Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

I think things will probably have to speed up soon. As much as fun as writing about every lesson is, I fear the overall plot would stagnate terribly, but review and tell me if you disagree.

Chapter 4

'Open,' Harry commanded, staring expectantly at the snake engraved tap.

'It doesn't work if you don't speak to snakes,' Myrtle giggled, drifting unusually far from the safety of her cubicle.

'I can speak to snakes,' Harry defended.

'Well you were only speaking English. I never did say thank you for killing the monster down there,' Myrtle smiled shyly. 'You're my hero Harry.'

'Er, thanks Myrtle.' He tried not to edge away from the ghost as she drifted uncomfortably close. He didn't like anyone getting too close to him. There was something that felt wrong about it, whether they were dead or alive.

Picturing a snake in his head, a particular fire-conjured one, Harry tried again. 'Open,' he repeated. The tap shuddered and the sinks split apart to reveal the entrance.

'That's more like it,' Myrtle cheered. It was the first time Harry had really seen her so happy and the expression was actually quite flattering.

'It sounds the same to me,' Harry confessed. 'I can't tell if I'm speaking parseltongue on my own.'

'That was definitely parseltongue,' Myrtle answered, still cheerful. 'It sounded just like before,' her face fell, 'when he came.'

'Sorry,' Harry apologised. 'I didn't mean to remind you.'

'That's ok, Harry. You weren't the one responsible. I blame that Olive Hornby more than him anyway.' Myrtle's face became a picture of loathing at the mention of the nemesis of her school days.

He stepped towards the pipe, giving the slimy inside a rather disgusted look. Harry had forgotten about the condition of the pipe. It hadn't exactly mattered last time he had come down here.

'There are steps, you know.' Myrtle hovered over the entrance, peering down into the pipe. 'The red-haired girl who spoke in his voice would make steps.'

Harry cast a sceptical glance down the pipe. It didn't really look like steps would even fit, but it was worth a try.

'Stairs,' he hissed, presumably in parseltongue, as the pipe twisted away to reveal a rather dusty, dark staircase.

Harry followed the small set of footsteps down through the dust. They were probably Ginny's. The idea of little, shy Ginny wandering down here towards a basilisk under the influence of Tom Riddle was worse than disturbing and Harry was more glad than ever he had driven that fang through the diary.

The stairs led to a door that was identical to the second one he had encountered on his last visit. It opened at his hissed command and he set foot inside the Chamber of Secrets for a second time.

Somehow the stairs led to exactly the same entrance as the pipe, something Harry put down to magic. If Salazar Slytherin was capable of creating a basilisk, hatching it, keeping it, and building a chamber for it, he could easily manage a little space manipulation.

Bones crunched beneath his feet as his strode forwards far more confidently than he had done last time. The giant snake skin still sprawled across the floor, but it's green gleam and faded to a dull white. Beyond it, though, the body of the basilisk lay untarnished. It's bright, poisonous green scales were every bit as iridescent as they had been before.

Harry could barely take his eyes off it.

How did I manage to survive that monster, let alone kill it?

It was even bigger than he remembered. Sixty feet had been the guess of a terrified child. Harry estimated it at more like seventy or eighty. Its fangs were the length of his forearm and about as wide at their base.

King of serpents indeed.

It was identical to the two snakes he had conjured, albeit much larger than both.

Tracing his fingertips along its scaly hide he walked along its length, marvelling at the creature he had slain. He almost regretted killing it. His inner Hagrid showing itself briefly before he remembered exactly what the serpent was here for and ruthlessly suppressed it.

The rest of the chamber was as he had left it from the serpent effigies along the walls to the ink stain where the memory of Tom Riddle had met its well deserved end. He gave the dark blotch an ugly glare. For all his brilliance and his charm there had been something about Tom Riddle that had been just as inhuman as the basilisk he set on his fellow students.

Stepping past the ink stain he moved to stand before the giant bust at the end of the chamber. The features did not seem particularly evil, or even remarkable in any way. Had he come across the likeness in a less spectacular manner Harry might not have looked twice.

Running his eyes over the vast likeness of Salazar Slytherin he tried to remember what exactly Tom Riddle had said to summon the serpent.

'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.'

The mouth of the huge bust opened with stony scraping and for a brief moment Harry feared he might have just released a second basilisk and be forced to repeat his feat, but nothing slithered from the mouth of the founder.

There was a very long silence as Harry stared at the statue, trying to decide what to do, then, from within in came a distinctly unimpressed voice. 'What a ridiculous way to open the door, it responds to virtually any command in parseltongue, you know.'

It took a moment for Harry to get over the shock at hearing another voice in the chamber. He firmly reminded himself that whoever it was it could not be Tom Riddle, since not only had he been stabbed by a basilisk fang but whoever was speaking was ridiculing the open phrase he had used.

'And no,' the mysterious voice continued rather petulantly, 'I won't speak to you.' Harry did a rather sharp double take.

That can't possibly be the voice of Salazar Slytherin.

Whomever it was, childish Salazar Slytherin or not, there was no way Harry could resist going to look. He did rather wish there wasn't a small lake in the way, though.

'Bridge,' he ordered, half-heartedly. He had been rather resigned himself to getting wet and so was pleasantly surprised when a rather old, stone bridge rose from the pool.

It was a carven likeness of a serpent's tongue, extending as if from the mouth of Slytherin himself.

Hesitantly he put one foot on the forked tip of the tongue.

'Oh, by all means come in,' the voice started up again sarcastically. 'I'd like another visitor, my only other company has been that insane reptile and a vengeful child with delusions of grandeur.'

Pride wasn't Harry's strongest trait, but he'd had quite enough of being mocked by the stupid voice. He strode swiftly across the tongue-bridge and through into the inside of Slytherin's mouth.

It was a study. Actually it quite reminded him of the headmaster's office, with shelves of books, odd magical instruments and a carved marble basin rather like the one he had often glimpsed in Dumbledore's cabinet.

'Just stand there and gawp, that's exactly what the other one did.' Harry whirled round to stare at the clearly ancient portrait that hung above the door. It held a rather young, formidable looking wizard, dressed in green and silver robes with a snake of some sort wrapped around his shoulders, just below where his ebony hair hung to.

'Well you look sane,' the portrait mused, 'but the last one did as well and look how that turned out.'

'Who, exactly, are you?' Harry inquired. He was rather less polite than he would have been, but he felt somewhat justified after the paintings comments, Salazar Slytherin or not.

'Portraits are named,' the dark-haired wizard sighed. 'I always hated children.'

'Salazar Slytherin,' Harry read aloud. Then, more curiously, 'if you hate children, why found a school?'

'It wasn't safe for magical children to just learn their craft all over the place. Don't you know anything about the burnings?' The sarcasm had disappeared at the mention of burnings to be replaced with deep disgust.

'Witch burning?' Harry queried.

'Sort of. The muggles couldn't actually burn witches and wizards, but they got a fair few of our children after they were seen performing accidental magic. Burning children alive,' the portraits eyes filled with fury, 'and they called us demons. Hogwarts was a haven for magical children. They were taught how to control and even hide themselves for their own safety.'

'You don't leave a basilisk that eats children in a school,' Harry exclaimed.

'She was meant to sleep until the school was under attack,' Slytherin snapped. 'A basilisk is very hard to kill, especially for those without magic. Had anyone ever tried to get to the children here she would have protected them with her life. It worked perfectly until my last visitor twisted my commands to his own ends.'

'Tom Riddle,' Harry muttered.

'Yes. Basilisks are renowned not only for their power, but their loyalty too. She devoted herself to her creator and my command to protect the children from the outside world. Tom Riddle,' Slytherin spat, 'corrupted my creation and set her on children who had come from the outside world to learn here.'

'It's good thing she's dead, then,' Harry said quietly, feeling a little sorry for the serpent.

'Dead?' Slytherin remarked. 'Who managed to kill her?'

'I did,' Harry sighed, doubting the portrait would believe him.

'You are my heir, I suppose,' the ancient portrait mused, 'you would be powerful.'

'I am not your heir,' Harry declared firmly. He had had one year of that nonsense already.

'You speak parseltongue,' Slytherin told him very slowly, as if addressing an idiot. 'It is an ability I created and is tied to myself. Only my direct descendants can speak it, and as I have no desire to ever see Tom Riddle again that makes you my heir.'

'Sorry,' Harry mumbled, embarrassed. 'The school all thought that in my second year when the basilisk was attacking students. They blamed me.'

'You can't really blame them,' Slytherin replied evenly. 'You do speak parseltongue. I assume you're in my house?'

'Gryffindor, actually.'

'Gryffindor,' the portrait exploded. 'What is my descendant, my heir, doing in the house of that reckless, moronic, immature excuse for a wizard? The whole reason I had to build this chamber was because that child of a man couldn't resist his urge to sabotage my work, and all Helga would do is laugh.'

Harry's sceptical face caught the attention of the irate wizard and sparks flew from the painted wand, startling the snake around his neck. It hissed indignantly and took cover within Slytherin's robes.

'Did you think he was noble, brave hero?' Slytherin shook his head in exasperation. 'That wizard never matured beyond the age of eighteen. He was an exceptional transfigurer, quite brilliant and creative too, but cursed with a child's sense of humour. Most of the things he did around this school were actually done by Rowena and I after the idiot injured himself trying to enchant things in overly complicated ways.'

'I'm quite good at transfiguration,' Harry offered as an explanation of his sorting. 'The hat did suggest Slytherin too, but I chose Gryffindor.'

'Why would you do that?' Slytherin burst out. 'Who would want to live in a tower when they could have a view out into the Black Lake?' He calmed down fairly quickly with only a few more murmurs about childish Godric and the snake deemed it safe to return to hanging around his neck.

'I'm Harry Potter,' he introduced himself, realising he still hadn't and almost extending his hand to the picture.

'Salazar Slytherin, and I can't shake it but I appreciate your manners.' It struck Harry then a considerable amount of time might have passed and he should probably go and have breakfast or make his way too class.

'I think I have to go to class now,' he told the ancient painting.

'How old are you?' it asked, ignoring his statement completely.

'Fourteen.'

'Your eyes are older,' Slytherin responded after a moment. 'You are my heir, return here whenever you like. My library and study are yours provided you're tidy and not as childish as Godric.'

'Thank you,' Harry answered earnestly as he left. He wasn't overawed by the revelation that he really was the Heir of Slytherin, but if he wanted to improve himself this would certainly be a huge help.

The forked tongue styled bridge descended back into the pool once he crossed it and Harry made his way back towards the stairs, throwing a regretful look at the pool. He had quite wanted to try conjuring a water basilisk, but he was almost certainly late for Ancient Runes as it was.

Striding swiftly across the school in the direction of his new class he caught sight of Hermione just leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and realised it wasn't quite as late as he had feared. Hurrying after her down the corridor towards the classroom for Ancient Runes he narrowly avoided sending Malfoy sprawling. The arrogant Slytherin was sent scrambling for his bag amongst the feet of the students traversing the corridor. Harry would've stopped to laugh, but he'd rather not be late for his first class, especially after switching into it on his own.

Bathsheda Babbling, the current professor, was fortunately doing her best to live up to her name in the corridor outside the class amongst a gaggle of seventh years and Harry slipped past her to join Hermione in the front row. He would have preferred to sit a little further back, but he'd have had to spend the journey distracting his friend to accomplish that.

'Welcome back to Ancient Runes,' their professor gushed immediately upon entering. 'Happily everyone survived from third year and we even have an additional student,' she gestured at Harry, 'who needs no introduction.'

There was a rustle as all the students turned to look at him, his scar, and then back to their bubbly professor.

'I trust you've all brought your copies of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms,' Professor Babbling said sweetly. 'As this is the first lesson I'll allow you to recap anything you feel you need to or just get started on the material for this year while I chat with Harry and start planning our year together in detail.'

'Harry,' she smiled cheerfully, 'mind joining me in my office.'

'Of course not, professor.' Harry abandoned his already finished book and followed the professor through into her office.

It was a small, cramped room the walls of which had been repeatedly covered and recovered in parchment. Harry assumed Professor Babbling used it to work on as there were runes and notes scrawled all across the parchment draped walls in different coloured inks.

'My office is my playground,' the professor explained with cheery wave at the walls. 'So why did you decide to switch to my class?'

'I find runes quite interesting,' Harry replied earnestly, 'specifically their applications in wards and, if I'm being completely honest, Professor Trelawney was a bit too fond of predicting my death.'

'How horrible,' Professor Babbling remarked. 'I'm glad you have a genuine interest in the subject, this is a small group and we tend to move quite fast, so anyone not on board gets left behind.' She was staring a particular set of runes emblazoned on the wall beside Harry's head. It was uncomfortable, but preferable to having his scar ogled.

'Back to class then,' she smiled. 'I won't pass your concerns about Professor Trelawney on, between the two of us, I've never really had time for a subject as imprecise and vague as divination.'

Hermione spent the whole session lost in the book, gazing into its pages in a manner amusingly reminiscent of her least favourite divination teacher. Harry meanwhile quietly flicked through the pages of his own copy, eager for the day to end so he could return to the Chamber of Secrets again. Enduring Salazar Slytherin's mouthy portrait was hardly a concession in return for what he might be able to learn there.

'What did Professor Babbling want?' Hermione asked when the lesson came to an end.

'She just wanted to know why I switched to Ancient Runes and to warn me about how fast the class will move.'

'We do go fast,' Hermione agreed, 'but if you're already ahead in transfiguration then you'll be able to redistribute your time and keep up.' She shot him a smile that seemed almost proud. 'Why did you switch?'

'I told you. I got a bit tired to being told how I was going to die every lesson.' It wasn't like Hermione was going to object to him leaving divination. She had quite literally walked out of their lessons.

'It's Arithmancy now,' she said, beginning to rummage through her bag. 'I've got the notes from last year. I thought you might like them if you wanted to go over what we did or anything.'

Harry accepted them with a grateful smile. He didn't need them and would much prefer her notes from Ancient Runes, which would be very useful, but it would save him buying the books if ever forgot anything.

Septima Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, reminded Harry very much of his maths teacher from muggle school. She had the same air of neat, logical action and he could imagine her stopping to think through every option of a choice before actually deciding.

It was actually quite a disappointing start. Harry had been expecting to see everything he'd read about over the summer, but it seemed that most of the subject he wanted to see was only vaguely mentioned until after OWLs. Advanced Arithmancy was the class he really wanted to take, so he settled in his seat and watched Hermione happily work her way through the exercises.

'Why aren't you working?' she asked, when she eventually looked up to see him doodling on the edge office parchment.

'This isn't the form of Arithmancy I'm particularly interested in,' he admitted. 'I read a lot in the summer, but everything I want to learn isn't covered until after OWLs.'

'Advanced Arithmancy is supposed to one of the hardest classes,' Hermione responded rather dubiously. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course. This is just the basics behind the theory to any passable enchanting or warding. After OWLs they cover all the complex, interesting stuff. Two-dimensional equations are useless to describe magical patterns when any magic we fold into planes for warding or enchanting will be done in reality, an obviously three-dimensional construct.'

Hermione paused and seemed to be going over what he had said in her head. Harry took a great deal of pride in saying something that had forced her to think for so long. Not many of their teachers often managed such a thing.

'I guess that does make sense,' she agreed, 'but you'll still need to know this.'

'I already know enough to get by until Professor Vector sets more complex assignments,' he answered. Harry leant across to fill in the answers to the very last and only incomplete question on her parchment. 'See, easy.'

Hermione shot him an angry look and scribbled out his answer to work it out herself. Harry returned to his doodling.

He had just finished adding scales to the head of his Arithmancy basilisk when class came to an end.

Hermione had eaten her lunch rather sullenly next to him, but he wasn't sure if she was angry with his sudden ability in Arithmancy or because he'd written on her work. She always hated it when anyone wrote anything on her notes. It was well known that the easiest way to annoy Hermione Granger was to get ink on her notes or, worse, on an actual essay. Harry suspected the latter, he wasn't any better than she was at what they were currently studying, just a little ahead.

Ron was equally subdued and still quite bleary eyed.

'Divination was absolute hell without you, mate,' he mumbled. 'I had to partner with Lavender. She was so enthusiastic. It was no fun at all.'

'What's your horoscope?' Harry asked dryly.

'Well I'm not going to die, so it beats whatever yours would have been. Lavender mentioned something to do with fire and veela, but I think she was talking to Parvati about the World Cup.'

'You slept through the whole thing didn't you,' Harry concluded sympathetically.

'It's so warm and stuffy,' Ron complained. 'I don't know how anyone stays awake.'

'It's history of magic next,' Neville interceded, 'no need to for anyone to stir themselves. Even my gran says that the subject is a waste of time while Binns is still teaching it.'

'You know they say that his body is actually still in his office from where he died and that he just kept teaching as a ghost,' Seamus told them cheerfully.

'Aren't ghosts meant to have a reason to linger?' Ron asked Hermione.

'Maybe he hadn't finished marking essays,' Seamus sniggered, when Hermione didn't respond.

'How does he mark our essays?' Dean wondered aloud. 'He can't exactly touch them, can he?'

'Maybe that's why he never notices we don't hand anything in,' Ron grinned.

True to its usual standard History of Magic was lectured to a class that was largely asleep. Harry was sure in the few times he had glanced up from his book on advanced transfiguration that Binns had been addressing the class from within the wall. He shook his head. Having a ghost for a teacher was a terrible idea.

Even Hermione wasn't really paying attention. She had opted to use the time to get started on the essay Binns had set rather than listen to his voice echo out from the wall about goblin tunnel skirmishes.

Harry couldn't blame her one bit. He only looked up from the passage in his book about human transfiguration to nudge Ron whenever he started to snore too loudly.

The theory of the book, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, was fascinating and it had been well worth ordering from Flourish Blott's a couple of years before they would get around to using it in class. Human Tranfisguration wasn't something he was about to start experimenting with, however. The stark warning in the preface about becoming trapped in his newly transfigured form if things weren't done correctly was enough to dissuade him. Harry had been quite keen to get to grips with the theory, becoming an animagus like his father and Sirius had while at school was an exciting prospect, but that had rather dampened his desire. He'd probably have to do any actual experimentation in the Chamber of the Secrets so Hermione didn't catch him and tell Professor Mcgonagall. Their transfiguration teacher would probably award him house points, but only shortly before expelling him for doing something so reckless.

Something for a later date, he decided and swapped the book for his copy of Confronting the Faceless. He badly needed to learn some applicable duelling spells. Harry couldn't continue to conjure serpents every time he was in a tight spot. Actually he'd prefer to never have to, because as soon as anyone saw him manage it he'd be lauded as the Heir of Slytherin all over again.

I wouldn't even be able to deny it.

There was quite a nice selection of curse and counter-curses in his new book, many of which were quite advanced and included the nasty purple looking spell he had been attacked with. Lacero was the incantation for a rather nasty adaption of the cutting spell that was intended for flesh rather than inanimate things. It wasn't something Harry planned to use except in the direst of circumstances.

In its later pages Harry found a section on the unforgivable curses, including the Cruciatus curse he had been hit with at the World Cup. There was a spell he would be doing everything in his power to avoid in the future. There was no sensation quite like having every nerve screaming out. Harry imagined Slytherin's burnt magical children might recognise the sensation and shuddered at the thought. It almost justified the basilisk.

The Imperius curse, described over the page, intrigued him. It was the only unforgivable that could be defended against, even if it required very strong will power to do so. The book suggested that practice would make it easier to fight off, but Harry rather doubted any of his friends would be willing to assist him and cast it at him.

You'd have to be mad to risk being caught casting it. It, like all Unforgivables, carried a lifetime sentence in Azkaban for being caught casting it at another person.

He was rather intimately familiar with the final member of the trio of unforgivables. Absentmindedly he traced the scar on his forehead, remembering dreams that always ended the same way. A flash of bright green light.

'Avada Kedavra,' he murmured very quietly. That was one spell incantation he didn't need to be heard repeating. Rather chillingly they were the first words Harry had ever been able to remember on his own. The dementors had forced him to recall everything he had heard before the curse, but the incantation had somehow stuck in his head on its own. He distinctly recalled attempting to correct a magician at one of Dudley's birthday parties when he had been much younger. It was quite a disturbing memory now he considered it.

AN: Read, enjoy (hopefully) and please review. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed; they brighten my day.