Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowlings.
Another chapter. I'm genuinely surprised by how much I've managed in about 24 hours. I guess that's what you get with a new idea and a free day!
So somehow it's now 02:45 am for me, so I'm just going to upload this and add it to the story when I wake up later.
I did also mean my mention of romance in case anyone came in anticipation and now feels disappointed.
Chapter 5
'It's only been two days since the beginning of term, Ron,' Hermione explained wearing a rather indulgent smile.
'It feels like we've been here for ages,' the red-head sulked, reaching for the nearest rack of toast.
'We were here a bit earlier, but still, it's barely September and nothing is happening until October.'
'It's a travesty,' Ron mumbled around a mouthful toast. 'All that hype about the bloody tournament and we have to wait until October to enter.' Hermione's eyes narrowed at the swear word and Ron instinctively retreated out of elbow range.
'Not much point entering now, mate,' Dean interjected. 'Got to wait for the other two schools first.'
'Are you going to enter?' Seamus asked playfully.
'Nope,' Dean responded, unaffected. 'I choose life. I had a research about it when I heard. It's been cancelled for centuries because all the champions kept dying before the end.'
'Doesn't sound like eternal glory to me,' Neville piped up from across Ron. The second youngest Weasley had made his way through the toast rack and was now polishing off half a plateful of eggs.
Where does all the food even go?
Harry had managed a decent breakfast by his standards. Some bacon, a pair of fried eggs, several pieces of toast and the mushrooms Hermione had snuck onto his plate out of concern. He wasn't even that thin anymore. When he'd first come to Hogwarts he'd been all skin and bones, but three years of abundant food had filled him out well enough and quidditch had gifted him a little muscle to his frame. Neither Mrs Weasley of Hermione seemed to have noticed any of it.
'Sounds like unexpected death to me,' Seamus grinned. 'Still, I'm entering. They'll have made it safer or something now, I'm sure.'
'Well,' Ron emerged from behind his napkin, 'if you see a basilisk, just summon Harry and hide for a bit. That ought to do the trick.'
'That's pretty much the plan,' Dean laughed. 'I'll let the seventh years know. They're the ones who'll get chosen anyway. The tournament is supposed to have the best possible student chosen from all the entered names.'
'How does it know?' Neville asked curiously.
'Magic,' Dean shrugged. Everyone turned to look at Hermione.
'What?' she responded. 'I'm not interested in a silly tournament, we're almost at OWL year now.'
'That's a point,' Harry realised. 'I'd wager the champions will all be sixth years really. No exams that year.'
Ron nodded. 'I'd agree,' he chuckled, 'if I wasn't putting my name in. Can you imagine Percy's face?'
Harry laughed. 'You'd get another howler from your mum,' Dean pointed out.
'Worth it for eternal glory.' Ron seemed quite taken with the idea. 'Pretty much everyone in Gryffindor is putting their name in, even some of the firsties wanted to.'
'House of the brave,' Seamus explained.
'House of the brave and Neville,' Dean corrected. 'Maybe you'll be champion, Nev. Up for it?'
Even Hermione smiled at Neville's suddenly pale face. 'I prefer to leave that stuff to Harry,' he stuttered. 'Giant snakes, swords, dark lords and lethal tournaments are his area of expertise.'
'It's about time it was someone else's turn,' Ron decided forcefully.
'Madam Pomfrey might not let you out next time,' Seamus added.
'We've got double Defence with Mad-eye,' Neville spoke up nervously. 'Madam Pomfrey might be seeing all of us if what I've heard is true.'
'Oh,' Harry swivelled to look at the attention shy boy. 'What did you hear?' He had decided after learning the hard way that it was best to keep an eye on the revolving Defence Against the Dark Arts post.
'Apparently he's been talking about the Unforgivable Curses,' Neville explained. His voice had shrunk under the rapt attention of his audience.
'Bit of an odd thing to teach,' Dean muttered after a moment.
Harry had to agree. They'd covered a handful of mostly useless jinxes and hexes and a lot of information on dark creatures that were best avoided, but little else. Last year they'd done some good work on defending against things like boggarts, but the greatest danger seemed to come more from other wizards. In his case that was usually the teacher themselves.
'It's probably useful, though,' Ron decided in the silence. 'Dad says those three spells are the ones that are most often used by wizards involved in the dark arts.'
'We're about to find out,' Dean said, glancing at his watch.
The so named Mad-eye Moody's class room was full of rather nervous looking students, but the grizzled ex-auror was nowhere to be seen.
'Oi, Potter,' Malfoy sneered. 'How did you enjoy the World Cup? I heard you collapsed again, saw a dementor did you?'
'No, Malfoy,' Harry gritted, 'I did see a blond man in black, hooded robes, though. Did your father enjoy his after-party?'
The slimy pure-blood recoiled as if struck. 'My father had nothing to do with that. As if it wasn't enough that you pranced around with mudbloods and blood-traitors, you've lowered yourself to slander too.' He turned away to a simpering Pansy Parkinson before Harry could remind him that slander was pretty much all Malfoy managed on a day to day basis.
'Ignore him, Harry,' Hermione said coolly, covering his wand arm with her hand. Ron seemed to be considering hexing the blond as well, but his temptation was abruptly quelled by the arrival of their professor.
Professor Moody was even more unsettling up close than he had been in the Great Hall. Above a nose that had a sizeable chunk missing an electric blue eye whirled frantically across the room. It stopped only to hover over each student and to peer suspiciously into the shadows around the edges of the room.
He heaved himself down past the desks, his wooden leg clunking on the stone floor with each step until he came to the front.
'I am Alastor Moody,' he growled in the immediate silence. 'I served as an auror in the war against the Dark Lord and I've seen almost all there is of the dark arts and not from a practitioner's perspective.' From behind his desk he retrieved a large, bell-shaped jar. It contained three quite large spiders.
There was an audible scraping noise as Ron's chair moved slightly further back.
'When it comes to the dark arts, I believe in a practical approach. There's nothing out there that will really prepare you for what's to come. I survived the war, but it cost me an eye and a leg and more to do so.'
He unscrewed the top of the bell jar with stiff, jerky motions and placed it on the desk in front of him.
'There are only three curses that will get you a lifetime ticket to Azkaban if performed, or attempted, on another human being.' Harry shared a wary glance with Ron, Neville had heard correctly. 'Can anyone name any of them?'
'The Imperius Curse,' Malfoy suggested with only the slightest hint of a sneer.
'You'd know all about that one, wouldn't you, boy?' the ex-auror barked. 'I'd wager your father told you about it, he used it as an excuse to escape that very same ticket to Azkaban.'
Malfoy had the common sense to stay quiet for once, but Harry had little doubt that would be referenced in his coming letter home.
Professor Moody levitated the spider out of the jar and onto the desk. 'Nasty curse the Imperius, it gives complete control of the victim to the caster. The ministry had terrible trouble with it, because it's hard to tell when anyone is under its effects. It is, however, the only one of three that can be defended against as a strong-willed wizard or witch can fight it off.'
The scarred ex-auror raised his wand, a thick, notched piece of wood and pointed it at the hapless spider. 'Imperio,' he growled.
To the amusement of most the spider careened around the room, scuttling over students and dancing on desks.
Neither Harry nor Ron laughed. Harry knew from his book the unpleasant truth of the curse and Ron, well Ron was still afraid of spiders.
'Another curse?' their teacher asked as the spider obediently crawled back to his desk.
'The Cruciatus Curse,' Neville whispered. He looked even more pale than he had during breakfast and Harry thought he glimpsed his hands trembling within his sleeves.
'Yes, Mr Longbottom, the torture curse, its incantation is crucio.' The ex-auror's magical eye froze on Neville's face. 'I will not be demonstrating that one in front of the eyes of children.'
He scooped the spider up and poked it back into the jar with the tip of his wand. 'And the last one?' he finished, returning his wand to a holster along his forearm.
'The Killing Curse,' Ron murmured.
'Speak up, Weasley,' the professor snapped. 'You are correct. The Killing Curse. It cannot be deflected, or magically blocked; its only survivor is Mr Potter.' Professor Moody regarded both him and his scar with an air of suspicion for a moment then looked down to screw the jar lid back on. Harry noted he had not told the class the words for the killing spell. It was probably for the best or Malfoy and his lackeys would be out practicing it on small animals before the end of the day.
'Blimey,' Ron whispered. 'That was an intense lesson.'
'The lesson has not ended, Mr Weasley,' Professor Moody retorted from the front of the class where he was tucking the jar of spiders back under his desk. 'There is a very lengthy chapter on hex-deflection in the text I recommended for this year, read it before next lesson, either in here or wherever you please.'
He turned and stomped into his office and Harry glimpsed an array of fascinating looking glass and mirror-like artefacts.
I wonder what those do?
'Come on,' Hermione tugged at his arm. 'I want to check on Neville.'
'I've got to go get started on Flitwick's essay,' Harry apologised. 'I don't want to fall behind.' Hermione gave him a look of disapproval as he hurried off. Harry decided not to turn back and snap at her; it wasn't like he was abandoning Neville. He had to get better to protect friends like Neville from Voldemort.
Myrtle's cubicle was quiet and empty when he reached the first floor bathroom. Nobody actually ever used the place. In fact, now that he thought about it, the only people who had come in here had been him and his friends when they were up to something illicit.
And Ginny.
He vanished the dust on the stairs down to the chamber so he wouldn't have to see her footprints again. The feeling of helplessness he recalled from chasing after her was not something he wanted to re-experience.
Harry vengefully vanished the ink stain as well. Salazar Slytherin would probably appreciate him removing the last remnant of Tom Riddle from his Chamber of Secrets.
'I'm back,' he told the statue in parseltongue.
'Oh, joy,' he heard the portrait announce from within, 'company.'
Despite the comments of the snarky painting of Salazar Slytherin he strode across the bridge eagerly. There was so much he wanted to try.
'You are back,' the ancient painting remarked as he entered. 'That seemed very quick, decided not to go class then.'
'It's been over a day…' Harry trailed off uncertainly.
'How am I supposed to know,' the wizard demanded. 'There aren't any windows and the last I knew the year it was the mid-twentieth century.'
'The century is almost over,' Harry informed him.
'Like I care,' Slytherin retorted. 'I'm a painting. I will exist until I am destroyed, time means little to me now.' Harry raised an eyebrow and wondered how bad Godric Gryffindor must have been if he was the childish one.
'For those who have less time and might wish for more, however, I have a pleasant surprise.' Salazar gestured at his desk with his wand, accidentally dislodging his living serpent necklace.
'A time-turner,' Harry whispered in awe. Hermione had used one last year, but it had required a lot of forms and specific ministry approval from what he'd gathered. This small, golden hourglass might well be the most valuable thing in the chamber.
'Yes,' Slytherin responded testily as his snake slithered back around his shoulders. 'It can't be removed from the Chamber of Secrets, I enchanted it.'
'That's a good thing, very farsighted of you.' Harry could only imagine how much harder it would be to deal with Voldemort if he had one of these.
'I did it so Godric would stop stealing it,' Salazar admitted abashedly. Harry fixed him with a disbelieving stare. 'It's true,' the painting insisted, 'I would never have admitted it otherwise.'
'I thought the two of you were supposed to be enemies not involved in some war of pranks?'
'I did not carry out pranks,' Salazar objected, thoroughly displeased by even the idea. 'We had a healthy spirit of competition. I made all the wards around the castle with Rowena, so he transfigured and enchanted all the gargoyles and suits of armour. When I created the Headmaster's office with Helga, he and Rowena snuck off to make some secret room of their own. They were very proud of it. Especially when I couldn't find it,' he groused.
'What secret room?' Harry inquired, undeniably curious.
'They called it the Room of Requirement,' Salazar explained. 'I never found it, but they never found my Chamber of Secrets either.'
'Any idea where it is?' Harry asked. 'Or what it does?'
'Presumably it is whatever it is required to be, but no, I'm not sure exactly where it is, or how to find it. I narrowed it down to the seventh floor, but it would be a waste of time searching for it when you have all this.' Salazar gestured grandiosely around his secret study, nearly dislodging his snake for a second time.
'True,' Harry agreed. 'I have some magic to practice,' he told the portrait.
'Not in here you don't,' the painting snapped. 'Out into the hall where you won't make a mess of everything. Leave the time-turner there too. It's limited to about twelve hours, but you can come down after class and use it to repeat the day whenever you like.'
It was a good idea and Harry had to concede that without this room he would not be able to go nearly as far this year as he now hoped he could.
'Reducto,' he cried, whipping his wand through two sides of a triangle, and unleashing the blasting curse in the general direction of the dead basilisk.
The dead serpent didn't so much as twitch.
Magically resistant hide, Harry remembered.
'Reducto,' he tried again. The curse sailed past the snake and struck the pile of bones at the far end of the chamber. It left nothing but a very fine dust in its wake.
A few additional attempts, and exponentially more renditions of the mending charm, and Harry had gotten quite adept at changing the strength of the spell.
'Have you finished destroying the finest room in this castle?' the portrait asked acidly when he wandered back into the study.
'I fixed it afterwards,' he defended. 'Do you know anything about using transfiguration and conjuration in duels?'
'I am Salazar Slytherin,' the painting replied indignantly.
'You said Godric Gryffindor was the expert.'
'I'd like to think I know enough to teach a fourteen year old,' Salazar shot back. 'Sit and listen.'
'I've used it before,' Harry mentioned on his way to the chair behind the desk.
'You have?' That seemed to have perked the founder's interest.
'I conjured a basilisk out of ash and killed a wizard who was attacking me,' Harry confessed. His guilt over killing Barty Crouch's son lessened each time he was reminded of it.
'Good for you,' Salazar answered, utterly unconcerned by what was tantamount to murder. 'What was the spell? Serpensortia?'
'I didn't use a spell, I just waved my wand and made it happen.' Harry tried very, very hard to make that sound less childish than it did. He failed miserably.
'Show me.'
'You said not to do magic in here,' Harry objected.
'So pick me up off the wall,' the portrait snarked, 'and carry me out there. It will be nice to have a change of scenery.'
The ancient painting was heavy and Harry staggered clumsily along the bridge hoping very much he didn't fall in. The founder berated him every time he lurched too close to the water.
'Is that my basilisk?' Salazar asked when Harry propped him at the side of the chamber.
'Yes,' Harry gave the enormous serpent another glance.
'She grew a lot,' the founder smiled. 'How did you kill her?'
'With a sword,' Harry replied, keeping a straight face.
'It had better have not been that ridiculously shiny, goblin-made atrocity Godric used to wave around,' Salazar warned.
'It was exactly that sword,' Harry admitted, and the portrait lapsed into a stream of swear words in parseltongue.
'Show me this conjured serpent,' the painting asked once it had regained its calm.
'I managed to repeat it with fire,' Harry began, 'but I don't know how well water will work.'
'Just try, it shouldn't really matter.'
Picturing the basilisk coalescing from the pool just as it had struck from the cloud of ash Harry slashed his wand forwards and well away from himself.
A vast, liquid basilisk maw rose from the pool to crash like a wave against the wall across from Harry. It disintegrated back into the pool in a wild spray after impact.
'Well now,' Salazar remarked, 'that's a very impressive piece of silent battle-conjuration. If you hadn't used a serpent I daresay Godric himself might have deigned to teach you.'
'Er, thanks,' Harry replied. He wasn't sure if anything connected to Godric Gryffindor was compliment when it came from the mouth of the painting of his rival.
'Try again. This time don't imagine a striking snake, but one that hovers in the air over the pool.'
Harry dutifully did so and they watched as the water rose to roil in the form of the king of serpents. It hung for a few seconds, coiling and twisting as it awaited a command, then Harry's magic gave out on him and both he and the snake collapsed.
'I can imagine how tiring that must have been,' the ancient painting said once Harry had regained his breath. 'It looks powerful, but draining. That's not a spell you should be using until you've got a lot better at directing your magic.'
'I have no idea how to do that,' Harry admitted.
Salazar gave him an incredulous look. 'To conjure and animate something like that would require a great deal of magic. Even in my prime I would be capable of wielding it for no more than a minute or two and you're using imprecise wand movements and pouring magic all over the place. Focus on only your spell when you cast it and keep your wand movements small.'
Harry struggled to stand and try again but the painting shook its head. 'Not now. There are some rituals you can undertake to strengthen both your body and magical core.' He eyed his appointed heir critically. 'I'd recommend them. They did Tom Riddle a world of good back when he was scrawny little thing like you.'
'I'm not doing anything that wizard did,' Harry denied vehemently.
'You're going to use the time-turner aren't you?' Salazar asked.
'Yes,' Harry ground out from between his teeth.
'Then you're following in his footsteps already. That time-turner is what made him such a brilliant student. Of course, you're rather more sane than he turned out to be. You don't have delusions of vengeance against muggles or an over-inflated sense of self-worth do you?'
'Not that I am aware of,' Harry answered tensely.
'Good.' The painting nodded. The snake on his shoulders nodded too. 'Use the time-turner, do the rituals, outstrip him and redeem the title of Heir of Slytherin if you dislike the connotations he gave it so much.'
Harry carried the portrait back to its resting place.
'I'm not doing the rituals,' he decided, rubbing his aching arms.
'Suit yourself,' Salazar replied. 'It will make carrying my picture a lot easier if you did. If you happen to change your mind you'll find the ritual books you're looking for in the corner of the library up there.' The painting pointed to a particularly high spot just behind where the ladder rested.
'I'm not doing them,' he repeated wearily.
'I'm not going to force you,' Salazar Slytherin responded, strangely gently. 'You're my heir, the last reputable member of my family as far as I know. I'll help you as much as you allow me, especially since you saved me from the insane ramblings of my poor basilisk.'
'I'm not sure I want to ask,' Harry decided aloud.
'She had nightmares,' Salazar explained simply. 'I think the magic which was used to create her, that which made her loyal to me, punished her for what she did, even if she believed it was what I wanted. I'm glad you put her out of her misery. She is free of Tom Riddle and I no longer have to listen to her tortured raving.'
'Where did she go?' Harry asked after a moment. 'I just walked in here and found the study and it's far too tidy to have housed a seventy foot serpent.'
'She slept underneath,' the painting elucidated. 'When you intend to wake her any parseltongue command would have brought her forth. You wanted to open the door so you came here. A good thing,' the portrait noted, 'since you probably wouldn't have been able to get out of her resting place had you fallen down there.'
Harry threw a glance around the study. He would have liked to stay longer and study more, the shield charm was one of the things he really needed to learn, but he was aware than he had virtually depleted his magic and should probably rest instead.
'I'm going to head back to Gryffindor Tower,' Harry announced. Salazar exploded into another muttered rant about his heir being in Godric's house rather than his own and didn't show any signs of stopping so Harry left him to it. He rather hoped he wouldn't find another founder portrait should he stumble across the Room of Requirement, another one might be too much to bear.
Hermione was waiting for him in the common room when he returned. 'Where have you been?' she demanded. 'I looked in the library, and asked around, but nobody had seen you since you left us after class.'
Harry shrugged vaguely. 'It's easier to work out of sight where I won't be disturbed.'
'Did you finish the essay? I can look over it for you.'
'It's not quite done yet,' he lied. 'I want to check a couple of things, maybe squeeze in an extra bit to give Flitwick a good impression at the start of the year.'
'Good idea,' Hermione agreed. Harry was rather surprised by how well he deceived her. He was also rather sickened by how smooth it had all sounded.
Tom Riddle would be proud.
Salazar had already said he was following in his footsteps and Harry had done his best not to physically flinch from the idea. There had been similarities between them, too many for comfort, but few enough that he could ignore them until the founder's portrait had all but said they were the same.
'Ron's upstairs with Seamus and Dean,' Hermione told him. 'Neville said he was fine, since you were so concerned earlier, but I think the Unforgivables really bother him.'
'The Unforgivable Curses bother everyone except the worst kind of wizards, Hermione. What would you have to be to not be bothered by curses to control, torture and kill?'
'I think they bother Neville more than most,' she replied quietly. 'I'm going upstairs, you're acting differently again.'
Harry watched her disappear towards the girl's dormitories.
Differently.
He was meant to be different. This was the year he started to really fulfil his potential and become strong enough that people like Pettigrew couldn't hurt the ones he cared about. It was a good thing, so why had Hermione sounded so negative about it.
Harry put it out of his mind. Perhaps he'd been a little distant today with his trip to the Chamber of Secrets and he knew Hermione was a little annoyed about him stealing her limelight in some of the classes. She'd get over it. Ron got jealous of him all the time and he always moved on quickly enough. This would be no different.
AN: Enjoy the read and please review.
