"I can't believe this." Harry muttered to himself in the office, completely unable to concentrate on the class choice roster for their next year. Professor Flitwick had given out the list early so as to give everyone time to think about it since Ravenclaws had been known to be particularly finicky about their class choices.

"Right? There's just so many choices!" Hermione said, still poring over the list in front of her.

Neville had the same list in front of him, but was surrounded by a gigantic stack of letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving conflicting advice on what he should choose.

"D'you think Arithmancy sounds more difficult than Study of Ancient Runes?" Neville asked absentmindedly whilst shuffling through more letters.

The Hammer looked at the list again - it didn't seem like very many of the classes would help him on his way to being a detective. He wondered now about what the wizarding world had for investigators. From the piss poor job they had done in Myrtle's case he had a nagging feeling he wouldn't like working for the Ministry.

"Not about classes, Hermione, about the Chief."

She looked up from her papers, "It isn't fair that they took Hagrid, but what else could the Ministry do? It's on his record."

"They're a bunch of useless bureaucrats is what they are. Throwing an innocent man in prison for something we can prove he didn't do. Why didn't he fight it? Why didn't the Chief fight it harder? Now there's barely anyone here I'd trust to help with this."

"It-" Neville spoke up, stuttering to a halt over his pile of letters, "It isn't just a prison, Hammer. It's Azkaban."

"You say that name like I should be afraid of it, Neville, what's the deal?"

"Just - you don't know what they do to people in there, do you?" Neville set down his quill.

"Throw them in cells to rot, don't they?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not just that, it's the Dementors you have to worry about."

"What's a Dementor?"

"They're these," Neville gesticulated wildly, indicating something wavy but mostly person-shaped, "They're like phantoms, more like the Bloody Baron, but scarier."

"I've talked to the Baron, he's - well he's scary, but he's not world ending."

"Dementors are, Hammer. They feed on happiness is what I've heard." At this point Neville had an expression on his pale face like he couldn't bear to talk more on the point.

"We better solve this quickly then, don't want Hagrid to spend a second longer in there than he is."

The Hammer took out Riddle's diary from his bag and set it down in front of Hermione.

"I know Nev's still busy tracking down more defensive spells, but I got some answers out of the diary -" He explained about the ink and the visions, and how he didn't trust what the Tom Riddle hidden in the pages had to say, "Think you can take it for tonight whilst I'm in detention with Lockhart? Maybe see if you can get some answers out of him - or just keep up with the lie he tells you so you can see what it's all about?"

Hermione picked it up off the desk gingerly, reevaluating the blankness of the pages. She closed it and nodded a distracted affirmative before shoving it in her bookbag.

That night, the Hammer walked down to Lockhart's office on the second-floor corridor, dragging his feet and feeling the dread of being stuck for hours with the pompous ass. The Hammer sighed and knocked on his door.

It flew open at once, Lockhart beaming down at him.

"Ah, there's the scallywag! Come in, Harry, come in."

In contrast to the last time he had been in here, the room was well lit; the candles strategically placed to highlight the countless framed photographs of Lockhart. A few of them were even signed now that he saw them properly. There was another large pile on his desk.

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though it was a reward rather than his punishment. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of mine."

The Hammer tried to turn his brain off and think about the case, replying with a minimal set of grunts, groans, and single word answers, but the man's voice was somehow piercing with coy sayings like "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry." or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that." At one point Lockhart had put his hand on Harry's shoulder and given a talk about how he should have tried making a better impression with the Minister of Magic rather than squandering the opportunity to make friends in high places.

If there had been an option to cast the blasting spell on himself, the Hammer would have seriously considered it. Time crawled by with the candles burning lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching over them. Harry scribbled out Veronica Smethley's address - for what felt like the thousandth envelope, praying miserably that it might be time to leave. In the droning silence, the Hammer's ears perked up. There was that voice again, this time noticing that it was something sublingual, something embedded on a level of his brain that made it easy to discern from the ambient noise.

"Come… come to me… let me rip you… let me tear you… let me kill you…" Harry's blood chilled in his veins. It was back, and the idiot in charge of him would think he was crazy. The Hammer cursed under his breath.

"Now, now. Language, Harry, but I was surprised as well! Six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all the records!"

"Not that, there's-" Harry stopped himself, the ostentatious purple quill Lockhart had handed him quivering in his grip. The two stared at each other a moment, neither comprehending what the other wanted.

"Have - have you ever heard of Tom Riddle?" Harry tried desperately to find something else to say so he might be able to build up an argument.

"Why no, not at all Harry. Should I have? Is he competition for my own fame?" Lockhart said with an unguarded smile.

A short series of knocks made the Hammer jump in his chair.

"Ah, ah, go ahead and finish that envelope, Harry. I'll get it." Lockhart stood up with a theatrical swoosh of his robes. It was Professor McGonagall. Harry heard the quiet lilt of her Scottish accent but couldn't make out what it was she was saying to Lockhart. She had a graven look on her face.

"Mr. Mason," Lockhart stepped aside as she addressed him, "Your detention is over, but please come with me. Mr. Longbottom is already there."

Harry stood gratefully and walked with her, "What do you mean, already there?'

"Please, just come with me. I'll explain when we arrive."

Harry's heart sank, realizing they were on the way to the hospital wing.

"What happened to Hermione? Is she hurt? Is she dead? Tell me!"

"No, she's not dead, now please keep it down, Mr. Mason. She wasn't the only one."

Professor McGonagall put a gentle hand on his back before she pushed open the door to reveal Madam Pomfrey bent over Penelope Clearwater, and on the bed next to her was,

"Hermione!" Harry cried out and ran to her bedside. Neville was already there with her, his head in his hands and shaking. Hermione was absolutely still, her eyes open and glassy. Harry began to shake.

"They found her near the library," Professor McGonagall explained, "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…"

She held up a small, circular mirror from the nightstand. The Hammer took it from her and examined it - seeing one of Hermione's hands still in a position like she was holding onto its handle. All the Hammer's thoughts came to a halt: the journal.

"Professor, did you find anything else with her? Her schoolbooks? Her bag?"

"I - yes, both hers and Miss Clearwater's were scattered around like they had been hit in a typhoon. There were papers everywhere. Mr. Longbottom helped gather and separate some of her things from Miss Clearwater's."

"Nev, is it-?" He asked.

Neville took his hands from his face, revealing red and puffy eyes, his cheeks still streaked and shiny. Harry wanted to do the same, but the feeling of the dagger in his chest drove him onward. Neville shook his head.

The Hammer's knees buckled. He caught himself up on the side of Hermione's bed and put his forehead onto her hand. It felt like a layer of ice had settled over something that had been warm. Something wet trickled down the side of his cheek.

"I'll… I'll leave you a few moments. I shan't be far. Come find me when you're ready and I shall escort you back to your common room." the Professor said before walking away.

Harry gripped what little he could of her fingers, feeling the tumbling feeling in his stomach as hot and cold waves crashed over it in a storm.

"It's my fault, Hammer. I didn't find a spell in time." Neville sniffed.

"No, Nev. Don't you say that - we," Harry fought against his own rising emotion, "We didn't know. We couldn't know. I'm the one that gave her that book, and now she's here."

"How could anyone know about it, Hammer?"

"I should've known. This whole thing has been nothing but trouble. Should've been more careful. It should've been me in there." Harry felt Hermione's other hand, finding it clenched loosely to her side like she had been trying to hide something. The expression on her face was a determined one, the barely tamed bushiness of her hair framing it. Harry reached his fingers into her clenched hand and heard something crinkle. It was the familiar sound of crunching parchment. Looking around, he grabbed a set of tweezers off a tray nearby and knelt down next to the bed, extricating the paper she had been holding onto.

Uncrumpling the sheet carefully, he found that it was covered front and back with her tidy shorthand.

"Neville, I think she figured it out!" Harry called his friend over to his side.

"A-a b-b-basilisk, Hammer?" Neville hissed out a whisper, looking around to make sure that nobody else had heard.

"I - give me a minute, Nev. I'm going to step out for some air. If McGonagall asks, I'll be right outside."

Harry slipped the paper into his pocket and lifted his hat up just enough to run his hand through his hair before stepping out into the corridor. He took a sidestep and leaned his back against the cool stone, noticing Percy Weasley on a bench next to him, looking paler than usual. Percy spoke when he noticed Harry standing near him, "Your girl in there too?"

The Hammer grunted his response, trying to put together the bigger picture, his fingers sliding over the crumpled parchment in his pocket. He wasn't going to let Percy see it.

"Ever heard of the name Pettigrew?" Harry asked after turning around to collect himself, staring down at the worn stones of the floor.

"I- er - no." Percy replied.

"Nobody by that name in Gryffindor?"

"No one I've heard of." Percy said.

There was a silence afterward, the two of them staring at different torches on the wall.

"Thankfully the teachers have the Mandrakes on the way." Percy broke the quiet, " they'll be back up and around before we know it. "

"Except it doesn't solve the heart of the problem." The Hammer found himself replying, "They still haven't found who caused the attacks."

"I'm sure they're doing their utmost. We should be patient and listen to them."

"Like hell, Percy. I'm going to find who did it and I'm going to make them pay. It's personal now."

"No you won't! You'll listen to the Headmaster and the other professors like the rest of us."

"For them to do nothing? To play the sap like you're doing while you're sitting on your hands and your sweetheart's lying in there like a damn popsicle?"

Percy sputtered, unable to come up with a response fast enough.

"Listen, " Harry told him, a new fire in his eyes and a speech he had memorized coming to mind, "This isn't a damned bit of good. You'll never understand me, but I'll try once more then we'll give it up. Listen. When a man's partner is attacked he's supposed to do something about it. It doesn't make any difference what you thought of her. She was your partner and you're supposed to do something about it. Then it happens we were in the detective business. Well, when one of your organization gets hurt it's bad business to let the attacker get away with it. It's bad all around - bad for that one organization, bad for every detective everywhere. Third, I'm a detective and asking me to stop when I'm this," He held a hand with thumb and forefinger almost touching, "close to solving the case is like asking a dog to catch a hare and let it go. It can be done, alright, and sometimes it is done, but it's not the natural thing. If I let this go it's like letting Hermione, Penelope, Luna, Justin, Colin and Myrtle go, letting them down-"

"You can't be serious," Percy said, "you're a second year, you can't-"

"Wait till I'm through and then you can whine and make excuses. Fourth, no matter what I wanted to do now, it would be absolutely impossible for me to let this go without risking even more attacks. Next, I've got no reason in this whole forsaken castle to trust the rest of the administration if the Ministry can come waltzing in here and remove the Chief and Hagrid just to look busy. Sixth, there's something to it, something right here everyone is missing that I'll put all my Galleons on that Hermione figured out. I just need to know what it is and we can call the troops in on it." The Hammer was breathing hard now, the fire alight in his belly redoubling his focus and fuelled by an anger he hadn't ever felt before.

Percy, on the other hand, stared wide eyed, his pale face blanched, unsure of what to say in response to that.

"I'm going to go get Nev and head back to Ravenclaw tower. I have things to think about. You can sit here with your shiny prefect's badge and faith in a broken system to solve your problems, but I'm not going to."

The Hammer took small solace on his four-poster that they would soon learn that rounding up the usual suspects was doing them no good. Hagrid was long gone and the menace persisted. Under the light of his wand, Harry read over Hermione's notes. They trailed off at the end and he suspected there might've been another page, but the important part had been there. She thought it was a Basilisk that lived in the Chamber - a giant snake with big yellow eyes and the power to kill people by looking at them. It matched some of Myrtle's description. An underlined word carried out her theory: the pipes. It could travel the castle in the plumbing. Common legend had it that the beast could only be felled by a cock's crow or weasel effluvium, whatever the hell that was. Harry trusted her finding implicitly - he would have to order something from the Twins that could emit a rooster's crow.

It made sense that someone had killed all of Hagrid's birds now. The line of spiders fleeing the scene even made sense - one was the superior predator and the weaker was said to flee from it.

The question still lingered as he lay down to sleep: why was it that nobody had actually died from it yet?