"You have completed one year of your training in Potions—with varying degrees of success, I might add. Some of you have truly grasped the nature of potions making, with greater appreciation for the subtlety and precision required to make a potion successfully. Some others, unfortunately—"

Here we go, Harry thought in resignation, taking mild comfort in the fact that Malfoy's shout of laughter sounded too forced to fool anybody.

"—of course, we can't expect much better from the students who can't even show up for the Hogwarts Express on time."

Lockhart, Harry thought furiously. It was supposed to be a secret that Harry and Ron had shown up earlier, but it was all over the school by the next morning. Of course, no one really knew why Harry hadn't gotten on the train, but this didn't mean they couldn't come up with their own explanations. Apparently, the Slytherins' favourite theory was that he'd missed the train and had to have McGonagall bring him over.

He gave Ron a sidelong glance, feeling rather guilty; it hadn't been Ron's fault that he'd not been able to get through the barrier. But Ron had barely paid attention to the snub; his eyes were fastened on his wand. He'd gotten into a fight with Malfoy the day before and fallen on his wand, which had broken off at the tip. Ever since he hadn't been able to get it to work properly.

"Dratted—thing—" Ron muttered, and Harry felt another twinge of guilt. Ron had avoided his eyes and refused to talk about it, but Harry was fairly certain Ron's sudden burst of anger toward Malfoy had to do with what Harry had told him about the Manor. They'd been found by Snape (who else, Harry thought) and Ron had gotten a detention for it, and his mother had written to him too, but Ron didn't look put out by that— "it's not a Howler, at least," he'd muttered as if Harry was supposed to know what a Howler was.

Harry left the potions class without looking even once at Snape. He wasn't mad, he really wasn't, but he had no desire to see the Potions Master persona for a second longer than necessary.

Colin Creevey greeted him on the way to the Great Hall, and Harry nearly snapped at him. What with the combined forces of Creevey, Snape-in-Potions, and Lockhart, this year wasn't turning out so great.

Atleast he had Quidditch, he thought gratefully.

Staring at the Slytherin team clutching their Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, he grimly added the name he'd forgotten about to his earlier list: Malfoy. Senior and Junior.

I, Professor Snape, give permission to the Slytherin Quidditch team to train their new Seeker. Harry gritted his teeth. Snape and Malfoy together were a truly horrible combination.

He wondered if Snape's warning not to draw attention from enemies included Draco Malfoy. He wasn't an enemy yet, was he?

Catching the boy's eye, he wasn't sure.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in." Harry felt a rush of gratitude for his friend. "They got in on pure talent."

"Shut your mouth, filthy Mudblood!"

There was an instant shout from the Gryffindor team at his words, but Harry went cold. Malfoy's eyes had been on him. He dropped his broom and flung himself at the boy.

They tumbled onto the floor, and Malfoy's shock gave way to a determined fist in Harry's mouth. Harry reparteed with a kick. And then he heard a cold voice that made them both freeze and Malfoy smirk.

"Mister Potter. Still clinging to the belief that the rules don't apply to you, I see."

Harry staggered up. His lip was bleeding. Snape didn't seem to care or even notice. "Ten points and detention tomorrow at 7. Do not be late."

Snape turned away, and Harry said loudly, "Malfoy called Hermione a Mud—you know what. Isn't that against the rules, too?"

Ron shook his head at him frantically.

"Five more points for arguing with a teacher," Snape announced.

"I'm not arguing—"

"Five more."

Harry's mouth snapped shut, and Snape's eyes glittered. Merlin, how could he do that? Just flip back and forth, Potions Master one minute and friend the next? "I can do this all day, Potter," Snape said softly.

Harry clenched his jaw. Snape's eyebrow raised. "Excellent." Harry started, just a little—had the mask slipped, for a brief second? He stared. The mask was back in place, but he definitely hadn't imagined the genuine praise in the word.

Was this a test? Of his patience or something? Harry felt more annoyed than ever.

He stared at Snape's disappearing figure. Detention. Well, that wasn't too bad.

He knocked on the door to Snape's office and went in at the command to enter. Snape was sitting at his desk, and spoke even before he'd shut the door. "Don't bother, Potter." Potions Master still, Harry thought. "You will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail." He spoke the words fan mail the way someone would say Dark Arts.

Harry stared in desperation at Snape. He closed the door. "But—but I'd much rather—"

Snape huffed. "Do you really want to make your preference to serve detention with me over a perfectly harmless Professor public knowledge? It doesn't matter. Lockhart has requested your help specifically." He gave Harry an arch look. "Celebrity and all that, do you know. Perhaps he will give you tips on how to handle fame." His eyes were dark with amusement.

Harry groaned and hit his forehead softly on the door. It felt good enough that he did it again. "I hate Lockhart."

Snape's lips twitched. "I wager you'll hate him even more by the end of the detention. But look on the bright side, Harry. If ever you are tempted to use your celebrity status to your advantage, you will remember this as the downside to being famous: the dreaded fan mail."

"Argh." Bang, bang, bang.

"Some of them appeared to be perfumed. Heavily." Snape was definitely smirking now. "Do not lick any of those letters, Potter. There might be any number of dubious potions smeared on them."

"Hungh." Harry had been banging his forehead on the door so many times now it was beginning to ache.

There was a tinge of sympathy on his face, but he nodded at the door. "Go on. You don't want to be late."

Harry sighed heavily. "Bye then."

"I'm sorry," Snape offered, and Harry looked over at him in surprise.

"I thought we had ground rules about saying sorry," he said.

Snape cocked his head. "Oh, did we now?"

Harry grinned. "Bye!"

He kept that fuzzy feeling from seeing his Snape all the way to Lockhart's office, where it vanished in an ocean of mail.

If Harry had any worry about Lockhart remembering his snub of the man the day he'd arrived at Hogwarts—and he really hadn't been worrying one bit—they were safely discarded. Lockhart was obviously either too dumb to know when someone had been rude to him, or he was too full of himself to even imagine that someone would treat him that way.

Harry's arms were beginning to ache. In some corner of his mind, he wondered how Ron was faring with his detention. Surely it couldn't be worse than this, he thought, blearily signing on the letter of a Veronica Smethley.

Come to me…come…let me kill you…

Harry started, nearly cricking his neck as he bolted up from his position on the table. "What!"

"I know! Six months as the bestseller! Broke all records!"

"No, that—that voice!"

Lockhart looked at him in confusion. "What noise?"

Harry was breathing heavily. "You didn't hear it?"

Lockhart began to smile. "You must've fallen asleep, Harry—and indeed, look at the time! You'd best be off now!"

But—Harry stared at him, willing him to admit that he'd heard it. But there was no flicker of understanding from Lockhart. He stumbled to his feet and out the hall.

Asleep…yeah, that must have been it. He'd fallen asleep.

But he couldn't have imagined the sheer venom in that voice, could he? Or was it just because he was thinking so often of Malfoy?

-

"Rip…tear…so hungry…"

Harry looked up. "That! That voice!"

He looked at Ron and Hermione with a rush of relief. Surely they'd heard it too, and then they could go and tell someone—but they were looking back at him in bewilderment. "What voice?"

Harry gaped at them. "You don't hear it?"

The voice was moving now, muttering again. For so long…kill, kill. He followed it. It seemed to be coming from over—there! No, wrong way. Other side. It was coming from the—walls? He pressed his ear to the stone, but it didn't get louder.

I smell BLOOD!

Harry stared at the ceiling in fear. "It's going to kill someone!"

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

He didn't listen to them, he ran on ahead, following the voice that was growing slowly fainter. No, no, he had to keep hearing it—if he could stop it—

"Harry, slow down!" he could hear Hermione say as they ran behind him.

"Hush, quiet!"

No, it was no use. He came to a dead stop and Ron nearly hurtled into him. He couldn't hear it anymore. They were at a turn in the corridor and he stepped forward.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as he let out a sigh of frustration.

Then Hermione gasped and pointed down the corridor. "What's that?"

They walked down the corridor, Harry in mounting panic. Together they stared up in silence at the writing.

THE CHAMBER HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Harry read the words through the dull heartbeat in his ears. He lowered his gaze as Ron pointed with a trembling finger at the figure strung below it.

Mrs. Norris.

"Let's get out of there."

Harry's eyes were fastened on Mrs. Norris. "Should we try to help—"

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

He felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned reluctantly, but it was too late. The doors to the Great Hall had opened, and students came rushing out in great hordes. Then silence fell slowly, starting from the front of the group and moving to the back, as the whispers died away and they assembled around the wall, staring up at the writing.

A voice spoke, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Harry tore his gaze away from the words to fasten them on the boy who had spoken. Malfoy was looking at him, and Harry stared right back, feeling almost dizzy with fury.

Then Mr. Filch came through the crowd and he'd no time to worry about anything else. He watched, in increasing helplessness, as Mr. Filch rounded on him. I didn't do it, he wanted to say. But his mouth wouldn't work. He'd heard the voice after all, twice now. And they hadn't. What was the matter with him?

Then the crowd parted and Dumbledore came through, with McGonagall and Snape. Snape! His Potions master face was on, and Harry exhaled softly.

Dumbledore removed Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket and held it in his hand, a rigid thing that looked nothing like a cat.

"Come with me, Argus. You too," he said, but his eyes were on Harry as he named the three of them. Harry's eyes were on Mrs. Norris. Was she dead? What was wrong with her? He was reminded again, forcefully, of Mrs. Figg.

He swallowed.

They trooped into Lockhart's office, with Lockhart leading the way, followed by Dumbledore and Filch. McGonagall gestured at the students to enter and then she and Snape followed, with Snape closing the door shut.

He stayed at the back of the room with Ron and Hermione as Dumbledore and McGonagall peered over the cat. Harry was watching Snape. Of course, he thought bitterly. With Lockhart here, he couldn't drop the charade. But why was he smiling?

Cold realization began to settle in. Snape was going to accuse Harry of hurting the cat. He took in a deep, shuddering breath. Or … maybe he was just amused at Lockhart, with his hovering and superfluous comments. Right, maybe that was it.

Hermione's hands found his and he clutched it gratefully.

Dumbledore stood upright again. "She's not dead." Harry started. "She's been Petrified. But how, I cannot say—"

"Ask him," Filch said furiously. "He's the one who found her—he knows I'm a—he knows I'm a Squib!"

"Why would I hurt your cat because you're a Squib?" Harry retorted in much the same tone. "I don't care!"

"Rubbish! You found my Kwikspell course, you must have—"

"I don't care that you're a Squib," he said deliberately. He was watching Snape, but the man was of no help at all. He was smirking evilly and Harry looked away from him almost as soon as his eyes fell on him, and rested instead on Dumbledore. Dumbledore, at least, had no reason to think he would hate Squibs.

"If I may, Headmaster," Snape said, and Harry nearly groaned. Potions master. "Potter and his friends may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time—" his lip curled and Harry's hands tightened on Hermione's. "But it is quite suspicious. Why was he in the corridor at all, why not in the Halloween feast?"

Ron spoke up quickly. "We were at the Deathday feast, Nearly-Headless Nick invited us."

Hermione spoke right over him. "You can ask the ghosts, they saw us—"

"But why not come to the feast afterward?" Snape said, his eyes glinting.

"We weren't hungry," Ron said as his stomach rumbled. Snape's smirk widened.

Harry kept his mouth shut. There was no point at all in speaking to Snape when he was like this. He looked at Dumbledore. "We didn't do it. We saw the writing on the wall and Mrs. Norris like—that—just the same as the rest of the students."

"A likely story." Harry bit down on his lip; if he opened his mouth, he was pretty sure he'd start yelling, and wouldn't that be a fine idea. "I suggest that he be deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the full story: taking him off the Quidditch team, for instance."

Harry stared aghast at Snape. "You just want your team to win!" he said, forgetting himself in his anger.

Snape turned his steely gaze on Harry, and Ron gave him a poke in the ribs with his elbow. But then McGonagall came to his rescue. "Really, Severus, I don't see the point of that. The cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick."

"Also, it takes Dark magic of the most advanced kind to Petrify someone." Dumbledore's eyes, for once serious, settled on Harry, who gulped in sudden panic. Dumbledore wasn't thinking that he was a Dark Lord, was he? Hadn't he said that Harry wasn't a Dark Lord? Snape, too—but Snape had asked him if he'd felt any urge to kill, back when Harry had asked him, and now Mrs. Norris was nearly killed (he didn't know what Petrifying was, but Mrs. Norris certainly looked very dead). He glanced once very quickly at Snape and then away again.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."

Snape looked furious. Mr Filch's outburst rolled over Harry as he tried very hard to fight disappointment welling up inside him. Surely Snape didn't actually think he had something to do with Mrs. Norris?

He sneaked another glance at Snape, while seemingly turning his full attention to Dumbledore. Snape had turned to the Headmaster too, and he nodded once, very slowly, and Harry knew it was directed at him. He lowered his head too, acknowledging the gesture, feeling relief blossom in his chest.

"I could whip a potion quick, no problem—"

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

There was a silence, during which Harry bit down very hard on his lips so he wouldn't break into a toothy grin.

"You may go," Dumbledore said, nodding at the three of them.

They turned and fled, not pausing to even speak till they were safely alone in an empty classroom.

"Do you think I should have told them about that voice?" Harry asked. He was feeling quite guilty that he hadn't, now. Snape had told him to tell him right away if he'd experienced anything strange, and a voice only he could hear definitely counted.

Of course, it could also mean he was going mental, and he really didn't want to know how Snape would react to that. Also, Lockhart was there in the room, and Dumbledore, and he had absolutely no desire to let them know he was hearing voices in his head.

"No," Ron said. "Hearing voices isn't a good sign, even in the Wizarding world."

Harry's heart sank. But then he squinted at Ron. "But you believe me, don't you?"

"Course!" Ron said, a bit too quickly for Harry's comfort. If Ron didn't believe him, he didn't see how Snape could. "But—you have to admit it's weird…"

"Of course it is! The whole thing is. What was that writing on the wall? What's the Chamber that has been opened?"

"I think someone told me a story about a chamber once, though…might've been Bill."

"So there really is a Chamber?"

Ron shrugged and just then a clock struck. It was past midnight. Harry and the others reached their dorm rooms quickly, but Harry stayed awake for a long while, agonizing over whether to tell Snape about the voice or not.

His final, muddled thought before he fell asleep was that if Snape did think something was fishy with Harry's unexplained presence in that corridor, he'd definitely ask, and Harry was certain he couldn't look in that man's eyes and lie.

This did little to reassure him. He still didn't know if Snape would believe him, or if he'd think he needed to see a mind healer or something.