Harry Potter and the Eternal Realm

by JBean210

When Harry goes to the Zoo with the Dursleys on Dudley's 11th birthday, he meets Samantha Stephens, who learns that Harry is a distant cousin and that he's being mistreated at home. She rescues him and she and her mother Endora begin teaching Harry witchcraft. A Harry Potter / Bewitched crossover, for now the story will categorize as HP only.

11. The Substitute

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Chapter Eleven

The Substitute

Updated 12/5/2015

=ooo=

25 September 1991
Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.

By the fourth week of the term Harry and everyone among the first-year Gryffindors had more or less settled into the school's daily routine. Get up every morning around 7:30 or so, get dressed, and have breakfast. Then it was off to the morning classes, followed by lunch, then the afternoon periods, then dinner; a steady procession of lessons, food, homework and sleep, five days a week.

First-year classes were designed to keep them busy all week — the only free time Harry and the other first-years Gryffindors had was Friday afternoon, sixth period, when no class had been scheduled for them. Mondays was Herbology, Charms, and Potions in the morning, followed by History of Magic and a double Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the afternoon. On Tuesday mornings they had Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, another Defense class, and Astronomy with Professor Sinistra. That afternoon was Potions and a double Herbology that they shared with the Hufflepuffs.

Today they began with History of Magic, after which came their first morning double class, Charms, which they took with Ravenclaw first-years, then went on to Herbology and a double Transfiguration, again with the ravens. Wednesday also had the added "fun" of a midnight class in Astronomy on the Astronomy Tower, to which they brought their telescopes, setting them up to observe the night sky and make diagrams for their practical lessons.

Thursdays began with Charms, followed by Transfiguration and Defense, and in the afternoon they had another Astronomy class, followed by their flying lessons with Madam Hooch. Fridays began with a double Potions, taken with the Slytherins, followed by a final Astronomy for the week, and ending in the afternoon with a double History of Magic, which they shared with Ravenclaw.

As if that wasn't enough for the first-years to do, Harry reflected, he and Ron also now had Quidditch practice! It had made them the talk of their dorm room; Dean was positively green with envy. The Gryffindor team captain, Oliver Wood, was almost fanatical about practice — nearly every afternoon after their last class he would have everyone out on the Quidditch pitch doing broom drills, passing Quaffles (the balls used to score points in the opposing team's goals) back and forth as they flew past and next to each other, and how to block the opposing team's efforts to steal the Quaffle from them. The only person this didn't apply to was the Seeker — Harry, in Gryffindor's case. As the Seeker, Harry had only one job: catch the Golden Snitch, the smallest and most elusive ball used in the game. It was not much bigger than Neville's Remembrall, Harry learned, but was much more difficult to locate, being able to move on its own. Wood released a Snitch at the beginning of practice, telling the other team members they would practice until Harry caught it. That quickly changed, however, because Harry usually caught the Snitch in the first two or three minutes.

Except for the time it cut into getting his homework done, Harry liked Quidditch more than he thought he would. It allowed him flying time, although he had to keep his speed and maneuvering down to what the school brooms were able to perform, to avoid raising suspicion about his flying ability. Uncle Arthur approved of his getting out and exercising, though he thought the game itself was a bit quaint, as he put it. "Plus," he mentioned to Harry shortly after practices began, "we may not want to mention Bludgers to your cousin Sammy just yet."

Bludgers were the third type of ball used in the game: two six-inch diameter iron balls that rocketed around the pitch during games, trying to knock everyone off their broom. Two players on each side, called Beaters, carried heavy wooden bats that they used to knock the Bludgers toward opposing players, causing them to dodge or get hit. As distracting as Harry found them whenever they were used in practice, he was thankful they didn't use the Bludgers that professional Quidditch teams had — those were a whopping ten inches in diameter!

This Wednesday morning Harry, Ron and Neville entered the Great Hall, found seats at the Gryffindor table, and began helping themselves to breakfast. As usual, there was a cluster of girls at the head of the table, nearest the High Table, where they could get a good look at Lockhart if and when he came down for breakfast. Hermione and the other girls had not joined Harry and Ron for breakfast since Lockhart had come to Hogwarts. And Hermione still hadn't quite gotten over Harry matching his and Ron's scores on Lockhart's first-day quiz with hers, which is what she was so upset about. Once Ron learned it had been one of Harry's jokes, he'd laughed and forgotten about it. Hermione hadn't.

"Have your Charms homework done, Harry?" Neville asked him as he started in on a bowl of porridge. Harry nodded, his mouth full of eggs and potatoes. Ron slapped himself on the forehead.

"Hell, I forgot about Charms!" he muttered. "Harry, can I look at your paper?"

"Sure," Harry agreed, going into his book bag and pulling out the sheet with his homework on it. "Just remember to change the words a bit, so Flitwick won't think you copied."

"Got it," Ron nodded, getting out a blank sheet of parchment and a quill. "By the way," he said, holding up the quill. "I really like these self-inking quills, Harry!"

Harry nodded in reply. Continually having to dip quills in ink wells had been too much trouble, so Harry had quietly zapped up a few that inked themselves. It was like using a Muggle ball-point pen — much more convenient! He had offered one to Hermione as well, but she'd turned up her nose at the quill and said, "I prefer to do my homework without cheating, Mr. Potter." How using a self-inking quill was cheating was a mystery to Harry; it was obvious Hermione wasn't going to cut him any slack about Lockhart's quiz. He'd given the quills to Fay, Parvati, Darla and Lavender instead. Lately, however, he'd noticed in classes with a lot of lecture notes that Hermione was using one of the other girls' quills so she could keep up with the professor. It made Harry feel better, knowing she was at least using his quills.

About half-past eight Professor Lockhart sauntered into the Great Hall, strolled up to the High Table and took his now-customary spot: the chair next to Dumbledore on his immediate right, waving and smiling at the hordes of girls who'd commandeered the House tables closest to him; all the girls were waving back at him, giggling among themselves as they argued over who Lockhart had smiled at the longest and who'd had the most interesting conversation with him in class. It was sickening, Harry decided.

Equally sickening was the way Lockhart had taken to him. The Defense professor had decided that he and the Boy-Who-Lived were kindred spirits — both on a quest to gain fame and celebrity in the wizarding world, and Lockhart, as the more experienced of the two in that endeavor, felt he should pass his knowledge on to his new protégé. He kept Harry after classes, droning on and on about how to get in the public eye and keep them interested in you, year after year, something Lockhart had been going at for seven years now, with his string of books, public appearances and book signings, which he kept going on about, minute after excruciating minute. Lately Harry had taken to ducking out of class the moment the bell rang, waiting for Ron in the halls.

At the High Table, the teachers appeared as tired of listening to Lockhart as Harry did. A knot of female teachers on the side opposite Lockhart were abusing him mercilessly, complaining about his teaching skills, his wild hyperbole about his proficiency in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and his vanity. On Lockhart's side, Professor Flitwick ate with his eyes on his food, ignoring Lockhart completely.

Hagrid, the half-giant, was at the High Table this morning as well; he didn't always show up for breakfast, but when he did he always had a smile and wave for Harry, though he and Harry didn't even really know one another; he'd only met Hagrid when they got off the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station. Hagrid seemed to know him quite well, somehow. Harry had meant to ask him about that, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Hagrid wasn't paying much attention to Lockhart, either; he was more interested in his stoat pot pie than in listening to some whipped-up professor boasting about himself.

Snape, on the other hand, kept a baleful eye on Lockhart, watching and listening to everything the man said. Harry imagined he was mentally taking notes on Lockhart, to use against him at some future time. Snape kept shooting glances toward Professor Dumbledore, who sat, seemingly oblivious to Lockhart, in his chair at the center of the High Table as he delicately sampled the few items of food on his plate.

Harry wished there was a way to take Lockhart down a few pegs; if he'd started out as a boorish, vain idiot when he'd come to Hogwarts two weeks ago, he'd only gotten worse. There was a way, Harry knew — he glanced upward. Uncle Arthur, he thought into the ether. Please come to breakfast and work your magic on Lockhart. Pretty please?

But if Arthur heard him, he still hadn't come down to the Great Hall for meals since that first week of school. The reason? Harry had no idea, but he suspected Arthur simply wasn't interested in interacting with the Hogwarts staff anymore, no matter how much havoc he might wreak and practical jokes he might play. He was in the Room of Requirement every night like clockwork, giving Harry his lessons, but his heart didn't seem to be in it anymore. Harry was afraid that, if Arthur got too bored with the situation, he might stop tutoring Harry. And if that happened, Samantha and Tabitha would either have to find a replacement or take Harry out of Hogwarts. Leaving the school wasn't in Harry's near-term plans. He liked being here; he'd warmed up to Quidditch, even if the practices were a bit monotonous, and he liked having friends like Ron and Hermione and Neville and the other Gryffindors, even if he and Hermione weren't exactly friendly at the moment. That would surely change before long, wouldn't it? Hermione would get over being mad at him and things would go back to the way they'd been.

Or… maybe he ought to apologize to her for the trick he'd pulled, making his and Ron's quizzes answers hers on Lockhart's stupid quiz his first day here. Maybe…

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked, looking up like Harry was. "The ceiling?"

"Just…thinking," Harry murmured. He looked down at his empty plate.

"Thought maybe you were praying Lockhart would shut his gob," Ron cracked, taking another slice of toast and spreading butter on it. "I swear, the man never seems to inhale — his mouth just goes and goes and goes…"

"At least we don't have his class today," Harry said. "So we won't have to listen to him."

"Except for now," Ron retorted, nodding toward the High Table. "Merlin, I almost wish we had Quirrell back!"

Harry stood, grabbing his book bag. "Come on, let's go," he said.

"It's fifteen minutes before class," Ron pointed out. "Why go early?"

"We can get ahead on our homework," Harry said.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you and Hermione aren't together? I think she's given you bookworm-itis or something."

Harry glanced toward the head of the table, where Hermione and the other Gryffindor girls were still chattering about Lockhart. "I'm sure, Ron," he said in a don't-be-a-smartass tone of voice. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron muttered. He slung his book bag over his shoulder and he and Harry walked out of the Great Hall and up the grand staircase, heading toward classroom 72 on the third floor.

On reaching the second floor they ran into Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were heading toward the staircase in the opposite direction. "Good morning, Harry," Malfoy said courteously, with a small bow in Harry's direction.

"Hi, Draco," Harry nodded. The situation between him and Malfoy had improved in the past few weeks, to the point where they were on a first-name basis. "Are you lost again?"

Draco laughed as Crabbe and Goyle flanked Harry and Ron. Harry glanced at them but turned away after a second — Malfoy's minions couldn't help but try to look intimidating. "Not lost, we got on a staircase that shifted from the first to the third floor — we're trying to get to, er, Defense class," Malfoy explained. "Where're you headed this morning?"

"History," Harry said.

Draco made a face. "I hate that class," he complained. "The only thing it's good for is taking a nap. They need to fire Binns and get some hot witch in there to teach it, someone who could spice up the lessons some."

"Sure, like Dumbledore's going to hire someone under 40 to teach that class," Harry retorted. "I'd like to be there when you suggest it to him."

Draco smirked. "Maybe I'll suggest it to my father — he's on the board of governors, you know." He glanced at his watch. "We'll we'd better get to class. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle."

Harry started to step around Malfoy, but that the same time Crabbe started to step toward him, and he and Harry collided. Harry's book bag went flying as Harry fell back on his behind.

"Sorry," Crabbe muttered, reaching out a hand to help Harry up as Malfoy bent over, picking up Harry's book bag.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking Crabbe's hand after a moment. The larger boy pulled Harry easily to his feet.

"Here's your book bag, Harry," Draco said, handing it to him. "See you both later." He, Crabbe and Goyle disappeared down the staircase.

"Still got all your books?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Come on, Ron, Draco isn't like that anymore," Harry said. He slung the book bag across his back. "Come on, I want to get in a few minutes of study before Binns starts his lecture." It was a proven fact that Binn's wheezy, monotonous voice that could induce drowsiness in most students within ten minutes — five in warm weather.

At the bottom of the first floor staircase, Malfoy stopped and turned to Crabbe. "Good work," he said. "I had more than enough time to slip the book into Potter's book bag." He waited a few seconds, then started up the steps again, saying, "They should be on their way to History by now — come on, we have a long way to go to get to Astronomy."

=ooo=

In classroom 72, Harry and Ron took seats at the back of the room, and Harry began pulling textbooks out of his book bag — A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, for McGonagall's homework, his star chart for Astronomy, and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, for Herbology.

He also pulled out another book, a softcover diary with a dark brown leather cover, but no title or other information on it. Harry opened it and flipped through the pages, but there was nothing on them. "What's this?" he asked, holding the book up for Ron to see. "Ron, did you put this in my book bag?"

"Huh-uh," Ron glanced at the book and shook his head. "Where'd you get it?"

"I don't know, it's not one of my books." Harry looked on the back cover; at the bottom a name was stamped, barely readable as the ink had almost faded. Even with his warlock senses Harry could barely make out the name, Winstanley's Bookstore & Stationeers, on Vauxhall Road in London. The front cover had the year "1943" embossed on it — presumably the year it had been sold. He opened it to the first page and saw a name — T. M. Riddle — written there in faint, smudged ink.

"Well, whoever 'T. M. Riddle' is," Harry said. "He must've picked up one of my books by mistake, because I've got his diary."

"Really?" Ron leaned over to look at it, interested. "Anything juicy inside?"

"Nope," Harry shrugged, flipping through the pages. "It's empty."

"Too bad." Ron sounded disappointed. "Could have used a laugh about now." He took the book from Harry to look at. "We were in the Library yesterday before dinner," he recalled. "Sitting at a table with third- and fourth-years. You were trying to get Hermione to notice you—"

"That's not why we were there," Harry disagreed. "In Professor Flitwick's reading assignment, there was a section on a book of Charms; I needed to look up a spell from that book for homework. So do you, by the way."

"So did you find the book?" Ron asked.

"No," Harry admitted. "Hermione already had the last copy. That's why we were there — to wait for her to finish using it so I could look through it."

"Yeah, sure," Ron said, pretending to be skeptical of that reason. "If you say so, Harry…"

"Will you stop bugging me about Hermione?" Harry demanded. "Look, I'm going to apologize to her so we can be friends again, okay?"

"Good idea," Ron smiled sweetly. "You don't want your girlfriend to be cross with you now, do you Harry?" He batted his eyes suggestively at Harry.

"Arrgh," Harry groaned, thoroughly irritated. He snatched the diary from Ron. "If that's all you've got to say then do us both a favor and shut it." Harry dropped the diary on the desk in front of him.

"Obviously this belongs to one of those blokes from the table we were sitting at," Ron pointed out. "You should put a notice on the bulletin boards of the other Houses, to see if anyone's lost an old diary."

"I'd like to know why anyone would carry it around in the first place," Harry said, giving the book an annoyed glare. "Who needs a fifty-year old diary?"

The classroom was beginning to fill with other Gryffindors coming into the class. Seamus and Dean wandered in, taking seats in front of Ron and Harry. Dean turned around and quipped, "Ready to get caught up on your sleeping?" He'd made that joke every time since the first day of the class. Harry and Ron smiled obligingly at Dean's stale joke.

The Gilderoy Lockhart Fan Club came in — all five Gryffindor girls — and took seats near each other in the front of the room. It didn't matter where you sat in Binns class; once he started lecturing he simply went on and on, as if reciting lines from memory, ending just as the bell signaling the end of class rang. It was like he had them timed down to the second by now.

Harry started working on his Charms homework, hoping to get the 18 inches of essay Professor Flitwick had assigned done by the time Binns started his mind-numbing lecture. He was staring at the parchment, trying to decide how to word his summary sentence, when a hand reached out and picked up the diary.

Harry looked up. Dean Thomas was holding the diary and looking it over, a smirking smile on his face. "Thinking about starting a diary, Harry?" he asked. "You know, I can get you a much nicer book than this old thing."

"It's not mine," Harry said, holding out his hand for the diary. "It belongs to someone named T. M. Riddle."

Dean began leafing through the book. "Where'd you get it?"

"Probably from some bloke named Riddle, don't you think?" Harry said, exasperated. "He or she's probably some third or fourth-year — Ron and I were in the library yesterday, and I may have accidentally picked it up."

"A likely story," Dean laughed. "More likely you thought there'd be some gossip in here. Sorry to tell you, but nobody named Riddle is going to Hogwarts this year."

"How d'you know that?" Ron asked challengingly.

"Because I actually talk to people," Dean retorted. "I know everyone's name up to fifth year, and I'm working on sixth and seventh. Nobody in the first five years, male or female, has a last name of Riddle."

Before Harry could reply, a silvery figure suddenly entered the classroom by walking through the blackboard at the front of the room. Dean dropped the diary on Harry's desk and turned around.

Professor Binns had been very old when he died; he was balding and hunched over, and tended to shuffle when he wasn't floating in the air. His desk at the front of the room was stacked with folders of the notes he had made over the decades of teaching History of Magic, and he seemed to look them over for several seconds, as if reminding himself where he was in his lectures.

"In our last class," Binns began speaking, without giving any indication he was aware there were students in the classroom. His voice sounded as old and faded as the man himself looked. "We finished our discussion of the ancient Greek sorcerers and sorceresses such as Circe, Mopsus the Seer, and Falco Aesalon, the first Animagus. Today we will move on to witches and wizards of the Roman era, the period from about 750 B.C. to approximately 500 A.D., when the last of its…" Binns faltered and stopped lecturing as something quite unusual was happening: one of the students in his class had raised her hand and was waving it back and forth to get his attention. "Er…yes, Miss — um…"

"It's Fay Dunbar, sir," she said, rising to her feet. "I have a question, Professor."

"A question…?" Binns looked confused, as if the idea of someone asking him a question had not occurred to him in a long time. "What…is it?"

The entire class was looking at her now. Even Harry stopped checking his star chart to listen. "Professor," Fay continued. "You said in a previous class that the ancient Greek Herpo the Foul was the first wizard to create a Basilisk."

"Yes…" Binns nodded slowly. A wrinkled, silvery hand reached out to touch a stack of folders, as if to remind him of that lecture.

"Well," Fay went on. "The other day Professor Lockhart was telling us about some of the creatures he's defeated, and he mentioned that when he was here at Hogwarts, he discovered the Chamber of Secrets and defeated the monster that was guarding it. His descriptions of the monster implied it was a Basilisk, according to Hermione." She glanced over at Hermione, who nodded.

"My question is, do you know of any other wizards who have defeated Basilisks in the past?"

Binns looked around the room, seeming to see the others there for the first time. His confused expression turned into a frown. "The Chamber of Secrets does not exist," he said, shaking his silvery head. "It is nothing but a fanciful legend."

"But sir —!" Lavender Brown, next to Fay, stood as well. "Professor Lockhart told us he'd seen the Chamber, that's he's been there! What reason would he have to lie to us?!"

"I'm certain I do not know," Binns replied. The frown began deepening on his wizened, silvery face. "But I deal in historical fact, not fanciful legends and unverifiable tales."

"Sir?" Hermione now raised her hand. "What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Binns stared for several moments, if trying to remember things he hadn't thought of in a long while. "As I recall, the story goes that Salazar Slytherin build a chamber somewhere inside the castle, a room of which the other founders knew nothing.

"According to the legend," Binns continued. "Slytherin sealed the Chamber so that no one would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber and unleash whatever horror he had sealed within it, using it to purge the school of all who he considered unworthy to study magic."

"But why do you consider that just a legend, Professor?" Hermione asked. "To this day we don't even know exactly when Hogwarts was founded — the most reliable documents put it at around a thousand years ago."

"We know that Hogwarts was built because obviously it is here!" Binns snapped. "There are multiple independent attestations for its existence by the time of the Norman invasion in 1066 A.D., though the invaders never made it far enough north to threaten the school itself.

"But as to the claim of the Chamber's existence, it is arrant nonsense," Binns declared. "The school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times in fact, by the most learned witches and wizards of our society, but no such room has ever been discovered. It therefore does not exist — it is merely a tale told to frighten the gullible."

But now Hermione stood as well. "Sir," she said firmly. "In Hogwarts: A History, the author reports that the Chamber is believed to exist somewhere under the school, accessible by means known only to the Heir of Slytherin, and that it contains a monster of some kind that will do only his bidding."

"Bah!" Binns snorted. "Bathilda Bagshot wrote that book — it is filled with guesswork and conjecture, hardly a valid historical tome at all! I would not stake my trust in anything it says!"

"Bathilda Bagshot is considered a very reliable historian, Professor," Hermione pointed out. "The book is a quite thorough history of Hogwarts from the time of its founding up to the early 20th century."

"And I tell you it is rubbish!" Binns retorted, as agitated as anyone had ever seen him. "There is no Chamber, and there is no monster!"

"But Professor Lockhart insists that he defeated the monster!" Fay exclaimed. "He told us he found the Chamber of Secrets, opened it, and defeated the monster singlehandedly!"

"Wouldn't that mean that Lockhart was the Heir of Slytherin?" Harry pointed out from the back of the room. Everyone turned to look at him.

"That's right!" Seamus, sitting next to Dean, agreed. "If the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, then nobody else would be able to do it, would they?"

"Professor Lockhart had a special password!" Fay exclaimed. "He — he said learned the password from the Defense professor that year!"

"What year was that?" Professor Binns asked, suspiciously.

"Um…" Fay shook her head. "He — he said it was in the spring of his last year in school."

"That would have been in 1982," Hermione said. "Professor Lockhart started at Hogwarts in 1975."

"That would have been Professor Podmore," Binns recalled. "He died in the summer of 1982, before he could return for a second year as Defense professor, so we cannot ask him to verify Professor Lockhart's story."

"But we can ask Professor Lockhart directly!" Fay cried, upset that Binns doubted Lockhart. "If the monster is defeated, he has no reason not to take us down to the Chamber and prove that it exists!"

Harry could think of a very good reason why Lockhart wouldn't do that —because he had no idea where the Chamber of Secrets was, and would avoid it like the dragon pox if he did! "Maybe we should go ask him," he suggested.

Fay whirled on him. "You don't believe him either, do you?! For some reason, Harry Potter, you seem to hate Professor Lockhart, though he's been nothing but nice to you since he got here! Shame on you!"

"He's hardly been 'nice' to me," Harry retorted. "He thinks I'm as greedy and eager for notoriety as he is, because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"There are a lot of books and magazines about you," Lavender pointed out. "My father has books about you that came out the same year your parents were killed. Are you trying to say you don't know about them?"

Harry shook his head. "I had no idea such things existed. This is the first I've heard of them."

"I don't believe you," Fay snapped. "You or your guardians had to give permission for those books and stories to be published about you!"

"Oh, that's a joke!" Harry retorted hotly. "My aunt and uncle hated magic! They never told me anything about my parents or even the truth about how they died! They wouldn't have wanted those books to be written, it would have reminded them that I was a —!" Harry stopped, realizing he was saying too much about his past. Everyone in the room was looking at him strangely. "Anyway, I don't know anything about those books!"

"Alright, that will do!" Professor Binns said sharply. "The Chamber of Secrets is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I should not have even mentioned such a foolish story to any of you! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

"But—" Hermione tried to argue, but Binns had returned to his lecture, and ignored Hermione's raised hand for the rest of the period. Harry shook his head, wishing he hadn't said anything about Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and concentrated on his homework, feeling Ron's eyes on him as he worked. He was probably going to be full of questions about that part of his life, a part Harry didn't want to remember anymore.

When the bell rang at the class, Professor Binns turned and floated out of the room through the blackboard, and the Gryffindors began gathering up their books to their next class, double Charms with the Ravenclaws. Harry put his books back in his book bag, except for the diary; on the way to lunch, he decided, he could stop and leave a note in the Library that he'd found it, then wait and see if anyone claimed it.

Harry walked out of the classroom with Ron hot on his heels, eager to start asking questions about his aunt and uncle, when they ran into Hermione. "Oh, hi," Harry said, stopping short.

"Hi," Hermione said. She was silent for a long moment. Then, "I'm sorry about your problems with your aunt and uncle, Harry. I didn't know you hadn't always lived with your cousin Samantha."

"I was going to ask him about that," Ron said, stepping around from behind Harry. "He mentioned living with some other relatives, but I didn't know they gave him such a hard time."

"If…you ever want to talk about them with me," Hermione began.

"Or me," Ron added.

"Just, just feel free to, um, do that," Hermione finished.

"Okay," Harry said, trying to figure out what was happening. Two weeks of nothing from Hermione, and now she wanted to be his friend again? "I will," he added. When I'm good and ready, which won't be for a while!

"The real reason I waited for you," Hermione continued, looking even more uncomfortable now. "I — I want to ask Professor Lockhart about his Basilisk story."

"I thought Lockhart didn't say what the monster was," Ron remarked. "How d'you know it was a Basilisk?"

"The way he described it," Hermione said. "He said it was huge and horribly green, and that it could freeze you in a moment if you looked directly at it. I checked and that description's consistent with a Basilisk." She looked at Harry. "What you said in class makes sense — if he really killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, he should be able to prove it by taking someone down to see it."

"Like you, you mean?" Harry asked, wondering if she had some other motivation for being alone with Lockhart.

"No — I mean someone — um, like Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall," Hermione explained. "Someone who can protect themselves if it turns out there's something dangerous in the Chamber of Secrets — assuming it even exists."

"What if it doesn't?" Ron piped up. "Is that going to convince you Lockhart is full of —" Hermione stared at him "— full of beans," Ron finished.

"I don't know — probably," she admitted. "Those books of his were all so…so amazing," she went on. "I saw them in Flourish and Blotts when Professor McGonagall took me there to get my school books. I bought them all at once, even though Professor McGonagall suggested I start with just one or two. Now I don't know what to think."

"You should probably go talk to Lockhart, then," Harry suggested.

Hermione nodded shakily. "Yes," she finally agreed. "Will — will you go with me?" she blurted out.

"What?" Harry was surprised. "Why me?"

"I think he'll be more truthful if you're there," Hermione suggested. "If you know what I mean," she added, giving him a knowing look.

"Oh," Harry said, wondering what she was getting at. Did she really expect him to use his witchcraft on Lockhart to make him tell the truth? Because, actually, he was good with that. "Okay," he agreed.

"Oi, what about me?" Ron asked indignantly. "I want to go, too!"

"Fine, Ron," Harry said, mildly irritated Ron had to get in on proving Lockhart was a phony. "When do you want to do this?" he asked Hermione.

"Well, we have Charms class in about —" she reached down and pulled Harry's wrist up so she could see his watch. "—about four minutes. We can go right after that."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "We'd better get going, then, if we're going to get to Flitwick's class in time." The three of them hurried off toward the Charms classroom.

=ooo=

11:12 a.m.
Headmaster's Office—

Dumbledore heard the soft grinding sound that accompanied the walls guarding the spiral staircase to his office moving aside to grant someone access. He'd been concentrating on his work and hadn't paid any attention to the ward that informed him when his guardian stepped aside to allow access.

Who could it be at this time of day? Minerva had already brought him the morning owls, including his daily missive from Cornelius, who still hadn't completely settled into his role as Minister of Magic.

There was a rapping at the oaken door of his office, and Dumbledore knew instantly who it was: no one but Professor Snape could have a knock that sour. "Come in Severus," he called, and the door opened of its own accord to admit the Potions Master. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Snape strode into the office, hands clasped behind his back, his face a sallow mask of determination. "Headmaster," he nodded in respect as he stopped before the ancient wizard's desk. "Something must be done."

"About what, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, allowing a twinkle of amusement to show in his blue eyes. Snape always spoke as if his words were of utmost importance. "Are the dungeons becoming too drafty again? Was the porridge too runny this morning? I thought it was a bit thin, myself —"

"Something must be done about Lockhart," Snape interrupted.

"Really?" the Headmaster sat back in his chair and regarded the Slytherin Head of House with some interest. "When did you come to that conclusion?"

"Why did you even hire him?" Snape demanded. "The man is a complete fraud, an utter buffoon masquerading as a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts — he knows no more about them than a baby knows how to wipe its arse."

"Please, Severus — you needn't be so coarse in your descriptions," Dumbledore insisted. "I knew Gilderoy was unfit for the job before I hired him."

Snape swelled with indignation. "You knew —? Then why hire him in the first place?! Even by the admittedly low standards of Defense professors we've had here in the past decade, the man is worthless!"

Dumbledore ignored the implied insult to his administrative skills. "I have been studying the career of Gilderoy Lockhart for some time, Severus. When he attended Hogwarts in the 1970s and 80s, he was a brilliant student, quite ambitions, but also lazy, spoiled and vain. I fear his mother may have overindulged his desires in his youth, and gave him an inflated view of his own abilities. When he left in 1982 he had achieved ten O.W.L.s but only one N.E.W.T., in Defense Against the Dark Arts, an Outstanding, which did not correlate well, given his poor performance in his other N.E.W.T. classes."

"I recall," Snape agreed, finally taking a seat in front of the desk. "He had an Outstanding for his Potions O.W.L., but I found his work quite substandard in my N.E.W.T. classes, and dismissed him after his sixth year. In fact, Lockhart was dismissed from all of his N.E.W.T. classes except Defense, was he not?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I questioned the Defense professor for that year, Professor Podmore, about Gilderoy's grade shortly before he died, but poor Stanley was adamant that Gilderoy's work was top-notch and deserving of high marks, although he could not produce a single piece or homework or test results to back up that claim. I began to suspect that some mischief was afoot.

"Professor Podmore was gracious enough to give me his memories of his private meetings with Gilderoy, and I studied them at length. For the most part, Stanley was critical yet tolerant of Lockhart's lessons — he apparently was quite fond of the young man, and tended to ignore his lack of knowledge or preparedness in his studies. Quite unlike the man in regard to his other students, whom he graded rather sparingly, I must say.

"Yet I noticed a definite change in his final meeting with Gilderoy," Dumbledore continued. "In their final exchange, Stanley was quite effusive in his praise, and confided to young Gilderoy that he would be getting an Outstanding mark for all of the hard work and dedication he had shown in his lessons. An abrupt change from his previous feelings on the matter. I also noticed, in Professor Podmore's grade book for that year, the page containing Gilderoy's marks for Defense was missing," the Headmaster concluded.

"You suspect Lockhart was tampering with Podmore's memories?" Snape surmised. Dumbledore nodded. "I would have as well," Snape concurred. "Have you confronted Lockhart with this yet?"

"Not yet," Dumbledore replied. "I feel that things are much worse than him simply modifying Professor Podmore's memories. Much of what is written in Gilderoy's books are incompatible with his poor N.E.W.T. performance, especially given his relatively high O.W.L. marks. I have discussed this individually with the other Hogwarts staff who taught him — they are certain Gilderoy had no opportunity to alter their memories, but some of them have noted that his grades in their classes took a sudden upturn in his fifth year, before his O.W.L.s. Also, while his O.W.L. examinations all received highest marks, his practical scores were much less indicative of a well-educated student. That is why his final O.W.L. scores varied from Outstanding to Exceeds."

"I see your point," Snape remarked. "You believe he may have gotten other students to help him with his tests."

"Or they were induced to help him in some way," Dumbledore suggested. "I know of one other example, post-Hogwarts, that I might attribute to Lockhart. Through the ICF, the Armenian Minister of Magic asked me to look into the case of one Zohrab Zildjian, an Armenian wizard living in the remote village of Wagga Wagga. The minister told me that several villagers clearly remember Zohrab saving their village in 1983 from a pack of werewolves, yet the man insists he has no memory of the event. However, he does have a clear memory of meeting Gilderoy Lockhart and entertaining him at his home for several days in August of 1984. The wizard noted, incidentally, that Gilderoy was a wonderful guest and asked for nothing from his host at all, leaving him with a signed copy of his book, Marauding With Monsters. The next year, when Gilderoy's book Wanderings With Werewolves was published, it included a story about Gilderoy saving the village from a pack of werewolves."

"An unlikely coincidence," Snape muttered.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "It appears that Gilderoy has mastered at least one spell, that being the Memory Charm."

"Then why bring him here?" Snape asked, his irritation evident. "Why not turn over your evidence to the Ministry and let them deal with him?"

"For two very important reasons." Dumbledore held up a long finger. "First, I wished to isolate Gilderoy from the wizarding world — he will be at Hogwarts until next June, keeping him away from anyone he might wish to Obliviate in his quest for more material for his books."

"Not unreasonable," Snape agreed. "But the man is currently writing his autobiography — he never tires of regaling the staff with the latest chapter he's written. At this point I would consider it a boon were he to Obliviate me."

"Point taken," Dumbledore agreed with an amused nod. "The second reason is that I wish to expose Gilderoy's perfidy to the wizarding world at large, and put an end to the unseemly hero-worship that seems to have sprung up around him in the wizarding community, especially among many of the young female students. All of the purported exploits in his books should have left him with extensive knowledge of Defense magic and protections against Dark creatures, yet no student in any year has yet to learn a single thing from Gilderoy. Once he realizes he is not a good teacher, I expect he will come to see himself as more of a hindrance than a help to wizard-kind."

"I think you underestimate the depths of Lockhart's delusion, Headmaster," Snape disagreed. "The man cannot conceive of himself as a failure. He will certainly claim that the students were simply unable to comprehend his brilliance. As you may know," Snape added, deadpan. "That is my problem with them."

"Why, Severus," Dumbledore smiled, delighted. "Have you just made a joke?"

"I prefer to think of it as an unfortunate aspect of my tenure here at Hogwarts," Snape retorted. He regarded Dumbledore with a pinched expression. "I suppose this means we shall just have to deal with him for the next nine months. You do realize, Dumbledore," he pointed out. "This means that all the students in school this year are being cheated out of a year's education in Defense."

Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, well, as Julius Caesar said after crossing the Rubicon, 'alea iacta est' — the die has been cast. I am sure our more inventive students will find ways to increase their Defense knowledge on their own."

Snape snorted. "You think more highly of them than I do, then." He stood, regarding the Headmaster with a brooding look. "I suppose the rest of us will just have to learn to deal with Lockhart as best we can," he muttered in a caustic tone.

"One thing I do think you should do, Severus," Dumbledore said, as Snape turned to leave. "If you would, please consider making some Memory Restoration Potion, just in case Gilderoy tries to Memory Charm any of the faculty or students during his time with us."

"You do realize, Headmaster," Snape retorted thinly. "That potion requires almost two months of preparation time." The potion was a curative for Memory Charmed individuals. Dumbledore asking him to prepare some was effectively admitting he expected Lockhart to Obliviate people during his time here.

"I am aware, Severus," Dumbledore nodded. "Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."

Snape, rolling his eyes, departed the Headmaster's office wondering which was worse — dealing with an overpowered jokester like Arthur, or a self-important moron like Lockhart. Or a Headmaster that allowed both of them into the school.

=ooo=

When Charms class finished Harry, Ron and Hermione decided to drop off their book bags in their rooms, then find Lockhart, who always showed up for lunch several minutes into the period, making a grand entrance for his adoring fans.

As they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, her picture suddenly swung outward and a group of Gryffindor students emerged, including Fred, George, and their friend Lee Jordan. The group swept by them, waving as they passed, but Fred stopped and put an arm around Ron's shoulder. "You're heading in the wrong direction, ickle Ronnie — the food's in that direction." He pointed in the direction they'd come from.

"I know that," Ron said, pushing Fred's arm off him. "We're —"

"— just dropping off our book bags before lunch," Harry cut in, before Ron could spill the beans about their plans to confront Lockhart.

"Hurry up, then," Fred said, jogging to catch up with Lee and George.

"What's the password?" the Fat Lady asked. "You can't go in without the password —"

"You're already open!" Ron snapped at her. He'd taken hold of the frame as it started to swing back.

"That's no reason not to give the password!" the Fat Lady shrilled. They ignored her entreaties to give the password as they climbed inside and looked around. The common room was empty. Harry glanced at his watch. It was 12:05 — Lockhart usually made his entrances around 12:15, so they had less than 10 minutes to get to his office and confront him.

"Be back in a minute," Harry said to Hermione, then he and Ron ran up the staircase to their dorm room and dropped off their book bags. Predictably, Ron's fat gray rat, Scabbers, was still asleep on Ron's pillow.

"Actually, I'm kind of jealous," Ron joked. "I wish I could sleep that much!"

As they were about to leave Ron suddenly snapped his fingers. "Hey, I just thought of this," he said to Harry. "Why don't we show Lockhart that diary of yours?"

"Why?" Harry asked curiously. "It's just a manky old book."

"Right, but what if we tell him we think it's a Dark object?" Ron suggested, slyly. "He'll probably tell us there's curse of some kind on it, and want to study it more closely. Then we can tell Professor McGonagall or Flitwick about it, and they'll prove Lockhart's wrong. Maybe between that and him not taking us to the Chamber of Secrets we'll be able to show he's a fraud."

"I like it," Harry grinned. He went over to his bed and pulled the diary from his book bag. "Let's get Hermione and go see him." He stopped at the door. "But, don't tell Hermione about the diary, okay? We'll let her ask about the Chamber, and when he refuses to take us to see it — because you know he will," Harry said matter-of-factly, and Ron nodded agreement. "Then we'll ask him about this book."

"Got it," Ron agreed, and they hurried down to the common room, where they found Hermione sitting in front of the room's flickering fireplace, looking fretful. "What's wrong now?" Ron asked, exasperated, as he saw her expression.

"I don't know about this," Hermione said worriedly. "I don't want Professor Lockhart to think we don't believe him…"

"But we don't believe him," Harry pointed out.

"Well, that's not a good attitude to go see him with!" she exploded. "Haven't you ever heard of giving someone the benefit of the doubt?"

Harry sat down on the sofa opposite her, dropping the diary on a cushion next to him. "Of course I have," he retorted. "But I gave up on that with Lockhart after about the third word that came out of his mouth!"

Hermione covered her face. "This isn't going to work," she moaned. "I don't know why I thought you would approach this meeting with Professor Lockhart objectively, Harry!"

Harry sat back, stung. It was true, he didn't think there was any chance at all that Lockhart was the kind of wizard Hermione hoped he was. But if they were going to get the man to open up, to show his true colors to them, they had to go to him at least appearing to have an open mind. "Alright, then," he muttered. "You're right — we should at least give him the benefit of the doubt." He looked at Ron. "Right?"

"Right," Ron nodded, sensing Harry's intention to placate Hermione. "Come on, Hermione, let's go see what Lockhart—"

"Professor Lockhart," Hermione insisted.

"Alright, Professor Lockhart, then!" Ron huffed. "Can we just go?"

Hermione nodded and stood up to go with them. But before any of them could move, there was a loud WHOOPMH and the fire in the fireplace suddenly went out.

Ron jumped, startled. "What was that?" he squeaked.

"Fire went out," Harry said, staring into the fireplace. "That was weird."

Hermione was staring, too. "Why would it do that?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "But it's not important right now, let's —"

There was a loud THUMP and a cloud of black smoke billowed out of the fireplace, making them all cough and their eyes water.

Harry was waving the black smoke out of his face when he heard a familiar voice. "Oh dear, oh-oh dear, I've missed again!"

Harry snapped his fingers, making the smoke dissipate rapidly. Sitting on the hearth of the fireplace was an older, red-haired woman dressed in a coat with a fur-lined collar, a hat with a large flower on it that was tipped to one side, with a carpetbag and umbrella in one hand. Her face was covered with soot and she looked rather disheveled. "Aunt Clara!" he exclaimed, stepping forward to take her hand. "Here, let me help you!"

"Oh hello, Harry," the woman said, pushing her flowered hat so it was on top of her head again. "Thank — thank you, dear," she added as Harry helped her to her feet. "My, it's good to see you again!" she said, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek that left a sooty lip-print on his cheek.

"It's good to see you too, Aunt Clara!" Harry agreed, beaming at her. After a moment he realized Ron and Hermione were staring at them, their mouths open in surprise. "Ron, Hermione, this is my Aunt Clara," he said, introducing them. "Aunt Clara, this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, two of my best friends here in school."

"Very nice to meet you," Clara said to them, though she appeared distracted as she looked around the room. "But-but, I thought Arthur would be here, too."

"He's probably, um —" Harry stopped, realizing he didn't actually know where Arthur's quarters were at — he was always in the Room of Requirement when Harry popped in there each night. "Er, well, I'm sure we can find him," he said instead.

"Did you just Floo in, um, Mrs., er—?" Hermione hesitated.

"Just Aunt Clara, dear," Clara said, smiling at her. "Yes, I did." She rubbed one of her arms. "And boy, are my arms sore now!"

Ron shook his head, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Harry forced a laugh. "That's funny, Aunt Clara," he said, covering for her.

Clara turned to him, confused. "What's funny, dear?"

Harry pointed to the sofa he'd gotten up from. "Why don't you sit down for a minute, Aunt Clara?" he said to her. "Ron, would you get her bag?"

"Sure." Ron took the bag as Clara sat down, then nearly dropped it. "Blimey! That's heavy!" he said, surprised. "What's in here?" He set it down on the floor in front of her.

"Oh, that's my doorknob collection," Clara said brightly, reaching down and opening the bag. She took out a very old knob fashioned from gold and engraved in ornate scrollwork. "This one," she said proudly, "came from the castle of King Louis the Fourteenth, in Versailles."

"Whoa," Ron remarked. "How'd you get it?"

"Why," Clara beamed, "Louis gave it to me himself."

"He did?" Ron's eyes were wide.

"Aunt Clara —" Harry said, trying to stop her from saying something so outlandish even Ron wouldn't believe it. "Maybe we better go find Uncle Arthur."

Clara looked a bit disappointed; she enjoyed talking about her doorknobs so much! But— "Well, I-I suppose we can, Harry," she said, putting the doorknob back in her bag.

"Good," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He and Clara stood up. "Hermione, I'm going to take Aunt Clara to find Uncle Arthur. Maybe we can go see Professor Lockhart some other time." Hermione nodded agreement.

As Harry and Clara walked toward the portal, Hermione reached over and picked up the diary from the sofa where Harry had dropped it. "Harry, what's this book?" she asked, holding it up.

"Oh." Harry stopped. "It's some diary I found with my other books," he said. "I was going to put up a notice in the Library to see whose it is." He started to walk back to get it.

"Can I look at it?" Hermione asked.

"There's nothing in it," Ron and Harry said at the same time. Hermione instantly became more interested in the diary.

Hermione flipped the pages. "Curious," she murmured. "If you like, I'll post a notice in the Library for you, Harry," she offered.

"Um," Harry dithered, not sure about leaving the book with her. But he still had to get Aunt Clara out of there. "Okay," he finally nodded. "Thanks." He and Aunt Clara exited through the portrait hole.

Hermione looked back at Ron. "So where'd this really come from?" she asked him cagily.

"Just what Harry said," Ron replied, shrugging. "It was in with his other books in History of Magic. We figure he accidentally picked it up in the Library last night."

"Strange that it doesn't have any writing in it at all," Hermione pondered, flipping slowly through the pages. "Just the name, T.M. Riddle, written on the first page."

"We were going to ask Lockhart about it — oops," Ron said, wincing as he realized he'd said too much.

But Hermione nodded. "That's a good idea, Ron!" she smiled. "I think I'll see if I can catch him right now!" She stood up and exited the common room, leaving Ron sitting alone wondering how mad Harry was going to be at him.

After a few seconds he shrugged; he and Harry were best mates, after all! "Well, time for lunch, anyway," he told himself, and went to get something to eat.

=ooo=

When Hermione arrived at Lockhart's office she found him seated at his desk, an enormous peacock quill in hand writing his autograph on a photograph of himself sitting on a broom in old-fashioned riding pants and a Ravenclaw Quidditch top. As usual, the Lockhart in the picture was waving and flashing a brilliant smile. "Ah, Miss Granger!" Lockhart beamed as she entered. "Just finishing up a few autographs for my adoring fans." He held up the photograph he'd just signed. The image of Lockhart in the picture gave her a toothy smile and a thumb's up. "Good old Gladys Gudgeon," he said, turning the photograph so he could admire himself. "Bless her, she's such a huge fan of mine." He turned back to Hermione. "So, what may I do for you, before we make our way down to the Great Hall for a sumptuous luncheon?"

This was Hermione's first one-on-one meeting with Professor Lockhart, and she was understandably nervous. "Please, Professor," she said, holding out the diary. "I wonder if you might have —"

"Time for an autograph?" Lockhart said, taking the book from her. "Of course, my dear, of course! I'm always happy to sign a book for my fans." When he looked at the book, however, a frown creased his features. "Hmmm, this doesn't seem to be one of my books."

"No, sir," Hermione said. "It's Harry's. That is, he and my friend Ron were going to show it to you."

"For me to sign?" Lockhart grinned. Before Hermione could say anything else he picked up his peacock quill, flipped open the book and signed his name with a grand flourish. "There we are, a signature fit for a king — or at least, the Boy-Who-Lived!" he chuckled. He set the quill down and picked up the book, beginning to close it. He stopped as his name faded from the page. "What?" Lockhart blurted indignantly. How dare this book erase his name! Of all the nerve —!

Lockhart froze as words suddenly began forming on the page where he'd written his name. "Hello, Gilderoy Lockhart," the words read. "My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"

Hermione couldn't see the page from where she was standing. "What is it, Professor? Did you find something interesting in the diary?"

"Ah. Well. Er, no." Lockhart quickly closed the book so she couldn't see the words that had appeared. "An interesting book, my dear," he said to her, using his best disarming smile. "Why don't you let me study it a bit and I'll determine if there's anything unusual about it?" Before she could protest he slipped the book into a drawer in his desk and locked it.

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, watching helplessly as Harry's book disappeared. How was she going to explain this to Harry and Ron?

Well, why should she, she reminded herself. They were going to show the book to the professor anyway, Ron had said! So she'd actually done Harry a favor!

"Um, thank you, sir," she nodded. "I'll let Harry know you've got it."

Lockhart stared at her a long moment, then smiled. "Of course, my dear, of course," he said, taking out his wand.

Hermione found herself walking down the grand staircase into the entrance hall. She must've been deep in thought up until then, because she didn't exactly recall what she'd been doing for the past few minutes. The last she remembered she'd been in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron, and had met Harry's Aunt Clara. But after that…

Well, it would come to her eventually. She possessed an excellent memory, after all! She went into the Great Hall to have lunch.

=ooo=

Harry and Aunt Clara walked up to the seventh floor corridor where the entrance to the Room of Requirement was located. Clara was looking around interestedly as they walked, waving to portraits they passed and admiring wall tapestries. And especially the various door knobs they encountered, making comments like, "Look at that, Harry! An 1883 Pittson double cylinder! I haven't seen one of those in ages!" Or, "That door has a 1743 MacDougall Westminster latch! Very rare, you know, oh my!" She stopped to admire the latch, running a hand tenderly over it, then glanced around furtively. "I wonder if anyone would notice if I—"

"Probably not a good idea, Aunt Clara," Harry cautioned. Samantha had warned him that her aunt wasn't above taking a doorknob she really admired.

"I-I suppose not," Clara mumbled, disappointed. She looked around again. "Where — where are we going, now?"

"To find Uncle Arthur," Harry reminded her. He wondered again why she wanted to see him. Clara was a bit absent-minded, sometimes, but Samantha had said she'd been even worse for a while, many years ago. "He should be in the room we use for a classroom."

"Oh," Clara nodded. "Good, good," she said.

"Why did you want to see him?" Harry asked.

"Well, I — um, that is," Clara paused. "I — um, well, actually, I thought you might know, Harry," she said to him.

"Me?" Harry was surprised to hear that. "No, I have no idea." This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

They stopped in front of the tapestry that was across the hallway from where the entrance to the Room of Requirement was located. "Let us in, please," Harry said politely, and an oaken door appeared, a plaque on the door reading "The Room of Requirement" in ornate engraving. Harry opened the door and he and Clara went inside.

"Oh, oh my," Clara said, looking around. The room was in classroom mode, with the teacher and student desks near the entrance, the vast collection of books in a maze of bookshelves, and the museum of objects, just like the first day Harry had seen this room. "This is almost exactly the way I remember it."

"You remember this?" To say Harry was surprised was an understatement! "Have you seen this before, Aunt Clara?"

"Oh yes, of course!" Clara was looking around excitedly. "I used to teach here! Oh, it's been so long, I'd nearly forgotten!"

"I wondered if you'd remember." Uncle Arthur had appeared at last, dressed in his usual window-pane jacket and fedora. "You used to tell me stories about this place, Clara."

Clara turned and saw Arthur. "Ah, there you are!" she beamed at him. She went over and gave him a hug. "Yes, it's been a while, Arthur," she agreed. "The old classroom has been spruced up a bit, I see."

"It had been in mothballs a long time when I got here," Arthur said. "I took the opportunity to clean it up some."

"Excuse me," Harry cut in. "You never told me you'd been here before!" he said to Arthur in an accusing tone.

"Well, I was never here, dear boy," Arthur chuckled. "I attended Hagatha's school when I was old enough — she'd just opened it and was looking for students. Plus, we liked to keep it in the family, so to speak.

"This school was started so that wand wizards in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland would have a place to get an education," Arthur continued. "I'm sure that rather boring Binns fellow must have told you all this in his History class."

"Cuthbert?" Clara asked. "Is he still teaching here? Oh-oh my! I didn't think wand wizards lived that long."

"They don't," Arthur shrugged. "He's a ghost now."

"We just had a bit of a row with him this morning," Harry remembered. "One of the girls in my class asked him about the Chamber of Secrets." He looked at his aunt and uncle. "Do either of you know anything about that?"

"Oh! I do!" Aunt Clara spoke up excitedly. She paused for a moment. "Or, I thought I knew. Salazar said something to me about it, once, after he'd left the school." She thought furiously for several seconds. "It's not coming to me just now…"

"It's alright, Aunt Clara," Harry said, gently. Eventually she would remember, he knew. "Maybe we should find out why Uncle Arthur asked you to come here."

"Oh, that." Arthur looked at them a bit sheepishly. "Well, your Aunt Clara has agreed to take over your night lessons, Harry. Haven't you, Clara?"

"I did?" Clara asked blankly, then nodded, remembering. "Oh, yes, I did! Oh, it will be so wonderful to teach again!" She beamed happily at her nephew. "Won't it, Harry?"

"It will, Aunt Clara," Harry smiled, genuinely happy it was her taking over for Arthur. He turned to his uncle. "What are you going to do, Uncle Arthur?"

"Well, you know me, Harry," Arthur said airily. "I'm a bit of a rolling stone, and —" his clothes changed into a black pullover with a wide-lipped, open mouth on the front, a tongue protruding from it. Arthur's hair became shoulder-length, and there was a microphone in his hand. "I — can't — get — no — satisfaction!" he said-sang into the mike.

"Funny," Harry said, deadpan. Arthur laughed and popped back into his jacket and fedora.

"Well, I guess I'll be moving on," Arthur said. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll see you around, kid," he said, warmly. "Keep on studying. Later, Clara!" He vanished.

"Well, that was rather abrupt," Clara muttered. "I was going to talk to him about your current lessons."

"Well, I can get you caught up on my current studies," Harry offered. He glanced at his watch. It was 12:25, well into the lunch period now. "I suppose we should talk to the Headmaster, too, and let him know you're taking over my tutoring from Uncle Arthur."

"Alright," Clara nodded. "Oh, I can't wait to get started on your lessons, Harry!" she happily enthused.

Harry smiled, wondering just how interesting his life at Hogwarts had become with this new development. "Well, why don't we just get started, then?"