only lot either. They just kept coming. I was silently thankful that I hadn't had any breakfast that morning, for I was sure that I would have brought it back up.

'We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest,' I said to Hermione, while the Slytherins roared with laughter in the back ground.

Hermione nodded and helped me pulled Ron to his feet, before hurrying him out of the stadium.

When we arrived at Hagrid's Hut, I knocked urgently on his door,

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

'Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me - come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again –'

'Lockhart was here?' I questioned as I helped Ron into the household.

'Unfortunately,' Hagrid grumbled. 'What's 'smatter with Ron?' he added.

'He tried to curse Malfoy when he called Hermione a – something I'm not repeating because I think it is a disgusting word,' I replied, looking cautiously at Hermione, who had tears in her eyes.

'He called me a Mudblood,' Hermione informed Hagrid.

'He did not!' Hagrid looked outraged.

'He did,' she said, before turning to me when she saw my bewildered expression. 'Mudblood is a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born, with non-magic parents… someone like me. It's not a term one hears in a civilised conversation.'

'And since when has Malfoy been civilised?' I growled. 'Where does he get off calling you that?'

'He's probably been taught from birth to treat Muggle-borns that way,' Ron grumbled before vomiting into the bucket Hagrid had just given him.

'What do you mean? Why would he be taught that?'

'You see, Harry, there are some wizards, like the Malfoys, who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood, because no one in their family has ever had an ancestor with non-magic blood.'

'That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard!' I laughed. 'Surely they have to have someone in the family that comes from a Muggle family. I mean, surely, in the beginning, they must have come from a Muggle family? Surely wizards didn't just appear out of thin air?'

'Not everyone sees things like you do, 'Arry,' Hagrid said quietly, 'though some of us do and it doesn't make any difference to us. Look at Neville! He's a pure-blood and struggles with the simplest of magic at times. Besides, they haven't invented a spell out Hermione can't do.'

Hermione went a brilliant shade of magenta.

'So what did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?' I asked, scratching Fang's ears.

'He was givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well,' Hagrid growled. 'Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle.'

'Hear, hear,' I said.

'I think you're being a bit unfair,' Hermione said at once, defending Lockhart again. 'Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job –'

'He was the on' man for the job. An' I mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a year now. Anyway, Harry,' Hagrid said abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. 'Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?'

'I have not been giving out signed photos!' I exclaimed fiercely.

Hagrid started laughing.

'I'm on'y jokin',' he said, patting me kindly on the back and sending me face first into the table. 'I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. I told him that yer more famous than him without tryin'.'

'I bet he didn't like that,' I said, sitting up and rubbing my chin.

'Don' think he did,' said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. 'An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go.'

I started laughing as I imagined Lockhart's facial expression upon hearing this.

-THE UNMASKED MYSTERY-

During lunch, Grandmother ended up coming over to Ron and me, looking stern.

'Potter, Weasley,' she said, stopping behind us. 'You will both do your detentions this evening.'

'What're we doing, Professor?' Ron asked nervously as he suppressed a burp. He was still burping out slugs every now and then.

'You, Mr Weasley, will be polishing the silver in the trophy room supervised by Mr Filch,' she replied, 'without magic.'

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school and was extremely strict when it can to cleanliness.

'And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,' she continued.

I was sure that I saw a hint of pity in Grandmother's eyes.

'Can't I go to the trophy room, too?' I asked hopefully.

'Potter, detentions aren't meant to be fun. They are there to punish students by giving them something they despise. Make sure you are where you're meant to be at eight o'clock sharp… both of you.'

She then walked away.

'Filch'll have me there all night,' Ron complained. 'No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning.'

'I'd swap anytime,' I informed him, hollowly. 'I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail... he'll be a nightmare… well more of a nightmare than usual.'

'I think the only one who would enjoy helping Lockhart answer his fan mail is Hermione and all of those other fan girls!' Ron said with a sigh of disgust.

'And why would that be a bad thing?' Hermione demanded. 'I would be able to hear firsthand how he achieved his triumphs and ask him questions.'

'Can't you just do that after class?' I asked in a bored tone.

'I might, actually,' Hermione said thoughtfully.

'Nice one,' Ron grumbled to me.

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, which found me dragging my feet along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. I gritted my teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at me.

'Ah, here's the scallywag!' he said. 'Come in, Harry, come in –'

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

'You can address the envelopes!' Lockhart informed me, as though this was a huge treat. 'This first one is to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of mine –'

I ended up tuning him out and focused on writing out all of Lockhart's fans' addresses. Some addresses I now knew off by heart as I had to write them out multiple times.

While the candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching me, I moved my aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, and just as I was beginning to wonder if it was time to leave yet… I heard it. I heard the ice-cold, bone chilling voice of the creature that would allow my family's darkest secret to be revealed to me.

'Come... come to me… Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you…'

I jumped violently.

'What?' I exclaimed loudly.

'I know!' said Lockhart. 'It spent six solid months at the top of the bestseller list and broke all records!'

'What?' I looked at him bewildered, having no idea what he was talking about. 'No, I'm talking about that voice!'

'Voice? What voice?' It was now Lockhart's turn to be confused.

'Are you saying that you did not here it?'

Lockhart was looking at me in high astonishment.

'What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott - look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it - the time's flown, hasn't it?'

I didn't answer. I was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling me that I mustn't expect a treat like this every time I got a detention. Feeling bemused, I left and headed back to the Gryffindor common room. However, when I was only a few corridors away from Lockhart's office, I heard it again.

'… rip… tear… kill…'

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice I had heard in Lockhart's office. I staggered to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all my might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

'… so hungry for so long… kill… time to kill…'

The voice was growing fainter. I was sure it was moving away and downwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped me as I stared down at the stone floor; how could it be moving downwards? Was it a phantom, to whom stone foundations didn't matter?

After a slight hesitation, I began to run down a nearby staircase, to the second floor where I strained my ears, but I heard nothing. The voice was gone.

I desperately looked around for some sort of clue. My eyes fell upon a window and on the topmost pane, were around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

Odd, I thought. I had never seen spiders act like that before.

I managed to tear my eyes away from the spiders and began to look around the corridor again. This time, my eyes found something shining on the wall ahead. I cautiously approached the foot-high words had been smeared on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches and reflecting in the puddle of water in the corridor.

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware, it read.

The message had very little meaning to me, even though I felt as though it should have a great importance to me. However, what frightened me most was what was hanging next on the torch next to it. It was Mrs Norris, Filch's cat. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

This frightened me. I had no idea what kind of creature could have done this and I wasn't sure that I wanted to find out. It was for this reason I didn't move. If I had of been smart, I would have, and I wouldn't have been found by my peers as they left the Great Hall from their dinner. Before I knew it students were crashing into the passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. I stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

'"Enemies of the Heir, beware!" You'll be next, Mudbloods!'

It was Draco. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat before looking me straight in the eyes. His smile grew.

'What's going on here? What's going on?'

Attracted no doubt by Draco's shout, Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

'My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?' he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on me. I gulped.

'You!' he screeched. 'You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll –'

'Argus!'

Grandfather had arrived on the scene, followed by several teachers. In seconds, he had swept past me and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

'Come with me, Argus,' he said to Filch. 'You, too, Harri.'

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

'My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free –'

'Thank you, Gilderoy,' said Grandfather.

The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Grandfather; as did Grandmother and Uncle Severus.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The sight would have been quite comical if she hadn't been so nervous.

The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Grandfather lay Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking.

Grandmother's eyes narrowed as she too looked closely at the cat. Uncle Severus, however, loomed behind them, half in shadow. He looked worried, and every now and then, he would look at me, before glaring at Lockhart who was hovering around all of them, making suggestions. Filch, however, was quietly sobbing in the background.

'She's not dead, Argus,' Grandfather informed them all softly once he had finished his investigation.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented that no one had been listening to, except his portraits.

'Not dead?' Filch choked out, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. 'But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?'

'She has been Petrified,' Grandfather explained.

'Ah! I thought so!' said Lockhart. 'It's too bad I wasn't there, I know just the counter-curse that would have saved her.'

'Yeah right. You'd probably get yourself petrified in the process,' Uncle Severus said, while trying not to laugh. I myself had trouble not laughing at his comment. Even Grandmother seemed amused. Grandfather, however, wasn't.

'Now's not the time, Severus,' he said firmly, before looking at Filch. 'I'm afraid that I cannot say how she was petrified.'

'Ask him!' Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tearstained face towards me.

'No second year could have done this,' Uncle Severus drawled. 'It would take advance Dark Magic. Potter may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did he not just finish his detention with you, Lockhart?'

'Indeed he did,' Lockhart confirmed.

'My cat has been Petrified!' Filch shrieked, his eyes popping. 'I want to see some punishment!'

'We will be able to cure her, Argus,' Grandfather said patiently. 'Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs Norris.'

'I'll make it,' Lockhart butted in. 'I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep!'

'Excuse me,' Uncle Severus said icily, 'but I believe I am the Potions master at this school. And knowing you, you'd probably mess it up and end up poisoning the cat!'

There was a very awkward pause. I had to hide my face to conceal my silent laughter as Lockhart moved nervously away from Severus.

'Severus, why don't you take Harri back to her dormitory,' Grandfather suggested.

'Very well,' Uncle Severus said, taking his cold gaze away from Lockhart and leading me out of the room.

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Written: 5 November 2012
Updated: N/A
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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OVER THE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL IN THIS STORY. THIS IS A NON-PROFIT FANDUB CREATED BY FANS, FOR FANS. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED, FAIR USE ONLY. I DO, HOWEVER, CLAIM SOME COPYRIGHT OVER HARRI SINCE SHE IS HALF BASED ON MY ORIGINAL VALKYRIE CHARACTER, PRINCESS HARRIETTA.