A/N: I think it's absolutely hilarious/endearing the way you guys are so interested in seeing more of business witch Alex. You guys give this fic life!

Chapter Sixteen

Third Year

Summer passed by much more quickly than last year. Whereas Harry visited her less often, this time it was Cedric's turn to disrupt the mundaneness of her life.

But, she thought, scowling, even if Harry was replacing her with the Weasleys, he could still have the decency to sit in the same carriage as last year.

Alex glowered at the scenery as the train steamrolled on. The Express had left the station long ago, and there was still no sign of Harry. The door opened, and Alex's head snapped towards it to quickly she was mildly surprised she didn't get whiplash.

"Alex," greeted a smiling Hermione. It faded somewhat as she noticed the otherwise empty compartment. "Harry and Ron aren't here either?"

She tensed. "You haven't seen them at all?"

Hermione shook her head, her cute rabbit teeth worrying her lower lip. "I've tried looking up and down the train. No one's seen them. I found Fred and George, and they said they were right behind them at the station."

There was a sharp snap, and both girls flinched. Their eyes immediately sought out the source, which turned out to be the window. It was now sporting a wonderful crack in the corner. Feeling the familiar heat of magic around her, Alex hastily tempered down her panic.

"Was that you?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed. Alex didn't know why she was making such a stunned expression – honestly, the crack wasn't even that big.

She shrugged, lips pressed tightly together. They didn't mention Harry or Ron for the rest of the trip.

The castle was all abuzz the following morning. Word had gotten 'round that Harry Potter (and Ron Weasley) had driven a flying car straight towards Hogwarts instead of taking the Express like everyone else. Alex heard this from her Housemates, although their choice of language was a tad more colourful.

A hefty sigh of relief blew past her lips at the news. Harry was safe and sound. There was no harm done. Well, sans the Howler that practically shook the castle to its core.

Third year was essentially the same as the others – except they now had two additional electives, chosen late last year. Alex had elected to study Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. The former was more challenging that she had expected, and it took rigorous reading and studying for her to achieve a good grasp on the subject. Runeology was a more critical subject than most realised. They were one of the earlier forms of magic, consisting of symbols and numbers that could do what most spells couldn't. Although the Study of Ancient Runes often left Alex confounded and frustrated, she knew her efforts would pay off in the end.

Care of Magical Creatures quickly became Alex's favourite class, even if Professor Kettleburn leaned towards theory more so than the practical. (The poor man had so few limbs left.) The amount of practical classes only decreased as time went on. Students kept irritating the creatures, they'd heard, and the Weasley twins even stole a salamander when Kettleburn wasn't looking. That was the last straw from the frazzled man, and the school was lucky to receive a practical lesson once a week after that. Alex joined her Housemates as they grumbled about those Gryffindor idiots.

If CoMC was bad, then Defence was atrocious. Alex was pretty sure she flunked all the theoretical components of the class since she didn't bother purchasing the 'textbooks'. She didn't care much, since most of the lessons were about Lockhart himself, his achievements, and random tidbits about his flamboyant personality.

Alex sighed, feeling wearier than ever. Getting up and going to class seemed like such a chore now. The only things that kept her going were the cheerful house-elves and their invigorating food, Spitfire and Fang and all the other animals she came across, and finally her weekly hang-outs with Cedric, which were more like intimate DADA lessons now.

"They say every time you sigh, a part of your happiness leaves your body with it," said an airy voice.

Startled, Alex whirled around her, her wand appearing her hand. She flicked it back into its holster when she registered the speaker, however. "That explains a lot, then," she replied, relaxing. "I'm Alex Fortescue."

"Luna Lovegood. Or is it Looney Lovegood now? I can't seem to keep up."

"I like 'Luna'," she said, her face tightening at the implications of the blonde's words. "It's a pretty name."

Luna's smile brightened, and she seemed more focused. "It is, isn't it? Have you seen a pair of shoes by any chance?"

Alex glanced down at Luna's feet, unsurprised to see her lack of footwear. "I could summon it for you?" she offered.

"Oh, that would be lovely."

"What do they look like?" she asked, bringing her wand out. She listened raptly to Luna's description, her mind painting a picture according to her words. Lifting it in the air, she drew a frown in the air, just as the textbook had instructed her to. "Accio Luna Lovegood's shoes," she said in a clear, loud voice.

Nothing happened for a moment. Disappointment surged through her at the failure, but the feeling disappeared as soon as it could form. A pair of black shoes zoomed through the air and straight into Alex's face.

"Got 'em," she groaned, rubbing her sore nose.

"Thank you," Luna said brightly, putting them on. "You should rub some flobberworm mucus on your face before it bruises."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, lying through her teeth. "Do you know what could have happened to your shoes?"

"I suppose the Wrackspurts snuck off with them. They're these funny little insects that float through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy. There are quite a lot in this school."

Alex snorted. "I'll say." She glanced at Luna for a moment. "I'm about to head outside by the lake," she said casually. "Would you like to join me?"

Luna looked so unbelievably happy that Alex's heart ached. They walked side-by-side towards the exit, Alex having to slow down in order to match Luna's carefree pace.

She eyed Luna's blue and silver tie with interest. "How's Ravenclaw?"

"Surprisingly boring," confessed Luna. "They don't believe in what I say at all. I thought they were meant to be the smart House."

"It's because they're the academic House that they're so narrow-minded. They're almost as bad as Hufflepuff."

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" Luna asked, her tilted to the side curiously. "It was the Sorting Hat's second preference for me."

"Let's just say I've had bad experiences with them," she muttered.

They said no more on the topic as they reached her spot beneath the large willow tree. Spotting a familiar lump of fur, Alex scooped Spitfire into her arms before offering him to Luna. She treated him with surprising gentleness.

As Alex watched Spitfire doze off in Luna's lap, she made a promise to herself: if she saw anyone hurting Luna, she would make them regret it dearly.

Luna stuck to her almost like glue after that. Alex was neither surprised nor bothered by it. She knew how difficult it was to be alone—and, what was more, hated—in a whole new environment without anyone to rely on. She was even eating in the Great Hall more frequently, if only to keep an eye on her new friend.

On one particular day, Malfoy was being extremely insufferable. The naïve first-years ate it all up as he boasted about his new Seeker position on the Slytherin team, as well as the new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones he had purchased for his teammates. (Read: his dad purchased in order to buy his son a spot on the team.)

Fed up, Alex hopped over to the next table. Duncan and Grant jumped in surprise, and then looked around warily as hushed whispers erupted around them. Mindful of their discomfort, she simply said, "Look after Luna" before moving over to sit next to said girl.

Luna barely reacted. "Would you like a roll?" she said.

Alex smiled. "Always."

Up at the teachers' table, Snape sneezed.

It was Halloween, which meant Alex was safely tucked away from the rest of the world. Being in the dungeons on such a night was ominous at best and risky at worst, so she opted to stay in the Room of Requirement instead. It was bright and cheerful inside, contrasting sharply with the dark and dim colours of the night outside.

Cedric had stopped by, concerned as usual on this night. It took her several minutes to assure him that she would be fine, the House ghosts would keep an eye out for her safety and besides, she had Spitfire here to protect her. Not that she needed protecting. With great reluctance, he finally left.

Alex was contemplating sleeping then and there when Spitfire shot up. His hackles were raised as he glanced around the room wildly before he dashed to the door, scratching at it furiously. Terrified, Alex hurried to let him out, her wand in hand.

Spitfire ran down the corridors, Alex hot on his heels. Her cat was fast, but Alex pushed herself to her limits as she chased after him. Her pet was probably the laziest cat she had ever encountered, so for him to be this spooked spelled grave danger.

As she turned the corner and came to a sudden stop, she realised Spitfire had a right to be so frightened. Mrs Norris was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket on the wall, frozen stiff as if she had never lived in the first place. Spitfire mewed terribly at his fellow feline, but Alex was too preoccupied by the writing on the wall.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened," she murmured. "Enemies of the heir, beware." It was written in what looked suspiciously like blood; Alex gagged.

Footsteps thundered towards, and Alex instinctively raised her wand.

"Alex?!"

She bit back a scream. "Harry? Ron? Hermione? What are you…?"

"I heard something," Harry managed to choke out between gasps. Like her, they had all been running towards this very corridor. "A voice. It said- it said it was out to kill."

"Merlin," whispered Ron, horrified. His eyes were glued to the menacing message on the wall. "What is this?"

Spitfire cried out, drawing their attention to the sight of Mrs Norris' unmoving body. Ron swallowed audibly. "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help?" protested Harry.

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

Alex hugged her distressed cat to her chest, ready to leave. Before they could take a single step, however, students began to pour in from either side of the corridor. Their laughter quickly died out as they came to a stop around Alex and the trio. Almost simultaneously, their eyes darted from the message, to Mrs Norris, to them. The ensuing silence was deafening.

Malfoy broke the quiet. "Enemies of the heir, beware!" he read, delighted. "You'll be next, mudbloods!"

Alex saw red. That was his first reaction – to jeer and laugh at the macabre scene and then manipulate it to his suit his prejudice? Her wand grew hot in her hand, and the only thing that stopped her from outright murdering him was Spitfire's trembling body and the multitude of witnesses surrounding them.

Naturally, the commotion drew Filch out. He shoved through the crowd, but stopped dead at the sight of his beloved familiar hung up like an ornament. For some reason, he blamed Harry.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past them, and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Fortescue."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs. Please, feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The crowd parted as Dumbledore led the way, followed by Snape and Professor McGonagall. Gone was the jovial grandfatherly demeanour. Instead, the headmaster provided them all with a glimpse of the powerful warlock he was famed to be. Shivering, Alex hugged Spitfire close.

There was flurried movement across the walls of Lockhart's office as they entered. Several of his self-portraits ducked out of sight, donned in their nightgowns with their hair still in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Spitfire squirmed, sinking his claws into Alex's skin as she held him back.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, looking as though he was trying hard not to smile. Prick.

Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making ridiculously inaccurate suggestions. He raved on and on about how Mrs Norris was undoubtedly dead, as well as tortured, and was overall oblivious to the heart-wrenching sobs of Filch.

Finally, Dumbledore straightened up. He interrupted Lockhart's speech on his unerring bravery with a soft, "She's not dead, Argus."

Filch didn't believe him. "Not dead?" he repeated in disbelief. "But why she's all stiff and f-frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," Dumbledore said calmly, if gravely. "But how, I cannot say."

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry.

"No second-year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—! He knows I'm a Squib!"

Harry was quick to defend himself, but he was doing a very poor job of it. Out of all people present, Snape spoke up on Harry's behalf…sort of.

"Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. Alex made a face at the sound of all those ghosts gathered together, trying and failing to taste mouldy food as they recalled Sir Nicholas's disgusting demise.

"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry, and Alex felt her stomach flip anxiously. He made up some excuse about being tired and wanting to go to bed, despite the fact that he had purposely run towards the corridor, which was nowhere near the Gryffindor Tower.

Snape practically radiated self-satisfaction as he nit-picked Harry's feeble lies. He even recommended taking Harry off the Quidditch team, which was a whole different can of worms. Professor McGonagall instantly protested, and the two began to bicker until Dumbledore interrupted them. He peered into Harry's eyes, and Alex fought the urge block his view of him.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," announced Dumbledore.

Snape looked as furious as Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" the caretaker shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. He explained about the Mandrakes, and how they would be ready for the potion-making process once they were fully grown.

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Snape said icily. "But I believe I'm the Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause, and Alex expected Snape to draw his wand and start jinxing away. Before she could see it happen, though, Dumbledore dismissed them.

Aware of the eyes on her, Alex edged towards Mrs Norris' prone form. She allowed Spitfire to hop on the table and inspect her. Her cat nuzzled the other, mewing sadly, before Alex carried him away. He was too despondent to protest.

They went as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.

Harry squinted at his friends' darkened faces. "D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

"What voice?" she asked, alarmed. "The one you mentioned earlier about killing?"

Harry nodded slightly. "You didn't hear anything, did you?"

"No. But Spitfire did." She stroked her distressed pet absentmindedly. "He started acting crazy and glaring at the walls."

The relieved sigh on Harry's end spoke volumes. He hadn't been imagining things after all.

"But what was with the writing on the wall?" was Hermione's logical contribution. "The Chamber of Secrets? What on earth is that?"

"Whatever it is, I bet Malfoy's involved," muttered Harry.

Malfoy? That rang a bell. Didn't Lucius Malfoy somehow have a hand in all this?

"You think Malfoy's the heir of whatever?" asked Ron.

"The heir of Slytherin," said Alex. All eyes turned to her. "What? It makes sense. Enemies of muggle-borns, right? That can only be pureblood fanatics, and almost all of them are in Slytherin. Hence, the heir of Slytherin."

"Malfoy's the heir!" concluded Harry.

"Maybe," she allowed. He certainly fit the image. "But I feel like the heir would be someone more discreet."

Hermione looked like she agreed, while Harry and Ron seemed stuck on the idea that Malfoy, as always, was the cause of their problems.

The rumour mill was on fire this year. People kept speculating on who the heir was, and what they were the heir of, as well as what Chamber of Secrets was and what it contained. Several Slytherin names were tossed around—the most popular one was Malfoy's—but the one that really got to her was Harry's. The first time Alex heard someone speculate Harry's hand in the ordeal, she almost burst into laughter then and there. As it was, the Hufflepuffs heard her snort anyway, but before they could do anything about it, she was gone.

Alex just caught the end of Ron's grumbles as she neared them.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loon," Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors. "But I never knew he started all this pureblood stuff. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've gone straight back home…"

"Hey," she said, slipping into the space between Harry and Ron. "At least try to wait until you're alone before you start dissing my House, Ronald."

Ron scoffed. "You'll change your mind once you hear what we learnt in Binns' class."

Alex listened with half an ear as the trio filled her in about the Founders, Slytherin's supposed anti-muggle monster, and the Chamber hidden somewhere in the school.

She shrugged. "History is written by the victors. Who knows if that account is even reliable?"

Harry and Hermione looked speculative, but Ron was adamant in his prejudice.

"Besides," she added, adjusting the strap of her watch, "word's going around that Harry's the heir. Which is pretty hilarious, in my opinion."

"Hilarious?" Hermione repeated archly. "How?"

"Look at him." The awkward preteen that he was, Harry shifted uncomfortably under their gazes. She smirked. "He's more of a bunny than a snake."

"True," admitted Ron, oblivious to Harry's indignant expression. "People will believe anything." And wasn't that the smartest thing she'd heard him say?

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be, well, human."

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the macabre message.

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. "Scorch marks!" he said. "Here — and here —"

"Come and look at this!" called Hermione.

They approached the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"No," murmured Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"I don't like spiders," said Ron tensely. As he explained his traumatic experience with his teddy bear-turn-spider, Alex's mind worked furiously to recall all the information she had lost regarding spiders and snakes and the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry changed the subject. "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

There was water? Where? Alex frowned. She had been too preoccupied with the bloody warning and Petrified cat to notice any leaks.

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door." He reached for the brass doorknob, but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

Ignoring the large out of order sign, she opened the door. It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Alex had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle. How are you?"

Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. "This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously.

"True," agreed Hermione. "I just wanted to show them how, er, nice it is in here." She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

Alex sighed. It seemed Hermione's lying skills hadn't improved from last year.

"Would you like it cleaned?" she asked Myrtle, drawing out her wand. What was that spell again?

Myrtle's eyes narrowed beneath her glasses. "What's in it for you?" she practically spat.

"Nothing. It's just that, if I were in your situation, I'd like it if someone cleaned up for me."

With great wariness, Myrtle accepted her offer. As Alex rummaged through her bag for her notes on the spell, the Gryffindors interrogated the dead girl. Naturally, Ron's social skills managed to send Myrtle diving into her U-bend, screaming and sobbing the entire time.

She flicked him an irritated look, pausing in the cleansing of the dirty mirrors. "Good going, Ron."

Hermione shrugged wearily. "To be fair, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. Come on, let's go."

"You guys go on ahead," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'll finish up here."

"Why?" asked Ron. "Myrtle's not here to give us any answers."

"It's called altruism." She rolled her eyes. "I meant what I said before, you know."

He shrugged, heading out the door. "Suit yourself."

His friends followed after him. Harry offered to help, but Alex shook her head with a smile. Once they were gone, Alex peered through each stall, calling, "Myrtle? They're gone. Are you still here?"

A horrible wail erupted from the last stall. Alex tentatively opened it, her heart aching sympathetically as she glimpsed at Myrtle's sobbing form.

"Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. Ron didn't mean to upset you."

Myrtle took in a great, shuddering breath. "T-That's what they all say!"

"Well, I mean it when I say that Ron's a thoughtless idiot."

"Why do you care how I feel?" she asked, sniffling.

"Fortunately, I have a heart. My name's Alex Fortescue," she said, smiling slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Myrtle."