Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.
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Chapter 9
Harry woke up on the very cold, very uncomfortable, floor of the chamber. His cheek pressed into the stones and his arms bent oddly beneath him. Everything was blurry.
My glasses, he realised, squinting around in search of them.
The round-framed lenses were lying only a few feet from him, but when he reached out his body protested. Even Oliver Wood's infamously long quidditch training sessions had not made him as stiff and sore as he felt now.
Awkwardly he pushed his glasses back onto his nose and struggled up.
Salazar was sleeping in his frame and the runes he had so painstakingly engraved across the floor of the chamber had faded. The only signs that he had ever undertaken either ritual were his smarting muscles and the incessant throbbing of his head. Harry groaned. He could really used a drink.
Staggering rather stiffly past the snoring Salazar he bent, grimacing, to retrieve his wand. Pointing its tip into the palm of his hand he softly commanded, 'aguamenti.' His imagination was already full of the images and sound of water from thirst, so he hardly needed to focus.
The spray of water reflected of his cupped hand and struck him in squarely in the chest, soaking his robes.
Wonderful.
Harry didn't know any drying spells, which meant he had to go back to Gryffindor Tower and change. There were few places he wanted to be less than there at the moment.
'Oh,' the painting remarked with obvious sarcasm, 'you survived.'
'I feel utterly awful,' Harry ground out as a warning.
'Why are you wet?' Salazar asked curiously. 'The ritual has nothing to do with water.'
'I wanted a drink,' Harry replied obtusely.
'Your magic came out more easily than you expected, then,' the founder deduced. 'Better to get a bit damp than accidentally destroy something important.'
'I've got to go and change,' Harry sighed.
'Well take me back into the study first,' Salazar ordered. 'I've spent enough time near that basilisk already.'
'Fine,' Harry bent and lifted the portrait. His body screamed in protest at the effort, but he made it across the bridge with a few pauses to rest.
'You should really make better use of her,' Slytherin told him as Harry lifted him back up on to the wall.
'Of who?'
'My basilisk, of course.' Salazar gave him a pitying look. 'There's all sorts of useful stuff on that serpent.'
'Like what?' It was a very big snake, but there wasn't all that much you could do with a two year old, seventy food carcass.
'The venom,' Salazar responded straight away. 'The skin and the meat too, but harvesting all that is probably not worth the effort when you can't use it.'
'I'm not going anywhere near that thing's mouth again,' Harry declared adamantly 'One dose of venom was enough for me.' He vividly remembered the feeling of it burning through his veins. It was one of the few things about his first visit here he remembered clearly.
'You were bitten?' Salazar asked in a tone that implied the question, why are you still alive?
'Phoenix tears,' Harry explained.
'About the only things the ridiculous birds produce that's useful,' Salazar grumbled. 'Helga had one of the silly things; it never did anything except steal fruit and set fire to things. Snakes are far better.'
Harry imagined the founder of the serpent house might be a little biased. He was quite fond of phoenixes himself. He did owe his life to Fawkes.
'My wand has a phoenix feather core,' Harry shared, wondering if the other two founder's had had familiars as well.
'I'd bet it's a powerful, but rather limited, wand. Phoenix feather wands do not excel at some of the more delicate aspects of magic.'
'Do you know why?' Harry had always thought the feather of such a potent magical bird would make it an ideal wand core, especially after learning that Tom Riddle's wand had one as well.
'No. Helga told me it might have something to with phoenixes being of fire, which is notoriously difficult to control, but I think she was guessing.' Salazar furrowed his brow in thought. 'You should get your wand checked, really. That ritual can sometimes have an effect on it.'
'It can?'
'That's why I told you to leave it outside of the runes,' Salazar explained. 'You've slightly changed your magical core and how it interacts, inevitably that will have some affect on the conduit you use to channel magic.'
'How great an affect?' Harry was very fond of his wand. It had never let him down.
'Most of the time it's nothing, neither I nor Tom Riddle ever noticed a difference, but sometimes you might need your wand length changed, a different type of wood or even a new core, but I wouldn't worry about it. You could just have a new one made or, if you can't afford it, don't. The old one might not be a perfect match, but it will still work very well for you.'
'I see.' Harry didn't really want or need a new wand. His holly and phoenix one had been through a great deal with him.
'Well, I should leave.' The water had not really begun to dry and even the study with its warming enchantments wasn't managing to keep the cold off him.
'Visit soon,' the portrait responded, 'but take things easy for a day or two. The rituals will take some time to recover from.'
He nodded and left the portrait to nap in his study, swiftly leaving the chamber, pausing only to inspect the maw of the basilisk and method of extracting the venom without sticking the fangs into his arm again.
'Hey, Myrtle,' he called on his way past the cubicle. There was a startled squeak of alarm and the ghost swooped out to see him.
'Have you been down here all night?' she inquired, her cheeks were rather silver and flushed.
'Yes,' he admitted, 'but you can't tell anyone. I need somewhere that's just for me.'
'I won't share, Harry,' she smiled shyly. 'You're the only person that ever comes to visit and talk to poor Myrtle.'
'Thanks,' he gave her his best smile. 'I have to go change. I'm all wet.'
'I noticed,' Myrtle confessed timidly, then her face went bright silver and she fled back into her toilet.
Odd, Harry thought to himself, eyeing the closed door of Myrtle's cubicle. He shook his head when she didn't re-emerge and continued his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
Professor Mcgonagall caught him on the staircase up to the Fat Lady's picture and the entrance to the common room.
'Mr Potter,' she greeted him tersely. 'Where have you been?'
Harry didn't answer. It wasn't like he was about to tell her he'd gone back to the Chamber of Secrets to practice rituals that were now considered dark magic.
'And why are you wet?' she snapped when he didn't respond.
'I performed the water-summoning spell a little too proficiently,' he relied dryly, ignoring his head of house's tone.
'That's a sixth year spell, Mr Potter,' the transfiguration teacher responded slowly. She did, however, look less displeased with him than she had before. 'If you can perform it then very well done, and all the better since you are excused from all lessons you do not wish to attend as Triwizard champion.'
No more potions, Harry exulted internally. Every cloud.
'I hope that smile has nothing to do with not having to attend your lessons, Mr Potter,' Professor Mcgonagall admonished. 'You've come forwards in leaps and bounds from last year, but this tournament is still much too dangerous for any child, let alone a fourth year. I can't believe that so many of the younger years would have the irresponsibility to try and enter their names.'
She swept off abruptly, both warning and compliment delivered in her typical, stern, Scottish-accented fashion.
The Fat Lady gave him a cool look upon presenting her with the password, but swung out of his way regardless.
Really, he wanted to ask, even the portraits?
The common room grew unnaturally quiet when he entered and the moment he was out of sight up the stairs he heard the room break back out into animated conversation. No doubt some choice rumours were about to spring up about his damp appearance.
His dormitory was empty, none of his friends were around, but somebody had charmed the hangings around his bed a dull white rather than Gryffindor's red and gold. It struck him as quite a petty, spiteful thing to do. He returned them to their original colours and ran his eye over everything else for traps or pranks. The Weasley twins had never taken a serious run at him before, but with Ron so clearly against him he wasn't sure whose side they would come down.
It was nice to be dry again. Harry discarded his wet robes onto the pile of not-so-clean clothes and had just begun to cast some locking spells on his trunk when he heard someone enter the room.
'Harry,' a quiet voice greeted him nervously.
'Neville,' he kept his tone neutral. Harry didn't remember seeing Neville's face among those of his hostile reception yesterday, but he wasn't so naive as to believe that Seamus, Ron and anyone else opposed to him being champion wouldn't have given him an earful about his actions already.
'I'm sorry about the others, Harry,' the shy boy said awkwardly. 'They're just angry that you told them you wouldn't enter, didn't want to, and still managed to come away with something they all wanted.'
'Do you believe I put my name in, Neville?' Harry asked him flatly.
'I don't think it really matters,' he admitted, shuffling by the end of his bed. 'I didn't ever want to take part, but everyone else, they were so hopeful, and then you, who never wanted anything to do with it, became champion. It's annoyed them, especially the older students who thought they had a chance.'
'If I could've I would've swapped with them, Nev,' Harry sighed.
'Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean all that much when you can't.'
He's right, Harry realised. It doesn't really matter what I say. I still have what they wanted.
'Anyone share your opinion?' he asked as lightly as possible. 'Or is it just you?'
'Most of the younger students are annoyed you managed to get past Dumbledore when they couldn't, the older ones are resentful, especially Angelina, and Ron, Seamus and Dean were really angry.'
'I'll take that as a no, then.'
'Lavender, Parvati and some of the girls in our year and below don't mind. Hermione seems more worried about you and wherever you're spending all your time than anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament. It's Angelina Johnson and the few who were tipped to be champion who you need to watch out for. They're really not happy you stole their place.'
'I didn't steal anything, Neville. I didn't even know what was happening until I was in the antechamber being told I was the fourth champion.'
'I don't think that's going to make much difference to them, Harry,' Neville shrugged apologetically. 'As far as Angelina and Ron are concerned you promised you wouldn't try and then you did, and got chosen. I don't think she's going to choose you to be seeker next year either.'
'At least it isn't everyone,' Harry replied tiredly. 'I can deal with the hostility as long not all of my friends have abandoned me.'
'I don't think very many people are going to risk openly crossing Angelina or the seventh years,' Neville muttered.
Harry looked up at him sharply, hearing the implied apology for ending their friendship in his tone, but Neville had already left.
Is Angelina that upset over this?
It seemed a little over the top. Cedric had been chosen champion for Hogwarts anyway; if anyone had the most right to be upset with Harry it was him. He supposed that if he had what they all wanted after so obviously not being interested in the competition it was going to step on some peoples' toes.
Getting out of lessons and suddenly improving in classes is only going to exacerbate things, he realised.
There didn't seem to be much of a way out for him. He was damned to be ostracised until everyone realised that he hadn't put his name in or got over their own jealousy.
I will be nothing again.
Harry was used to being nobody, to being alone within the crowd and invisible in plain sight. He could endure, but it might even be worth going to charms, Professor Flitwick had never held anything against him, just to try and reconnect with Hermione. He'd have to wait for Ron to come to his senses before the stubborn prat ever listened to a word he said.
That's if I ever want to speak to him again, Harry decided darkly
Harry wandered back down in to the common room in the hope of coming across one of the few who hadn't decided to avoid him. He could really use a nice normal conversation about something mindless. No emotionally charged topics and no sarcasm.
Lavender and Parvati were giggling by the fire. They shot him sympathetic glances, but he doubted he wanted to be involved in whatever they were gossiping about, so he slumped down and stared into the fire.
'There you are, Harry,' a hand came down on either of his shoulders. The Weasley twins. He regarded them warily.
'Don't need to look so concerned, we're not against you.' They pulled up two chairs of their own, each sitting on the chair their brother had brought.
'You believe me?' Harry inquired, more careful of being hopeful after Neville's reaction.
'If we couldn't get past the age line, how could an ickle fourth year?' They smiled together and shook their heads. 'That's not it at all.'
'Besides, even if you did then we'd only tip our hat to you for tricking the headmaster himself.'
'The problem we face is far more tricky. Fred and I, we're quite close to Angelina and Alicia, and we don't want to ruin that, so I'm afraid we'll have to be keeping our distance. Ginny too. Ron's already written home some garbled version of events and told her to stay away from you.'
'She didn't look too happy about it, though, did she, George?'
'Indeed not, Fred, she hexed our littlest brother good, but she said she really wants to join the quidditch team next year and you know Angelina will hold a grudge, Alicia too.'
'They haven't forgiven us for swapping on our double date with them yet,' Fred admitted, 'and that was almost a year ago.'
'No pranks, and no hard feelings.' They each patted him on the shoulder before leaving him by the fire.
It was beginning to seem that anyone in his house was either against him or afraid of Angelina. The quidditch captain seemed to have considerably more influence than Harry imagined. He could count the remaining members of his house that might risk speaking with him on one finger.
Hermione better believe me, or I might as well just move in with Salazar.
He went to charms early and slipped into the seat in the back corner of the class. Hermione always got to charms before anyone else so she could ask Professor Flitwick questions about the material she had skipped ahead to look at it.
'Mr Potter,' the tiny professor squeaked upon entering the classroom and seeing him. 'I was under the impression that you were excused from classes.'
'I'm excused from the ones I don't want to attend, sir,' Harry explained dutifully.
'Oh,' the professor's face brightened. 'Your mother always loved charms, it must run in the family. You're almost as early as she used to be. Do you have questions for me? Miss Granger normally comes early with questions.'
'I'm keeping up fine, professor,' Harry told him. 'I've actually gotten a little ahead.'
'The tiny charms teacher beamed widely. 'That's great news, you'll need the time to prepare for the tournament. Where have you managed to get up to?'
Flitiwick's smile and encouragement was the first really positive comment he'd had from anyone but Salazar's snarky painting in weeks and Harry couldn't help but go looking for another.
'I've finished all of it,' he admitted quietly.
'All of it,' the professor's jaw dropped, 'but it's October.'
'I did some reading over the summer,' Harry added half-heartedly.
'Quite a lot of reading by the sound of it,' the teacher corrected.
Flitwick retrieved the cap of an ink bottle from his desk and placed it on Harry's desk. 'Can you demonstrate your banishing charm, Mr Potter? It would certainly ease my worries about you being a champion.'
Harry flicked his wand without saying a word and the cap hissed across the classroom to ricochet off the far wall.
'Excellent,' the professor cried. 'Non-verbal as well. I wonder why you even came to class today, Mr Potter, you are well ahead of all your peers.'
Naturally Hermione chose that precise moment to enter the classroom.
'Miss Granger,' the head of Ravenclaw greeted her enthusiastically. 'Your friend has just been demonstrating his astonishing grasp of the banishing spell.'
'Professor,' Hermione greeted, caught a little off guard. 'I had a question about our essays.'
'It's a bit late now, Miss Granger. I'm collecting them at the start of class.'
'Oh.' Hermione looked quite crestfallen.
'Er, Professor Flitwick,' Harry started nervously. 'I haven't got my essay.'
'Don't worry, Mr Potter,' the tiny teacher beamed again, 'you clearly are in no need of the revision that writing that essay would provide and you've been excused from classes regardless, remember.'
'Thank you, professor,' Harry exhaled.
'You can perform the banishing charm?' Hermione whispered, nonplussed, as the other students filed in looking remarkably under eager.
'I've been doing my best to improve myself, especially now I have to compete in the tournament. I thought it might come in useful.'
'That's very wise of you,' Hermione nodded sagely. 'Is that where you've been disappearing off to then?'
'Yeah,' Harry confessed, eager to keep at least one of his close friends. 'I needed to practise somewhere.'
'How far have you got?' Hermione asked in hushed tones.
'I've reached a lot of the sixth year material in both charms and transfiguration,' Harry began hesitantly, very aware that Hermione might not appreciate being outstripped.
'Thats amazing, Harry,' she gasped, then lowered her embarrassedly. 'That's incredible,' she said in a much quieter voice. 'I saw you trying to summon butterflies, but I thought it was a one-off attempt.'
'No,' he shook his head. 'I've got the hang of that now.'
'I can't believe you're ahead of me in two classes now.' Harry glimpsed more than a hint of envy in her eyes.
'You'll still be as good as me at potions, our electives and you're miles better than me at essays,' Harry placated.
'Charms and Transfiguration are my favourites after Arithmancy, though,' Hermione sighed, 'and now you're better than me at them.' She fell silent and quickly began to take notes as Flitwick ran through the wand movement and incarnation for the mending charm. Harry noticed she spent a fair amount of time looking at the banishing charm. Hermione would probably practise that until she could perform it perfectly.
When they began to practice the charm, dropping the small, clay tiles onto the desk and mending them he took his opportunity to ask about the tournament.
'Do you think I put my name in?' he asked her quietly.
'Honestly, I'm not sure,' she answered apologetically. 'You've been different since the summer and the World Cup, distant and withdrawn. I don't know what you're thinking anymore.'
'I promise that I didn't,' he insisted. 'You know I hate the attention.'
'I knew you did before the summer,' Hermione corrected, tapping her wand on her shattered tile and watching as it swept back together. The tile still had cracks in places, but Harry thought it was quite an impressive first try. It had taken him ten attempts to fix his glasses when he had initially started.
'I didn't. I'm not even interested in it and now I've got to take part. Everyone seems to think I'm either a liar or worse. It's like second year all over again.'
'At least you aren't the Heir of Slytherin,' she responded lightly.
Yeah, that would be terrible, he thought sarcastically. Salazar was starting to rub off on him.
'I'm sure it'll all pass, just like things did that year.'
'I had to kill a basilisk to prove my innocence,' he objected, 'and nobody in Gryffindor listened to the rumours back then.'
'It'll be fine.' She tapped the tile again and this time it seamlessly crept back together. 'Ron will get over it, he always does, and when it becomes clear you didn't put your name in everyone will feel rather stupid and come to apologise.'
'I'm not sure I even want them back,' Harry whispered as Flitwick glanced their way.
'Harry,' Hermione looked shocked, 'they're your friends.'
'They aren't acting like it, are they?' He retorted fiercely.
'It's not their fault, you must realise what it looks like. You cast a bit of a shadow Harry and it just keeps getting bigger.'
'Do you really believe that matters?' he asked her incredulously. 'I don't care about it. I've never cared about it.'
'But they do,' Hermione persisted.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. She agreed with them. Hermione thought that it was indirectly his fault.
She's almost as bad as the rest.
He swept his bag back up onto his shoulder and left without a backwards glance. There didn't seem to be much loyalty in the house of the brave from where he was standing.
'Shouldn't you be in lessons, Potter,' Malfoy sneered as he reached the end of the charms corridor.
'Shouldn't you,' he retorted, really not in the mood for his antics.
'I heard your housemates have finally realised what a pretentious, pathetic person you are,' he sniped. 'Even Weasley doesn't want anything to do with you. How does it feel to be ditched by a charity case?'
Harry glanced up and down the corridor. There were no teachers.
He slipped his wand from his sleeve. 'Anything else you'd like to say,' he asked sweetly, placing it's tip between Malfoy's eyes. 'I know a wonderful number of hexes now. I'd love to teach you a couple,' he offered.
'You wouldn't dare,' he blustered.
'Try me,' Harry replied with deceptive calm. 'Please, try me, give me an excuse.'
'You think you're such a big shot, Potter,' Malfoy snarled. 'You're nothing.' Harry flinched internally at his choice of words. 'Everyone knows you're just a cheat and a liar now.'
Malfoy shoved himself out from under Harry's wand, drawing himself up in preparation for another piece of vitriol, but Harry had heard quite enough from the mouthy Slytherin student already.
'You've grown brave, Malfoy,' Harry smirked. 'Talking back to someone who has you at wand point and walking around the castle without your lackeys.'
'Aguamenti,' he intoned, pouring magic into the spell and tapping him on the forehead with his wand.
A stream of liquid burst from his wand tip and Malfoy was drenched in water. 'You probably should have kept your newfound bravado in check, Draco,' he smiled, making sure to be as infuriating as possible.
'I hope you die in the tournament, Potter,' Malfoy spluttered through the water dripping off his face.
'I doubt you're the only one,' Harry declared calmly, 'but I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you.' He slipped his wand back into his sleeve and out of sight. 'Oh, and Malfoy, if I find out you or your father have anything to do with my name coming out of the goblet, I'm going to make you wish you had been competing in my place.'
Harry left him in the corridor, soaked and shivering, with his ever so carefully combed blond hair plastered against his forehead. It was a long, humiliating walk back down to the Slytherin Dungeons from here. Malfoy would be ridiculed and then punished for being late to whatever class he was supposed to be.
Normally it was Malfoy who managed to lure them into trouble, but Harry was done being outsmarted by the arrogant little git.
AN: Read and review. Thanks to those of you have and a special thanks to those who keep doing it again and again.
