If you're reading this, much love. Sorry I have been so late in getting this, but between hardships at work and general seasonal depression and a hefty number of things to do playing Fate/Grand Order, I've kinda been negligent in posting things here.
Anyways, here's the next chapter, I hope you
ENJOI
…
It'd been two weeks since the end of Operation: Slither In. Hermione was back to normal long before break ended, and she was more than happy to never look back. James hated to admit it, but once they had the ingredients in hand, she'd done most of the work on the potion itself. She all but kicked them all out, and James guessed she was still a little salty about being teased and wanted to not feel powerless, both feelings he could understand, and let her make her own cure.
The aftermath of their escapade had been… well, not that bad. Blaise Zabini had been found the following morning, having been successfully memory charmed into thinking an older Syltherin had Charmed him and a bunch of other second years into getting drunk on firewhiskey. He never saw an ounce of trouble for his folly and had named off others he thought had been hoodwinked. Of course, Tracey Davis hadn't actually been there, as she and a Hufflepuff guy named Boris had been hexed into humiliation by Kiara. Boris had ended up being not a fourth or fifth year, but a sixth, making almost everyone in the school uneasy at the connotations. Tracey had, in an effort to save her own image and reputation, went along with Kiara's version of events, seeing the guy be punished heavily.
The library had been a wash. Madam Pince was pissed when they told her they were looking for new articles related to the Chamber being opened in the forties. Not because they were looking, mind you, but because the archived newspapers from that time were either destroyed, defaced, or outright taken. They faced the brunt of her wrath, but thankfully it was only her shouting and throwing a temper tantrum over the loss of knowledge, not actually being blamed for it.
With Malfoy's lead a dead end, the Ravenclaws threw their hands up and all agreed to start their investigations from scratch. They kept it on the down low, not directly saying anything about the Forties, the Chamber, Slytherin, or the attacks themselves, but it began to feel like they were pulling wood chips from the bottom of the barrel. There hadn't been an attack in a while, either, so they were starting to think that maybe… just maybe, it was over?
"I'm telling you, Minerva," Lockhart had been overheard telling McGonagall. "It's probably over. Shame I couldn't catch them, but it's been almost a whole month since the last attack! They probably realized the heat was too much and they backed off."
Feeling a sense of normalcy return, James switched gears and went back to Normal James Things.
James had wanted to use Myrtle's bathroom as a center point in his prank/vengeance against Lockhart but Filch had closed it due to plumbing issues that saw the entire second floor flooded. Apparently, some nimrod with an ancient war heroes journal tried to flood the bottom half of the school with the half-century old useless book. Ron had known who the book belonged to; he had polished the guy's medals in the Trophy Room back at the start of term a hundred times but didn't seem too worried about who he was.
Deciding to get back to work on school and pranks, James, Travis, Kiara, and Ron were now huddled in the furthest corner of the library, looking over their notes as they plotted. They had before them a map of the dungeons, a book written by Newt Scamander on the anatomy of various magical creatures opened to the page on Cornish Pixies, and slews of handwritten notes on timetables, passwords, and how to operate a camera.
The camera had been Ron's idea, and it was brilliant. James had managed to abscond with Colin Creevey's camera, which hhad been locked away in an impromptu "evidence" locker in McGonagall's office. After a little bit of work, they managed to make it functional again. The film inside had been flash seared and needed to be surgically removed, and a few bits and pieces needed tweaking, but they soon had it operational. They had play tested it, with James under the cloak taking pictures of Ron modeling like he wasn't aware what was going on. It worked splendidly, and they were ready to start sowing the seeds of chaos that would see Lockhart shamed and disgraced.
They would start by stealing his cage of Cornish Pixies he still for some reason had stowed away in his office. The dolt had password protected his domicile, which was smart, but had made the password "Magical Me" and hadn't changed it all year, and every time James tried it out to see if he was being put on for a fool, it still worked. James had gotten downright nasty in an attempt to get the man to change it, doing subtle but noticeable poltergeist things under the veil of the Cloak, yet despite the enchanted portraits of himself pleading with the man to look into the matter, he never once changed his security measures. James spent a good chunk of time wondering if the man was a secret genius who was trying to catch him in the act, or if he was, in fact, just a dumbling, dottering moron.
Maybe he was working for the Heir, or the Dark Lord himself? That would explain his insistence on always screwing up spells that lead to chaos in the Potter Twin's lives. This was all speculation, of course, and James had no tangible proof, so he never brought it up as even a remote possibility. That being said, it was a thought that wriggled like a bloated slug in his brain, and he had to persistently fall back on logic to get it to go dormant.
The simplest solution is usually the most likely. Do not ascribe to malice that which can be explained away with incompetence. James felt sure to himself that the man was idiot, then, but then again, Lockhart had been a Ravenclaw. He saw the pictures of him when he was in Hogwarts himself, and while he was a bloat brained braggart, he made excellent marks and was a model student otherwise. You do not get into Ravenclaw being a complete moron, after all.
Doubt was seeded in James's mind once again as he considered Lockhart might in fact be an evil genius, fooling everyone with Drunken Master tactics.
"James?" Ron asked. He kicked James on the shin under the table. "James!"
"Ow! What?"
"Shhh!" Came Pince's usual hushing, but they couldn't see her and she couldn't see them, so they all waved at her with nonverbal, universally understood signs that meant 'screw you.'
"I was saying that once we get the Pixies, you should use the cloak and that muffling charm we learned a while back to get them to the Slytherin commons."
"Well, yeah, that's the whole idea," James rolled his eyes. "The question is, where in the Slytherin commons."
"Yeah, we need to set them off in the part that would be the most sensitive, the most delicate, and the one to cause the most outrage…" Travis trailed off. "I dunno how delicate or sensitive the Slytherins can be, y'know?"
"Why not the girls' dormitories, then?" Ron asked.
"What?" James and Travis chorused, looking unamused.
Ron held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry, it just-it makes the most sense if you're looking to really defame the bloke. What with the school's uproar about Tracey Davis, it's a sore spot at the moment. Unleash hell in the girl's dorms, and they'll be after blood."
"He's gotta point," Travis grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, he does…" James mumbled. "I just don't wanna do it."
"If we dropped the Pixies in the guy's dorms, it'd be a full scale war," Travis guessed. "And they'd handle it themselves."
"But if we dropped them in the ladies dorms, it'd be shrieky chaos, and the girl's would go to Snape, or even Dumbledore, demanding something be done. Lockhart's pixies are all tagged around the leg; they'll know the belonged to him. They'll launch an investigation and probably search his office. If we sanp a few bad pictures in the girl's dorms and plant them in his office, Lockhart's integrity would be brought into question."
"That's what we want, right?" Travis asked James with a pointed, uncomfortable look.
"Honestly, I don't care about that at this point," James shook his head, remembering his inner monologue on Lockhart being a secret genius. "I just want him humiliated. Upturning the Slytherin girls' dorms with his Pixies ought to do that... I don't like it, but at this point, I can't think of an alternative. We get in, release the hounds, snap a few pics, and we're gone. Leave the pictures around his office, maybe make him look like a perv? We're good. Easy peasy, yeah?"
"Easy peasy."
…
"Check, check," James muttered into the earpiece. "One, two."
"It's grainy, but I can hear you," Ron said on the other side of the two way. "Hope it doesn't get worse the farther away you get."
"It probably will," James muttered as he slid the prototype, magically powered two-way radio earpiece off the side of his face. It was hardly refined, made from junk telephone hardware from the Weasley garage, but it was functional… ish. "With all the metallic compounds in the castle's sandstone, and the relatively low power these things have, the radio waves are gonna be pretty weak at penetrating the walls all too far."
"Huh."
James sighed. "Radio wave is weak because of low power. Rock has stuff that blocks out radio wave. Radio wave cannot go very far."
Ron rolled his eyes. "You don't have to make it that simple…"
"Techy stuff always throws him through a loop," Travis laughed it off and took another bite off his apple. "Hell, sometimes even I dunno what you and Brian are talking about when you talk shop."
"Whatever, it's a working prototype, that's all I need," James shrugged. "We aren't going to be getting too far from each other on this job at any one time, anyways. So where are we?"
"Well," Ron flipped through his notes and bit into an apple of his own, concentrating on the task. "It's about nine forty five. Curfew's up in fifteen, so I reckon we have a five to ten minute 'give or take' range where Lockhart will head out of his office to begin his scheduled patrol. If your scouting report is correct, then he will follow the same pattern. He'll sweep the floors of each castle from the stairs only, going down the grand staircase and looking down each hall for about ten seconds, then moving all the way down, crossing the dungeons on the shortest possible path, then back up on the lesser used far staircases. He'll be back in his quarters by roughly ten thirty, maybe ten forty five."
"That gives us a time window of about thirty five minutes," Travis nodded. "Think we can swing it?"
"Definitely," James Dean nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against a desk. "We'll have the cloak, and with the muffling spells, we can be almost completely quiet. Without the furball, Filch has been powerless to find anyone halfway decent at stealth, so we can make good progress from his office to the dungeons."
"And you've decided these positions are going to be final?" Ron asked, pointing at the map of the dungeons.
"Yeah," James pointed at where he was setting Ron up to hide. "Lockhart goes by here every night he has patrol duty, so you'll be able to see him pass. Travis, who will be disguised as one of the Slytherin Prefects, will stop Lockhart here-" James pointed at the point of the map indicating halfway down the hall from Slytherin's common room entrance. "And bind him up for a minimum of ten minutes. That creates a true, plausible setup for Lockhart being there by his own admittance. Meanwhile, I'll be under the Cloak and make my way into the Commons with the Pixies. I'll get into the girl's dorms, unleash hell, take some pictures, and we'll bug out. We'll reconvene here, head back, and make sure Lockhart is in his quarters. Kiara is already in her position, where she's going to distract him long enough on his way to bed to give us room to move. We'll plant the evidence in his office and bolt. To make it easier to get away, Ron, you'll be staying with us in Ravenclaw Tower tonight. We'll smuggle you out in the morning."
"Roight," Ron nodded, finishing his apple. "Sho, shall we?"
"Let's," Travis agreed.
They all piled under the Invisibility Cloak and snuck out of the classroom they were hiding in. Lockhart's classroom and office were only just down the hallway, so it wasn't far for them to find their roost. Nestled into a corner and all kneeling, they were undetectable and silent as the castle's various different torches, lanterns, and candles dimmed down of their own volition, the universal sign that curfew was now in effect. Five minutes later, Lockhart walked out of his classroom, locking the door shut behind him and muttering quietly to himself as he made to ascend the stairs to start his patrol. He passed by there hiding spot and James could make out a few words he was cursing.
"Damned kids… Definitely not in job description… s'posed to be in bed by ten… bloody ridiculous…"
As soon as he was well and good passed, James and Travis stood, leaving Ron bathed in shadows as their lookout man. When they made it to the door, James pulled his wand and whispered, "Alohamora." The locked door didn't click, and with a raised eyebrow, James sighed. Enchanted to prevent magic lockpicking spells… that was cute, as well as a new feature. Fishing the makeshift lockpick set out of his bag of goodies, James Dean set about fishing the lock open while Travis kept his eyes wide open to keep them safe. With a few grumbles and an almost bent rakepick, James had the door opened, and they swept inside and slipped the door shut behind them.
Travis clicked the lock while James walked forward. Travis crept into the shadows while James made for the office door at the front of the classroom. With a quiet mumbling of the password, the door opened, and the Invisible James was met with gasps and other noises of shock as Gilderoy Lockhart's various portraits all began whispering madly.
"The ghost is back!" one cried, diving for cover cowardly behind the desk it was painted behind. James ignored them as he stepped forward to the cage covered by a sheet. Lifting the corner, James confirmed his quarry was inside. Snoozing, huddled together to keep their tiny little bodies warm, were exactly fifteen gnarled, angry, and probably starving Cornish Pixies. Grinning sadistically, James let the sheet go and carefully picked the cage up, sweeping it beneath his cloak and after sneering invisibly at the portraits, who were all quivering and murmuring, James walked out, leading Ron and Travis to the dungeons.
Time was of the essence, as everything hinged on there being little to no doubt that Lockhart was actually there, in the dungeons, so they made straight for their destination. Ron was once again slipped into shadows, while Travis quickly uncorked a bottle of Polyjuice Potion and quickly transformed into the tall and rail thin Peter Franklin, a pale and reedy fifth year Slytherin Prefect. Already dressed like a Slytherin, counterfeit Prefect Badge and all, he slipped into the shadows as well, while James stayed under the veil and stalked off for the Slytherin entrance.
In little time, the dumbling dolt made his appearance. On cue, Travis stepped out of the shadows and walked after him, waiting for the professor to reach the far end of the hallway from the commons before calling out. "Oh, Professor?"
"Ah!" Lockhart shrieked, grabbing at his heart and jumping in fright before realizing he wasn't in any danger. 'The threat is gone, Minerva, I assure you,' Lockhart's own words, rang in James's head, and this, added to seeing the man on edge, made James force down a snicker. "Yes, m'boy?"
"I was wondering, have you seen any toads around? A Gryffindor lost his, a pet named Trevor…"
James took his cue and slinked up to the wall and tapped his finger on it. "Purity," he whispered.
"Correct," the wall hissed quietly back, and it unveiled. James didn't let it finish its ritual of pulling the bricks back and bolted inside, as the sound would attract attention.
"Did you hear something?" he heard Lockhart ask.
"No," Travis replied with feigned concern. "Are you… okay, Professor?"
James let Travis do his thing and emerged into the Slytherin commons. He double tapped the microphone on his impromptu radio, letting Ron know he was in, and made his way to the Slytherin dorms. He was at the crest of the steps when none other than Millicent Bulstrode came rumbling down the stairs, and James was forced to push himself to the side of the wall to keep from being bowled over. The pixies rustled at the sudden movement, and James muttered a quick, "Muffliato," on them to keep anyone from hearing them.
Fate was not on his side, however, as try as he might, Bulstrode still whacked into his foot and was sent sprawling, er large frame colliding into the floor with shuddering force. Bug eyed in fear, James looked down at her crumpled form, frozen. He snapped himself out of it and immediately sidestepped as one of her paws reached out to grab him, and she snarled.
"Peeves!" Millicent thundered. "I know you're here!"
All eyes in the commons were on her, some chuckling, others looking concerned. James backed away and prayed that Slytherin didn't have the same security measures Gryffindor did, where the stairs turned into a slide when males tried to enter. Bulstrode clamored up and with flaring nostrils, stayed quiet and still, listening for the intruder only she knew was really there. Stopping, James forced his breathing to slow and tried his best to creep backwards up the stairs.
"A'ight, there, Bulstrode?" an older Slytherin girl asked, looking perturbed.
"Something just tripped meh," Bulstrode growled, eyes savagely looking around.
"Prolly nuttin," a boy grumbled. "You just tripped on yer own feet. Quit making such a ruckus."
James took that as his cue to go and turned on his heel, clabbering up the stairs and away from the threat. He didn't stop until he found a door, and he entered it stealthily, making sure no one saw it open. The girls inside were all either in their pajamas or getting into them, and James averted his gaze.
Still too young, he chanted internally. Still too young. Don't be a creep, don't be a creep- wait, I'm supposed to creep!
"Times wasting," Ron's voice, ruffled by static, mumbled in his earpiece. "Lockhart's trying damned hard to get away from Travis, so get moving!"
James set the Pixies down and shuddered in self-disgust as he started snapping a few hasty pictures of girls he knew were of age, and then stepped back. With the cage now in plain sight, he whispered the unlocking spell and casted it, opening the cage under the sheet. With a quick and short jerking kick, he rustled the pixies from their slumber and startling the girls. With screams of horror, they all watched as the Pixies, now awake, emerged from their prison and casted their cruel, beady eyes on the women before them.
All hell broke loose. James backed into a corner and hesitantly took a few more pictures while the little blue devils attacked. They pinched arms and pulled hair, bit into flesh and ganged up on one smaller seventh year, who was hoisted into the air and hung by the hem of her pajama bottoms onto the chandelier. Finished creating chaos in the first dorm, they swarmed out of the room to make more anarchy. The girls leapt from their beds and ran out into the commons screaming, and James took a little time to collect a few incriminating artifacts. A bit of pulled hair, a sock, a tie and-
James felt terribly dirty picking up the most damning thing of all, but he did it anyway, swallowing the bile rising in his throat as he did. It was for the greater good. It was for the greater good… It was for the greater good…
James left. It was everything he needed, and he walked out the way he came, making damn sure he didn't bump into anyone. He doubled tapped the mike as he walked out, letting Ron know he was on the way out. It was a quick and clean exfiltration, and he was out before anyone even bothered to move for the door. James emerged into the outer dungeon hallways just as Lockhart, looking grumpy and miserable, tried again to wrap up the conversation with the fake Peter.
"I'm sure you have much to do, Professor, so I won't keep you any longer," Travis said with a beaming, adoring smile. "But I just wanted to say thank you, thank you so much for being our teacher. We're learning so much!"
"Yes, well," Lockhart grinned besides himself at the praise, and after giving Travis an award winning, simpering smile, clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, best be off! Beauty and fighting darkness both requires one's rest, after all!"
You won't be sleeping so well very soon, Simp, James thought darkly as he hefted his little incriminating haul away. You'll be canned before too long after tonight.
…
It was a media massacre. When the Pixies, who were in worst shape than what James had thought, were traced back to Lockhart, the planted evidence in his office, left conveniently "hidden" in some copies of Lockhart's latest book draftm, had been found by the investigators. The Daily Prophet was ravenous to feed on the man's teetering status, as he was now facing a formal inquiry in front the board of school governors and with the Ministry of Magic. The only thing keeping his job safe at the moment was his reputation and his staunch denial of all wrongdoing. Things weren't looking great for him, though. He had multiple parents, angry former fans, and multiple magical-animal rights groups all demanding his resignation. As the star witness for his alibi, Peter Franklin, staunchly denied ever even seeing the defamed Professor at the time he proposed, they were even trying to pin the loosing of the pixies on him.
James Dean was seething. He stooped to such incredible lows, violated such a heinous boundary of his own morals, and yet nothing! The results he wished for were nowhere near as immediate as he wished. He was grumpy the next few days after the heist, and almost forgot he had a Quidditch Match against Slytherin that weekend. They had, of course, won handedly, as James and Travis being on the two best brooms in school made for a more even playing field against the Slytherin's own Nimbus 2001s. Roger had crafted the whole game plan around James and Travis scoring like crazy, which they had, and the game was capped off by Cho, catching the Snitch out from beneath Draco Malfoy's nose, who was still skittish to fly after the end of his last match.
Despite Slytherin dropping to oh-and-two in the Quidditch standings, Snape seemed to be in a much brighter mood than usual. He seemed to have taken a liking to James after the Lockhart prank, going so far as to actively praise his potions work in front of the whole class. James had no idea why, except… maybe he had an idea who framed Roger Rabbit? James didn't know. It was weird, but he wasn't about to complain about it.
On the other hand, Lockhart's lessons had taken a dour and somber tone, as the indictments against him had soured his once excellent relationship with the female population of the school. It wasn't what James Dean or Travis had wanted, but the boys of the school had taken the turn of events in stride, keeping the "Creepy Professor" away from the girls every chance they had. Granted, it was mostly the White Knights of the school, but still, it made for a decent enough consolation prize.
Among the Professor's many turncoats was Ernie MacMillan, who publicly decried his once beloved teacher as a monster, and even started nasty rumors about Lockhart himself being the Heir. Many started protesting outside his room between classes, and angry letters were being written demanding his resignation. He even got a few death threats, which…. Yeah, made James feel slightly bad. He expected this much outrage. He wasn't exactly sympathetic, as Lockhart had gotten comeuppance fit for his crimes, but still, James couldn't but feel a mild sense of guilt for his part in the play. Now he mostly just hoped to hell there was never any evidence to come back on him.
Valentine's day came, and with everything going on, Lockhart kept himself locked away in his office whenever he wasn't teaching, eating, or sleeping. Between the fears of the Heir and the implications of the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher being a Peeping Tom, some lunatic thought it'd be a good idea to allow an army of dwarves into the school. The ugly, bearded buggers were dressed up like Cupid, wearing one-shouldered togas and wielding harps and miniature bows and arrows, taking payment for delivering Valentine's Day cards.
They were all walking to class when one shoved its brutish but diminutive form through a crowd and came before them, looking up at Harry dead in the eye. James started cackling like a maniac immediately, already knowing what was about happen. Harry did, too, and blanched before trying to ignore it and shove through the crowd. The dwarf grabbed him by the ankle and yanked, sending Harry into the stone and hauled him backwards, flipping him over to look him in the eye.
"Harry Potter, yes?"
"Oh, yeah, that's him," Travis answered gleefully, smiling sadistically.
"You have a Valentine."
"Please don't," Harry pleaded, but looked almost dead inside.
"I was paid to."
"I'll pay you not to."
"I can give this Valentine to you warm," The dwarf sneered, its gravelly voice going dark as it cracked it's knuckles. "Or I can give it to you cold."
"What is this, a hidden camera TV show about a bounty hunter?" James cracked, still laughing maniacally.
"What'll it be, Harry Potter?"
Harry sighed and looked at all the gathered around students, deflating as they laughed at him. "Just… get it over with."
The dwarf nodded stoically and cleared his throat. "Aherm. Your eyes are as green as pickled toad, you're more beautiful than I was told. With hair as dark as a blackboard, you make my heart melt into your mould. I love the way you walk, it is music to hear you talk. You truly are divine, I wish you were mine, can I be your loving Valentine?"
James, Travis, and Brian were red in the face as they pitched over in fits. "That was brilliant! Your girlfriend has a way with words, Harry!"
"Shut up and help me up, James," Harry grumbled.
"Oi, Potter," Draco Malfoy called over the crowd, and they parted giving them all a look at him as his cronies Crabbe and Goyle hauled a blushing and faint-looking Ginny Weasley forward. "Give your Valentine her answer!"
"Let her go!" Percy Weasley roared as he suddenly appeared, shoving through to get to them.
Ginny was so red in the face it was hard to tell where her forehead stopped and her hair started. They had all stopped laughing at that point, and James adopted a look of shock and concern. Ginny seriously looked ready to just fall apart at the seams, and when Crabbe let her go, she crumpled to the floor sobbing. Percy shooed the Slytherin bullies back and cradled her as she wept, and the gathering just sort of stood there, awkwardly shifting on their feet.
"Harry," James hissed, looking at Ginny and cocking his head at her. "Do something!"
"What?"
"I dunno, but we can't just leave her hanging like this!"
"How am I supposed to turn her down without making things worse?"
"I DON'T KNOW," James yell-whispered, shrugging and looking desperate. "I am a nerd and genius, not a lady killer!"
"Seriously!" Hermione scoff-whispered, slapping their arms. "Go comfort her! Tell her thank you and that you appreciate it!"
"But I didn't!" Harry protest-whispered.
"Then lie! She feels awful right now!"
"We can kill Malfoy for outing her," James proposed.
"You will not! Go make her feel better, Harry! And you, too, you barmy git!"
"What did I do?" James whisper-demanded as she slapped the back of his head and shoved him forward.
"You made fun of it, too!" Hermione whisper-urged and crossed her arms, giving them the Don't Argue With Mom Look.
"Ugh, fine," Harry grouched and hauled James towards her. "What do we do?"
"No idea," James replied as they reached the bawling Ginny. Percy gave them death glares, but James ignored it and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Um. There there, Gin. That was…. Actually really good poetry?"
Percy's scowl deepened at him as Ginny fell further into hysterics, making James cringe. "Leave her alone, Potter."
"Gin-Ginny, um, thank you for the… er-"
"Valentine," James whispered desperately, fearing for his life at the hands of Percival Weasley.
"Valentine," Harry agreed, nodding and patting her on the back. "Thank you for the wonderful… Valentine."
Ginny buried her face in Percy's chest and he held her there tightly. "Get. Out. Of. Here!"
James held his hands up in defense and backed off, hauling Harry with him. "The bell rang five minutes ago! All of you get to class!"
"What's this, Potter?" Draco cackled as James tried to drag them away. The blonde grabbed at a book hanging out of the side of Harry's bag, and before James could reach for it, he was barricaded by the surly and gruff Crabbe and Goyle. Draco used the cover to flip through the empty book he had grabbed from Harry. "Got a new diary, Potter? Gonna write all your hopes and dreams? Talk about your feelings, eh? Maybe while you're at it, you can teach yourself how to appropriately appreciate your adoring fans."
"Piss off, Malfoy," Harry growled. "Give. It. Back."
Ron made to raise his wand, but Brian grabbed his arm, pulling it down and shaking his head.
"Language, Harry!" Percy cried angrily. "Five points from Gryffindor!"
"How about taking points away from the real cretins who humiliated your sister, Mr. Perfect Prefect Percy," James scoffed, shaking his head. "They're the bullies who are doing all this crap, and yet you're yelling at us?"
"Perhaps Weasley knows who his betters are," Draco sneered and tossing the journal at James, who thanked God and all his Quidditch training he managed to catch it with one hand while never taking his eyes off of Malfoy.
"Remiss as I am to admit it," James replied neutrally. "But Percival Weasley, choad that he is, is a hundred times better a man you could ever dream of being, Draco."
"Say that again," Draco hissed, stepping forward, Crabbe and Goyle still in front of him.
"Or what?" James laughed, motioning at his bodyguards. "You'll call your father? Hell, you can't seem to accomplish anything on your own, there, Daddy's Boy. Bet the Boy Blunders here aren't even really your friends. Does Father pay them to follow you around, the way he bought you your ticket on the Slytherin team? Bet he's real proud, having to always have to pay to get you in or bail you out of everything."
"You-"
"Father of the year, I'd say," Travis spat, cutting Malfoy off.
"That ain't-"
"Do you still suck on Mommy's tit when you're at home, too?" Ron added, ignoring Hermione hitting him. "Must be why you're so thin, you don't like the taste of anything else."
"How dare-"
"Bet that's why he bullies little girls," Brian added. "He's too weak and malnourished to pick on somebody even his own size!"
"Just-"
"Got something to say, Big Shoots?" James challenged, crossing his arms and giving him the Kubrick Stare. "Well, let's hear it, Big Man. Pitter patter."
"Get to class! ALL OF YOU!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say, Percy," James shook his head, sneering from Lalfoy to the Perfect Prefect. "We heard you."
…
James, Travis, Brian, and Kiara stepped out of their last class of the day to come face to face with one of the last Cupid-dressed dwarves in school. James and the dwarf stared at each other neutrally for a minute, both not really caring what the other thought of the other, until the dwarf broke the silence.
"James Dean Potter?"
Brian and Travis broke into hyena-level fits of laughter, while Kiara popped a toe on the floor in trepidation. James sneered at the dwarf, unamused, but then came to a realization…
"Oh, for the love a- y'know what, no. This is cool. Its fine. Somebody obviously appreciates my splendor enough to think so highly of me, so yeah. This is cool. Lay this Valentine's poem on me, there, big guy. I can take it."
"Right. Ah-her-herm," he cleared his throat, and in his gravelly voice, began to recite the love poem crafted especially for James. "You're laissez faire, you hold a certain flair. When you waltz into a room we all see, the shining star you wish to be. Your eyes are a window, but inside them is nothing but mystery. Intrigued, you caught my eye, maybe someday together we will fly? Til then we will stay friends, but this phase I hope shall end. Keep yourself safe, Trouble, or I'll venture to make it double."
James eyebrow quirked. There was only one person he knew who called him "Trouble," but this was not their style of doing things… or maybe it was? He would have to put that one in his back pocket, however, as he had a lot more pressing matters to attend to. They seemed to have been happy to play the long game, after all, having had even written into the poem, 'til then we'll be friends,' so he didn't feel bad for choosing to ignore it…
…
"Stupefy!" Brian thundered as he thrust his wand forward.
"Protego!" Kiara roared in response, blocking the offending spell masterfully.
The two went back and forth, practicing their skills in the small clearing just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest that afternoon, as James, Harry, and Travis stood by and watched, waiting for their turn. To everyone's surprise, the two had quickly become the better duelists of the group. Nobody, it seemed, had been able to pierce Kiara's defenses, and Brian had a preternatural way of predicting the way his opponent's moves ahead of time, somehow knowing the best spots to try and hit at and what spells would be best to offend with.
Even now, James sported a black eye from having his disarming spell rebound on him from Kiara's shield, bashing the hilt of his wand into his right orbital socket. Despite his research into dueling and magical martial arts, his skill set seemed to lie firmly in raw power and the manipulation there of, evidenced by the scores of trees in the area having bark and splinters blown into them from his Blasting Curses. That being said, he wasn't going to try that spell on another human being, much less his friend, no matter how iron-clad her defenses were. As such, he had settled on using trees as target practice as he struggled to throttle in the power of the spell to make it suitable for both broad and intricate use…
Which, judging by the large number of blasted trees, wasn't really going too well.
"Dammit," James murmured as he flopped on his back, nursing both his bruised eye and his wounded pride. "I can't seem to get the technique down!"
"Are you sure it's even possible?" Harry asked faintly, as he cradled his sprained arm.
"The book I read said it was," James defended vehemently. "It was written by a master duelist so I believe it."
"You can't just trust everything you read in a book, James," Travis chided him. "Look at Lockhart and his so-called 'achievements.'"
"That's different and ya know it," James growled.
"Well, it's either that or you're brutally incompetent," Travis snarked back with a mischievous grin. "And I don't think your pride is willing to admit either, so now you're stuck in an agonizing loop of irony and Cath 22's."
"You're a dick," James spat. "A big one. And now we're changing the subject."
"Gladly," Harry muttered and heaved a sigh, shaking at his brothers' rib-jabbing. "I can't believe I almost lost this thing."
"What thing?" James asked, leaning up and propping himself on his elbows.
"This," Harry held up the diary Malfoy snagged out his bag earlier that day. "I dunno why, but I can't seem to let it go."
"Why? What is it?" Travis asked suddenly, concerned. "It could be dangerous."
"Well, I doubt that," Harry shrugged and handed it to his twin. James took it and looked it over. It was just a standard, usual, old-school leatherbound book that had been a well-treated black at one point, but due to age and what looked like water damage, had turned into an amorphous black-gray-brown that would have made Bob Ross's afro curl. The pages were yellowed and water stained, and it reeked slightly of toilet water.
James turned the book over and flipped to the first page, where it was written that it was the property of one T.M. Riddle, a familiar name he heard Ron talking about being some school hero, with a date underneath putting it at the year 1944. He skimmed through the pages, expecting to see a massive wall of text, but instead found nothing but blank, empty, water-stained parchment.
"Huh," James scoffed, cocking his head, Travis mimicking his expression of surprise.
"That's the year the Chamber was opened, wasn't it?" Travis asked.
"Supposedly," James muttered as Harry nodded. "Somewhere in the time frame at least. You'd think this would have been filled cover to cover…"
"That's what I expected, too," Harry emphasized as he took it back. "Ron said he was some sort of school hero, winning awards for services to the school and being some sort of big deal. I would bet galleons to butterbeer corks that he's the one who stopped the Heir back then."
"So why is his diary blank?" James asked, puzzled.
Travis smacked the back of his head.
"Hey!" James yelped.
"Think about it, Dingus!" Travis growled playfully as he slung an arm around James's neck and gave his a massive noogie.
"Stop it dude! That hurts!"
"Maybe the pain will clear the webs from yer' brain, Dingus!" Travis laughed as he let his smaller brother go and shoved him back, grinning. "If you were doing crap like Riddle was, and then had the bad taste to write about it, would you really not enchant it to hide your deeds?"
"Why would he have to hide his good deeds at all?" Harry scoffed with a furrowed brow, confused.
"Think about it, Hare," Travis rolled his eyes and tapped his temple. "We all did the same thing last year with the Philosopher's Stone, right? We broke a ton of school rules to protect the damned thing! I wouldn't want my confession sitting out in the open!"
"You… have a point," James conceded, shocked he hadn't thought of it that way.
"You aren't exactly creative," Travis chuckled, chuffing James's hair. "You're reactionary; you learn from mistakes and never repeat them, rather than take the initiative to prevent them. It's the flaw in your genius. So, that being said, it stands to reason that the information you're seeking is in there, Hare, but it's enchanted to be hidden. Maybe it has a password? Or requires a spell that reveals itself? Or hell, this Riddle guy seems to have been a clever guy, he might have just hidden his secrets behind the simplest lock of them all."
"Which is?" James and Harry chorused.
"Manners. Maybe just try politely asking the diary if it's willing to divulge its secrets."
…
Back in his dorm, Harry sat at his desk and stared at the diary as he falsely imitated doing his Charms essay. A puddle had appeared on the parchment where his quill leaked all its collected ink into a blot on the page, but Harry failed to notice as he stared at Riddle's diary, obsessing in his mind about what could possibly be hidden inside those blank pages. The first part of what Travis said earlier rang in his head true, about Riddle locking the info away. Harry and James both agreed, however, on how stupid it was to ask an inanimate object to talk.
A blank diary made no sense. It served no purpose. Harry certainly was one of those guys who felt emasculated by writing downing their thoughts and feelings in a diary, but… Harry also conceded not every guy felt that way. Plus, if Harry had done something so great as to defeat a millennia-old monster, he'd want to boast and brag about it. Maybe, then, this wasn't Riddle's real diary at all! Maybe it was a decoy and Harry was obsessing over nothing!
As disappointing as that thought process was, it made a certain amount of sense. Hide the real diary away and keep a blank fake around for appearances sake. It would go to show how clever and smart this Riddle bloke really was, after all. Travis's words, however, ringed in his head and despite how stupid it freaking was, Harry didn't want to let a possible lead go when it could possibly be right in front of his face. Somebody had taken the effort to throw this book into a toilet and tried to flush it down the drain, which meant it was a book worth getting rid of. Swallowing his pride, Harry dropped his quill and yanked the book towards him, ripping it open to a random blank page. Dabbing his quill into his inkwell, he made to write something down, when he paused.
This was so stupid. It couldn't be this simple! No way in hell would Riddle just leave his story behind in an enchanted journal, just to be revealed by simply asking for it to open up. However, something James had said once echoed in his head. 'You never really know what is impossible until you try.' Harry scoffed. It certainly wasn't an impossibility, it just seemed so simple and easy that it was stupid!
Harry had tried all kinds of things to get the diary to spill its supposed secrets. Revealing charms, black light emitted from a modified fairy fire spell, even going so far as to pilfer a set of special enchanted spectacles from an older Gryffindor to see if was hidden behind some sort of light-refracting nonsense. All failed, and this… this was really the last hope Harry had. Swallowing his pride once last time, Harry put quill to parchment and wrote the dumbest thing he'd felt he'd ever written.
Hello, can you read this?
Seconds passed as his ink dried on the parchment. The seconds turned into moments that made Harry's ears burn in embarrassment, until suddenly, his ink disappeared. Gasping, Harry watched in shock and horror as the ink seemed to sink into the fibers of the parchment itself before reforming, as if his ink was being used to write a response into words that were written in a very neat, cramped writing style far and away unlike Harry's own sloppy handwriting.
Yes, I can. Good evening.
Harry's jaw hit the desktop and he groaned at both the ridiculousness of the situation and how freaking stupid he himself was for discounting Travis's theory. Harry smacked his forehead to the desk in frustration before rubbing his eyes in relief about his discovery. Rolling his shoulders and twisting his neck to pop a few vertebrae, he squared himself and prepared to get some hard-earned answers.
Are you T.M. Riddle?
Yes, I am. And you are Harry Potter, I assume?
How'd you know?
I am not exactly ignorant of those who hold my pages. You agonized over me for quite a while. I was worrying if you were ever going to figure me out.
Well, I have you figured out now.
Indeed you do. Tell me; what is it you desire to know to make you obsess over me so?
Harry gulped, feeling a little bit called out despite the charming way in which the diary form of Riddle was speak- er, writing. Settling himself down by taking a deep breath to quell the shaking in his fingers, he started to write again.
Do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?
… Yes, I believe I am quite well versed in that particular subject.
Can you tell me? Do you know who did it?
I could, and I do.
Will you?
Perhaps… But I doubt you would believe my words.
Why do you say that?
Imagine, if you would, thinking that you know somebody, only to find out their deepest, darkest secret? Would you accept the facts and evidence as provided, or double down on your belief in them and defend your friend, rationalizing their behavior to be for the greater good or worse, going so far as to outright deny what is placed in front of you as false?
Harry gulped at the implications of Riddle's words. Was it somebody he knew who opened the Chamber all those years ago? It couldn't have been Dumbledore, surely; Dumbledore was far too good for that! Who could it be, then? Not his parents, they weren't even alive back then, and surely none of the staff or faculty as Dumbledore would never allow them to work at Hogwarts under such circumstances… So who could it be?
I'll take what you tell me seriously.
… I see. I suppose, then, that I could tell you, but perhaps it would be best If I showed you?
Show me? Harry quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head.
Instead of answering, what looked like a portal bathed in shimmering gold light appeared on the pages of the journal, and Harry whited out, finding himself standing inside Dumbledore's office, only instead of the usual menagerie of colors and bits and bobbles, it was far more spartan and everything was in grayscale. An old man dressed in thick, fur-lined dark robes sat in Dumbledore's chair, while another man, who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, stood in front of him. This man looked familiar, and after squinting for a quick moment, Harry gasped in realization that it was Professor Dumbledore, only much younger, with a shorter, more well kept beard, slicked back and well groomed auburn hair that was graying at the temples. He was even dressed differently, clad in a smart suit, tie, waistcoat, and a gauzy, regal looking tan over-robe.
"Headmaster, I regret to inform you that there's been another attack…" Dumbledore stated wistfully, his misty blue eyes looking crestfallen. He seemed to be completely ignorant of Harry's presence. Harry tried to tap him on the shoulder, but his hand simply slipped right through the Professor's body. Instead, Dumbledore cast a glance over at the door to the Headmaster's office, as if he saw somebody there, and scowled momentarily before readopting his stoic look. Harry got the impression that he was merely an observer to a memory, witnessing a story from years past and couldn't sway anything inside it.
"Ah, I see," the Headmaster replied quietly, his own eyes looking down at his desk in resignation. He ran a hand through his mane of frizzy, snow white hair and tugged at his pointed, well-groomed beard, then heaved a sigh. "Who was it this time?"
"A Hufflepuff student, sir. Unlike Inglebee and Wellerton, the beast… actually accomplished its goal."
"No," the Headmaster gasped, eyes wide in shock.
"Yes, in fact…" Dumbledore affirmed mournfully. "We're having her body held in the infirmary until we get clearance from the Ministry to have her family get her."
"Why would we need that? All parents of students are welcome to visit Hogwarts! Unless…"
"I'm afraid so, Headmaster Dippet."
Dippet crossed his arms and grouched, then slammed a fist on his desk, making the solid wood rumble with the force. Dumbledore, to his credit, didn't react in the slightest from the intimidating show of strength. "Oh, the Prophet is going to have a field day with this, Albus! With the rising tide of pro-muggle sentiment and numerous muggleborn activist groups, we're going to be seen as more monstrous than that damnable beast! Hogwarts is finished, Albus! Finished!"
"Are we going to close the school down, Headmaster?" Dumbledore asked, a quirked eyebrow shot at Dippet as if Dumbledore didn't approve of his priorities. "I cannot see how we can keep the rest of the student body safe if we cannot find and slay this creature, or at the very least capture its master."
"Unfortunate as it may be, and remiss as I am to allow our students to miss the education they so deserve… I feel as if I have no choice! Until we can get a lead on this nonsense, I am closing and evacuating this school. Return to Gryffindor Tower, Albus. I want all Heads of House to watch over their respective students until all arrangements are made."
"Of course, sir," Dumbledore nodded and bowed slightly at the waist, turning on his heel and moving to exit when the door to Dippet's office slammed open.
"Surely you jest, Headmaster!" a young man with pale skin, dark hair, and dark eyes thundered as he charged into the room. Based on the way he held himself and nearly tripped over the ledge on the door's threshold, Harry got the impression the teenager had been hiding behind the door spying on the conversation. He wore a Hogwarts school uniform, but to Harry, it looked dated, like something you'd see from a movie set in the forties or fifties. "Evacuate the school? This is outrageous!"
"Tom, what are you doing here?" Dumbledore asked calmly, yet sternly at the teenager blocking his path. "The hour is late, and if I remember correctly, you aren't slated for prefect patrol tonight. You are out past curfew. Were you spying on this conversation?"
"Of course not, sir," Tom simpered, face changing from angry to simpering far too fast for Harry's liking. "I came as soon as I heard about the attack, sir. Is it not my job as Headboy to respond to such events?"
"Hardly at all," Dippet muttered quietly, waving him away dismissively. "I sincerely doubt the student guidelines say anything about responding to crises in your job description. You are an exceptional student and a talented headboy- I'll dismiss this transgression as nothing but a flight of fancy and fear on your part. Return to Slytherin house, m'boy, and pack your suitcases. You'll be heading home soon."
Wordlessly, Dumbledore grabbed Tom's elbow and led him from the room briskly. Tom resisted, but Dumbledore's firm grip on his arm left him with little to do but to sputter. Harry was attached to them, it seemed, and he was dragged along side them until they were out of the office, to where Dumbledore started leading Tom down to the dungeons.
"I'll escort you to your commons just in case," Dumbledore explained. "What you did was reckless and inflammatory. You should know better by now that eavesdropping is quite offensive."
"I don't want to go back to that orphanage, Professor," Tom whined, ignoring Dumbledore's lecture as he followed his teacher. "I can't."
"That, I'm afraid, is no longer up for debate. The Headmaster has made his decision, Tom."
"A foolish one," Tom seethed.
Dumbledore stopped and instead of pointing a stern finger in the boy's face, like Harry expected, he instead regarded Tom with a typical, penetrating Dumbledore stare. After a few moments of glaring at one another, with neither backing down, Dumbledore sighed.
"Foolish for you, who selfishly desires to not leave the castle. But the fact remains that so long as the creature from the Chamber of Secrets runs about, you and your fellow students are not safe."
Wheels seemed to churn in Tom's head for a moment before something clicked. "So, if the attacks were to stop… if the culprit was apprehended? Then Dippet wouldn't send us home?"
Dumbledore shot him a concerned look filled with disturbed curiosity. "Is there… something you would like to tell me, Mr. Riddle?"
There it was. That question. The question that wrenched Harry's gut back before Christmas holiday. The one that ricocheted through his brain and sundered through his insecurities about being in the right house. He was a Parselmouth; surely he should have been in Slytherin, then, right? He would have asked James about what he thought, but he already knew what he would say; that he was right where he belonged, that being able to talk to snakes meant nothing, and that Harry was blowing things out of proportion.
What didn't help Harry's insecurities was that he was, deep down, vehemently jealous of his twin. The kid just oozed cool. He acted cool, talked cool, learned cool, did cool things. He was an outstanding academic with perfect memory, recalling every detail after merely skimming a few pages from a book. He hadn't sheltered from the real world when he was younger, which meant he was tough and street wise, excelling in most social situations, taking the initiative to do awesome things and pull epic pranks.
Harry, meanwhile, had to struggle just to keep up with his infinitely more talented brother. He had to study hard to mimic a fraction of James's excellent marks, and while that did put him in the top ten of students in his year, he would never quite reach that lofty curve James or Hermione set. Harry was sheltered for most of his life, being his parents sole child for the longest time, making him awkward and bashful in most social situations. Where James yelled, "Hell yeah!" after a half second of thought, Harry could barely manage to say, "Er-" whenever he was put on the spot. When a pretty girl walked up to James, he was at the very worst able to speak, at best able to get them to smile and laugh at his wittiness. James walked headfirst into anything with a smooth talk and a smoother walk, whereas Harry just bumbled and ambled into whatever came his way, often ignorant of what was going on until it was too late.
Therein lay the paradox. James took the initiative and charged headfirst into things but was laidback and lackadaisical about almost everything. Harry was blind and deaf and walked into things idiotically yet had the drive and ambition to try to reach the heights his twin sat at naturally. Harry was beyond jealous of his brother, he was downright covetous. Shouldn't that alone make him a perfect candidate for Slytherin? Drive and ambition, right?
Snapping from his internal strife, Harry shook his head and got back into the moment. Tom looked shocked at Dumbledore's question, but quickly screwed his poker face back on and shrugged. "Nothing, sir. Just… posing a hypothetical."
"Mhmm," Dumbledore nodded, but had a knowing look in his eyes. Harry got the distinct impression Dumbledore suspected something, but wasn't saying anything. Dumbledore had a disappointed look on his face as he wordlessly started leading Tom back to his house, and all too familiar sight for Harry as Dumbledore waited for Tom to be well inside Slytherin House's walls before he made to walk off. Harry watched him go, as did Tom, who's face sneered incredulously at the retreating Dumbledore's back. Harry found it odd, how once he was out of sight, Tom was gone, running out of the Slytherin Commons.
Harry was dragged along for the ride. It was Tom's memories after all. Harry floated along, half paying attention to Tom as he tried to quell the doubt Dumbledore's question had brought into his mind. Tom mutter as he ran, a look of determination mixed with calculation across his face as he went. He traversed many hallways and stairwells, avoiding many of the main corridors as he went to avoid the Prefect patrols and teachers at the late hour. He reminded Harry of James in tactics, using stealth and a firm knowledge of habits and schedules to avoid detection. It was almost uncanny, and if he didn't know better, Harry would have thought James had learned his trade from riddle himself.
Eventually, Riddle came to a door leading to an abandoned classroom. Tom stopped, catching his breath and fixing his wavy hair. Harry go the distinct impression things were about to get heated and felt his blood pressure spike as Tom readied himself for the confrontation. For a split second, come and gone so fast Harry could have sworn he imagined it, Tom's face erupted into a look of wicked glee before twisting back to angry and a deep breath and setting a stern look on his face, Tom threw the door open and charged in, holding his wand up at a low ready position.
"Gah!" a deep, loud, Scottish accented voice hollered out. A boy, made evident by the baby face alone as he was easily nine foot in height, shot up from his stooped position over a wooden box filled with blankets in an empty broom closet. Something about him seemed all too familiar to Harry, but the mystery didn't last long as Tom yelled.
"It's over, Hagrid! I know what you and your little pet are up to and I will not let it stand!"
Hagrid!? Harry couldn't believe it, yet here we was, a young boy who dwarfed even Travis's favorite linebacker in size. He couldn't get a real good look at him, as the room was dark and everything was still bathed in grayscale, but he could make out the majority of his face, which looked youthful and babylike. His hair was as wild as ever, though.
"Tom?" the teenage Hagrid yelped, looking at the older boy with a fearful tone of voice and holding up his hands. "What're yer doin' here?"
"I'm here to stop you and the blood thirsty monster you've been hiding."
"Wha'-no, Aragog's a good boy! He never-"
"That girl is dead, Hagrid!" Tom thundered, jabbing his wand into Hagrid's chest. "You and that beast must pay for these crimes! Hiding it in a broom closet and playing it off as if the Chamber of Secrets was real… have you no shame!?"
"There's nuttin' ter be ashamed a' cuz there's nuttin' we did!" Hagrid cried, tears falling down his wide, cherubic(an adjective Harry never thought he'd use to describe Hagrid's face, but here he was…) cheeks. "Please, he's done nuttin' wrong!"
"I can't believe I didn't see it before…" Tom snarled, shaking his head. "You were always sympathetic to monsters and man-eaters."
"It wasn't him!" Hagrid insisted, holding his hands up in a pleading gesture. "He's jus' as scared as everyone! Please, don' do this!"
"I have no choice," Tom sneered, turning his wand from Hagrid to the lump of blankets in the box. "Ava-"
"No!" Hagrid roared and bullrushed Tom, sending the shorter, older boy flying as his spell, a bright, venomously green light, flew off course into the ceiling. "Aragog, run!"
A creature with many legs the size of a Bassett hound flung itself from the box, struggling to free itself from the blankets. Harry couldn't get a look at it, but it scittered like a bug, making him shudder at the sound. Tom reeled up from where Hagrid had pancaked him to the floor and shot off another couple of nonverbal spells, but it was too little, too late. Aragog had polevaulted out the window.
"They'll snap your wand for this!" Tom growled as he struggled to get up from under Hagrid's weight. "You'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban, you will!"
Hagrid's response, and the further back and forth between them faded as Harry was ripped back through that golden portal into reality. He found himself in a state of shock as he opened his eyes. He was back in his dorm, at his desk, staring in silent shock at the journal's blank pages as he processed what he just saw. It wasn't possible- no, it was a damned lie! Hagrid couldn't have been the Heir of Slytherin! But… didn't Tom accuse Hagrid of making it up? That Hagrid used the legend of the Chamber? But why? Why would he do that? As a diversion from Aragog?
Harry shook his head vehemently, trying to shake the confusing thoughts and tangential questions from his head. Looking back down at the diary, he saw Tom had written a single sentence, one that made Harry's skin crawl. It made him want to throw the diary back into the toilet he found it in and never look back.
The truth can be hard to swallow, Harry Potter.
…
Later that evening, James was nestled into the nook of his favorite couch in Ravenclaw Tower, bored. Travis had decided to do a late-night calisthenics routine, Brian was still in music club, and Kiara hadn't come back after dinner. He snapped the book he was reading closed and leaned forward to shove it back in his bag, when he once again found the spine of his mother's old journal staring up at him. He hesitated, knowing that it wasn't right to read his mother's innermost thoughts, even if they were almost decades old. Curiosity, however, was getting the better of him, and after casting a suspicious look around as if he was doing something that could get him in trouble, pulled the book out. He flipped through the first few pages, not paying them any mind aside from a quick skim, until he found a page mentioning none other than Gilderoy Lockhart.
Gilderoy asked me out this morning! I wanted to tell him no in no uncertain terms, but James was watching, and I wanted to show that showoff the whatfor, so… I actually agreed. We're going to Puddifoot's this weekend, which seems a bit cliché, all things considered, but I'm not going to argue against a free dinner.
James rolled his eyes. He thought better of his mother than to use a guy for free meals, but clearly, she hadn't always been the saint he knew her as.
I slept in a bit early this morning, as Potter had us running Quidditch practice late last night. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to sabotage me and Gilderoy's date! I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He isn't himself. Even here, in the Head Student's quarters, he's quiet and just focuses on his schoolwork. No pranks, no flirting, no showing off, nothing! He doesn't even do that stupid thing with his hair anymore! He even ignores me. He's not even TRYIING to ignore, me either, he just forgets I even exist! I kinda… miss him always asking me out.
James Dean snorted. It was peculiar, imagining his mom calling his dad Potter, not James, Sweety, or Darling. It was also weird, but oddly refreshing to see the world from her eyes and see she wasn't always the perfect Super Mom he'd always known. Once upon a time, she was a teenager girl with dreams and likes and a petty desire to make his father jealous. He wondered what was going through his dad's head, as she was talking about him as if he'd been pursuing her for a while. Why'd he stop, and how did he come back around?
He wished me luck on my date before I left. I was shocked; I had only decided to go on the date because I wanted to see him squirm! Yet here he is, all, "Hope your date goes well, Evans, make sure he treats you well," and I'm left standing there with my jaw on the floor as he's walking away. I decided right then and there to have a spectacular afternoon with Gilderoy purely out of SPITE.
It was as cliché as I expected. Gilderoy is sweet, though, and met me at the road to Hogsmeade with a dozen roses. He mostly talked about himself, though, which makes my teeth grit even now just thinking about it, but he does have a really nice smile. And he didn't call me a Mudblood, so he's got that going for him, since someone else I used to like is just a prat whose obsessed about that nonsense.
James quirked an eyebrow after reading that. Who could that be? He shook his head and kept reading, filing that away for later.
Against my better judgment, I agreed to another date. We're going to go stargazing Sunday night, and he says he has something special planned. Imagine my eye roll when he said that! I bet his special plans involve relinquishing me of my knickers and going to the promised land. News he can use? Better get in line for that one, mate.
James laughed. His mom really was a firecracker, and she knew what she was doing. The diary went on like this until midway through the second term of their final year. Gilderoy was great, Gilderoy was sweet, Gilderoy was actually nice. She made mention of how he wasn't really proficient with magic but had a way of working with charms that was spectacular. Things, however, seemed to have soured by the time the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match set off, because that's when things got spicy real quick.
We won the match today. Woo. We are in first place and still undefeated, which was great until after the match. I was still grinning from ear to ear, having caught the Snitch like a total Queen, and was in the locker room changing with the other two girls on the team when a loud ruckus from the front of the changing room echoed out. There was James, Sirius, and Severus Bloody Snape of all people holding down Gilderoy!
I thought James had finally snapped, and hexed him off my boyfriend, despite being only in my skivvies. I gave them quite a show, I'm sure, but I wasn't having any of it and was about to curse the three of them into oblivion when our Keeper, Fabian, stopped me and told me what happened.
I cannot believe it. I still, even now, cannot believe Gilderoy was trying to sneak a peak at us girls in the locker room!
James dropped the journal in shock. The whole time he had been harboring a sense of mild regret for setting up Lockhart, when he really was what James had set him up as all along! What the hell!? He didn't go too far! He hadn't gone far enough! Grabbing, the journal in a white knuckle grip, he kept on reading.
James wanted at him so bad, I unhexed him and let him, Sirius, and Severus, who I still have no idea how or why he was even there, beat him to a pulp. I really should have gone to Dumbledore, I should have said something to someone, but I think getting the living snot beat out of him is punishment enough.
James trembled as he read on, only half paying any mind to the story of how his mom fell in love with his dad. He'd known, all the way back in the bookstore before the year started, that something had happened between them all, and now that he knew, he felt sick. That creep was a teacher at Hogwarts. Sure, he might've grown since then, but what if he hadn't? James sincerely doubted it. He acted much the same as his mother described him in this journal, with an over-exaggerated ego and self-righteousness that seemed to have manifested after the not-so-Good Professor's Hogwarts days. What if he was peeping on students now, here, in the current year? James tossed the diary down and scowled as he ruminated at the possibilities.
Then it hit him. Snape had given him this journal. Snape, the one who wanted to be the Defense Against the Dark arts teacher for so long. Snape, who was mentioned in the journal having helped his father and Uncle beating Lockhart to a pulp. Snape, who actively went throughout the school year being even more snide and cruel to Lockhart then he had ever been with James or Harry. Snape, who, now that Lockhart was publicly disgraced, seemed oddly impressed and pleased with one James Dean Potter…
He was shaken from his ponderings by Travis, Kiara and none other than Harry, who looked worried and disturbed. "We need to talk."
James gave Harry a quizzical look but cocked his head at the sofa, motioning for him to sit down. "Go ahead, pal."
Harry shook his head and grabbed James by the wrist. "Not here, c'mon, we need to go to my room."
"Just freaking tell me what's going on, man," James whined, pulling his hand back.
Harry looked around conspiratorially before leaning forward. "It was Hagrid," he whispered. "Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets."
"Haha, what."
"You remember that diary Malfoy was harassing me about earlier?"
"Yeah, the one that war hero Ron said owned that journal from Myrtle's bathroom? You finally figured it out?"
"Yeah, same journal, and Travis was right-"
"Booya!"
"Hush!"" Harry grouched, slapping Travis's arm. "Anyways, Riddle told me everything, and I think you should all see it!"
"And he pointed the finger at Hagrid?"
"It-"
"You can't prove those were Riddle's words that he wrote, Harry," James laughed in disbelief, cutting Harry's response off. "It could be an elaborate hoax, or a prank!"
"He didn't write them, he showed me."
James stared at Harry hard. Harry stared back but started to look puzzled before realizing what he said and started shaking his head. "It's not like that. The journal's enchanted, remember? It started writing back to me as soon as I started writing in it, and it is Tom Riddle!"
"It has intelligence?!" James almost shrieked but kept his voice low enough to not garner attention. "Harry, what the hell? Not even I am so reckless as to start communicating with a sentient object!"
"Shh!" Harry shushed him, looking over his shoulder. "Yes, it has intelligence, it's Riddle. He told me he knew what happened with the Chamber, then he showed me his memories like a flashback. He knew it was Hagrid and confronted him, and Hagrid let the monster get away! Makes sense if you think about it. Explains why he was expelled, how he doesn't have a wand, and why this was the only job he could get."
"That makes no sense," Kiara finally interjected. "If it was Hagrid, he'd have been thrown in Azkaban for sure back then. Even attempted murder is a high crime, that's the least they would do to him."
"And you really think Dumbledore would let Hagrid work here if he did?" James demanded. "If that man is anything, a fool isn't it."
Harry shook his head and grabbed James's arm. "You just need to see it, c'mon!"
"Harry…" James whined.
"Just come on!"
…
Harry's dorm was wrecked. His footlocker at the foot of his bed was wide open, and his travel case was flipped over as well. Clothes were thrown all over, as Ron and Dean Thomas were both pulling Harry's underwear from their own beds with the tips of their wands. Books were practically ripped to shreds, with loose paper and sheafs of parchment littering the floor, and his schoolbag flipped inside out.
"What in the hell," James muttered.
"What a clatty mess," Kiara agreed.
"They… destroyed my bed," Harry whimpered, as he pulled his ripped comforter down and looked forlorn at his shredded mattress.
"They didn't even spare his pillows," Seamus Finnegan muttered.
"What were they looking for?" Neville asked. "Looks like they were looking for something."
"Riddle's journal!" Harry gushed in stark realization and started ripping through everything.
James and Kiara shared quirked eyebrows and shook their heads, helping Harry clean everything up while he tore through every scrap of torn paper or ripped linen. Soon an assembly line was created, with everyone picking an area and passing what could be salvaged to Ron for placement. Harry collapsed on his knees in despair and shook his head as the last of it was put away, and he half laughed, half scoffed.
"The journal's gone."
"There, there, good buddy," James patted his shoulder. "It was probably evil and lying to you to begin with. I doubt it even knew the location of the Chamber, much less that Hagrid really did it…"
"It wasn't," Harry mumbled. "It was telling at the very least its version of the truth!"
"Either way," Kiara whispered, looking at the others over her shoulder as she moved to walk out of the dorm. "Grab Ron and let's find the others, they need to hear all this."
…
"Well, Hagrid has always had a liking for big and dangerous animals," Travis muttered as he absorbed everything Harry said, leaning his back against the wall of James's potion lab and crossing his arms, face souring into a frown. "But he isn't one to use them. Especially not to hurt others."
"Like Norberta?" James asked.
"Or Fang?" Kiara mumbled.
"Fang's a sweety," Hermione defended.
"A big sweety," Kiara shot back.
"Well, Hagrid can't quite do his job as groundskeeper with a chihuahua, can he?" Ron asked sarcastically. "I honestly can't believe you are all up about Fang and are forgetting Fluffy."
"This isn't getting us anywhere," James cut in with a downward swipe of his hand, with just the mention of the three-headed giant dog's name making his shoulder pang. "Harry saw some crap in that diary, and while I was remiss to view it as credible, the fact that someone destroyed his dorm room to steal it is… telling."
"But who?" Travis asked with shrug. "The Heir?"
"Most likely suspect, yeah," Harry grumbled as he motioned to James and Kiara. "But we asked around Gryffindor, nobody had come in or out who was suspicious. The only non-Gryffindor who was in there was you two."
"If it was the Heir, then Hagrid ain't the heir, because you can't miss him," Brian pointed out.
"Unless he used the polyjuice potion," Ron waved his hands. "If we could figure it out, I'm sure he could."
"I'm not ready to indict Hagrid on that just yet," James shook his head.
"Me either," Travis nodded. "It isn't like him."
"He could be acting," Ron suggested.
"Have you seen him try to keep a secret?" Travis laughed derisively. "Big guy can't lie or keep confidentiality if his life depended on it."
"I never saw or heard Hagrid in my visions, either," Brian pointed out. "I don't remember much when I was that… thing… but what I do remember is the shadow of someone small, tiny. Like a child."
"That doesn't sound like Hagrid," Harry conceded.
"But maybe he was framed like Roger Rabbit?" Travis clicked his fingers. "You said this Riddle guy claimed it was Hagrid, right? His information could've been wrong."
"Well, it's like I said. In the memories he showed me, after he finished talking to Dumbledore and the old Headmaster, Dippet, about not wanting to go home from Hogwarts, he went and confronted Hagrid about his pet monster. He then leveled his wand and the thing, which was hiding in a tea cupboard, ran away."
Silence fell as they chewed over his story again. James found it interesting and compelling, but it was hardly proof. If anything, it seemed… diversionary. Like somebody was trying to trick them into thinking it was Hagrid to throw them off the scent. Did that mean they were getting close, and the Heir was desperately trying to divert them? James couldn't see how. They were still lacking anything close to solid proof, and the only thing they had in spades was plenty of supposition.
James could only fall back on what he knew. And James knew Hagrid, and this? It wasn't him. The man was the epitome of gentle giant, without any need or compulsion to hurt anyone needlessly. Hell, he still jumped like he was scared after the first shot of his crossbow, every time he went to use it to for target practice.
In James's experience, this was not something Hagrid could fake. He wasn't a good actor to begin with, and James knew Hagrid was also terrible at keeping secrets. His head swam as the thoughts bombarded him, but he stayed fast to his belief Hagrid was innocent. It didn't add up, it made no sense, and Hagrid would never allow a monster to hunt the school's student populace. Plus, he wasn't seen in the Gryffindor commons, and James doubted he had the resources to pull off a polyjuice heist, much less actually brew one.
"He didn't do it," James finally stated, slapping his fist into his open palm definitively. "The math's all wrong, the tone too warped."
"Then who did?" Ron asked. "He is, so far, the only one he have somebody pointing a finger at. And don't forget that Hagrid did get expelled a long time ago and refuses to tell anyone why."
"Why don't we just go ask him?" Hermione finally asked the thorniest question that was all on their minds.
"And say what?" Ron barked a laugh. "'Hagrid, we have it on good authority you opened the Chamber of Secrets, care to comment?'"
"Well, I don't hear you having any bright ideas, Ronald!"
"You call that idea bright?" Ron's face went red. "What if, by some off chance, he is the Heir, and then he just up and kills us?!"
"He ain't the damn Heir, Ron!" Travis pushed off the wall and marched forward a step. "He ain't like that!"
"I don't want it to be him, either, Travis, but wasn't it you who once said that without evidence, anything's possible?"
"You son of-"
"Enough," Kiara interjected harshly, her voice cracking the tension in the lab in half. "James, are you sure he isn't the Heir?"
"Dunno," James shrugged. "Not for certain. But I know Hagrid, and I trust Brian and his visions. He would have seen Hagrid being dark after meeting him, so… yeah. It's just a hunch. I don't know who else it could be, either. Maybe it was Riddle, maybe it was somebody else who framed Hagrid, but we know Hagrid, we all do, and we all know he didn't do this."
Ron and Travis both backed off each other, giving each other apologetic looks.
"Listen," James continued, clapping Ron on the back and nodding to Travis. "We need time to absorb all of this. We should table it, think it through by ourselves, and come back around to it later. A lot's happened, let's not going tearing down Hagrid's hut and demanding answers when we're all so hyped up. Just… keep an eye out in the meantime, looking for anything suspicious, yeah?"
Ron snorted. "Let's hope we actually have the time to absorb this. As much as we know, the damned Heir could be attacking one of us, next."