It's All On Us
Chapter 1: The Opened Wound
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I intend to gain any profit from this fanfiction.
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Oct. 31st, 1992
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The Deathday Party was a dismal affair, one Harry deeply wished he could skip. The food was all rotted and horrid, the ghosts were rude to Sir Nicholas and had no compunction about walking through Harry and Ron, and Hermione hadn't even shown up yet. She'd made some excuse about needing more time on their latest potions essay which, in fairness, was quite difficult.
Still, Harry found himself wishing he was in the library. That's how bad it was.
"Oi, mate," his best friend, Ron Weasley, nodded his head toward a ghost nearby, "I think you've got an admirer."
Harry examined the ghost in question. She had been a student at Hogwarts when she passed on. She wore glasses and had pigtails, and appeared rather standoffish even to the other ghosts. But Ron was right, she was casting furtive glances at Harry even as he watched her.
Harry blushed lightly, as any young boy would knowing a girl (even a dead one) was watching them. Ron chuckled lightly at him, but stopped when the ghost frowned.
The two boys didn't realize she'd moved until she was in front of them, causing the two Gryffindors to lean back in surprise.
"Having a good laugh at me, aren't you?" The girl snarled at them, "It's not enough that girls toss things at poor Myrtle, pick on Myrtle-"
"No, no," Ron spoke up, "I wasn't laughing at you, I was laughing at Harry!"
"Prat," Harry snarked, earning a shrug in return.
The ghost, Myrtle, eyed him carefully before asking, "Oh. Well, why were you laughing at him?"
"Well, to be honest, I saw you looking at him so I told him about it, and he blushed."
Harry glared deeply at his best mate, who again offered a shrug in return.
Myrtle, however, looked positively pleased by this.
"Oh, that's quite lovely. I know all about you, Harry Potter. Youngest seeker in a century, boy who lived, all that. I was quite disappointed when you survived that first match, if you'd fallen off your broom you could have joined me in my toilet."
Harry blanched at that, stunned into silence by that declaration.
Ron, of course, had no such issues.
"That's a messed up thing to say, ghost! You shouldn't wish anyone dead!"
Myrtle didn't reply, at least not with words. Instead, she shrieked at him and flew off through the wall. Her shriek had drawn the attention of their host, Sir Nicholas, who approached them to ask what had happened. When they finished explaining, the ghost frowned deeply.
"Ms. Warren has had a rather difficult time adjusting to unlife as a specter," Sir Nicholas said, "I deeply apologize for her behavior, and promise to speak with her later this evening."
"It's alright, Nick," Harry said, "I think we'll be going, though. Hermione hasn't arrived yet and she's neglected meals for the library more than once."
Sir Nicholas chuckled lightly in agreement, as he had found the young genius in such a state more than once himself. The nearly-headless ghost bade his guests a good night and Happy Halloween before returning to the festivities.
The boys made their way up the stairwell, each hoping they could pry Hermione away from her book in time to get something from the feast. They had nearly reached the top of the stairwell when they spotted something strange on the floor.
From a distance, it appeared to be a bundle of clothes, but as they got nearer they noticed it was a girl.
A girl dressed in Gryffindor robes.
"Hermione!" The two cried, sprinting the last few steps to reach their fallen friend.
She was cold to the touch, pale and stiff as a board. Her face was locked in a surprised gaze, as though someone had snuck up behind her and scared her to death.
Harry reached her first and began checking her over. She wasn't blinking or breathing, and Harry couldn't find a pulse (though he wasn't sure if he was doing it properly). Ron had his wand out and was scanning the nearby area for whoever had done this to their friend.
"Ron," Harry breathed, his eyes moist with unshed tears, "Ron, she-she's-"
"Don't say it, Harry," Ron snarled at his best friend, his own eyes misting as he spoke, "Don't say it. HELP! HELP!!"
Harry ignored his friend's efforts, choosing instead to focus all his attention on Hermione. She still wasn't breathing, no matter how much he willed her to. He hated himself in those moments, wishing he knew some healing spells or anything at all that could help his friend.
Ron's yelling had attracted a Slytherin prefect, a girl named Gemma Farley. She was, unfortunately, followed by the Slytherins returning from the feast. The majority of them stared at the grizzly sight, uncertain what to make of it.
Then Draco Malfoy made his way up front and sneered, "The mudblood's finally got what was coming to her."
Harry and Ron both glared murderously at the blonde Slytherin. Ron even made a go for him, but was stopped by the prefect in front.
"Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley," Farley snarled, pushing the younger boy away.
"Who gives a shite about points!" Ron shouted back, "Our best friend is lying on the floor, and that worm is fucking happy about it!"
"Ten points for language, Mr. Weasley."
Professor Snape strolled into the corridor, a sneer on his face. He was followed by Professors McGonagall and Sprout, who had been drawn by the noise. McGonagall gasped when she saw one of her lions lying on the floor, looking pale and cold.
"Step aside, Potter." she ordered, and he quickly obeyed.
She waved her wand over Hermione for a long moment, a frown marring her features as she did. She frowned at the results, quite unsure of what her wand was telling her.
She turned back and asked Professor Snape to summon the Headmaster, only for the man in question to appear from behind the line of Slytherins. He took in the scene quickly and did the same scans as McGonagall, scans which earned a frown from the headmaster as well.
Finally, though, Dumbledore straightened and turned to address Harry and Ron, along with everyone else.
"Ms. Granger is quite alive," his announcement earned a great swell of relief from the Gryffindors present, "She has, however, been the victim of a most serious attack. She has been petrified."
"Petrified??" Professor Sprout asked, "But how?"
"I am unsure," Dumbledore said, but didn't continue as his eyes had noticed something.
Partially hidden by Hermione's robes lay a book she'd checked out from the library, A Treatise Regarding Potions of the Elizabethan Era. The book was a foggy green with reflective gold lettering, but seemed rather damaged as there was a scorch mark on the cover.
Dumbledore paled at the sight of it, memories of a darker time in Hogwarts' history coming to mind as he did. He was about to order the Slytherins to take an alternate route back to their dormitory but paused.
He heard a sound behind him, a sound reminiscent of water dripping.
The students and professors gasped as drops of blood fell to the stairs and further down into the stairwell. Dumbledore stepped forward, casting an invisible barrier above him as he did, and stepped onto the stairs.
When he turned to see what had happened, he had to fight very hard to keep himself from gasping.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened
Enemies of the Heir
Beware
XXX
Not Harry!...high pitched laughter...a green light.
Harry shot up in the bed, his eyes wild and his wand raised. The world around him was blurred, but Harry put on his glasses and calmed as he recognized his surroundings.
After the horrible message had been discovered, Dumbledore had sent the Slytherins off to their dorms while he and Ron had been held back. They had explained what they saw by the time Madam Pomfrey came to take Hermione to the hospital ward, and one look at the pair had them accompanying her upstairs.
She distributed a draught of dreamless sleep to the pair, a potion which should have left him unconscious for the rest of the night. A quick wave of his wand revealed it was only three in the morning.
Ron was lying to his right, snoring heavily into his pillow. He looked like it was any other night, as if he'd gone to bed after a game of exploding snap. When he woke up in the morning, there'd be a few blissful seconds where he didn't know where he was or what had happened. Then, he'd remember.
Harry thought that was not a good thing, and was somewhat grateful he'd had that nightmare.
Further back, near the windows and surrounded by a white veil, lay their petrified friend. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on giving her some dignity, an act which Harry agreed with entirely.
He couldn't help but ease himself out of bed and walk over to the veil, the need to see his friend so great it couldn't wait until morning. Gently, he parted the veil and stepped past it.
She was the same as before, cold and pale with a surprised look on her face.
Someone had done this to her. But who, and why?
Harry remembered the dream, it had been about Voldemort and his attempt to kill him. It was a dream he'd had a few times since the beginning of the school year, and he found it foreboding that he'd have it again now. But how could Voldemort be involved in this?
He needed to see Dumbledore, and it had to be now. He turned to leave the ward and search for the headmaster, only to run into a pair of large, round eyes.
"You!" Harry snarled, recognizing Dobby from the summer.
The elf whined and clutched his ears, shrinking into himself before saying, "Does Harry Potter see now, the danger he is in? The first, the very first, was a friend of his? Will Harry Potter return home? Please, please, please?"
Harry glared at the creature before him and replied, "No. Whoever did this to Hermione won't stop there. There'll be others, and if people like me leave, people who'll stand up to this 'heir', then people like Draco Malfoy will have the run of the place."
Harry frowned to himself, noticing how Dobby had cringed upon hearing Draco's name. From what he'd learned, house elves were bound to a wizarding family and could not betray that family under any circumstances. Was Malfoy the elf's owner? Or, more likely, his father was the owner.
Dobby must have realized Harry's thoughts, for he disappeared when Harry began to speak. He'd wanted to know if Dobby could offer any information, but apparently the little elf was either unwilling or unable.
Harry turned back to Hermione, wishing she were here. He felt quite lost without his clever friend.
The fear and the pain he'd felt when they'd discovered her lying on the floor was terrible, even worse than when he'd seen Ron fall to McGonagall's chess board last year. It was a rather helpless feeling, one Harry didn't intend on enduring again.
He needed to do something, anything at all. Then his thoughts turned back to his idea of speaking with the headmaster, and he decided to do so. But first, he reached out and held his friend's hand.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Hermione," he whispered, "But I'll sort this out. I'll find out who did this to you. I promise."
Harry had a difficult time letting her go, but he eventually did and set out into the darkened corridors in search of the headmaster's office.
It didn't take very long before Mrs. Norris found him, and Filch wasn't very far behind. Harry ignored the horrid man's muttered threats and demanded to be taken to Professor Dumbledore.
"Now why would I take you to him, when I'm perfectly capable of handling this myself?" Filch sneered at the bespectacled boy.
"Why indeed?" A new voice called out, and Severus Snape revealed himself to the pair, "Out for a midnight stroll, Potter?"
"I'm trying to find Professor Dumbledore," Harry explained, "I have questions for him."
"Surely such questions can wait, boy," Snape intoned, "It is nearly four in the morning. Return to the hospital ward at once and ten points for being out of bed."
"That won't be necessary, Severus."
The three turned as Professor Dumbledore stepped out of the dark, his eyes twinkling and a soft smile adorning his features.
"As it happens, I was just coming to find young Mr. Potter as well. How fortunate to find our goals so aligned. Follow me, Mr. Potter."
Harry eagerly followed the headmaster up the stairs, just barely ignoring the impulse to send a smirk back at the two men.
Harry found that the headmaster's age didn't seem to affect him very much, as the young seeker was nearly forced to run to keep up with him. The duo quickly reached a gargoyle situated in an alcove in the hall and, upon seeing the two, the gargoyle jumped aside to allow the two up a winding staircase.
It was Harry's first time being in the headmaster's office, and he was intrigued by the amount of disorder inside. It was a large office, with a large wooden desk in the center. There was a large bookshelf nearby, filled with books and knick knacks that spun and glowed. The walls were adorned with the portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, several of whom were examining him curiously.
Dumbledore guided Harry to a seat in front of the desk, offering him a lemon drop while he sat down.
"I confess, Harry," The headmaster began, "I'm quite surprised to find you up and about so soon. Madam Pomfrey is quite an effective potioneer, and most who've enjoyed her work have been quite satisfied."
"I don't really know why I'm awake, sir," Harry lied and, as always, he had a feeling as if Dumbledore could see straight through him.
"Harry...what was your dream?"
"...It was the night my parents…"
"Ah. It must have been quite a dream, to be able to shake off a dreamless sleep potion. It is most understandable, though. I can only begin to imagine how shocking it must have been to find Ms.Granger in such a state. Now, I gather you have questions for me, Harry. Please, ask."
Harry considered for a moment before asking, "What could have done this to Hermione?"
Dumbledore seemed to age ten years, sighing and leaning forward over his desk before he answered, "Very few things, Harry. To truly petrify someone requires the kind of power that few possess, barring several dark rituals. Of the few in this castle, perhaps three could accomplish this dark feat: myself, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall. I believe you can safely rule out two of us, but I doubt you'd be willing to do so for Professor Snape without some concrete evidence."
Harry nearly agreed, but a memory struck him suddenly: a pair of red eyes reflected in a mirror.
"Actually, sir, I can't safely rule anyone out. I can't safely say that you are, in fact, yourself."
Dumbledore smiled gently, "A dear friend would compliment you on that thought. To satisfy your concerns, however, I offer this: socks."
To almost anyone else, this random word would mean less than nothing. To Harry, that word absolved all of his concerns.
"Thank you, sir." Harry said, "But what of Snape?"
"Professor Snape, Harry. As to your question, I fear there is very little I can do to assuage you. Severus, for all his talents, has never been the most accessible of sorts. He is perfectly capable of brewing a potion which could produce these effects. I, however, am equally capable of recognizing said potion and brewing an antidote. I am also capable of recognizing any spell he may have used."
Harry nodded, not surprised at Dumbledore defending the acidic potions professor.
"You said any spell he may have used."
"Indeed. That is to say, any spell the professor may use. There is one who may have access to spellwork I am unfamiliar with, but I rather doubt Voldemort is directly involved in this."
"Directly, sir?"
"Consider the nature of this attack, Harry. What possible motive would someone have for attacking Ms. Granger?"
Harry frowned, immediately understanding what Dumbledore meant.
"She's a muggle-born."
"Quite. Anyone involved in such a heinous act would likely throw their lot behind Voldemort, or have already done so."
Harry wasn't surprised by this fact, and it lent credence to his theory of Draco (or his family) being involved. He considered telling the headmaster about Dobby, but decided to hold onto that piece of information for the time being. Should it become important, he'd do so. He didn't want to risk closing an avenue he could investigate, if Dumbledore felt he needed to stop the elf from visiting him.
Instead, he asked, "Sir, what can you tell me of the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Precious little, Harry. It is shrouded in rumor and conjecture; many magical historians discredit its existence. Supposedly, Salazar Slytherin had a disagreement with his fellow founders and formed the chamber before departing. Legend suggests he left a creature of some sort behind to defend the castle from, shall we say, unwelcome elements."
"Muggle-borns." Harry concluded.
Dumbledore nodded slightly, "Alas, Harry, this brings us to why I sought you out this evening. I daresay you have already determined your course of action regarding this 'heir' and the chamber."
Harry offered no answer to the headmaster but, if he was offended, he didn't show it.
"I must impress upon you the dangers of such an action, Harry. Vengeance will lead you to a bad end, especially when faced against such an opponent. Myth and legend have a way of driving a person mad, if one allows it. It would be best if you left such matters to those responsible for them."
Harry frowned before saying, "Headmaster, this is not a myth or a legend. This is something that happened, and it happened to my friend. And I doubt either of us believe it is over."
The two stared at each other for a moment before the headmaster sighed, "I must confess, I had very little hope my appeal would reach you. I shall say this: the staff, and myself, will be most attentive to the goings-on in the castle for the foreseeable future."
The headmaster rose, signalling an end to their meeting. After all, what more was there to say. As the older man led Harry back to the hospital ward, he couldn't help but decipher the hidden meaning to Dumbledore's warning.
They would be watching him.