Hello :)

I'm contemplating on how to differ the next year from the original course. Things need to be changed to be more believeable, so if you have any idea, let me know :)

Also, I'm done with this year, so hopefully the posts will be more regular. I'm strongly considering adding other people's POVs to Snapes, though his will be the most critical one, I imagine.

For now: please enjoy

Chapter 4

Minerva dotes on the boy. Of course, she does. She exclaims how alike Potter and his mother are in the field of transfiguration. Potter seems to be a natural. She's told him that, too. I just hope the child won't get cocky with all this praise. I know Felius has informed Potter, as well, of how good he's doing.

It seems to spring from the fact that all the Professors have noticed that Potter doesn't have many friends. Or any, to be more precise. As if that gives them the right to dote on him.

All of them telling Potter how alike he is to his parents. That cannot be, good, I tell myself, but I cannot really stop it.

Halloween is coming around and people are starting to cheer up from the glum of homework. The Great Hall is being decoration is customary colours, black and orange, and I wonder if I should go by the kitchen and ask for something that doesn't include pumpkin. Albus realise my intentions and tries to talk me out of it.

"This is what Halloween is all about: traditions!" I know Albus loves traditions. In a world changing the only thing left is traditions, but seriously: pumpkin pancakes and pumpkin stew? That's just... not very delicious. What happened to mourn the dead?

I note that there are some, who seems to mourn the dead. Potter isn't by the Slytherin table, I note. Once more he's taken up to attend meals when there's less than 15 minutes left of it, but I don't bother telling him to come earlier. There's truly no point to it. Tonight he doesn't arrive at all, not even by the ending.

Anyway, Potter's family was murdered on Halloween, so he's probably celebrating them, or whatever it is you do.

Strange, if Potter's parents died on Halloween then the Dark Lord did too. That's 11 years, to this day, of freedom. Tomorrow it will be 11 years and 1 day. And so on. I almost smile and I realise, with a little surprise that all the other teachers are very comfortable tonight as well. They're all aware. Except Lockhart, naturally, who is blabbering about the potency this night have for killing something or other.

It's surprisingly a comfortable evening, tonight. No one is angry, all happy. That my happy mood is due to Potter, those 11 years back, is not something I dwell too much on. The child was just a baby, after all. Since I know some of the prophecy I also know that Potter never did anything special. It could've been anyone, actually. To be more precise: it could've been Longbottom.

I wonder about how it would've been had it been Longbottom. Would he be just as clumsy or would he be more secure? I look towards the boy in question; he's sitting at the Gryffindor table, laughing at one of Finnegan's jokes along with Weasley. Despite coming from an ancient line he's very withdrawn and hunched; nothing like his parents. I cannot imagine what kind of person he would've been, had he been the Boy Who Lived. I imagine he'd have more respect, consequently have more self-esteem and therefore be less clumsy. And then Potter might've taken up the role as the clumsy and stupid one?

Well, no, if Longbottom had been the Boy Who Lived Potter's parents would've been alive and he'd be the same pompous prat he is now, probably a little worse, really. Unless they were subjected to the Cruciatus and left insane; In that case he'd be like he is now.

I wonder what Potter would've been like if he'd been sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. He's obviously fitter to be a Ravenclaw, with all his studying or whatever it is he does in the library. In Slytherin he's taught he's not above anyone and I have no doubt that had he been a Gryffindor he'd exceed his father in attitude.

Good thing he's in Slytherin, then, I decide. At least there he'll learn proper manners and his proper place.

I look towards the Slytherin table again; his seat is empty. I doubt he'll arrive at the end of the feast, since this isn't exactly an ordinary day and I don't mind that he isn't here. His appearance makes the Slytherins a little edgier, for some reason.

I just hope he isn't doing anything stupid, like making a sacred alter and trying to contact his dead parents through dark arts. Ha-ha¸ I think to myself. That would be fun to watch. Imagine Albus's face if Potter turned out all evil.

As the evening concludes the students begin to raise, all tired and ready for bed. I watch them leave, the prefects and Head Boys/girls ushering them off to their respective houses. We, the teachers, are left back, talking loosely when Penelope Clearwater hurries into the Great Hall, looking greatly distressed.

"Headmaster!" She calls, fear written plainly in her face. "You must come quickly! On the second floor!" The Headmaster is out of his seat immediately and I follow him, wondering who has gotten themselves in trouble.

"Be calm, miss Clearwater," The Headmaster asks, kindly. She shakes her head.

"Headmaster! Mr. Filch's cat is dead! On the wall, written in blood is..." She doesn't finish, but usher us to the scene. My stomach in turning over and I watch with dread as the students scatter to let us through.

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

Nearby Mrs. Norris is hanging in a rope, unmoving. Filch's voice is the strongest, weeping and despairing over his dead cat.

"Did anyone see anything?" Minerva questions the students, but no one answer at first.

"Potter was here. He's a Slytherin, they reside in the dungeons," some student states and I swivel to find Potter, standing to the side of the scene. The whispers are starting, all wondering the same: what is Potter doing on the second floor, when the Slytherins are known to reside in the dungeons.

"I was in the library!" Potter states, panic evident in his eyes. He searches for someone to back him up, but no one says anything.

"The library is that way, and you've passed one staircase leading down," Ron Weasley informs smartly.

"Accusations won't solve anything," Albus cuts in, but everyone has understood the point. If Potter was leaving the library he should've taken the first staircase down instead of continuing. There's no real valid reason for him to be there. I'm pretty sure the child didn't do this, it's a little out of his league, but I like the distrust the others have for him.

"Head Boys and girls, please lead your charges onwards," Albus asks, "Mr. Potter, come with us," the looks the other students send towards the boy are either confused or confident. I realise this is somewhat expected; he's a Slytherin, after all.

"My office is close, Headmaster," Lockhart informs and lead the way when Albus accepts. I'm appalled when I enter; there are pictures of Lockhart everywhere, smiling and waving frantically.

Lockhart gives his point of view right away, claiming that the cat died from some odd spell and that if he'd been there he'd been able to counter it.

I'm not entirely sure of what to make of it all; uncertain about the cat, so I block it out and watch Potter instead. He meets my gaze for a brief second and then looks away, clearly uncomfortable. I doubt he really did it, but I know he is hiding something.

"She's petrified, not dead" Albus states. "Mr. Potter, did you see anything odd coming from the library?" Albus questions when he'd done prodding the cat. His eyes turn on the boy, who evades the Headmaster's gaze by looking at the cat instead.

"No, sir," he seems hesitant, but then continues, "I only passed the first staircase because the stairs were taking so long!" A valid excuse, I grant him. The staircases could be bothersome and choosing not to wait for them has been known to happen, quite often, actually.

"I agree," I say, staring at Potter intensely. He's not meeting my gaze, so I cannot try to peak into his mind. "This is serious magic, Potter is only a second year," he looks up at me when noting my disliking tone.

"I'm not tall enough either," he says, startling everyone to silence. I stare at him, confused. "The writing was further up, I'd have to get a stool. If I'd gotten a stool, where was it? And why would I put it away and then come back?" Albus chuckles at the logic and I simply glare. He's far too observant, sometimes, for his own good. "Where did the blood come from?" His voice is almost muted and I think I'm the only one hearing it.

It is a good question, though. The cat isn't drained from blood, and yet the writing on the wall is clear. So where did the blood come from?

The conversation continues about Mrs. Norris. Pomona is raising Mandrakes and when they're older, or bigger, they'll make a nice antidote for the petrified cat. Filch is momentarily comforted, but then continues his rant of accusations. It's then I remember Potter, so does everyone else and we turn to him. He's calm and relaxed, staring at the floor. How odd that I could forget about him, but I kind of find it amusing. A little.

"I do not believe it is young Harry's fault; he was simply in the wrong place," Albus says and the boy looks up briefly. Their eyes meet briefly before Potter looks at the cat again and then down on the floor again. "Innocent until proven guilty," Albus states with a concluding tone. He nods at the boy and I watch as Potter leaves, quickly.

Argus is still trembling with anger and frustration when he's sent to bed and Albus, Minerva and I leave Lockhart in his office not soon after.

"Poor boy," Minerva exclaims, "and a Slytherin, no less," she looks towards me.

"Make sure he's unharmed through this period, Severus," Albus asks and I nod, numbly. "I have no doubt of the thoughts the students are having right now."

"They'll claim he's the heir and soon as someone realises what the chamber is and what it was meant for," she shivers and I agree to that. I wasn't around the first time when it was opened, but it's a general story, a well-known story, among purebloods. It won't be long till everyone knows.

"Do you think it's true?" I ask the Headmaster. He looks at me, briefly, and I can see he's troubled.

"I am uncertain," he replies, "last time people died, not petrified," he falls silent for a second. "I dearly hope it hasn't been opened," and with that he leaves us. I stand with Minerva for a few seconds, worried.

"There's going to be hell," she states and I agree, completely.

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