Epilogue
Words: 11,842
Recap: -
Harry has to admit that riding a flying car to school without sending an owl to get help was a really stupid and dangerous idea. His gut walloped in guilt at the thought of getting Mr Weasly in trouble after the hospitality he and Mrs Weasly had given him during the rest of the summer. Combined with Snape's low shots and heavy criticism, Harry felt like the worst person in the world.
He and Ron had been convinced they'd be expelled, but he was only glad they were given a second chance by their head of house and headmaster. Snape is certainly not happy if the venomous glare he shot at Harry was any indication.
They ate their meal in Snape's office and Harry ate between chats when his eyes spotted a peculiar item among his strewn stuff on his desk. Not that there's anything peculiar about a ballpoint pen; but it is when you find an ordinary muggle item to a wizard who looked like he despised anything muggle-related.
"What's that?"
"It's a pen, it's what muggle use to write instead of quills."
"Weird, what's Snape need from a muggle item?"
"Maybe it's charmed?"
Harry examined it, trying to find anything peculiar of it, from bottom to top. He uncapped the pen and yelped when the sharp point of the sword almost took his eyes out.
"Bloody hell!" Ron moved back in shock, the chair crashing into the floor. It ebbed into a sort of wonder at seeing his first magic sword, "I didn't know Snape had a sword like that, I can't imagine him using it."
"Me neither," Harry was left mesmerized by his own reflection on the polished bronze. He shifted the sword and spotted an engraved name, "Hey, Ron can you read what's on the side?"
Ron took one look and shrugged, "Beats me, do I look like I know Latin?"
"I'm pretty sure it's Greek."
Harry had a strong urge to play and swing around the sword like any children would have when handed with any sword-like item. He remembered Dudley and his friends would sometimes play sticks like a sword with Harry on the other end. He shook his head and tried putting the cap back to the tip, and it immediately shrunk back into a pen.
"Wicked!" His friend breathed out, "Let me try, let me try!"
Harry gave it to him, and the two took turns of fake-fighting and acting like noble heroes from classic stories, laughing at each other's dramatic antics.
Harry then froze and pointed out the obvious they seemed to be skimming off, "Ron, you do remember this is Snape's pen, right?"
Like a plug being pulled, his excitement drained, Ron glanced back at the door, fearing the man might just burst to his office in a flourish of thunder like a classic entrance of a cartoon villain—not as if a wizard would know. They've only just brushed off from being expelled, they do not want to push their luck further.
So Harry promptly put it back where he first saw it and left it there. Yet he can't help gave it a second glance before he left, briefly wondering what a wizard, like Snape, would need with a sword. He thought it might be something no good and kept in mind for later.
. . .
Mrs Weasly is a lovely woman. Harry has no doubt over that.
But no one can deny that she can be… loud.
"—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME!"
More so with a Howler.
"WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—"
Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb. But Mrs Weasley struck Harry strangely since yes, he could have died yet the ride wasn't as scary or dangerous as what he experienced last year with Voldemort, but the fact she was worried about it to the point of sending a howler to Ron made him remember back when Snape was watching over him during his stay at the infirmary after the Philosopher's Stone Fiasco.
'He could have died.' Harry remembered him saying.
Snape had always had an angry look on his face, imagining what he's like when he's really furious...
'No.' Harry shook his head at the ridiculous thought. The notion that Snape could be worried for him was laughable at best. He must still be in shock from almost getting expelled yesterday.
After all, his own relatives don't care whether he lives or not. So why would somebody who hates him does?
. . .
Harry figured that maybe joining a deathday party wasn't a good idea without suspecting it might be jinxed. Because what can be more appropriate to end a death-day than hearing ominous voices, a literally bloody warning written on the wall, and a petrified cat.
Harry didn't think any other wizard kids have this problem.
He, Hermione, and Ron had just told the Headmaster and the other two professors (and Filch, but who knows if he was listening with the way he kept sobbing on his cat, Lockhart just looked endlessly distracted). "If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.
"Potter and his friends 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 he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. "…there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there—"
"But why not join the feast afterwards?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.
"Because—because—" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he invented.
"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."
"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.
Snape's eyes narrowed further. He had pressed and pressed for answers, but the Golden Trio were too stubborn to say anything to clarify the situation. And so Snape finally pulled out an ultimatum. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."
"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to go that far. I remember a time when a boy was accused of unexplained sleepiness and someone had stood up with him the whole time."
"Spare me the old sentiments, Minerva. Potter has information that could be critical in uncovering the truth of this… unwanted tragedy… surely you don't want a repeat of the Halloween Ghost."
Professor McGonagall shuddered, possibly from the memory of this ghost Snape talked, but still insistently shook her head. "Be as it may, this cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter is involved for you to treat him like a common criminal."
Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.
Snape became much more vexed at being passed and glared heatedly at Dumbledore. Harry thought it was unfair how Snape wanted to blame him this much for the incident rather than finding the truth.
. . .
The Golden Trio were still discussing the Chamber of Secret as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. In fact, the whole Gryffindor were abuzz after the most interesting session of History of Magic. Probably the only time Professor Binn would have fully awakened class for his lecture.
As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy went past.
"Hiya, Harry!"
"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.
"Harry—Harry—a boy in my class has been saying you're—"
But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.
"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.
"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust, "They probably believe about the Vault of Legacy too."
"What's that?" This time, it wasn't just Harry who asked. Hermione did as well. It surprised Ron her rarely made question at a topic he knew better.
"What? Oh yeah, you two probably haven't heard about it. It's practically my family bedtime story since we're from a long line of Gryffindor. Basically, it's about how Godric Gryffindor decided to combat the beast hidden in the Chamber of Secret by hiding a weapon inside of Hogwarts, leaving clues around Hogwarts only the bravest could find and conquer."
The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.
"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.
"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be—well—human."
"But if the Beast and the Chamber is real," Harry thought aloud, "don't you think the Vault and whatever kept inside that can defeat the Beast would be real as well?"
"That's only if anyone finds it in time before the all the muggle-borns turned petrified. Besides, some said that it's long been founded, that it was stolen by a group of goblins during the Rebellion, but my brother, Bill, swore up and down that Percy Jackson, a Hufflepuff by the way, found the weapon two decades ago. Can you believe that?"
Harry became alerted at once, "Really, what made him say that?"
"Oh, Bill said he met Percy when he was a kid, and told it himself. Said he had to face three of the founders before passing their trials, then facing off a dragon made of gold for not listening to the school motto, then finding the sword only the chosen one could wield, which apparently was a ginger female knight, who proceed to slay the dragon with one stroke of her swing."
Harry and Hermione didn't say anything, too busy staring off into space as they tried and failed to imagine the scene Ron pictured.
"I know. It's nuts, right? And Mom said he's the sensible one in the family."
. . .
Harry likes Quidditch. He likes winning Quidditch even more. He would like it even more if he can get through a match without almost getting killed again. It's not too much to ask, is it?
He didn't know who he wanted to strangle more; Lockhart or Dobby. The house-elf proved to be a slippery thing though and was quick to disappear after giving an ominous warning. Harry didn't even have time to form any sort of curse before he was back lying down on the bed after hearing the collective hasty footsteps outside. He managed to sneak a peek, spotting Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and even Snape. They were all in their nightdress while carrying what looked like a statue on to the bed.
Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch when the moonlight revealed the statue to be Colin Creevey. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera. They said they were petrified, and that confirmed the teachers that the Chamber of Secret is opened without a shadow of a doubt.
"There's nothing more we could do here other than to increase the batch of the Restorative Draught, considering this won't be the last of what we'll see in this case."
"Severus…" Professor Dumbledore started chiding, but Snape was quick to wave off his concern.
"If the Chamber is truly open as you say, Albus, then whoever responsible won't stop with just this. It'll happen again whether we like or not until they are caught." Snape's gaze became piercing as if challenging his fellow professors to say otherwise. "Hopefully, the victims will be fine, eventually. But you know what we must do to keep the children safe."
Dumbledore nodded, "You are right, Severus. I will take the appropriate action. You and Minerva should go back to your quarters. Madam Pomfrey, please assume to your post."
The group dispersed by Dumbledore's words, but instead of returning, Snape edged closer to Harry's bed. Harry couldn't see what he's doing since he closed his eyes shut and focusing on keeping his breathing even, but he could imagine the Potion Professor to be peering at him with an uncomfortable intense gaze.
"Has he ignited your anger again, Severus?" the Headmaster spoke, possibly standing beside him, "I assure you that today's incident wasn't caused by his foolhardiness."
"He had a rogue bludger chasing him specifically throughout the field and kept on playing for the sake of a measly Cup, tell me again if I'm not right for being infuriated by him."
The Headmaster sighed, knowing full well that nothing else could change the youngest Professor's mind. "He has his father's face and his mother's eyes, but his recklessness could go on par with his namesake."
Harry was surprised to hear the exasperated groan from his teacher, "There's nothing good about that. You should know the kind of trouble Jackson was involved in, and most of that was because his blood had strung him into trouble. Yet you and Minerva allow both of them to play one of the most ruthless wizarding games."
"It's an organized competition that the school kept up with every safety precaution, even if Harry was injured, the staff would have made sure he wouldn't be harmed too badly. Minerva would never allow her star pupil to be impeded from competing for the next match."
"Don't even get me started with her. She's the most respectable Professor in Hogwarts, but when it comes to Quidditch she loses all common sense."
Professor Dumbledore huffed in laughter, which irritated Snape more.
"Do I sound like I'm joking? More than half of Potter's stunt out there was enough to give a heart attack, yet all she can say was boast about his circus acts on the field the next morning."
"Why Severus, are you saying you watched his every play and worried enough to give you a heart attack?" The Headmaster sounded amused.
Harry blanched at the idea, and he could imagine Snape doing the same. "Don't put words in my mouth, old man."
"Then forgive this old man's idle thought." Professor Dumbledore mused, "I must now go, many duties are needed to attend, good evening, my boy."
He started leaving the room but then stopped halfway, "Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Lockhart had asked permission to start a duelling club. He offered to give a demonstration of what a proper defence is like, and I suggested him to have your help with it."
There was a long silence (as usual when Snape looks like he's ready to murder you) but there seemed to be gleeful undertone as he replied, "Permission to do my best, Headmaster?"
"I'm afraid your best would render Professor Lockhart from teaching for the foreseeable future." Harry might have been mistaken, but Dumbledore doesn't sound at all bothered by his alarming comment. "But you may do well enough for the children to learn something."
Harry heard the retreating footsteps of the Headmaster but didn't dare to open his eyes until he heard signs of Snape leaving as well. He didn't know how long the Potion Professor stayed, but it was long enough for Harry to fall deep into sleep.
…
Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and stretching his arm and fingers.
"All in order," she said as he clumsily fed himself porridge left-handed. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."
Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby. But he was much too in a hurry that he hadn't noticed the person coming up at him and almost knocked Harry over.
"Ooh, sorry. Are you alright?"
"That's okay, I'm fine– IT'S YOU!"
The older Hufflepuff blinked surprised down at him, his eyes glazing over his face before his eyes widening from dawning realization. There was a quiet beat as two boys did nothing but stare at each other.
"Huh, well, this is awkward."
"You're the one who saved me from Voldemort last year!"
The grin he had was a bit nervous, he looked more like a Dudley smiling awkwardly after hiding a cookie jar from his parents before accusing on Harry.
"Who are you? How did you manage to fight back Voldemort? And why did that witch know you? How come I never see you in school? Why were you with Snape last year?"
"Wow, wow, kid, take it easy. I know you have questions, but I kind of have one of my own. What date is today?"
Harry felt like being blindsided by the left-field question. "It's… the third of November."
"Uh-huh, but what year?"
Now Harry was looking more concerned, "Nineteen ninety-two."
"Cool, cool, cool, so anything strange happening lately?"
Harry couldn't help the suspicion and dumbfounded look he had, as if the person in front of him had just woken up from under a rock.
"Right, I'm going out on a limb and say 'No, duh.' Unfortunately, I have... excruciating circumstances for that so any chance you might explain to me?"
"Haven't you heard about the Chamber of Secret? It's been going around for weeks."
The Hufflepuff's mouth drop, evidently recognizing the name, "The Chamber? Oh, shite, it's open? That's… not good… absolutely not good…" He turned incomprehensible as he began mumbling to himself. He turned his back on Harry and left without another glance.
"Hey, wait a minute, hey!"
"Look," the boy abruptly turned back and started, "You seem like a nice kid, and I would love nothing more than to talk with you but… do yourself a favor, Harry, and forget about me." He kicked off with a speedier walk. Harry followed him from behind, but after turning to one corner, all he saw was an empty hallway, with no sign of the mysterious Hufflepuff.
. . .
Because of last night's conversation, Harry was not at all surprised as the rest of his friends when the school announced they were starting a Duelling Club. But that didn't stop his disappointing groan when Gilderoy Lockhart came up to teach them. Walking onto the stage like the showman he is, resplendent in robes of deep plum. However, he was slightly excited when he saw Lockhart was accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. Harry can't wait to see what he has in mind to deal with the idiot.
Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent. Harry had doubted that Snape wouldn't have aimed to kill Lockhart if not for Dumbeldore.
Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor
The rest of Slytherin cheered, and Harry would have cheered along with them if he hadn't caught himself. He was surprised by his own behaviour but considering how Snape had acted half-decent when worrying over Harry in the darkness of night. He didn't want to contemplate that particular feeling so he decided to shove it off and focus back to the scene.
Then Professor Lockhart decided to pair up the students, and Snape had the ill-timing to separate the "dream-team" as he called. Giving him a cold sneer as he partnered Harry with Draco. Harry's dislike for him was instantly flared up, feeling a hint of relief knowing he was still a vindictive bully. As if everything was alright with the world.
. . .
The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously. Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his career in wizardry with them. Not that he didn't get any guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience, which can basically surmise to 'Play to your strength.'
He was contemplating his future while looking over the castle's scenery.
"Whatcha got there?" The paper on his hand was snatched. Harry turned with a scowl but that melted off to surprise when he was faced again with the mysterious Hufflepuff. "Ah, is that time of year already. This paper can give you a headache if you don't know what you want to be, which is something ridiculous to expect from 12-year-olds."
Harry felt his rug been swept off his feet at the nonchalance way of his appearance. The only thing that managed to came out was: "It's you."
"It's me."
"What are you doing here? Where were you… I mean, where did you disappear last time? You just suddenly appear and then gone after asking me to forget about you!"
"We all have our secrets, Harry. You have to let me keep mine. By the way, what subjects do you want to sign up?"
"That's not important."
"Sure it is; you don't want to spend the rest of the years learning something you don't like."
He snorted, "I'm already doing that, so no changes there."
"Oooh, sassy Harry, strikes again. At this rate, you'll make a run for my money."
"I would think you have more than just a smart mouth to be worth for." Harry slapped his mouth, as he realized the word he just said so callously but the boy just laughed at him.
"Now you sound just like your mother."
That stop whatever train of thought. In fact, it didn't just stop. It felt like the breaks had broken, and the train had flipped over and fell over miles down into a cliff.
"My...my...my mom?"
"Yup, I was a bad influence on her," he laughed like it was an inside joke, "And with all the danger and stress you had, it would sadden her if you don't have decent study plans. We can't have Old Voldy get in the way of your future."
In another time, Harry had to bite back a snort of laughter at the call of 'Old Voldy' because it's not funny. It shouldn't sound as funny as it should. But he was still too focused on the mention of his mom and why the boy who shouldn't be older than 18 at least talk as if he knew her personally. That shouldn't be possible… isn't?
"What would she want me to sign up for?"
"Whichever you like to learn the most or what you're good at, I suppose. She's often the top of her class so there isn't much she's not good at, but that made the choice even more complicated for her… except for Muggle Studies." He chuckled at the last moment as if remembering something fondly from the past.
"I'm…I'm not very good at magic like her, that's Hermione, She's the top in all her class except for potion. I only know what I don't want to study, like Potion, rather than what to study more."
"Aww, that's too bad. Your mom loves Potion."
"She does? Really? Well, she must be good at it right off the bat." Harry knew this conversation wasn't normal. To be precise, it shouldn't sound normal. Yet the way the mysterious boy seemed to calmly piece his mother into the subject with the nonchalance of an old-time friend, Harry can't seem to break off the illusion.
"Not in the slightest. The first time she had Potion in class, her potion managed to evaporate on the spot, leaving with nothing. She would have failed if it weren't for her partner at the time. It was the only subject she had a hard time dealing with. But Lily actually likes challenges and worked hard on it. That, and because it frustrates her to have two useless potion prodigies as her friends. She ended up wanting it as a career and became one of the youngest Potion Masters in decades."
Harry absorbed the story like a sponge, not sure how to take it all in, and why was he believing this in the first place? Then he realized for all the talk that Harry had looked and acted like his father, none seemed to share more stories of her mother. As if she was a backdrop. As if she wasn't the only one who gave up her life and love for Harry and for the protection he needed from Voldemort.
To Harry, he might not have cared whether it was true or not, just that he knows something, anything of his mother than just a figure of her looking back at him from across a photo, taken from a time that has passed.
"I'm only good at Quidditch though, that's not something you can make a career of."
"Not really. There's being a pro-Quidditch player if you don't mind the rabid fans wherever you go, and being good at a broom certainly helps when chasing dark wizards as an Auror. Not to mention running away from beasts if you're left wandering the world as a magic Zoologist…"
The boy went on and on with careers advice and explaining the pros and cons of the new subjects Harry was considering. And Harry took a moment to indulge. He teased and prodded in a familial way that Harry that couldn't help laughing (sort of reminded him of Fred and George) and being helpful and encouraging to him like he knew. Like he understood Harry and what he was going through.
Harry still wasn't sure what he wants to be but felt less clueless than before, which made him lots better.
"Feeling better?" The Hufflepuff asked, smiling softly with that same knowing eyes. As if he saw through the facade and knew he was struggling with school, with the Slytherin Heir, and the Chamber of Secret. It becomes a bit much over time.
"Yeah, thanks... I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."
"Seeing as I never gave it, off course you don't."
"Well then, who are you? You… you saved my life. You fought Voldemort. You would think people would talk more about anyone who managed to mock to his face."
"Who says they don't talk about me already? You just don't realize it."
"What do you–"
"You already know my name, Harry," he got up and dusted himself off, "You just never needed to put a face to it before." He began walking away, and Harry was late to realize he was going to disappear again and followed him, but again he was gone before he could blink.
Harry pulled his hair back and huffed in frustration, he made to go back to his tower when he was unfortunately faced with the black looming figure of his most hated Professor.
"My, my, Mister Potter, what have you been doing, scuttling alone in the hallways, not planning any more trouble, I hope. Though it wouldn't surprise me if you did. Your father certainly loves to rile trouble wherever he goes."
Harry shuffled his feet, bristling at his words, "I'm not doing anything worth taking points, Professor. Or is it a crime to walk the halls alone?"
"Two points from Gryffindor for your cheek and talking back, Potter. Now if you don't have anything useful then I'll escort you back to your tower."
"Err… there's no need for that, Professor."
"Much as I would like to put my time in something more productive than escorting another Gryffindor who can't seem to stay out of trouble, we can't always get what we want. Now, move!" He barked out the order and Harry made too large steps back to his common room and was painfully aware of Snape's presence beside him.
"And try to refrain from planning new pranks in my class or stealing from my office. Not even Dumbledore's mercy could save you from my wrath."
Harry had stopped misstepped, frozen shock by the casually thrown accusation that it took Snape's wrenching tug of his arm to get him moving. Harry wasn't sure what to say. He could lie, but it felt awful just thinking about it as if only proving Snape's right of the worst of him.
"I...I don't know what you're talking about."
"Pretending to be oblivious, I see. Typical." He didn't hide his usual sneer. "I'm not surprised seeing as you and your little friends find a sick fondness in flirting with danger like the fool your father was."
"You know, Professor," Harry grumbled, "if you don't actually want me dead, the least you can do is be nice to me."
This time Snape was left frozen, and Harry felt like being pulled still until he looked up to find a pair of dark eyes boring into him. But unlike the usually heated gaze that seemed to demand Harry to burn, his eyes glinted with something else entirely. An emotion, Harry can't seem to pin with how uncharacteristic it was on Snape's face.
"Mister Potter," Snape finally began, "Let me be clear to you that my obligation isn't to be 'nice' but to ensure the safety of Hogwarts students, that includes you. Imagine if you will, discovering time after time after time the Boy-Who-Lived fought an 8-foot tall troll and the Dark Lord, and already he had been pummeled by a murderous tree and got chased by a rogue Bludger, and you obviously have involvement with the caretaker's cat and the year hasn't even ended."
Snape seemed to take a moment to breathe a lungful of air after what might have been an unintended confession that he's been keeping in for so long.
"So no, Mister Potter, I am as likely to be 'nice' as you are going through the year without personally being involved with any death stunts and sparing me the bottles of aspirin."
Harry opened his mouth, halfway wanting to protest, but found there wasn't anything he could object to that. He tried to process his words and thought aloud, "Does this mean if I don't get into any death stunts, you'll actually act nice?"
He was surprised to find Snape snorting, "If you can consciously choose to avoid a life-and-death situation and spare Madam Pomfrey your accident-prone injuries, then I won't take any points from Gryffindor for a year."
Harry perked up and shot him a smile that wordlessly agreed to his challenge. Snape huffed and said something under his breath that Harry might have heard, "How did I survive Jackson the first time?" but it was too soft for Harry to be sure.
. . .
Three things Harry learned in the Chamber of Secret:
1. Ginny was possessed.
2. Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin.
3. And that he was a weirdo who made a name from an anagram from his real name
Is it honestly surprising then when Harry started to mock him when he claimed himself to be the greatest sorcerer in the world? Voldemort may be weak and hiding right now, but it doesn't change the fact he had been terrifying. However, this Voldemort still looks young and human, not at all like the shade he met last year. Harry found that it helps to mock the man on the face without much trembling.
Suddenly, music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.
Fawkes appeared, piping its weird but uplifting music to the vaulted ceiling. No longer was it the small newborn chick or the weak, lifeless bird with shedding feathers. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle. It flew straight at Harry. It dropped Sorting Hat on his feet, then landing heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and beady black eyes.
Riddle laughed at the sight of the songbird and a raggedy hat that was supposed to be made to help Harry against him. To stop him. Riddle thought Dunblesdore must have truly become a senile old fool if he thinks a wizard who barely knew anything about magic could stop him, the greatest sorcerer of all time.
"Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe?"
Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.
But then Riddle called out the big arse snake and his courage kind of… flew away… like Fawkes did. He mentally wants to call it traitor, but what are the chances a Phoenix against a Basilisk?
Harry rethought that statement with the answer "Quite well" seeing as Fawkes managed to blind the Snake, and Harry needn't worry about getting petrified anymore.
"NO!" Harry heard Riddle screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIM!"
Harry put the hat on, and he remembered Dumbledore's advice: "Help comes from Hogwarts to those who ask."
And that's what Harry did, he asked for help.
And lo and behold, what's waiting coming out of the hat was a… pen?
It was a pen, but not just any pen, but a familiar one that he had lifted once at the beginning of the year. Riddle sounded bewildered by what he was seeing. Not expecting anything so muggle to be the solution given to the Wonder Boy and began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once.
"What is that? A muggle pen? Dumbledore surely has gone insane."
"No. Not just a muggle pen." And Harry pulled the cap, and in his hand was a bronze broadsword that shone like gold. Harry was on his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous…
It lunged blindly. Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword in both his hands. The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true—Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth—
But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.
Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull colour.
A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws beside him. But before he could feel its warm head lay beautifully beside him, Fawkes squawked roughly and alarmingly. It took effort for Harry to see clearly with his vision swimming, but he saw the figure of someone holding Fawkes by the neck.
The witch that appeared had long dark hair braided with threads of gold and piercing green eyes. She wore a silky black robe with shapes that seemed to move in the fabric: animal shadows, black upon black, like deer running through a forest at night. It was unlike any robe Harry had ever seen.
The fog in his memories began to clear, and the name suddenly came to him when everything else was turning into a blur.
"Circe," Harry thickly said, "Let him go."
"And destroy Riddle's masterful work of killing you beyond the grave? I don't think so, Harry Potter." She then turned to glare at the ghost of Riddle, who looked just as a shock at her mysterious appearance and helping the Dark Lord. "And you! Honestly, how could you have forgotten that Phoenix's tears heal even the most fatal wound? He would have been alive if not for your carelessness."
Riddle was still left gaping at being scolded for failing to kill a kid. It must have been a surreal experience in both lives for him.
Fawkes struggled within her hands, but barely able to budge.
Harry began whimpering as the poison seemed to burn him from inside out. He would have held onto his wound if there was any strength to it.
"Finish him off nice and quick, would you sweetie? Have mercy on the boy before help arrives soon."
Riddle shrugged, "I don't know who you are, lady, but I can get behind on that." He aimed Harry's wand at him, making Harry want to laugh at the irony of it. A deadly cursed at the tip of Riddle's tongue but instead was replaced by him writhing and twisting, dreadful screaming and flailing and then—
Nothing.
Harry looked up just in time to see Riddle ceased to exist. Replaced by the sight of the Hufflepuff Boy with a silver sword on hand, stabbing through the Diary. Ink sputtering out, flooding the floor like a pool of blood and soaking the diary.
"No!" Circe was so angry, she let go of Fawkes without thinking and immediately cried on the serpent wound. Miraculously healing Harry. "You've obstructed me for the last time, Son of Poseidon. And you shall perish!"
She pulled out a wand of her own, waving her hand, the dead basilisk began to twitch and move. Harry had the sense to back off, distancing from what he had been sure was a dead serpent. Despite having a hole on the roof of its mouth, it came alive once again, but it didn't move as smoothly as it did. Rather it moved stiffly, like a puppet. Harry figured the witch was controlling the dead beast. The glittering sword that had been lodged at the beast fell and clattered near Harry's feet.
Harry looked over to the wizard, who looked oddly calm at the face of a deadly zombie beast. He even dared to look away to lock eyes with him and smiled. "Hey, Harry. Good to see you alive."
"Err," Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that.
The serpent lunge, jaw wide to swallow him whole. But Harry didn't have the chance to cried out a warning before he had swiftly dodge with a sidestep, stabbing the snake on the side before making a dash. Pulling the sword along with him to create a large gash alongside its scally body. But he was barely halfway along before the basilisk's corpse move once again. Snapping at him with its half-exposed jaw.
"Die!" Circe yelled.
But the Hufflepuff didn't die. He let the basilisk lunge again, waited for the last second before he jumped. His hand stretched out, reaching out for its nose. Then putting strength to climb on the roof of its head. The basilisk wiggled its head to knock him off, but the young man persisted. His whole body pressed down until reaching where the neck of the beast should be.
The man tried standing upright, Harry's heart lurched every time he looked ready to fall down. But then he heard his triumphal yell, "Ha! I've ridden flying pigs that's worse than you." The sword shifted in his hand to become larger and longer until it looked impossible to hold in his much smaller hand. But it was never for holding. The sword struck down the serpent's nonexistent neck until its head went detached from its body.
Harry couldn't help the awe grin he made at the surreal sight you could have only watched from an action muggle movie. But most of all, he was glad to know it was over, but he was found dangling from a fierce grip on his neck, his feet unable to touch the ground.
Circe's piercing dark eyes boring hatefully at him. "I may not be able to kill you, boy. But I'm sure I can keep you snuggly like the little rodent you are until you served your purpose."
The numbing fear came back, and it felt like being in the same dungeon from last year again. Completely and helplessly within the witch's mercy, as death seemed to have a tight claw on his neck.
"Get away from him!" A shrill cry came from beside him. At first, he had thought it was his Saviour again, but the voice was a bit too high and largely feminine to be him.
Circe was forced to let go when a burst of spell flashed passes in front of him. Harry harshly landed on the stone floor, coughing up air. He looked up and his jaw dropped to watch Ginny Weasly, she had his wand that Riddle used before, pointing it at the dangerous witch before her.
"Ooh ho ho ho, so the little Weasly decided to switch from a Damsel to a Hero. Well, let this be a lesson that not all heroes reached the end alive."
"No!" Despite the awful headache that threatened to pierce, Harry stood up, ready to shield Ginny if needed be when his eyes locked on the bronze sword by his feet. He acted before he knew what he was doing as if he had planned this from the start. He lifted the sword and swung it as hard as he could at the hand gripping the wand. Lopping it off in one fell swoop, and splatter blood all over him.
At least, what he thought was blood. Circe screeched as golden liquid seemed to drip where her arm used to be, and Harry froze to gawk at the witch he had presumed to be human. Because surely human, muggle or not, would not have such colour in them, right?
"I had it, I had it from the both of you! You will pay for this mockery, Harry Potter. Pay!"
"I'm sure he doesn't mind, would you like that through Pay-Pal or credit?" His saviour voiced out beside him before he even knew he had moved. The sword he had was threateningly placed on her neck. "The Sword of Gryffindor might not be from Celestial Bronze, but I'd like to test how effective Goblin's magic can be against a goddess, wouldn't you?"
Circe growled dangerously low, you wouldn't think it comes from a woman, or even from a human. But then she began to smirk, and their guards went instantly up.
"You love to finally take me to my mother, wouldn't you?" she hissed the last word, "But unfortunately you'll be busy keeping the Boy-Who-Lived live."
It was like she had spoken some sort of magic word; Harry's heart began to beat rapidly enough for the drums in his ears that gradually dampened the sound around him. He breathed and breathed harder, but no matter how much air Harry took, it doesn't stop from his lungs screaming. He didn't even realize when he had hit the ground as his knee gone numb, not when he was too busy clawing himself at the burning sensation spreading throughout his veins.
"What have you done?!"
"Oh, haven't the gods taught you? Ichor may be harmless immortal blood but you never know what side effects it can cause from exposure to a mortal. I never took it as something worth experimenting seeing as they die from meager gods' foods, but do tell me once we meet again, ta!"
A staff appeared within the grip of her hand, on top were circlets surrounding three time-sands interlocks with one another. One shifting its sands down, one sideways, another upward, defying gravity.
Circe only needed to wave it around her before tapping it down, and without a sound or a flash, she was gone in a blink of an eye.
Harry groaned painfully, and the two sorcerers were right there beside him.
"Harry, Harry, what's wrong with him?!" Ginny sobbed.
"You could say that he was poisoned, his magic is fighting it and keeping him alive but if left long, he's going to burn. "
"Ginny! Harry!" Ron arrived in a run, ready to hug his sister in relief but saw Harry writhing and gasping on the ground and was immediately on him.
"What happened?" That wasn't Ron's voice. If Harry had heard right, that smooth baritone voice seemed familiar.
"He disarmed a goddess, literally, and got exposed with ichor."
"Of-fucking-course," he growled. "All of you get a hold of Fawkes, and Jackson, hold the arm for me.
"Urgh, you want me to pick up the detached arm for you?"
"Jackson!"
"Fine."
At that point, Harry was completely out of it.
. . .
Harry was not surprised he was back in the infirmary when he woke up, nor by the sudden presence in the middle of the night, still too high strung from the day to let his guard down. Harry relaxed when he noticed was the shadow of his Potion Professor, "Does this mean you'll still be taking points from us?"
"It's taking every power of my will not expelling you right here and now if it means sparing me from your suicidal tendencies," he growled low and dangerously and Harry thought Snape could have easily scared off Aunt Marge's dog into cowering. "A basilisk?! I suppose Famous Harry Potter thinks he can do anything and thought being a hero would help please your fans."
The exhaustion floated away, replaced with bridling anger, "I am not Professor Lockhart!"
"Funny, you could have fooled me, is that not exactly what you did?"
"I did it to save Ginny!"
"Ah, yes, a single 12-year-old boy who barely could pass his wand work in class against a thousand-year-old beast hidden within the castle. I'm sure you would know more about how to save a maiden in need of rescue."
"I had Ron and Lockhart."
"A classmate with a broken wand with worse wandwork than yours and an incompetent fraud as a tag-along. Spare me your sorry made of an excuse, Potter. You are an idiot, not a fool. Surely that thick head of yours can tell what a competent wizard is like."
"What was I supposed to do? Somebody gotta save her! Ginny could have died by the time we ask the professors for help, and we don't even know if they'll believe us. I can't stand by and do nothing. That's not me. That's not me."
"Oh for the love– cease your dramatics. Has it ever occurred to you to ask for help?! And no, that Buffoon of a man does not count. You could have done that at the beginning of the year and you could have done that now. Both times, you could have died. What part of my explanation that tells me anything other than the fact the Boy-Who-Lived believes he can do anything and is above from asking for help. Please enlighten me, for I cannot comprehend otherwise."
Harry opened and closed his mouth. He caught his feeble words of protest, thinking there was little he could argue back. Hearing from Snape's point of view, it does make him look like he trusts his own ability rather than the adults; who should have been more experienced and powerful in handling dangerous situations than him. The only reason he had survived was because of Dumbledore's and the young Hufflepuff's help.
Harry looked down at his hands; crumpling the sheet of his bed, "Ginny is fine. That's what matters, right?"
"Is that your excuse, Mister Potter? That you saved Miss Weasley so you are pardoned from endangering yourself? Is that how much your life is worth?" He hissed like a burning kettle.
"Yes, Ginny's life is worth as much as mine. Unlike you, I care about someone."
There it was again. The uncomfortable high tension silence that seemed to encompass them like a thin wire ready to snap at any moment. Harry did not look away from his professor. He couldn't despite the terrible venom etched on his face, his gaze boring like a snake ready to set his fangs on his prey. If Harry looked away, just for a second, he wasn't sure his teacher will not throw caution to the wind and actually kill him this time.
Without a word, Snape got up to his seat and left the premise as silent as he came. Harry felt his breath knocked out of him. If Harry refused to acknowledge the niggling guilt then that's no one's business to anyone. Snape doesn't even care about Harry, so why should Harry care about him?
The wrenching pull in his chest said otherwise.
. . .
"Sit down, Harry," he said, and Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous. He was back at Dumbledore's office. After passing a clean bill from Madam Pomfrey, Harry was promptly sent to the Headmaster. Ron and Ginny had basically told him everything except for his part of the story. Lockhart had been sent to St. Mungos because of his unfortunate use of Memory Charm that backfired. Professor McGonagall had worked on Dumbledore's stead until he could get around from the suspension that the ministry tried to put him in. Apparently, his bold move in preventing Hagrid getting sent to Azkaban was enough to put the fight in the ministry, however short-lived it was.
"First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you." He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.
"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you…"
Suddenly, something that had nagged at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth. "Professor Dumbledore… Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said…"
"Did he now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"
"I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm—I'm in Gryffindor, I'm…" But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.
"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd—I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while… because I can speak Parseltongue…"
"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort—who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin—can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure…"
"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck.
"It certainly seems so."
"So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it—"
"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his handpicked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue—resourcefulness—determination—a certain disregard for rules," he added, his moustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."
"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin…"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. Because the best people aren't from where they're from, but who they choose to be." Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. "Nonetheless, had you been in Slytherin, it wouldn't have made you any worse than Riddle. After all, the bravest people needn't come from Gryffindor. If you want proof, then I suggest you look more closely at this."
Dumbledore reached across his desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.
Godric Gryffindor
"Only a true Gryffindor could have used its ability to its fullest potential," said Dumbledore simply. "Yet the one who had been using it down the chamber was a Hufflepuff because despite having the heart of a badger, he has the soul of a lion. I can promise you that even if you were in Slytherin, you could have used the sword regardless. Something the likes of Riddle wouldn't have been capable."
"Then, what about the magic sword I used? Why did the Sorting Hat give me that?"
"Ah yes, Anaklusmos, or Riptide in our language. I did tell you, Harry, that Hogwarts would always give help to those who ask for it. The Sorting Hat gave you exactly what you needed, which was your godfather's sword. I think he would have been more than honoured of having you used it."
"My– Percy Jackson's sword?"
"The very same."
"Then why did Snape had it in the first place?"
"Professor Snape, Harry. And the reason for that was because Snape was entrusted to keep the sword safe. You'd be surprised the number of people who wanted to get a hand on it for… various reasons."
For a minute, neither of them spoke as the words exchanged sank in Harry's mind, but he wasn't done with his questions.
"Professor, the young man from the chamber, the one who saved me again when I needed help, who is he, truly?"
"Ah, yes, him. I'm afraid that is another question I can't answer you."
"Why not?"
"Because the world is shrouded in secret, Harry. Hidden for a reason, and once you saw through the truth in the world, you will be unable to unsee it. And that is a burden I'm not willing to rest to someone as young as you, not when you already have your own burden."
Harry wanted to press further for any semblance of an answer that makes sense, but then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in desk and took out a parchment.
"Now, what you need Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to ministry—we need our gamekeeper back. Thankfully, he was spared from Azkaban but there was no avoiding suspension for him."
"Hagrid's okay?
"Indeed. Thanks to an unlikely source. I managed to argue Hagrid out of prison. Who knew knowing how an Acromantula kill its victim could prove a man's innocence? Not to mention the criticism the ministry might receive to make false charges because they fail to see the obvious five decades ago.
"And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"
Their meeting was cut short from the barging pompous blonde that oozed out arrogance and distaste, followed by his house-elf. It was then that Harry properly met Draco's father, and then just because, decided to free Dobby afterwards.
Seeing an older Malfoy getting knocked on their butt by a house-elf was so, so worth the death threat.
. . .
It was one of the best feasts Harry had been in (though there weren't a lot of feasts he had been outside of Hogwarts). Everyone cheered in the Great Hall wearing their pyjamas and cheered and made raucous all night long. Hermione was back to normal, Hagrid came back, and everything seemed to be better.
Ron had been arguing over with Dean after he pranked him with a bouncing potato when Harry then spotted a distinctive-looking Hufflepuff standing on the side of the feast without joining them. He met eyes with Harry and tilted his head to the side before leaving past the archway door. It was easy slipping away when everyone was too busy to be merry. Harry left in a hurry, half-fearing the young man would disappear if he loses sight of him for too long
He found the Hufflepuff resting by the stairs of Hogwarts entrance, looking over the quiet, serene night that surrounded the castle. It was hard to imagine the horror residing in the castle's hall doesn't match the scenery that never changes. There was another House-elf beside him, offering him a mug of blue drink before he dismissing the elf with gratitude.
"I know who you are," Harry blurted out the first thing he had in mind. Questions don't seem to peel some answers so might as well go for the punch.
"Oh? And who do you think I am?"
Harry gulped, his palm felt and clammy, yet he kept clenching his hand tight to himself. "You're Perseus Jackson. You're my godfather."
Harry didn't know what to expect when he told him, but spitting out his mid-drank beverage, and snorting and choking on his drink wasn't on the top of the list.
"What? NO! I'm not your godfather, what makes you think- oooooh… oh, oh, wait. Err… hmmm… okay, I might, might be your godfather. Technically speaking."
"Might? Technically? You don't know?" Harry said, shocked, "How does someone not know you're a godfather?"
"I didn't stick around much when the war started rolling around, nor did imagine being old enough to be your legal guardian so making me your godfather would be a moot point," Jackson explained before grinning, "Though I wouldn't have passed Lily and James to put a stick up on the customs, but that's neither here nor there."
"People think you're dead. Why do you look young? Are you…" Harry thought back of the Philosopher's Stone and cautiously asked, "...immortal?"
"Gods, no. Being immortal is way overrated. You wouldn't want that. Don't agree to anyone offering you that." He said it as if warning Harry off from a stranger giving out candies. "Besides, immortality is wasted on me, I'd probably use the time to sleep for a century."
"Why are you a secret then? Why do you keep appearing in times of my need but never stay long? What's your goal here?"
The boy just smiled sweetly, and Harry huffed irritably, "You're not going to answer my questions, are you?"
"Not true, I can answer questions, just not something specific about myself."
Harry slumped down next to him with an angry pout, and Percy couldn't help but chuckle and ruffled his hair. His anger diminished a bit. "Thank you for saving me, again. I almost didn't make it."
Percy shrugged him off, "You would have been fine; you're as brave as a Lion could be and resourceful as a Snake. You would survive if not for Circe. She's beginning to get more daring that even I don't know what she's planning next, so watch your back, alright kid."
"Why is she after me? I mean, if she's a follower trying to get revenge, I can understand that. But she seemed more invested in resurrecting Voldemort and have him kill me instead."
The Hufflepuff scratched his head, obviously contemplating how to answer him. "Well, the full story is long and complicated to have any context. But let's just say, Circe has mommy issues and is using Voldemort to get back at her."
Harry whipped his head with his jaw hanging, "She's using Voldemort? To get back on her mother?" For all the fear he put in the wizarding world, the sentence was ludicrous to Harry at the thought of the most terrible wizard being used. "What's that have to do with me?"
"That's the thing. Her revenge has everything to do with you. Because in order for her to succeed, you need to be dead. And the only person who can kill you is Voldemort."
"Wh...what? Me? I...I don't… that's not true, I'm nothing special…even Voldemort said so."
"You know the reason, Harry. Maybe you're not certain what it is since no one told you anything, but deep down you already have an inkling of feeling that you're being prepared for something bigger. And that all these incidents are only just the beginning for a bigger storm. I should know, I've been in your shoes."
Harry felt like his gut had turned to lead and dropped in a sickening way. It has always bothered him, why Voldemort took the time and effort to kill a single helpless baby. Why he was the only one who survived his killing curse. Harr only ever wanted to fit in, but he can't deny he is different somehow. He doesn't know how or what, but that difference was enough to threaten Voldemort.
What makes him the Boy-Who-Lived.
"What am I supposed to do?"
He began to look extremely awkward and scratched the back of his head, "Err… I can give you advice... if you want?"
Percy sounded so unsure that Harry was sceptical of hearing it, "Like what?"
He opened and closed his mouth, no words coming out in response, "You know I'm not really sure. I'm not good at imparting this wisdom-stuff. That's Chiron's and Dumbledore's job. Just… go do you, okay? It works for me most of the time. Am I making sense?"
"I suppose? It's not like I knew what I was doing most of the time, I just… acted first and think later."
"Exactly! I mean, they assume you must have done something amazing when it's just running straight ahead to danger and trying to tell myself not to die instead of planning anything ahead"
"Right? People keep saying I must have some sort of hidden power or really brave when I had only done what I did to stay alive."
"Like they expect us to wake and face danger before breakfast and between study periods for shits and giggles."
"I know, its exhausting being looked at like an exotic animal to do some fancy trick for them until they calmed down again."
The two young heroes from different time looked at one another's face and burst into laughter until they were breathless.
There was a shout of Percy's name from afar, and he suddenly stopped laughing and looked back, "Sorry, looks like our time is up."
"You're leaving?" Harry couldn't hold back his disappointed tone.
He smiled; a gentle, sad smile that reminded Harry of the serene coming and going of the tide at night. He lifted his arm, and ruffled Harry's hair and made it more unruly if that was even possible.
"Your parents would have been so proud of you, Harry."
Harry looked up in shock, but he had already turned his back and leaving. Harry didn't chase him this time, just kept his eyes on him until he was out of sight.
But this time was different, the Hufflepuff looked back and showed the magic pen Harry recognized as the one he used in the chamber and waving goodbye.
"Thanks for keeping it safe. You did good using Riptide!" He turned to a corner, and there was no sign of him anymore.
But Harry wasn't worried anymore, because he had a good feeling he'll be seeing him again.
. . .
It was again another time when the students of Hogwarts began to make their way home again. Clothes are packed, report cards are given, and they only needed to leave once the train is close. Harry took that brief time to drag his feet down on the dungeon's floor and stood before his professor's office. He didn't see the poetic irony in having visit Snape's office both at the start and the end of the term, only this time he was going in willingly.
Or trying too anyway.
Harry didn't shuffle his feet to prevent a repeat from last year, but even after he had his fist raised and knuckles ready to rap against the iron door, Harry found himself frozen in place. Cold beads of sweat dripped on his forehead, and his heart restless at the thought of meeting Snape after the disastrous confrontation they had.
Harry blushed and groaned into his hands. How could he have said that to this teacher? To Snape? He honestly didn't know why his body is still intact or not reasonably take 500 points off Gryffindor. It'd be a typically Snape-thing to do if he managed to make Harry the first in Hogwarts History to drop his house point into the minus range.
He mustn't have muffled his groan good enough because low, dreaded voice rapped behind the door, "If you don't have anything important to say, Potter. I suggest you leave."
Steeling his nerves, Harry stepped into his office. He expected a lot of things but seeing Snape dealing with paperwork with smooth and swift penmanship. He didn't think the quill even left the paper as he switched parchment, but that's not what caught Harry's eyes. Snape was calm. Way too calm. Eerily calm, in fact. In contrast to how Harry had imagined him, giving off oppressive murderous aura. Which is why it caught Harry off guard.
Snape gave off a sigh before putting down his quill, "I hope this isn't going to be a habit, Mister Potter."
For some reason, Snape was too tired to even be his usual git-self, so Harry ploughed through before his Professor could say anything that would rile him up as he was so good at.
"I want to apologize for my words in the infirmary couple of days ago, it was... uncalled for and… extremely rude of me."
"My, this is a sight. To think, you know how to apologize to your elders. I thought you were a lost cause considering your pathetic attempt last year."
"At least I know when I'm in the wrong-" Harry bit back before he could finish, but wasn't quick enough.
Snape had a cruel smile on his face, but his eyes were anything but happy, "Aaah, there's that temper of yours. At least you're finally self-aware of your deplorable actions. A small improvement, but an improvement nonetheless."
Harry wanted to really pull his hair and slammed his door close just to make a point. But he gritted his teeth and planted his feet because he had more to say. "Ron told me what happened in the chamber. He said while I was being taken care of by Madam Pomfrey, you were up all night trying to create a potion that would cure the poison in me."
It was the first time Harry heard the Gryffindor talk of Snape with a hint of begrudging awe and respect. He heard from Madam Pomfrey that Harry's condition wasn't like any magical disease she ever had ever seen. It was thanks to Snape's quick thinking to use Phoenix's to slow down the poison while Snape created a potion from scratch. "He didn't show up in class for three days. I didn't think you can get magical deprived out of potion-making." He remembered Ron said to him after the feast.
"I also want to thank you for doing everything you can to save my life, I…I..." Harry was at a loss for words because what else can you say other than gratitude for someone who saved his life? But it felt hollow in Harry's tongue against his professor. Sincerity doesn't seem to affect the stone-hearted man, as heartfelt words seemed to slide off him like water sliding off a duck.
"Spare me your pathetic notion of me, Mister Potter." Snape curled his lips in a sign of disgust, "I did what I need to do, nothing more or less. If you don't have anything important to say, then you may leave my office and spare both of us three months of each other's company."
Harry pinched his lips tight, looking sullenly down. Snape hated him… or at least, he acted like he hated him; reprimanding him for every little flaw he had, nastily belittling him, never saying anything positive. Yet no one had seemed as invested of Harry's survival as Snape is. Not the Dursley, not Dumbledore, not the other professors Well, to be fair they don't quite know the troubles he dragged himself into. But it's as if Snape personally knows the lengths he'll take once he set his mind on something. And isn't that a weird, disturbing thought; that Snapes knows him better than any adult? Which is a contradiction itself since Snape kept pointing out everything that he's not.
Everything about him just doesn't make sense.
"I don't understand you, Professor." Harry didn't stay long to see or hear his reaction before closing the door.
AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS! It's currently past midnight, so here's a gift for you all for being a wonderful fan. Please tell me what you think of the epilogue and its increasing mystery. You might notice some differences from canon, which I, myself, don't know how far I'm going to take it. There's pro's in letting canon lie as it is and changing it up 180 degrees into whatever. Whichever the case, I'll make sure it'd be suited for my storyline.
And YEAH! Harry progresses in his thinking of Snape from hate to confusion. Not much of a breakthrough, but it's a start!
EartSpirit10: Nope. Sorry, dude. Gotta nip the bud, but Annabeth isn't appearing that way. Sophia is Sophia, but her name is certainly related to our favorite Wise Girl. But that's the only relation.
TaziyaKoya: My chapter titles come from the place of "How stupid can a chapter title be?" and just go from there. I'm so you're immersed in the story. I always love a new fan coming. And gosh, your compliments are making me blush. You're practically hitting all my buttons. You're making me squirming in happiness. Gaaaaaaaaahh!
Llew44: As you can see from the epilogue, Percy is a shitty mentor figure. But he tries and I love him for it. Don't worry he'll have his moments... eventually.
64Felicity: OH, a fellow Ravenclaw! *Eagle high five!* This is a PJO Story, of course there's going to be play of words and puns in the stories. Thank you, I hope you like this epilogue as well.
Patolemus: Dude, I'm excited you're excited. One detail you also miss, my friend; Harry was on the verge of blanking out to remember Severus was there to save his life in the dungeon as well. I won't tell any spoilers, but it's good to know what my fans might be thinking. I want Percy to be friends with Frank too, but I hope my meager writing won't let the plotline put a distance between the two. He needs to have an essential role which I haven't think of one for him yet.
And yes, Reggy. Regulus. The little brother. So much potential from that one character that never appeared. As for the infiltrator... well... can't say anything about that other than the fact she or he has been at least mentioned since Act I. As always, it's a pleasure to hear from an enthusiastic fan.
AveRomani: Oh, ho, ho, no need a companion story for that. It's part of the epilogue in Act 7 so that would be spoilers.
EmmaWriteStuff66: No, no he will not. But we can't deny the fandom exist to see his suffering.
EdgyBro: Sorry for scaring you, but nope. I'm far from hiatus. The one who cast the curse has already been from inside the castle since Act I.