Disclaimer: I am not JKR and therefore do not own anything you recognise here.
Updated: 09 November 2014
"Sherbet lemon!" Harry shouted at the gargoyle and it suddenly hit her how ridiculous that password was... only Dumbledore...
"He isn't up there." said the gargoyle without moving.
"Do you know where he is?" she asked.
"Nope, he should be back soon though," it said "You can wait in his office if you want." and it jumped aside.
"Thanks." she went up to his office and walked in.
The portraits were watching her carefully but Harry was more interested in the phoenix by the door.
"Hey Fawkes," she said, he answered with a chirrup "Why didn't you come and sit with me today?" she made her voice as casual as possible, she didn't want to sound demanding.
Fawkes trilled; there were no words but this time she could hear a meaning in the beautiful song.
"Do that again." said Harry, listening more carefully.
Fawkes repeated his song. Sorrow. Time? Haste. Forgiveness?
"Are you apologizing?" Harry asked shocked, Fawkes nodded. "You weren't there because you were busy?" Harry guessed; Fawkes nodded again.
"It's fine Fawkes. I forgive you... this time." she added playfully, Fawkes trilled again... Humour, he was laughing.
She stood stroking him for a few minutes before turning to explore the rest of the room, she had no idea what most of the little silver instruments did but they were probably very expensive so she left them alone. She paused as she walked past the sorting hat.
It had wanted to talk to her. Shrugging she grabbed it and threw it onto her head.
"Ah Miss. Potter, I wondered when you would come to visit me." said the voice she had heard during the sorting.
She hadn't but since she was there.
"I see, you're waiting here for Albus to return," yes she needed to tell him about Dobby and if this wasn't all another one of his games then... "It's not. I shouldn't really be telling you this but the safety of the school is paramount, Albus has no knowledge of this and you need to warn him." they were both silent for a few seconds before Harry brought up what the hat had said in her sorting.
She wanted to know what the hat meant when it said there was much more to her than she knew?
"That isn't really something I can just tell you Miss. Potter. You will have to find that out for yourself; at the right time and in the right way. Although you should probably mention to Albus that a dementor can do the job that he needs doing, I can't tell him myself but there is nothing stopping you from telling him."
That confused her. What job? And what was a dementor?
"Why don't you ask Albus? After all he is standing right behind you."
Harry whipped the hat off her head and turned around.
"I am going to be honest - this is not the worst thing I have been caught doing." Harry said.
"Its quite alright, I understand," he said "Curiosity is not a sin." he waved his hand towards the chair in front of his desk and settled into the one behind it "I enjoy talking to the sorting hat myself. It often gives me a new direction to look at things from. Sherbet lemon?" he offered waving his hand at a bowl on his desk, she took one and he did the same.
"Sir," she asked hesitantly after a brief pause, in which Dumbledore was clearly content with just waiting for Harry to speak "What is a dementor? I am sure I have seen them mentioned in one of my Care of Magical Creatures books but I can't remember what they are exactly."
"Well you find much information in a Care of Magical Creatures book." he said with a small chuckle. "They are like wraiths, in a way, the ministry uses them to guard the prison Azkaban. They also have the ability to suck out somebody's soul. Why would you be asking about them?"
"Because the hat told me to tell you that a dementor could do the job that you need doing. What job would that be?" Shock crossed the old man's face before he covered it.
Ignoring Harry's question entirely he turned to Fawkes "Is that possible?" Fawkes trilled. Acceptance and... irritation?
Dumbledore turned back to Harry "It isn't important at the moment, Harriet, but I will show you when the time is right. Now you didn't come here to talk about dementors did you?"
Harry was a little annoyed she was being brushed off but there was no point in arguing "No sir, a house elf just came to me and told me I was in danger here."
"At Hogwarts?" he asked, Harry nodded "Can you show me a memory of it? I have a pensive here." he said walking to a cabinet which opened to reveal a stone bowl.
"How?" Harry asked.
"Just focus on the memory and place your wand to your temple like so..." He placed his wand against his head and when he removed it a silvery string was connected to it, which he placed in the bowl. A miniature Dumbledore - complete with a phoenix sitting on a perch - rose from the gaseous surface within.
"You know, Fawkes," said the Dumbledore in the bowl; patting his familiar calmly "Another Christmas has gone by and again not one person has bought me any socks; they insist on buying me books."
The real Dumbledore shook his head "As if I don't have enough already."
"But why socks?" Harry asked nonplussed.
"One can never have too many woollen socks, Harriet." he said seriously "Now you try."
Harry copied his actions and removed a memory from her head; it felt strange but satisfying, like unclogging your ears with a cotton bud.
They stood in silence as they watched the memory play.
"Thank you for coming to me with this Harriet," Dumbledore said eventually "Please pass along any other information you come across, I will attempt to track down this 'Dobby'."
"And this isn't one of your little tests is it sir?" Harry asked not completely convinced by the sorting hat.
"No Harry, I promise you." he said.
"Good because I am still trying to work out what Nitwit means... you couldn't give me another clue, could you?" he chuckled at her.
"No, I am afraid not. But I will tell you that you are thinking too hard about it," his eyes twinkled madly "And don't let it annoy you too much; I don't really expect you to find an answer." Harry nodded but they both knew she would continue looking.
"Goodbye Headmaster, goodbye Fawkes." she stroked Fawkes and left the office she shook her head as she realised that she had visited it twice in two days.
In her distraction she almost ran straight into another student.
"Oh, sorry!" she said before she realised it was Ginny.
"Hi" Ginny said. She blushed, as did the boy standing next to her with mousy brown hair. The third member of their group however, who Harry recognised from the night of the sorting simply by the startling depth of her blue eyes, turned to her and instantly started talking.
"Hello, I'm Claire. Ginny says she knows you, you are Harriet Potter, right?"
"Harry," Harry stressed "Don't call me Harriet." even though Harry had said it rather aggressively the girl, Claire, didn't appear offended.
"Sure, you know Ginny and this is Colin Creevey." The boy in question turned bright red at being focused on and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "We are exploring Hogwarts Colin has been taking pictures nonstop as well." she said nodding to Colin's hands, which were indeed griped a camera that looked so old fashioned that it had to be magical.
"Do you mind if I take one of you?" Colin asked nervously "Just to prove I have actually met you. I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead." his eyes raked Harry's hairline "And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hog warts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm tak ing loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you." — he looked imploringly at Harry — "maybe if Ginny or Claire could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"
Harry desperately wanted to say 'no' and possibly fire off a couple of hexes at him but that would probably drastically reduce Ginny's chances on becoming friends with the other two and as annoying as she was, Ginny and her family had been very good to her over the holidays. Sure she was going to regret it; she agreed and stood by Colin as an enthusiastic Ginny took their picture.
"Thanks Harry!" Colin said taking the camera off Ginny and the three of them said their goodbyes and left.
Feeling rather like she had been mugged, Harry continued back to the Gryffindor common room... It was going to be a long year.
-One Letter Different-
As September changed to October the weather turned colder and damper and Madmen Pomfrey was suddenly busy with a wave of colds among both students and staff and the pepper up potion she gave out had half of the school smoking at the ears.
Hagrid's pumpkins, which he proudly showed off to anyone he could, were now the same size as the average garden shed and Harry was sure he was using magic on them regardless of the fact he wasn't legally allowed to do so.
Quidditch training was rather fun but Oliver kept them out longer each practice and his determination to win became increasingly obvious. So much so that on more than one occasion one of the twins had to threaten to use their beater's bat in a rather personal manner, just so they had time to get back to Gryffindor tower in time for curfew.
Harry's own private training, while at first very challenging, was going well. After only a month and a half of running every other day Harry was seeing vast improvements in her speed and stamina. She also found she was constantly full of energy and that she didn't need to sleep as much as she used to. But best of all was the fact she no longer felt stiff or sore, no matter how long Oliver kept them on the pitch.
The issue of the boy called Colin Creevey, however, had not improved... in fact it had gotten a lot worse. Colin was seemingly under the impression that Harry was some kind of goddess and that she needed to be worshiped at every corner, literally. He had seemingly memorised Harry's timetable as Harry could not go a single weekday without hearing "Hello Harry!" six or seven times. Nothing seemed to please him more than getting a response of her even if it was only a nod of the head or a bored "Hullo Colin."
And then there was the issue of classes.
Lockhart – Harry refused to even think 'Professor' – had not brought any more creatures into the class, instead reading from his book, but that did not mean he grew any less irritating or that his lessons became any more useful. All of the extracts were obviously embellished and some, like the one Harry had read out to the Hufflepuffs, were completely fake. Harry made a mental note to start up a DADA club and ask a few older years to come and teach them something worthwhile.
During Lockhart's classes Harry insisted on asking bizarre and difficult questions on the topics he taught, and sometimes on completely different topics as well, simply to watch him squirm. To Harry's shock and delight Hermione had joined her in this venture; she had taken the fact Lockhart had lied in his books a little harder than was necessary and seemed to want to make him pay for it. She asked questions Harry didn't even understand right up to the point when she had simply came out with "Why are there no actual facts in your books, Professor?" Lockhart simply refused to look at her after that, much less pick her when she raised her hand.
Harry had been considerably nicer to Hermione since then.
And even though Snape had been rather neutral to all the Gryffindors in her class since her first potions lesson last year, he had started being much stricter to Harry and her house mates. Harry had not reacted to this change even though when he took points off Hermione, for stopping Lavender adding the diced limpwurt root too early, Harry's temper nearly reached boiling point. But Harry was trying to behave herself and having a personal vendetta against one of the Hogwarts staff was enough for the time being.
But Harry's rather violent mood swings, inane arguments and anger at all things carrying a camera were all much worse than usual. The reason for this was the fact it was October and October meant only one thing to Harry. It was the same reason Hagrid was breaking the law to pump up a few pumpkins, the reason the great hall had been decorated with live bats, the reason almost every student was chatting excitedly and swapping scary stories and the reason there was a rumour that Dumbledore had hired a troupe of dancing skeletons... Halloween.
Last Halloween Harry had spent in class, then cheering up Hermione... not what she had planned on the anniversary of her parents' death but this particular Halloween was set on a Saturday which meant no classes. She spent the day thinking about her parents wondering what they were like and what her life would have been like had Voldemort never existed. She ate both lunch and dinner in the kitchens, using her invisibility cloak to get there both times, the rest of the day she spent by the lake with liberal use of warming charms.
"What, may I ask, are you doing out here, Harriet?" the voice from behind her broke into her thoughts but Harry showed no external signs that she had heard him, she had known he was there having heard his approach.
"Isn't the more important question 'Why are you out here, Headmaster?' don't they need you inside?" Harry countered, without turning round.
"I am sure my excellent Deputy Head can cope without me for one evening. Especially if I am needed elsewhere." he said.
They were quiet for a few minutes until Harry spoke up again. "I didn't feel like being around people today and celebrating isn't something that interests me on this particular date."
"I can understand that." Dumbledore said in a voice that left Harry with no doubts of his truthfulness.
"Do..." Harry started nervously. This was something she had been thinking about all day but when she asked the question, it couldn't be taken back. "Do you know... where they're buried?"
Harry heard Dumbledore take a deep breath before he answered.
"Yes, Godric's Hollow, not a stone's throw away from the cottage Lilly insisted they buy is a little church..." he left the sentence hang as if he couldn't finish it.
"Would it be possible if someone could take me sometime?" Harry asked, turning to face him for the first time during the conversation.
Dumbledore's eyes were impossible to read in the few minutes he was silent but Harry waited and eventually he answered. "I myself visit the same graveyard on Christmas Eve every year, if you like you my join me."
Harry wasn't really sure what to say to that because if he went there every year anyway that meant...
"Yes thank you, sir" Harry said softly when she realised Dumbledore was waiting for a reply.
"Perhaps we should return indoors, Harriet. The feast will soon be finished in any case and if I were you I would want to be in my dormitory before it is."
Harry nodded and followed the headmaster towards the castle; she didn't even have the energy to be annoyed at his use of her full name. While their conversation had been short it had been very draining.
They were halfway across the entrance hall when Harry heard it.
"... rip ... tear ... kill ..." it was a cold murderous voice and Harry yelped in shock causing Dumbledore to turn towards her his wand drawn.
"Harriet?" he asked after taking a quick look around.
"That voice!" Harry said.
"What voice?" Dumbledore asked confused.
"... sso hungry ... for so long ..."
"That voice!" Harry cried.
"... kill ... time to kill ..."
The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away — moving upward. A fear gripped her as she stared at the dark ceiling; it was going to kill... and how could it be moving up ward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"This way," she shouted, and she began to run, up the stairs to the first floor she could hear Dumbledore only a step behind her keeping up all the way.
"Harriet, what are we —"
"SHH!"
Harry strained her ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "… I smell blood. … I SMELL BLOOD!"
Her stomach lurched —
"It's going to kill someone!" she stated, and Dumbledore visibly changed the grip on his wand, she ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over her own pounding footsteps —
Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Dumbledore still keeping pace but no longer interrupting her with questions, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
Only when they had fully stopped did Dumbledore speak up "Harriet, may I ask was that was all about?" from his tone the question was not one she could refuse to answer. "I couldn't hear anything. …"
But Harry merely raised her arm, pointing down the corridor.
Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
But that was not all. As they edged nearer, Harry saw a dark shadow below the writing they inched towards the message, taking care of where they stepped, there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Suddenly Harry realized what it was, and leapt backward with a splash. Dumbledore took his eyes off what Harry now recognised as Mrs. Norris, Filtch's cat, and looked at the water.
He bent his knees and then straitened them out sharply, jumping an inch or so off the ground and falling back down with a splash. He frowned at the floor and repeated his actions three times in quick succession.
Harry was about to ask what he was doing but managed to stop herself just in time. Instead she chose the safer option of "What happened to Mrs. Norris?"
"I don't know." said Dumbledore, clearly upset that she didn't ask the question he wanted her to. He turned towards the hanging cat but before he could do anything a rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, 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. Harry and Dumbledore stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, Dumbledore hidden slightly as he had taken to examining the water again. 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 Malfoy. 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. Harry reached for her wand but stopped at the voice behind her.
"Detention, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore said almost absentmindedly. Most of the students jumped having not seen him before then and Draco's face flushed deeper, this time in embarrassment.
"What's going on here? What's going on?"
Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus 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 Harry.
"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"
"Argus!" said Dumbledore as he calmly detached the cat from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Harriet."
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly from the group of teachers that had just arrived.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.
The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking ex cited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.
As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her.
The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most pecu liar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making sugges tions while everyone else was clearly ignoring him.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Trans-mogrifian Torture — I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her. …"
Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as she detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as much as she would have if it was somebody else's familiar.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.
"… I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once. …"
The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.
At last Dumbledore straightened up.
"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.
Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the num ber of murders he had prevented.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all — all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore.
"Ah! I thought so!" Lockhart threw in, everyone continued to ignore him - except Snape who shot him a rather dark look.
"But how, I cannot say. …" continued Dumbledore as if there had been no interruption.
"Ask her!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.
"Harriet may be rather gifted in the magical arts but no second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —"
"She did it, she did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what she wrote on the wall! And everyone knows — she knows I'm a — I'm a —" Filch's face worked horribly. "She knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris." Harry said calmly, fully aware that Dumbledore would never try to pin this on her. "And I didn't know you are a Squib, actually. Although it is rather obvious if you take even a second to think about it."
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, cutting across whatever Filtch was going to say. Harry's sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do her any good.
"Potter and may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was she in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't she at the Halloween feast?"
"Harriet was with me before we chanced across Mrs. Norris, Severus, and surely you don't think she would be celebrating on this particular anniversary?" Dumbledore asked.
Snape looked like he had been slapped and took a step backwards but Filtch looked furious.
"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore 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 hun dred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —"
"Excuse me," said Snape in a rather strained voice even though he still managed to sound quite hostile. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."
There was a very awkward pause.
"If you don't mind, Harriet, I would like a memory of tonight's events from your point of view, young eyes and ears often pick up more than mine do." Dumbledore asked. Harry knew he was talking about the voice she had heard and she nodded quickly.
After giving him a bottled memory, which he immediately labelled with a quill he seemed to pull from the air, Dumbledore told her she could leave and she did so without hesitation. As she reached the portrait hole she realised that she would probably be interrogated by the entire house as soon as she went in, unfortunately using the invisibility cloak was impossible as everybody would see the portrait hole open anyway.
She took a deep breath and went in.
-One Letter Different-
For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the at tacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the mes sage on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy.' Harry reassessed how sorry she felt for him although she did hear from Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin in Harry's year, that Draco had returned from his detention, which had been overseen by the caretaker, even paler than usual and muttering about frog's brains and that made her smile... the blonde was really starting to get on Harry's nerves.
Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. Ac cording to Ron, she was a great cat lover and both she and her friend, Claire, were often seen looking quite upset, whenever the subject was brought up.
"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told them bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking —" Ron added hastily as Ginny and Claire both blanched.
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could anyone get much re sponse from her when they asked what she was up to, and not un til the following Wednesday did they find out when Lavender and Parvati had came and pleaded with Harry to go and talk some sense into the bushy haired girl.
"Come on Harry, you seem to be much better at this kind of a thing than anyone else." Parvati said, clearly thinking back to the Halloween the previous year.
"Yeah, and she just won't listen to us." said Lavender, clearly put out by that fact.
"Right, come on then." Harry said, picking up her bag.
They found Hermione, predictably, in the library. Harry cornered her and demanded she told them what was wrong.
"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down at a nearby table. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."
"Why do you want it?" said Harry.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"The thing that the wall said was open? What is it?" asked Harry quickly.
"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else —"
"Hermione, this obsesiveness isn't good for you," said Lavender in a caring voice Harry hadn't thought she was capable of. "Just put your name on the waiting list and forget about it for now"
"It isn't as if you can do anything about it" said Parvati nodding.
The bell rang through the quiet of the library.
"Come on, we need to get to History. Binns probably wouldn't notice us missing but he will notice if we don't give in our essays."
History of Magic was still the dullest subject on their schedule. Pro fessor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his enter ing the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shrivelled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.
Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally com ing to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when some thing happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.
Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.
"Miss — er — ?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us any thing about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.
Dean, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender's head came up off her arms; Neville's el bow slipped off his desk and Harry heard Parvati sigh.
Professor Binns blinked.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with, facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and con tinued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —"
He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.
"Miss Grant?"
"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"
Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.
"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "Yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —"
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.
"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see … the Chamber of Secrets …
"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."
He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students ad mitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Mug gle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.
"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.
"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Se crets so that none 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 of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."
There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.
"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Natu rally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."
Hermione's hand was back in the air.
"Sir — what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"
"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.
The class exchanged nervous looks.
"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuf fling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," said Seamus, "If the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"
"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and head mistresses haven't found the thing —"
"But, Professor," piped up Parvati, "You'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —"
"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —"
"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't —" began Dean, but Professor Binns had had enough.
"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built as much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, veritable fact!"
And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor, it was clear they weren't going to get any more out of him.
Typed entirely by me as Danni was poorly-sick.
Alice xxx