Chapter 14

Mudbloods and Murmurs

Detention with Lockhart was worse than any detention Harry had to serve, be it at Hogwarts or his old muggle school. Lockhart's office had a huge portrait of the man, smiling at Harry as he opened the door. Lockhart beamed at him. "Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said, "Come in, Harry, come in—"

Harry saw that there were several signed photographs on his wall. Another large pile lay on his desk. "You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat. "The first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her—huge fan of mine—"

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now and then he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart, watching him. Harry moved his aching hand over what felt like the thougsandth envelope, writing out Veronica Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably, please let it be nearly time. …

"You know Harry, I must say you are very brave, or at least very glory seeking." Lockhart mentioned.

"Sir." Harry said, wanting this to end.

"Well Harry, being sorted into Slytherin I mean. That has caused headlines last year, don't think I saw." Lockhart beamed, smiling. "You know, I was almost sorted into Slytherin. Although the old hat changed it's mind at the last second and placed me in Ravenclaw. Yes, it was afraid, that silly hat, to place the greatest wizard in the world in Slytherin. Ahh the headlines I would have made."

"But sir… Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard alive." Harry corrected him.

"Yes, well he is of his generation. I am talking about my generation Harry! And yours of course! Now, the next one goes to Victoria Tallsy.

And then he heard something—something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his fans.

It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

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

Harry gave a huge jump and a large blot appeared on Victoria Tallsy's street.

"What?" he said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?"

"That—that voice that siad—didn't you hear it?"

"Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment. "What are you talking about Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott—look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it—the time's flown hasn't it!"

Harry didn't answer. He was straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left.

It was so late that the Slytherin common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Everyone else was sleeping. Exhausted, Harry pulled on his pajamas and climbed into bed, immediately falling to sleep.

October arrived, and with it the rain and damp chill that is associated with late fall. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spare of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potions worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire, which gave Draco and Harry some amusement as they giggled whenever they saw her.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end, the lake rose, the flower bed turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. That didn't stop Marcus Flint from having Quidditch practice, however. Draco was thriving in his role as Chaser, as well as Harry as being Seeker. Thanks to numerous times throwing the Quaffle and generous exercises Marcus had the whole team do, Draco had started to develop small muscles on his arms, giving his once skinny, pale arms muscles definition as small biceps developed. An effect that helped enhanced the young Malfoy's ego quite a bit.

Harry, however, stayed small and light, which made him fly faster than any of his teammates out in the field as he chased after the Golden Snitch while the Slytherin beaters were slugging bludgers at him, making Harry dodge them. After Quidditch practice one particularly rainy Saturday, a few days from Halloween, Harry found himself returning to the Slytherin Tower drenched to the skin and splattered with mud, a few days ago he found a short cut near the seventh floor that led straight to Slytherin Tower.

As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath. "…don't fulfill their requirements…half an inch, if that…"

"Hello, Nick." Harry siad.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking around. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. "You look troubled, young Potter." said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucked it inside his doublet. Last year, because Harry hung around Gryffindors so much, the Gryffindor Ghost and him had gotten along, Nick commenting that Harry was the second Slytherin he acquainted.

"So do you." Harry siad.

"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. …It's not as though I really wanted to join. …Though I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements—"

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would think, wouldn't you." He erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"

"Oh—yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.

"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However—" Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and shook it. "Half an inch!" he fumed. "Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So—what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"

"No… well it's more about Draco and I. You see—"

The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students and Peeves. "You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood—he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He'd been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place—"

"Right," Harry said, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but not quickly enough. Argus Filch burst suddenly though a tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. "Filth!" he shouted. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough if it, I tell you! Follow me Potter!"

Harry waved a gloomy goodbye to Nick and followed Filch into his office. Filch grabbed a quill and parchment and spoke as he wrote. "Name…Harry Potter. Crime…."

"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry complained.

"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch. "Crime…. Befouling the castle …suggested sentence…"

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who waited with bated breath for his unjust sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quil in a transport of rage. "I'll have you!" And without a backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry never met the poltergeist personally, but he heard stories from Ron and the Weasleys. Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done would distract Filch from Harry. Harry looked around and saw a letter on Filch's desk, the word "KWIKSPELL" on top of it. Harry took this time to walk out of Filch's office, not wanting to wait for the man to return.

"Harry! Harry! Nice to see it worked." Nearly Headless Nick said, floating out of a classroom. "I persuaded Peeves to crash a large cabinet right over Filch's office." said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might have distracted him—"

"Was that you?" said Harry gratefully. "Yeah it worked, he ran straight out of his office. Thanks, Nick!" They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter. "I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt." Harry said.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He wish he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower. "But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry—would I be asking too much of a Slytherin who isn't in my house—but no, you wouldn't want—"

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday." Said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.

"Oh," said Harry, not sure whether he should look sorry or excited about this. "Right."

"I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons, near your Common Room I believe. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Your friends are most welcome, too, of course—but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come for a bit."

"My dear boy! Harry Potter at my deathday party! And, do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Err… of course." Siad Harry. Nick beamed at him.

"A deathday party!? Are you mental!?" Draco asked. They were in the Common room, which was mostly empty except for them and Blaise and Theo.

"I promised him I would go, at least for a bit. Please Draco? It would mean the world for him." Harry begged.

"Then take your Gryffindor friends," Draco said. "He's their ghost."

"Yeah, but I want to do this with you… please Draco?" Harry asked, looking up at the twelve year old, his eyes going big. Draco stared at Harry's doe eyes and sighed. "Fine, we'll go for a while. But I'm not suffering alone. Drag Weasley and Granger there too."

"Thank you Draco!" Harry smiled, kissing Draco's cheek and hugging him. Draco laughed and retuned the hug. "How can I deny my boy." He whispered to himself.

Hermione and Ron agreed, Hermione finding it interesting and Ron just coming along. So at Halloween, while the rest of the student population went to the Great Hall to the Halloween Feast, Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Ron made their way down to the dungeons, where Nearly Headless Nick held his deathday party. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tighter around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingersnails scraping an enormous blackboard.

"Is that supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"How morbidly depressing," Draco whispered to Harry, "remind me never to become a ghost."

"But what if I want to keep you around forever?" Harry asked.

"My dear friends," Nick said mournfully, "Welcome, welcome so pleased you could come…."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, transparent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Shall we look around?" Harry suggested.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor, Draco and Harry huddling together to keep warm. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, his House's ghost, was here.

"Oh, no" Hermione said, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Mourning Myrtle—"

"Who?" asked Harry as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilers in the girl's bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.

"A toilet? Really," sneered Draco, "Must be a pathetic ghost then."

"Yes Malfoy. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful to have to pee with her wailing at you—"

"Look food!" Ron said.

They walked to the other side of the dungeon, where there was a long table of large, rotten food. The smell was terrible and Harry had to cover his nose with his shirt. Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away. "Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron his face turning green.

They barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. Draco instinctively took a step infront of Harry as the man smiled at them. "Nibbles?" Peeeves said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No thank you." Draco siad.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed. "OY! MYRTLE!

"Oh, no Peeves, don't tell her what I siad, she'll be really upset." Hermione whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her—er, hello Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly glasses.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss. Granger was just talking about you—" Peeves said slyly in Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying—saying—how nice you look tonight."Hermione said, glaring at Peeves.

"You're making fun of me," Myrtle siad, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No—honestly—didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs. Draco gave a small choke of a laugh at that, only to earn one himself from Harry. "Oh yeah—"

"She did—"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," hissed Peeves in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling "Pimply! Pimply!"

"Oh, dear." Hermione said sadly.

"I suggest we leave." Draco said, grabbing Harry's hand. "The feast should be nearly done, we should reach it for pudding. Come on Harry, Weasley, Granger."

The four backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet." Ron said hopefully. And then Harry heard it.

"…rip…tear…kill…"

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

"Harry, are you alright?"

"It's that voice…a voice that only I could hear—shut up a minute—"

"…soo hungry…time to kill…"

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and the three froze, watching him.

"…kill…time to kill…"

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away—moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whome stone ceilings didn't matter? "This way!" he shouted and began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall.

Harry strained his ears. Distaintly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: "…I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD!"

His stomach lurched—

"It's going to kill someone!" He shouted and ignored Draco's, Ron's, and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps.

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, the three panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry what was that all about?" siad Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything…"

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "Look!"

Something was shining on the wall ahead. The four approached slowly, squinting through the darkness as Harry held Draco's hand. 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.

"What is that thing—hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice. As they edged nearer, Harry and Draco almost slipped—there was a large puddle of water on the floor. They steady themselves and the four inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All four of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a splash.

Mrs. Norris was hanging by her tail from the torch basket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help—" Harry began awkwardly.

"Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distent thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor, the sound of feet climbing the staris and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione stood alone in the middle of the corridor as silence fell among the mast 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 Pansy Parkinson, who was looking straight at Hermione. Marcus Flint was behind her, smiling at Harry and Draco.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by Pansy'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 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!"

Dumbledore has arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch basket.

"Come with me Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—"

"Thank you Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

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 lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The four exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. Draco made Harry sit on his lap, for comfort.

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 peculiar expression. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her—probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse 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. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Filch. 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.

Lockhart continued to prattle on, with the portrait Lockharts nodding their heads, agreeing. At last Dumbledore straighthened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly."

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he prevented. "Not dead?" chocked 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!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say. …"

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry. "He's the one who did it!"

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"He did it! He did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I'm a –I'm a—" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him in Draco's lap, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't know what a Squib is!"

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, looking at Draco and Harry, his eyebrow slightly raised. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

The four all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. "But why not join the feast afterward?" asked Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Draco and Harry.

"Because," Harry siad, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he has been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear," because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said.

"Then why go up Mr. Potter? The Slytherin Common Room is in the dungeons, correct?" Snape asked.

"We wanted to walk Ron and Hermione to their tower first sir." Harry said.

"Really? Funny Draco, I didn't know you were friends with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger."

"I'm not sir. I went to the deathday party for Harry." Draco said. Snape accepted the answer.

"So Mr. Potter? It appears to be a case of poor timing," Professor McGonagall said, "I'm surprised at how frequent this occurs for you."

"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch shrieked, looking furious, 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 hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was an awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said the Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione. They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quickly behind them.

"D'you think I should have told them about the voice I heard?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely not." Draco said, "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in our world Harry."

"You do believe me, don't you?" Harry asked.

"I do Harry, of course I do." Draco said softly. "Guys?" Harry asked.

"Course we believe you," Ron said, "But—you must admit it's weird…"

"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing is weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened… What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill. …"

"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Harry. To his surprise, Draco and Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well—it's not funny really—but as it's Filch—" Ron began.

"We told you this already Harry." Draco said, "Remember? Last year, Goyle and Crabbe were basically those. Someone born of a wizarding family with no magic powers."

"It would explain a lot," Ron agreed, "Like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile, "he's bitter."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Harry, "We'd better get to bed before Filch catches us again."

For the next few days, the school could talk 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 attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. The attack had a weird effect on Ginny Weasley, whom Ron told Harry was a cat lover. It 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. Not could Harry and Ron get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape made him clean up the mess of tubeworms that the Gryffindors had made, awarding him ten points. After a hurried lunch, he made his way to meet with Theo and Blaise in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy in his year that he knew by face, but hadn't talked to him personally, coming towards him. Harry opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

"Damn this school's supply." Theo cursed when Harry reached them, Draco and Blaise busy writing an essay that Harry had finished last night.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, taking his place next to Draco, giving him a hello kiss to the cheek.

"All copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out," Theo complained. "And there's a two-week waiting list! Why did I have to leave my copy at your manor?" Theo complained to Blaise, who just shrugged.

"We were having too much fun." Blaise said.

"What do you want the book for?" Harry asked.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," Theo said, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"Legend?" Harry asked quickly.

"Yes. Ever since you and Draco found the blood-stained message, it's been bugging me. I just KNOW I read it before." Theo grumbled.

"Done." Draco sighed, putting down his quill. He turned to Theo and said "I'm surprised you forgot about it, don't you have like a photographic memory?"

"No, I'm just really good at recalling facts at the right moments." Theo said. The bell rang. The four made their way to History of Magic, Blaise and Theo bickering about Theo blaming Blaise for forgetting his book.

During History of Magic, Harry barely was able to wake up when something happened that never has been done in that class before. Hermione and Theo raised their hands at the same time. "Yes Miss—er—"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance, Blaise's head came up off his arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk.

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 continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers—"

He stuttered to a halt, Theo's hand was still in the air.

"Yes boy?"

"Sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact? And besides, legends and myths are more important to history than the facts I find." Theo said.

Professor Binns was looking between Hermione and Theo in 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 Theo 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 Binn's every word. He looked dimly at them all, Harry could tell he was completely through 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 grew between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle 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.

"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 Secrets 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 Binn's class. 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. "Naturally 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, some looking back at Harry, who was wearing his Slytherin uniform.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But sir," Seamus Finnigan said from his seat next to Dean Thomas, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be about to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing—"

"But Professor," piped a Ravenclaw Harry never met before, "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 Thomas, 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 so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

After class, the four gathered together and talked in the corridor. "Well," Blaise said at last, "Now we know why everyone hates us."

"They don't hate us," Harry said, "it's just that well… there's a bias against our House because of it."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, "I think it was him who started with our families' obsession with pure-blood."

Harry looked between them and asked, suddenly nervous, "You guys don't care right? That I'm only a Half-Blood?"

"No!" They all said. "Harry! Don't say that ever again," Draco demanded. "I don't, we don't care about your blood status." They walked towards the secret entrance to Slytherin Tower, fighting against the teeming corridors to reach it.

"Hiya Harry!" Colin Creevey said excitingly.

"Hi Colin." Harry said automatically.

"Harry—Harry—a boy in my class has been saying you're—"

But Colin was so small he couldn't fight the tide of students bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy saying in his class about you?" Theo asked.

"That I'm the heir of Slytherin probably." Harry grumbled.

Draco sighed and said "Idiots will believe anything here."

"You think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Blaise asked.

"Who knows, Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris." Theo shrugged, "that makes me think that whatever did it to her wasn't human." As they spoke they turned a corner and found themselves at the very corridor where the attack had happen. They stopped and looked. THe scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch basket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice yelled as she and Ron caught up. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Returning our books before dinner." Harry said, "We turned a corner and found ourselves here." Hermione nodded and Ron and Hermione looked around. "That's where Filch has been keeping guard." Ron said, pointing to the chair.

They looked at each other, the corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to look around," Harry said dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so he could crawl along, searching for clues.

"Harry, I don't think that's very efficient." Draco said.

"Though it's fun to look at." Blaise chuckled, earning a slap from Theo. He moaned in pain, earning a chuckle from Ron.

"Scorch marks!" Harry said. "Here—and here—"

"Come and look at this!" said Hermione, "This is funny…"

They gathered around and looked. Hermione was pointing at the topmost plane on the window next to the message, were around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" asked Hermione wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you guys? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be bighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" asked Harry.

"I—don't—like—spiders," said Ron tensely.

Draco laughed, "Really Weasley? Spiders? We use them all the time in Potions."

"Don't laugh at me Malfoy!" Ron said defensively. "I don't mind them dead. It's when they're alive. I just don't like the way they move. …"

Hermione giggled while Blaise and Draco snorted.

"It's not funny!" Ron said.

Trying to get back on subject, Harry said "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter now Weasley? Scared of brass?" Draco couldn't help himself, earning himself a smack in the chest from Harry. "What's wrong?" he asked, more kindly.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girl's toilet.

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," Hermione said, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look." And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she walked through, followed by Harry and Draco who were holding hands casually, Blaise and Theo who were whispering to each other, and Ron.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione pressed her finger to her lips and set off toward the end stall. "Hello Myrtle, how are you?" she asked. The boys looked and saw Myrtle floating above the tank of the toilet.

"This is a girls' bathroom" she said, eyeing the boys suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them this bathroom, it's err very nice in here."

"Ask her if she saw anything." Harry mouthed to Hermione.

"What are you whispering? You're here to make fun of me aren't you!?" Moaning Myrtle accused.

"No," Harry said, "We were wondering if you saw anything funny lately, because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course I remembered that I'm—I'm—"

"Dead." Draco said flatly.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

The boys stared wide mouthed, but Hermione shrugged wearily. "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. …Come on, let's go."

They left and went their separate ways, when the boys entered the Slytherin Common Room, Marcus Flint was making a riot. Tomorrow was the first match against Gryffindor, and he was still running high from the attack. "There he is," Flint pointed to Harry, "Our Heir to Slytherin! I knew there was something about you that I liked Potter! A great Seeker, and the Heir! Tell me how you killed that annoying cat?"

"Shut up Flint! He's not the heir." Adrian complained from his place on the loveseat with Terence. "Just focus on the game!"

"Shut up you two!" Flint said. He turned to Harry and whispered, "I believe you. You are the Heir of Slytherin, why else would the Great Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord, be here in Slytherin?"

"Can you move Flint? Harry's tired." Draco said. Flint raised his hands and said "Alright, alright. Make sure to be ready tomorrow, we're going to obliterate Gryffindor."

The four second year boys made their way to their dormitory and Harry and Draco laid in Draco's bed, Harry in his arms. "Draco?" he whispered.

"Yeah Harry?" Draco whispered back. Harry moved so that they could stare into each other's eyes.

"Do people really believe that I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

"People will believe anything that isn't true." Draco said.

"Do you?" Harry asked, biting his lip.

"No, I don't." Draco said. He took Harry's hand, where Draco's bracelet was, and held it, moving it around. "I do not believe that you are the Heir of Slytherin, Harry James Potter. But, I do believe, Harry, that you are mine, this bracelet says so. You've been mine since I ever first lay eyes on you, and… and I've been yours. We will always be together Harry. And together, I know, we will beat Gryffindor team and be the best players Hogwarts have ever seen."

Harry laughed softly and said "Yeah, together. Me looking for the snitch and you throwing Quaffles with those muscles of yours." Harry moved his hand to squeeze Draco's small, developing biceps, which his flexed. "Thank you Draco… I like you, a lot."

"I like you a lot too Harry." Draco said. They gave a goodnight kiss and fell asleep in each other's arms.

A/N: Was going to be longer, but I think we packed enough in here. Thanks so much for your follows, favorites, and reviews! I love them so much, even more than chocolate! And now the replies!

Tay: Harry and Draco have an idea they're gay, they just don't know the word for it. They obviously have feelings for each other, it's just hard for them to put it into words. And the twins are always up to mischief, and it might involve Harry. But the end goal is a certain Hufflepuff, and maybe a Gryffindor.

MagnificentFern: Thank you for your loves! And yes! Draco and Harry are continuing to be cute! But soon, they won't be the only ones….

Anon: Aww, you're making me blush. And Harry might notice what he and Draco are doing… hell he's instigating the kisses and hugs sometimes! As for the twin's Hufflepuff? You'll see him soon. But will it be a perfect threesome of love, or will there be a lion thrown in to mess with things?

BrotherOfBasilisks: *checks off making a guy giggling online* I have made a guy's tummy fill with butterflies in real life! Woohoo! Now I just need to do that with a guy who is actually living close to me! :P Now, the pictures Collin has are nothing that special. Just Harry and Draco kissing. Nothing very explicit… yet.

Ern: Thank you for your continued support! Hope you liked it!

HappyReview: Favoritism? Noooo, I don't have favoritism towards reviewers! Characters, that's another story tho. And I like Snape better being forever single.