ACKNOWLEDGMENT AND AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following is a work of fanfiction and was written solely for the enjoyment of readers. The author makes no claim to the characters, relationships or locations deriving from JK Rowling's series of Harry Potter novels, the play The Cursed Child, or the Newt Scamander/Fantastic Beasts series.
Second Year ended badly. Third Year's not getting off to the best start. Two witches chat Harry up. A project ensues. That's much better.
A Mosaic Created From All The Broken Crockery
Chapter 1
An Enterprise Built On Mutual Interest and Nothing More
By
Bfd1235813
Harry Potter sat, passing the time as he wrestled one of his collection of personal demons.
Just thirteen, he had returned to Hogwarts School for his third year, primarily because he could not come up with a plan that promised significant improvement over what he had already experienced. The latest close call had been too close. A deranged simulacrum of the dark wizard who had nearly killed Harry when he was only fifteen months old reappeared, tried to drain off and appropriate for itself the life force of an eleven year old girl, trapped Harry in an underground tunnel system and made him fight a magical, venomous reptile with the power to kill by looking its prey in the eye. Harry ended up killing the beast with an enchanted sword, saving the girl and destroying his enemy by stabbing the book that served as his host. Harry was a genuine hero.
Harry thought that small recompense for all of the danger. He had come close to handing in his wand for destruction by the proper authorities and taking his place in the comprehensive school that served the families in the suburb where he lived with the Dursley family. He returned to Hogwarts with no expectation that his third year would be an improvement over his second. In the end, he decided Hogwarts, while evil, was still the lesser of the two.
Besides, he'd worn out his welcome with the Dursleys by inflating an aunt and releasing her into the wild. That adventure wound down with a bit of bachelor life in Diagon Alley just before the start of the fall school term so it wasn't a complete waste.
It was only a temporary distraction. Rationalization, Harry discovered, did not overcome the taste of bile permanently resident in the back of his throat.
As for the hero business, once the elation at surviving passed, he was right back with a dysfunctional houseful of disagreeable relatives. Thus passed Harry's summer vacation. It was a disaster.
Then it wasn't. In short order Harry learned of the existence of the Knight Bus, made the acquaintance of an eccentric wizard named Stan Shunpike, got a room at the Leaky Cauldron and tasted the ambrosia of freedom. Offsetting the positives were some strange allusions about being careful, considering a recent prison break by the psychopathic killer Sirius Black.
Harry enjoyed living the bachelor life in Diagon Alley. Friends from school began showing up, shopping and getting ready to return to Hogwarts. Harry was having fun until he was attacked by a dementor on the train to Scotland. Luckily, Harry was sharing a compartment with his new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor whose skill with a patronus charm soon had the dementor out of the compartment and away from the train.
On the first Saturday afternoon following his return to Hogwarts, Harry sat on a substantial chunk of granite that broke the surface of the soil not far from Hogwarts' Great Lake. He wasn't thinking about anything, at least not in an organized fashion. His mind shuffled the deck on which was printed its index and let Harry review his history of disasters as ordered by his subconscious. It was a clear, early autumn day, breezy but quite tolerable if one were sitting in full sunshine. Harry had taken off his robe and folded it into an improvised pillow so he could lay back flat on the sun-warmed stone.
"Is this a boulder or an outcrop?" Harry wondered. He removed his eyeglasses and put them in his shirt pocket. It didn't occur to Harry that few students of thirteen would ponder outcrops versus boulders. That had come from a geology book he had opened at random solely from curiosity. Harry knew Hogwarts Castle had all kinds of magic incorporated into its structure. Merlin knew, the basilisk that wounded Harry had benefited from effective protection over the centuries.
It made sense that there was serious magic embedded in the rock that formed the Earth. Harry thought he might put a little effort into some independent study. Knowing the magical dimensions of the world of rocks could be useful for a young wizard whose life always seemed to be under threat.
Harry's musings moved on. He raised his arms, one after another, unbuttoning the cuffs in turn. The scar from the basilisk fang glowed cherry red against his pale skin. He stared at the scar, touching it with the forefinger of his opposite hand. He was a little bit awed by the scar. The only reason Harry survived the bite was the availability of phoenix tears. Harry wondered if he might need to keep a phoenix, on a permanent basis. Dumbledore's was both gracious and generous but he was still Dumbledore's, not Harry's. Having one's own phoenix to share a life of involuntary adventure. Hmmm…
"That looks nasty," said a female voice.
Harry jerked himself up into a sitting position. Before spinning around on his granite seat he noticed a complicated shadow on the ground next to him. He groped for his glasses, always his first step in reintegration with the rational world.
The shadow belonged to the two witches who stood between Harry's spot and the sun. One wore her long, honey-blond hair pulled back into a single braid. Looking up, squinting, Harry thought she looked taller and more angular than ever. The second witch looked vaguely Mediterranean, with brown eyes, an olive complexion and short, bouncy, dark brown hair. The summer had been good for both of them, judging from their well-sunned complexions.
"Oh, Daphne and Pansy," Harry said. "Do I have detention? What did I do?"
The two witches, also recently arrived third-years, looked at one another, then back to Harry.
"What are you talking about?" asked one.
"Why would we be bringing you a detention?" asked the other.
Harry didn't sort the comments and assign them to a witch.
"Oh, Slytherin, Snape, Snape likes to take off points and give me detention, I was thinking he could have made you his messengers…"
"Harry Potter," Daphne Greengrass managed to say along with a simultaneous mini-shake of her head.
"Tchk," clucked Pansy Parkinson. "Were you going to offer us a place on your rock, Mr. Potter?"
"A mere oversight, I'm sure," said Daphne. "Why don't we take it as read that this gentleman wizard meant to offer us seating? He is known to have good manners."
"I…" Harry said as the witches sat, taking care to manage their uniform skirts for maximum modesty.
"Of course," Harry agreed as he waited for one of them to tell him what was going on.
"So gracious," Daphne muttered.
"So…" Pansy began, then stopped. She looked at Daphne, who tilted her head and rolled her eyes just enough to indicate, "Well, go on."
"We were wondering, that is, we couldn't help seeing that awful scar, and we were concerned," she said.
"Does it hurt? Are you fully recovered? Will you need any kind of special accommodation this term?"
"And…of course, the beast that gave you that," Daphne continued.
Harry moved, getting his feet and legs under him.
"Don't make us take you down and hold onto you, Potter," growled Pansy. "There are two of us and Daphne already pinned every third year in Slytherin, witch or wizard."
Harry gulped. Something about her tone said Pansy wasn't joking around.
"Is it the same to you if we don't discuss this?" Harry asked. "I had nightmares all summer. I really didn't want to come back to school. It wasn't a good experience."
Pansy and Daphne burst out laughing.
"It wasn't a good experience," they repeated to each other as if it were the funniest, most droll humor they had ever heard.
"Well, it wasn't," Harry protested. He began to roll his sleeve down to cover the scar.
"Don't," Daphne ordered. "It is you. Your history. Your fighting spirit. Your character. We don't see any of that among your fellow wizards. Sad, really. Besides, we have something to tell you. Something to discuss."
While she was talking Daphne had taken Harry's arm in one hand and pulled his shirtsleeve away, again exposing the basilisk scar. Pansy extended one finger and traced the scar so gently Harry couldn't really feel her. Her eyes drooped, nearly closing.
"We've been doing some research, Harry," purred Daphne. "A personal interview or two, a little reading in the literature."
Pansy came out of her reverie, slid her hand down his arm to Harry's and gave it a brief squeeze.
"We have a hypothesis," said Pansy. "Remember those from last term, History and Theory of Magic? Professor Binns. He studied under Isaac Newton, did you know that?"
"Pansy's hypothesis, which we would like to prove or disprove, is that your scar came from a basilisk," said Daphne.
Harry didn't say anything. He had not been prepared for a conversation about basilisks and wasn't done thinking through his own experience. Harry decided to take refuge in silence, at least until he figured out what the witches wanted.
The three looked back and forth, one to another, none saying anything. The witches seemed to think they had put the ball into Harry's end of the court.
"Do tell," Harry said, finally, troweling a bit of filling into the conversational gap.
Daphne lifted herself up and slid just a little closer to Harry.
"There is a lot of money in the rarer magical materials," Daphne said, her voice barely more than a mutter.
"Acromantula silk," said Pansy, giving an example and reinforcing her friend's statement.
"Unicorn hair," Daphne added. "Gnatwing."
"So laborious, collecting enough for the smallest batch," continued Pansy. "That is where the value lies, if you have to pay retail."
"Pixie dust," Daphne went on. "Dragon musk, the exhaled breath of a fainting virgin…"
"Not that we go around, fainting for mercenary purposes, you understand," Pansy interjected.
"No, that wouldn't do, for a pair of gentle-witches, beyond what's needed for back-to-school shopping," said Daphne, adding, as an afterthought, "And necessities."
Harry started to gather himself again.
"Have you witches ever heard of too much information?" Harry asked as he began to stand.
"Down, Potter, we aren't done with you," said Daphne.
She had put a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, sufficient to put him right back on his seat.
"Like we said, we've done our research," said Pansy. "Our hypothesis is that scar came from a basilisk. We don't know how you survived and we aren't here to press you to tell us. You'll make your own decision whether you want to or not."
"There is this, though, Harry," said Daphne. "We've been over it and over it and we can't see how, if that is from a basilisk fang, you're still here. Unless, and this is the big one, you killed it. If you did, then by extension, there is a basilisk just full of valuable magical commodities somewhere. Can you tell us what you did with it? We'll make it worth your while."
Pansy was nodding. She pushed herself a little closer to Harry as well.
"We were talking and speculating and like we said we conducted some interviews," Pansy went on.
"We were very discreet," Daphne assured him. "We don't think anyone could put it all together, based on what we asked certain individuals."
"Merlin, I hope not!" Harry huffed. He kept his voice to a hoarse whisper. They were out in the open. Some of Harry's housemates would be hostile to the two Slytherins, and theirs would be hostile toward him. He had no doubt the two witches, who gave the impression they wished to be his co-conspirators, would get braced as soon as the Slytherins got them cornered in the common room.
"We covered our tracks. Built in lots of indirection. So, what do you say?" asked Daphne.
"Did you sell the thing?" Pansy pressed.
"No," Harry said. "Damn. Sorry, didn't mean to give offense. Let's back up. What, exactly, did you want to know?"
"Assuming that is from a basilisk fang and that you killed the basilisk or you wouldn't be sitting here talking to us, did you butcher and sell it?" Daphne summed up.
Harry gave a great sigh and avoided looking at the witches, looking instead at the far shore of the Great Lake.
"Alright, look, we have to make a deal before I go any further," said Harry. "I learned some, well, some weird shit about Hogwarts last year. Just the knowledge turned out to be dangerous. It almost got me killed and I wasn't the only one. All of those people who got petrified, they were just unbelievably lucky. How do I know you aren't working on something else? Something equally dangerous?"
"We'll take magical oaths of confidentiality," Pansy noted, very matter-of-factly. "We already agreed. Plus, no one but the two of us knows we were working on this. Anything you want to keep between us just make us swear to hold it in confidence. What about you? Any of your chums know? The Weasel? The Weaselette? Merlin forbid, Granger?"
"Okay, that is enough," Harry said. It was a bit stronger than he'd wanted.
"Sorry, that was a snap, not what I intended," he said, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't have any reason to dislike you two, unlike some of your…your wizard colleagues. I do dislike some of those, and thoroughly. I tried returning neutrality and they aren't having it. As far as I know, Ron, Hermione and Ginn aren't looking for enemies among the Slytherins. Before we go further, I have to ask: Can we get past this? The house rivalry, I mean."
Pansy and Daphne were both looking down, faces flushed.
"Yes, Harry, we're sorry," said Daphne. "We forgot our manners. I can get past it. It won't happen again."
"Me too," said Pansy. "Sorry, your friends haven't done anything to me. I, too, forgot my manners. I won't do it again."
"Good," said Harry. He checked the sun and estimated the time to be around three o'clock.
"The Owlery, thirty minutes. Go separately. It has good sightlines. If there are people around we'll just keep going and meet in Binns' classroom. He never uses it unless he's in there professing."
Daphne cast a tempus charm and everyone looked at the time. The witches got up and walked on down the hill toward the lake. Harry waited a few minutes, got up and walked up the hill to the castle. One by one, they reconvened in the tower. There were no people in the Owlery so there wasn't a need for the backup venue. Harry got straight to business. He took a seat on one of the window ledges, drew his wand and faced the witches.
"I, Harry James Potter, swear upon my magic that I will keep safe all of the information the witches Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson will tell me in confidence in regard to their most recent research project," said Harry, wand in hand and pointed heavenward.
The witches looked suitably impressed, their murmured approvals sounding friendly and genuine. They drew their own wands and spoke the ritual words.
"I, Daphne Alexandra Greengrass…"
"I, Astarte Pansy Parkinson…"
"I didn't know your first name was Astarte," Harry said after Pansy swore her magical oath.
Daphne made a semi-concerned face at Harry's remark.
"I hate that name," Pansy growled.
"Really? She's a goddess," Harry said, not really thinking through the implications. "It suits you."
Pansy jerked backwards just a little. She stared hard into Harry's eyes as if assessing his sincerity.
"They really are green!" thought a temporarily non-communicative Pansy.
Harry looked back, very still, shocked to realize he liked seeing the real, full-spectrum Pansy Parkinson for the first time.
"Hmm-hmm."
Daphne's throat clearing brought Harry and Pansy back to the Owlery.
"Oh, uh, well then, what do you know?" Harry asked.
"Mysterious happenings all last year," Daphne began. She ticked off the building blocks of the Pansy-Daphne Theory of Harry Potter's Basilisk.
"Petrifications. Messages painted on corridor walls referencing a Chamber of Secrets. McGonagall gives an outline of the legend of the Chamber. The Weaselette…Sorry! Sorry! Ginny Weasley goes missing. You and Ron Weasley are seen escorting Professor Lockhart down the corridor. Lockhart never again sets foot in a classroom and you all end up in the infirmary."
"And…" Pansy continued. "You've got a scar that is identical to the one in Falcone's Illustrated Atlas of Magical Beast Trauma."
"Falcone's what?" Harry demanded.
"Illustrated Atlas of Magical Beast Trauma," said Daphne. "The standard reference. All the things magical creatures can do to humans, wizards and muggles alike. Illustrated. That means a picture that someone drew of a wound that is a perfect match for your scar."
"Except that one has blue-white skin and the gash is still a gash," Pansy said. "Cause that guy is dead. So his scar…"
Pansy looked back at Harry's arm, again covered up by his shirtsleeve.
"…never healed," she mumbled.
"And here you are, up and walking around," Daphne observed in a semi-accusatory tone. "Looking very healthy and fit."
She clearly wanted to bore right into Harry with her eyes and seize the truth, with or without his permission. Harry wondered if he could fight his way out of a situation, should it come to that. Daphne had, allegedly, defeated her entire Slytherin year group in wrestling. Pansy was shorter than Daphne and a little thicker. She had an air of strength in a compact form. Harry was inching closer to granting the witches full accommodation.
"Miraculous," said Pansy. "Simply miraculous."
"Anything else?" asked Harry.
"That's all we've got," answered Pansy.
"So far," Daphne added with a toss of her head, the allusion to possible further discoveries implicit in her manner of delivery.
"Fine," Harry sighed. "Congratulations on your excellent research and reasoning. I propose we move this to another venue. You're going to need to see a bit more."
Harry led the way down from the Owlery. A few students were out and about but none took any obvious notice of the three. Harry turned down the corridor that led to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"Binns' place?" asked an obviously puzzled Pansy.
"Nope," said Harry. "You two go in there and do a thorough inspection. If you don't find anyone alive inside, I'll be right there at this corner, watching for your All Clear."
The witches looked between themselves as Harry turned and headed for his observation post. The witches complied although they made distasteful faces at the prospect of encountering Myrtle.
Moments later, Pansy's face appeared at the door and she motioned to Harry.
"Hello-o-o, Harry," said a very juvenile voice as Harry entered the bathroom.
"Myrtle!" said Harry. "You're well?"
"I WAS, until just now," said Myrtle. She was not well-defined, more of a semi-formed mist up near the ceiling above the row of stalls. "Who are THEY?"
"Myrtle, it's Pansy and Daphne, from Slytherin," said Harry. "Surely you recognized them?"
"I did but I wanted you to tell me," said Myrtle. "What are you doing, coming to see me with your collection of Slytherin witches, Harry?"
Myrtle sounded like she was genuinely put out with him, distressed, even. Harry thought it more likely Myrtle's taste for the dramatic was coming to the fore. Myrtle might have had a genuine crush on Harry, he couldn't tell. He thought, even if she had died young, she ought to have accepted the fact that she wouldn't be having a relationship with an actual flesh-and-blood swain. Last term, Harry had already considered that, if he did perish somehow, and if he left a ghost behind due to some complication, it would be fun to pal around with Myrtle. She was volatile in a mostly-agreeable way. Maybe they could haunt as a couple, eventually adopting a Hogwarts House of their own. At the very least, the afterlife wouldn't be boring with Myrtle nearby.
"Myrtle, I have no other ghostly witches but you. You know that. I know you do," Harry said, consciously trying to project sincerity.
Myrtle suddenly became more manifest. She flew down and sat on the great marble sink that dominated the center of the bathroom.
"Ooo—I do like hearing that," she cooed. "Harry has a standing offer, witches. Don't go getting ideas. Are you going back down the tunnel, Harry?"
"With your permission," Harry answered. Myrtle flew to the closest stall and perched on the divider.
"I'll be here," she said before blowing Harry a kiss.
"Remember your oaths," Harry reminded Pansy and Daphne. Then he began to address the marble in parseltongue.
The trio's arrival in the anteroom to the chamber required the standard recitation of complaints and threats. Harry waited, patiently, for the witches' dialog to fizzle out. He had been down there before. If anyone had taken him he would have been the same. The difference was he had taken himself down, voluntarily.
The odor in the antechamber was strong. The real attention-grabber, though, remained the piles of stripped skeletons, the indigestible bits of all the rats, mice and other unlucky animals that had wandered into the lair of the basilisk. Then the witches noticed the snakeskin.
It was too much and both witches let out screams.
"Potter!"
Pansy looked like she was ready to fly straight back up the tunnel they had just exited.
"Uh-huh. Don't be embarrassed. It affects everyone differently. See how there is nothing inside? It can't hurt you. Careful of the rubble," Harry waved a hand at the fallen rock as he turned to make his way to the Chamber.
"Anyone good with stone masonry?" Harry asked as they scrambled. "This needs to be moved and the ceiling inspected."
"Potter, where is this?" demanded Daphne.
"Not entirely sure," Harry said. "You can call me Harry, you know. If we're partners."
"Oh. Fine. It's Daphne, then."
"Pansy," confirmed Pansy.
It didn't take long to transit the old rubble from Harry and Ron's earlier visit to the Chamber and Harry soon had the witches across the rocky pile and into Salazar Slytherin's secret addition to Hogwarts.
The witches turned away from the group, and each other. Daphne was looking up at the vaulted chamber overhead. Pansy was studying the walls. They were great, laid-up blocks of stone. No mortar showed at the joints. It seemed the stone was dressed and laid so perfectly that mortar would have been superfluous. Pansy wondered if magic kept everything square and proper.
"We're a long drop down from Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom," Harry said, getting around to answering the earlier question. "We have to be underneath several floors of Hogwarts. I can't tell if we are actually in the castle or if Salazar Slytherin put a little divergence in the route we just took. The wastewater passes through here, as your noses are telling you. It would probably be a good idea to follow it. We might find it is a route to the outside. You never know when you'll need one of those. As for the exact location, which parts are original Hogwarts and which were added by Salazar Slytherin, I don't know."
"And, if you'll take a look right through here, you might recognize the subject of that sculpture just ahead…"
"Merlin!" exclaimed Daphne.
"Oh! It's him!" Pansy squealed in delight.
"Is it really?" Daphne asked.
"I believe so," said Harry. "There are only two known likenesses that were done during Salazar Slytherin's lifetime, officially. The wood cut that shows up in all the histories and that bust on the mantle of the Slytherin common room fireplace."
"But surely, no non-Slytherin…" Pansy protested.
"Would have first-hand knowledge, no, don't suppose so," Harry said, finishing up for his partner. "I meant allegedly, of course."
"So there's Salazar and here is his pet. The legends were true. We have a chamber and a monster. Why he wanted a basilisk down here is beyond me. As far as I know, it lived alone and was never outside until Tom Riddle, who was Voldemort before he took his new name, let the thing out. That was fifty years ago, when Riddle was still a student here. The basilisk came out in Myrtle's bathroom. Myrtle told us, Ron and me, that she was having a nice, private cry over some offensive thing someone said, poked her head out the stall door and looked straight into the basilisk's eye. She died instantly and has been there ever since. Oh, so you know-she can use the plumbing to get around and has a perfect map the pipe system in the school, all inside her head."
"And you're the only one who knows about this?" asked Daphne.
"I don't know how much Ginny remembers," said Harry. "Riddle spoke to her through some kind of telepathic inception. It was pretty traumatic. We've never talked about any of it. Ron stayed out there. We were on opposite sides of the cave-in, so he kept an eye on Lockhart and moved rock so Ginny and I could get out. Ron and I heard Myrtle's tale together, directly from her. I always suspected Dumbledore knew more than he admitted to. He has spent his entire adult life here and is so curious. He has to…what is that word, when a person just has to do something?"
"Obsession?" asked Pansy.
"Compulsion?" Daphne offered.
"Obsession. He is so curious it is an obsession," said Harry. "I think he knows. He never denied knowing."
Pansy looked away from Harry and Daphne, to the great, dead basilisk.
"And this is your…"
"Monster," affirmed Harry. "A fine one, too, as monsters go. I'd have to say good things about it if it hadn't tried to kill me. I don't think Salazar Slytherin left a ghost behind. If it were me, I'd be haunting the hell out of whomever killed my little pet. He hasn't made an appearance. Maybe he's enjoying his plotting."
Harry slapped the side of the basilisk. It was surprisingly solid. A bit of black mold came away on the palm of Harry's hand. He held the hand out. Daphne wrinkled her nose, drew her wand and cast purgio.
"Seems to be in good shape," Harry said. "Now. Out with it. How do we turn this into galleons? Do you have a plan for that, or have you not gotten that far?"
Harry studied the witches, looking for non-verbal communication clues.
"It's kind of sketchy," Daphne admitted.
Pansy gave her a fierce look and twisted her head in a "Daphne!" gesture.
"Go on," Harry said. "All of it. You really have to trust me at some point, you know. You've come down here with me. No one knows where you are nor would they know where to begin looking for you. It's a bit late to start keeping secrets. If you have any."
"Oh, that's encouraging," said Pansy. "Did you just threaten to strand us down here? What would you do then? Go back up and feign ignorance?"
"He wouldn't have to," said Daphne. She went through another few seconds of silent Potter study and assessment. "Nobody up there would put Harry Potter together with you and me. They'd suspect Goyle, perhaps, or Crabbe. That McClaggen guy in Gryffindor. They'd turn the castle inside out, move on to the bleachers at the quidditch pitch, form a search party with the centaurs and go knocking around the Forbidden Forest. Then the aurors would have an open file, probably forever."
Daphne stared into Harry's eyes.
"We trust you Harry, and you can trust us," Daphne said. She looked at Pansy.
"Oh, Merlin," sighed Pansy. "I'm in."
"So, we've cleared the air," Pansy went on. She appeared to be re-energized by the brief moment of friction. "We aren't looking to steal your snake, Harry. We put our heads together and formed a hypothesis. At the beginning we just wanted to wheedle the story out of you. We thought, by the end of spring term, we might have gotten the location so we could come look for ourselves. Bringing us down here changes everything."
"Okay," said Harry. "Go ahead. Take a look around. Want to walk over and see the sculpture?"
"We didn't want to take anything that belonged to anyone else," Daphne said. She seemed to feel a need to clarify. "On the other hand, if you'd killed a basilisk and just left it out someplace…"
"Going to waste," Pansy said, taking up the narrative, "That would truly be a shame. We had a duty."
"To?" asked Harry.
"Magic," said Daphne. "Basilisks are very rare and nearly every part of them has some use. All of the potion and spell and magical biology guides that mention them are very old. Modern magical thought leans toward the basilisk being extinct. Pansy's family…"
"Does a little business, dealing a few magical commodities," Pansy said.
"Name one," said Harry.
Pansy looked at Daphne, the alarm apparent on her face.
"I…I don't think…" Pansy stammered.
"Tell him or I will," said Daphne.
Pansy took a deep breath.
"Flinderwort," said Pansy. Daphne looked a little sick, Harry thought.
"Never heard of it," said Harry. "Where does that come from?"
"It is kind of like yeast and it is used in a few potions that have to be brewed, the same process as ale," Pansy said. "Flinderwort is gathered only in the early morning hours of Beltane by the gentle scraping of tombstones in old churchyard cemeteries. A gatherer can only harvest once every seven years. More than that and the flinderwort will be dormant. The deceased has to have lived a virtuous life or the flinderwort will not find the tombstone a suitable habitation."
"And that isn't illegal?" asked a disbelieving Harry.
"Not as such," sniffed Pansy. "It borders on unethical but that question remains unresolved."
"Is working with you like working with a drug dealer?" Harry asked.
"NO!" said Pansy. "It's a legitimate business. If someone would figure out how to cultivate flinderwort I wouldn't be out spending my Beltane wee hours in a cemetery!"
"You collect the flinderwort? They make you do that?"
Harry was astonished. It was beginning to sound like Pansy had a homelife like his own.
"It's a family business, isn't it?" asked Pansy. "That is what a family business is. Everyone in the family pitches in."
Harry put off considering Pansy's proposition for another time. They had arrived at the great stone sculpture of Salazar Slytherin.
"There was something, when I was here before, but I didn't have time to investigate…" said Harry.
"And?" asked Daphne. "Is now a good time?"
"Depends," said Harry. "Do I have back-up?"
"Go!" said Pansy, sounding like a true adventuress.
Harry thought Daphne looked like she had an alternate opinion. Harry waited.
"Go," said Daphne, finally, after due consideration.
Harry tried to remember Tom Riddle, Jr.'s words but took a guess that the command voice and intent was more critical than word choice.
Harry imagined he was speaking to a snake, focusing until he could see a snake, in his mind's eye.
"I command you to open and divulge your secrets!" Harry said in parseltongue, his wand in his right hand and his left arm stretched full-length, palm up, looking like he was conducting something.
The stone head considered. Harry thought he could feel the dead eyes looking at him, judging him, Salazar Slytherin himself debating the worth of Harry Potter. The classmates waited. Finally, they heard a sound, the grinding of granite on granite, the fundamental flesh and bone of Earth sliding on itself as the mouth opened.
Harry hadn't had time to look too closely into the cave-like mouth when he went down to rescue Ginny Weasley because Slytherin's mouth opened at the phantom Tom Riddle's command to allow the basilisk to exit. At that point, he was forced to turn his entire attention to escaping the basilisk.
"What about babies? Could there be more?" Pansy asked as she stood looking into the void.
"Basilisks have an unnatural gestation and birth, so I don't think there could be more of them," said Harry. "It's possible, if Slytherin hatched more than one and left them behind. I'd bet he made that one and no more. The legend is so sketchy, I don't have anything more to go on."
"What do you think, Pansy? This IS an adventure. Are you feeling adventurous?"
Pansy looked at Daphne.
"Queen of the Jungle, now, are we?" she asked. "If you're going in then I'll have to, otherwise you'll get ahead of me."
Harry decided that meant his partners didn't have any further objections and walked into the open mouth of the massive sculpture.
The interior was in the kind of condition a rational person would expect. A basilisk had been living there since the days of the founders of Hogwarts. Harry saw more bones from digested prey, snakeskins and a great pile of what must have been basilisk dung.
"Not much for housekeeping," Pansy observed with just a hint of disapproval.
Harry cast a tempus charm.
"We're going to have to finish up, it's nearly time for dinner," he said. "What do you think? Is there any value in these—materials?"
"Let's do some more research," said Daphne. "Basilisks are magical. It follows that their droppings could have magical properties."
Pansy nodded.
"It's rare," she said. "Just being from a basilisk makes it rare."
"Done," said Harry. "When we get back to Myrtle's we'll split up. When do you want to meet again?"
The three partners turned around and exited the mouth, which closed behind them.
"We'll work on that and let you know," said Pansy. She looked at Daphne, getting a nod of agreement.
"Time to start thinking about security," Daphne said. "If we do this right…"
Harry didn't get to pursue that thought further as they had reached the rubble over which they had to scramble to reach the entrance to the tunnel to Myrtle's.
"Anyone bring a broom?" asked Pansy.
"Or a charm?" Daphne answered.
Harry stepped aside, closed his eyes and pointed his wand toward the stone floor. The witches saw his brow wrinkle and a slight movement of his lips. He went up, a little too fast, and banged his head against the ceiling.
"Ouch! Damn! I mean…" Harry said, again standing on the floor of the chamber.
"That was levicorpus," he said. "Just an experiment. Wand toward the floor, visualize going up and cast. Do it under the opening and you won't bump your head."
The witches appreciated Harry sharing his lesson learned although the rueful delivery and the look on his face made it hard to maintain their composure. They both thought he could have planned ahead and built in a bit of practice time before getting to their present situation. Forethought would figure in their future planning since it appeared Harry Potter did not consider such minor details.
Still, Pansy looked eager to try as she moved under the opening of the great drain. Repeating Harry's sequence she began to rise, floating upward, Harry and Daphne looking up after her.
"Made it!"
Pansy's voice picked up a little extra resonance, rolling down the stone tube.
"Wish me luck," said Daphne, stepping under the opening.
She managed to levitate herself, but just.
"Try again," said Harry.
Daphne got a little higher but not a lot.
"Focus? Draw on a little more magic? You won't hit anything as long as you're under the drain," Harry said.
Daphne nodded as she checked her position. She let her eyes start to close, directed her wand downward and spoke aloud.
"Levicorpus," she said, making it a statement.
Reality got on board with magic and Daphne shot up the drain.
"Whoooo!"
Harry heard voices in the distance and judged that meant the tunnel was clear. Moments later he had joined the witches at Myrtle's.
"Myrtle! Anything happen while we were gone?" Harry asked. He turned to the sink and told it, in parseltongue, to return to its original position.
"No one," said Myrtle. "Did you three have a good time down there?"
"Not what you're thinking, Myrtle" said Harry. He looked at Pansy and Daphne.
"Who is the best at cleaning charms?" he asked.
"Pansy," said Daphne.
Harry turned to Pansy, holding his arms out a bit.
"Shoes," Pansy said.
"Brilliant," said Harry, lifting one foot after the other.
Pansy cast her cleaning charm for Daphne, who returned the favor.
"Anyone outside, Myrtle?" asked Harry.
"No, Harry," sighed Myrtle. "Do you have to go so soon? Can't you stay and talk? Witches hardly come and use my bathroom at all. Unless they're desperate. Then it's just in, out, once in a while I get a 'Bye, Myrtle.'"
"I'll make it up to you, somehow," said Harry. He looked at Pansy and Daphne.
"I'll go first, you two are actually supposed to be the ones using this," he said, waving a hand at the surroundings. "I'm going to check a book out of the library, which I'll take to Binns' classroom, tomorrow. What is a good time?"
"Right after breakfast," Pansy said. Daphne nodded agreement.
"Everyone blows off Sunday morning," Daphne added.
No one remarked on an odor or pointed out some nasty substance clinging to Harry, his robe or shoes, so he judged Pansy's cleaning charm to have been successful. Harry intentionally sat with his back to Slytherin House so he wouldn't be looking over at Pansy and Daphne all through dinner. Even with the measures he'd taken, Harry had trouble paying attention to Ron's rehash of the sports column he had read that afternoon, which concerned a detailed account of a thirteen-hour match between two quidditch teams that seldom rose high enough in the standings to qualify for the championship bracket.
"Everything okay?" Ron asked.
Harry straightened up.
"Sure," he said, wondering if Ron would ask a follow-up concerning whatever he had been going on about.
"You seemed a bit out of it," said Ron. "Something wrong?"
"No, I was thinking about potions, you know?" answered Harry.
"Uh, no, I don't," said Ron. "I don't know if I ever think of potions."
"Ah," said Harry with a nod of agreement. "There you go. Even so, thank-you for asking."
Thinking about basilisks and basilisk lore pushed everything else out of Harry's mind for the rest of the evening. He went to the library after dinner, as he told the witches he would. The first book he checked out was titled, simply, The Basilisk. Harry wasn't sure of its utility. A quick look at a few pages convinced Harry the author was too sensationalist to have written a useful account. The bibliography yielded gold, though. One of the references, Properties of Magical Materials, was in the library's collection. Harry found it in the reference shelves. It was, unfortunately, among the volumes that could not be checked out and removed from the library. Still, Harry learned where it was and he could take notes. He thought of one immediate need, the first thing he wanted to take care of in the basilisk recovery and exploitation project.
Harry took Properties of Magical Materials with him to one of the reserved section lecterns and began scanning the 'B' entries in the index. He found Basilisk, under which there were three entries. The first was 'dung.'
"Basilisk dung is a nutritious soil-builder," he read.
Good. Hagrid would be a customer. He would probably take all they could bring back. Harry followed that thought. How would three third-years remove what looked like tons of dried dung?
Harry began reading again.
"The dung of the basilisk also has uses in the brewing of certain potions…"
Great. Maybe Professor Snape would appreciate a nice box of dung at Christmas.
"The dung can be infused in ordinary water, strained and reduced by boiling until it begins to thicken (about ninety percent reduction by volume) and the remaining liquid will begin to gel, becoming a growth medium for members of the yeast family."
Well, now! Harry thought immediately of flinderwort. No one had worked out the cultivation of flinderwort. Were there other yeasts or yeast-like commodities that could be grown on the basilisk dung growth medium? The prospects for a profitable season of basilisk harvest just kept on improving. Harry took out a quill and removed the cap of the inkwell set into the lectern. He wrote down general information. The team could come back for a more thorough copying session when they had more time.
Harry kept The Basilisk, elementary though it was, using it to hold his parchment notes on magical materials. On Sunday morning he worked his way carefully up to Professor Binns' classroom. He didn't see anyone on the way and knocked on the door before entering. There were a fair number of serious scholars at Hogwarts. They went to the empty classrooms alone or with a partner or two, just as Harry was, to study and compare notes in preparation for the week ahead.
Not getting an answering query in response to his knock, Harry turned the knob and pushed the door open. He closed the door behind himself and took his time, quartering the room and looking it over, floor to ceiling. Hogwarts was a school of magic, after all.
Satisfied he was alone, Harry sat down at a desk and pulled a blank piece of note-size parchment out of his satchel.
"Potions," he wrote.
School protocol held that the first student to claim an empty classroom could dictate the subject matter to be discussed. Newcomers were welcome but if they did not like the designated topic, they could sit there and be quiet. Harry thought there was a good chance Potions was the least favorite of all the subjects taught at Hogwarts.
Harry had just completed his note when he heard two knocks on the door.
"Come in," he called out.
If some grinds were outside, come to overwhelm Harry with demands for runes or arithmancy, he would adjust. That proved unnecessary when the Slytherin witches walked in. Harry slapped his note on the door's exterior, keeping it in place with a simple sticking charm, and closed the door.
"Right there," he said, pointing at the desk with the satchel.
"The Basilisk," he began, pulling the book out. "Basic information. You might know it all, but you might not. The real value, so far, was the index. I found another title. We have one, in the reference section."
Harry opened the book and pulled out his notes.
"Basilisk dung…" he began.
Both witches expressed opinions in the form of a duet of "Eee-YEWWW!"
"Good, that's done," said Harry as he turned back to his notes.
He read through the bits he had copied out, then turned to his partners.
"So, you're saying we can cook the poo?" asked Pansy, the sweetest, most innocent look on her face.
"Or you can cook the poo and pay me a royalty," Harry said. "It isn't just the dung. The hide is a magical material. The flesh is magical, the fangs may still have usable venom in the sacs under the gum. We still have to research the bones. We don't have a clue how much it is all worth. We have to get serious and work together. Otherwise, someone does their own homework and finds our treasure."
Pansy looked at Daphne.
"Harry's right," said Daphne. "We have to have a strategy. If we do it right, we can use it all. Even the, uh, poo."
"May I?" Harry asked. Daphne nodded. Yes.
"I refuse to continue using poo."
"You aren't going to revert to that common term, are you?" Pansy asked, the corners of her eyes crinkling a bit.
"Not necessarily," said Harry. "Neither will the raw material be poo. The material. The commodity. The medium. Maybe one of those."
"Enough," said Daphne. "Call it whatever you want. What are the practical considerations for getting to the harvesting and selling phases? Once we've cleaned it up, that chamber had good bones, or so it appeared to me. If we want to use it afterwards, we need to get busy cleaning. A decaying basilisk might be bad for the structure."
Daphne's comment brought Harry up short. Of course! He should have thought of it himself. It wasn't just the basilisk. Harry thought he could make a strong claim on its physical remains. He had been the one to thrust a sword up through the roof of the basilisk's mouth. He'd even sustained a through-and-through wound and a good dollop of venom from the fang.
Beyond that, though, was the question of Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber. Slytherin had built it for something. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to give his basilisk a cavern to call home. Harry wasn't certain Slytherin had put the basilisk down in the chamber. It was a snake, of sorts, so it could have come in as a baby and made itself at home. Daphne might be more right than she knew. The real prize might be Slytherin's chamber along with whatever secrets it contained.
"We can't do this alone," said Daphne. She stopped talking. It looked to Harry like she was bewitched by her muse or her own, private calculations.
"I'd prefer…" Harry began, then stopped when Daphne snapped her head toward him, holding his eyes.
"Figure out a way to do it," she said. "I'm with you. I'd prefer. Who wouldn't? Keep it simple. Three-way partnership. Will you give us an even split? You don't have to. You're the only one who can get down there."
"We'll split, even, three ways," Harry said. He didn't hesitate. The witches noticed.
"Think it through. I don't see it," Daphne finished.
"Okay, we'll work on it," said Harry. "We don't have to rush. What else do we have to figure out?"
"Where to put everything," said Pansy. Daphne and Harry looked her way.
"Well, it would be bad business to dump it all on the market at once," Pansy said. "Some years we can sell all the flinderwort we can harvest. Some years we have to ration it. Otherwise we would be out months before Beltane. If you sold it all at once you'd get a lousy price and have nothing left when the customers ran through your supply. It's better to keep it someplace where it won't spoil and stretch it out."
"Assuming we decide to do that, what kind of place stores a basilisk? Is there a basilisk warehouse somewhere?" Harry asked.
"No," the witches said in unison.
"What I was thinking," said Harry. "This is, in effect, the basilisk warehouse. It makes a certain amount of sense. It seems to be cool enough. The carcass isn't deteriorating. We could use a better route to the outside. We won't get away with taking our haul out through Moaning Myrtle's."
"Okay, a comprehensive brainstorm on the subject of basilisk removal," said Pansy. "What else?"
"Processing the raw material," said Harry. "What is the best way to unload it? What I mean is, would it make more sense to get it out, sell it and get rid of it, or would it be better to sell a little at a time, the way you ration flinderwort?"
"Your family is in the business, Pansy, what do you think? What would your father do?" Daphne asked.
"First of all, he would try to get his hands on it without paying," said Pansy.
Daphne, who knew all of the Parkinsons, started to laugh, which got Pansy going.
"What about another businessperson? Someone we could talk to. I've heard there are consultants…" said Harry.
"Well, who is your account manager? At Gringotts? They are ethically bound to work in their clients' best interests," Daphne said. "Father controls all of my money. I assume Pansy is the same?"
"Yep," said Pansy. "The rascal."
"Why would I have an account manager?" asked Harry.
"You're an orphan with no brothers or sisters," Daphne said.
"And thank-you for reminding me," snapped Harry.
"Hey, partner, Daphne didn't mean any offense," Pansy said, her tone soft, conciliatory.
Harry looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back, clearly crushed by Harry's reaction.
"I-I apologize," said Harry. "Ahhh…sorry if I hurt you. Sorry. Sorry. I didn't think."
Daphne could see it was now Harry's turn to be down in the dumps, so she felt bad for making him feel bad.
"I want to help you," said Daphne.
"I know you do," said Harry. "Thank-you. I shouldn't have said what I did."
The two engaged in some non-verbal communication consisting of staring into one another's eyes while maintaining silence.
"O-kay-y-y, then, all made up?" Pansy asked.
"Sure," said the others, together.
"So tell me about a Gringotts account manager," Harry asked.
"As the sole heir of your parents' estate, and a minor, you will have a legal guardian and a Gringotts account manager, at minimum, looking out for your interests. They should work as a team but I've heard some horror stories about clashes. All sides claiming they're putting the minor's best interests first, of course," said Daphne, Pansy nodding along in agreement.
"No one ever told me," said Harry. "I wonder why?"
"Indeed," said Pansy, arching her brows.
Daphne appeared to have plunged deep into her own thoughts, front teeth nibbling her lower lip, eyes focused a thousand yards beyond the stone wall she was facing.
"Harry, do you have godparents?" Daphne asked.
"Not that I know of," Harry answered.
Daphne looked at Pansy, who looked back.
"He should have been told," she said, Pansy nodding in agreement.
"Your foster family, Harry, who are they again?" Pansy asked.
"My aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley," said Harry. He was a bit put out by the subject matter, and it showed.
"And they're…" Pansy continued.
"Idiots. Stupid. Not very nice…" Harry began.
"We've heard, I mean, the thing is, Harry, maybe it wouldn't normally be any of our business, dirty laundry, not something we should stick our noses…"
Daphne was meandering, but Harry made the connection.
"They're muggles," Harry said.
"Well, Harry, the point is you're from an all-magical family so no one would have given them godparent or estate management responsibilities," said Pansy. "Right?"
"They shouldn't," said Daphne, clearly a bit hesitant to speak definitively.
"So the Gringotts account manager for the estate of—James and Lily?" asked Pansy.
"Yes, James and Lily," confirmed Harry.
"The estate of James and Lily Potter, in the interests of the Honorable Harry Potter, will almost certainly be an officer of Gringotts Bank, who will be charged with duties and responsibilities which will include managing your estate in such a way that will serve your and only your interests until such time as you achieve your majority. And he'll keep his mouth shut about it because no power on Earth can compel a goblin to discuss his client's affairs outside proper channels," Pansy finished.
"You need to go see your banker, Harry," said Daphne. "Start thinking about how you're going to do that."