Chapter 1- Tick, Tick, Tick

The world sped by as the train flew across the tracks through the countryside. London had melted away hours ago, being shortly replaced with the beginnings of the Scottish countryside. Moors, lakes, mountainous hills, rivers, all insignificant specks on the landscapes when it came to looking to what the train's destination actually was, or rather, the final destination of the students on board.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He wasn't sure how he felt about this. On one hand he was glad, he had chance to learn and would have access to the school's extensive library that would only seek to aid him in his mission. But on the other he would be surrounded by children who didn't even know the meaning of the word hardship, who were incompetent and whiny. He wasn't even able to escape the unfortunate accident that was his twin brother; Saeviour.

Saeviour Sirius Potter; The-Boy-Who-Lived; his older twin; the saviour of the wizarding world; the boy destined to defeat the Dark Lord. Harry snorted. He had seen the boy's magical aura and it was pathetic, barely even reaching that of an average wizard and added to the brat's work ethic, the wizarding world was damned. But Harry preferred it that way. It was just one less thing to worry about.

He had a mission to do, he would not become distracted by years of bitterness and hate. He had to get her out; them out. And there was only one person who could help him do that and if the whispers were anything to go by, he was still alive but close to dying. He just had to find him. And restore him to full strength.

This in itself wasn't easy as it would most likely involve him sneaking out of the castle undetected; ergo he had to get rid of the trace; ergo, he would be visiting the restricted section of the library and taking part in highly illegal activities. Including those that involved finding the Chamber of Secrets and seeing if Slytherin had left behind any books that may have been of use, but, that was sort of a side project for now.

He looked up as the compartment door opened and saw a blonde standing in the frame. It took him a moment but he identified the boy as a Malfoy, and if Lestrange's insane ramblings was anything to go by, their only son and heir. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he instead rolled up his sleeves and gave a small nod of his head towards the young Malfoy. The blonde smirked and walked in, sitting down across from him.

"So Azkaban didn't erase you of your manners then," he drawled.

Harry gave him a cool look. "No, if anything they have improved. The Dementors are very nasty when they don't get their way." And Bellatrix, he added in his head but didn't think the blonde would like that extra comment very much, Lestrange being his aunt and all.

"Tell me, did you ever see my aunt?" the Malfoy questioned. "Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps you've heard of her?"

"Of course," Harry said, his voice clearly bored. "We shared a cell for some time, although she got moved to the one opposite after they caught us duelling."

The Malfoy's eyebrows rose with such speed Harry wondered how they had not just shot off his face. "Duelling?"

"Well there wasn't much else to do," Harry said dryly. "Except have your happiest memories sucked out by the prison guards."

"No, of course not," Malfoy said quickly. "I apologise; it was tactless of me."

Harry shrugged before holding out his hand, "Scion Harrison Potter, although I'd beg you to ignore the Potter bit."

Malfoy looked at him curiously, shaking the hand. "Heir Draco Malfoy, but you can call me Draco, Scion Potter."

"In that case, you may call me Harry."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which Harry returned to his book, but his attention never left Draco Malfoy, he seemed to be squirming over something. Slowly closing the book, he narrowed his eyes.

"If there is something you wish to ask, please, go ahead and ask."

"Were there any other prisoners our age?" Draco blurted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"No," Harry said softly. "But there was one younger…"

Draco's eyes looked horrified. "Who…who were they?"

"Elladora Cynthia Lestrange." Harry turned his head away, staring out at the world rushing past. "I'd rather not talk about this anymore…"

"Just one more question," Draco said. "Please, I have to know…"

Harry studied him; a Malfoy never begged. "Just one," he conceded.

"What did she do?"

The question hung in the air, as Harry looked at the blonde for a long time. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Draco nodded.

"When her parents were captured she was taken from Lestrange Manor by Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice completely neutral; giving away nothing. "She was placed in a muggle orphanage. She was labelled as a freak, a demon, and her magic reacted badly when they tried to cleanse her; she killed seven muggles and two others were injured in the blast. She was three years old…"

"Cleansed her?" Draco repeated warily.

"Exorcism."

"Shit.

Harry gave him a half-hearted amused glance. "Shit indeed."

They sat in silence. Harry continued reading his book but found he could not concentrate with the Malfoy Heir fidgeting uncomfortably before him. He snapped his fingers and a book appeared in his hand, which he promptly chucked at the heir. Draco caught it before snapping round to the ex-prisoner before him, his eyes angry.

"What did you do that for?"

"You looked uncomfortable," Harry said simply. "So I thought I'd lend you a book- no, scratch that- you can keep the book; it rightly belongs to you anyway."

"Oh, thank you." Draco turned the book over and smirked slightly at the title. "The Tales of Beedle and Bard?"

"It was Ella's favourite book," Harry said quietly. "That's her copy too, I thought you might like it."

Draco stared at the slightly scuffed book in his hands. "You were allowed books in Azkaban?" he said hoarsely.

"No," Harry said stiffly. "I have an eidetic memory. I used to tell them to her when she couldn't sleep."

There was an uneasy pause in which the two just looked at each other; Harry broke it by curtly returning to his book. After a moment, Draco flipped open the cover of his own and began reading the children's stories that riddled his childhood. He wasn't sure what to make of Harry, but he knew one thing; Harry Potter cared for his cousin and had told him the truth- that was all he needed in his mind.

.

He sniffed at the unorganised chaos around him; the complete and utter lack of decorum. Students shoved this way and that, laughing loudly, shouting and whistling cat calls at the prettier girls. Only the Slytherins showed any signs of dignity and that in itself was a small mercy swamped by the other three houses. Clumped together before him were the quivering first years, all seemingly terrified of what awaited them. He snarled; they didn't even know the meaning of it.

His twin stood right at the front, a cocky grin of superiority done wrong on his face. The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him had a Weasley hanging off his every word as well as bushy haired girl that seemed to be spouting off a hundred facts per second as they followed the lumbering oaf with the lantern. Was this really what the most prestigious wizarding school in Europe had to offer?

If it was, he was disgusted.

He walked alongside Draco, who appeared, along with a few others, to share his thoughts. Although he could detect, behind the confident swagger, a trace of nerves. He supposed it was natural; no Malfoy had been put anywhere other than Slytherin. At least, that is what he had been led to believe.

As they slipped and stumbled down a narrow path- Harry did no such thing and walked as though it was a perfectly even marble floor- the oaf continued to talk to them, his accent tainting his words enough for Harry to even question whether or not the man was speaking English. He supposed he was, considering he could at least pick out the gist of what he was saying. Something about Hogwarts being round the corner.

And it was. The castle itself was a lot more impressive than the state of its students. Towers reached for the heavens, their windows glowing with golden warmth, and the old stone reached out with embedded magic, welcoming its children home. The only thing that stood between them and the castle was a crystal cut lake and little wooden boats without oars. Harry tensed; he could guess what was going to happen next.

"No more than four ter a boat!" the oaf, Hagrid he believed he was called, roared over the heads.

Harry had never been fond of water. He remembered all too strongly the storm in which he was brought to Azkaban and the aurors escorting him had taken far too much pleasure in allowing him to drown before they dragged him back out of the angry depths; he had been six years old. Six. And they had thought him a monster.

He warily stepped into the boat, sitting down, straight backed- not allowing his unease to show. Draco and two beefy boys that looked like Dumber and Dumber 2 sat down in the boat with him, and they all waited for whatever came next. With a sudden lurch, the boats floated forwards; Hagrid's slowly sinking one leading the way. Harry just about stopped breathing.

If he was anyone else, he would've burst into tears of relief as they touched the shore. But he wasn't. He did, however, allow himself to relax his muscles and a little sigh. And then it was all back; his posture, his mask and his 'mad' glint in his eyes. All part of the plan.

They were led up flights of stone steps and into a small room, before being promptly abandoned to the fate of the stern emerald robed witch before them. She had a pinched face a grey hair that was scraped back tightly into a knot; Harry saw, unlike those around him, the kind flecks in her eyes and the lines around them that showed she was actually capable of smiling and laughing. But she still wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, eyeing them all with her neutral gaze. "Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup.

"In a few minutes the Sorting Ceremony will begin- I suggest you smarten yourselves up a bit whilst you're waiting." Her eyes lingered on the smudge of dirt on Ron Weasley's nose and the hastily, incorrectly, clasped robe of Neville Longbottom's.

Harry watched her leave through narrowed eyes before taking the opportunity to study his classmates. Ron Weasley was in robes that had been handed down one too many times and wore unfortunately visible battered trainers. Evidently he took little pride in his appearance and had a look about him that suggested laziness. A little behind him, prattling on at a hundred words a minute to his dear brother, was a bushy haired Mudblood; a Ravenclaw if he'd ever seen one. Although, she'd annoy even the bookworms with her obsession of reciting textbooks to ease her… A loud shriek interrupted his train of thought and he turned at more screams and gasps to see a group of ghosts floating through the wall.

"They do this, every year," a hoarse, chilling voice said at his shoulder.

Harry resisted the urge to flinch and turned his head to see another ghost, but perhaps the most haunting out of all of them. He was handsome though his face was of stone and his eyes a personal frozen over hell. His robes were stained and bloodied with a tear in that general area.

"And what about you? Do you come to scare the first years every year?" Harry asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"Not every year," the ghost said. "Only when it interests me." The ghost eyed him. "You are the epitome of my house, Scion Potter; you seem to be very carefully thought out."

"Wouldn't want to give myself away now, do I?" he replied. "And your house?"

"The Bloody Baron," the ghost introduced. "Ghost of Slytherin House."

"I see…" Harry studied the ghost more closely, "Do you not have a name of your own?"

"I did once but even that has got lost in time," the Baron said morosely. "I bid you farewell Scion Potter- I look forward to seeing you amongst my house."

He watched the ghost go thoughtfully as the other spectres left, exiting through the opposite wall. He was not given much chance to think too much on the enigma, as the bane of his existence called up his name in conversation.

"What? How could they even let him into the school?" the Mudblood whispered in horror.

"The Ministry are claiming false-imprisonment," Saeviour informed the bookworm all too eagerly. "That a new light has come up on the case. But I know better…they should've left him to rot…"

He felt his fists clench; his cold emeralds blazing like the fiery depths of hell of which many claimed he heralded from. The Avada Kedavra green curling and flicking, just begging to be allowed to have a go at the source of their anger, their hatred.

"Perhaps they should have, dear brother," he interrupted coolly, earning a startled gasp from the Mudblood. "At least then I wouldn't have to put up with you, and…" he eyed the girl with disdain, "…your vapid companions. Surely the little Mudblood can form her own opinions rather than ooh and gasp at your less than stimulating conversation?"

He almost laughed at the reaction he caused. He had no doubt that his gormless brother only understood the little derogatory word he had slipped in, whereas the Mudblood had understood everything except that. But whilst she fumed, Saeviour held a wand to his face; pitiful.

"Mr Potter!" a stern voice snapped. "Put that away this instant."

Growling, Saeviour did as he was told, turning to face the deputy headmistress. Professor McGonagall looked down at her soon to be lion, as The-Boy-Who-Forgot-To-Die could end up nowhere else, with somewhat forced anger. Her hardened eyes flickered to himself and he gave her a charming smile in return; she flinched. She had not forgotten what he had been falsely imprisoned for.

"Form a line, quickly now," Professor McGonagall ordered, her wary eyes never leaving his.

The crowd were quick to obey and pushed and shoved their way into a line; none of them wanted to be first. Harry dropped the gaze with the Deputy Headmistress, ducking his head to hide a scowl. He could not afford to live under suspicion just yet; it was rightly placed suspicion, but it wasn't wanted. Not in the slightest.

"Follow me."

The Great Hall was something to be held in the same light as the exterior view of the castle. The stone walls basked in the orange haze that was emitted in glowing waves from the tips of the candles that floated above the sea of black robes. Four long tables stood perpendicular to the table that sat the teachers on a raised platform; the students sitting at them divided into four houses; Gryffindor, the house of the brave; Hufflepuff, the house of the loyal; Ravenclaw, the house of the smart; Slytherin, the house of the cunning. Plates made from metals suiting the houses accordingly were lined up along with matching forks and goblets, waiting patiently for the feast to begin. Before the teachers' table was a rickety wooden stool, which upon sat a dirty hat and a roll of parchment.

Professor McGonagall left them at a halt in-between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses, before stepping up to the stool and taking the roll of parchment into her hands. Then, the rip in the dirty old hat stretched open, and began to sing…

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Harry just about resisted the urge to sneer as the Hat finished its song and the hall erupted into applause, though the Slytherins looked rather reluctant to do so. As the applause died out, Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat into the air, the parchment now unrolled and floating before her.

"When I call your name," she began, her voice clear. "You will come forth to be sorted." After a moment's pause she continued. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl with pigtails nervously hurried forward and sat down on the stool. The hat was on her head for a mere few seconds before it called out,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry's gaze followed the new badger to the cheering table, before snapping back to the task at hand. Already more names were being called out, though Harry paid little attention. He was instead internally fretting on whether or not the Sorting Hat could give him away. He had faith in his Occlumency shields, of course, he was taught by the best Azkaban had to offer, but he was sure the four founders had thought of that little tit bit and found a way for the Hat to get past them with little difficulty.

"Potter, Harrison!"

The effect was instant as the hall fell into a cool silence and the lighting took on an eerie look. A smirk caused a twitch at the side of his mouth, and he allowed the madness within to cause a gleam in his eyes. He had a part to play after all.

He walked with perfect, lither grace up to the rickety old stool and with a graceful twirl, he sat down. The Hat was lowered onto his head, blocking out the rest of the world with old, dirty material infused with a magic almost as old as the castle. The side of his mouth twitched again.

"Can you tell anyone anything that you see in my mind?" He was straight to the point, there was no point dancing around the subject. The Hat would see it anyway.

"No, that was one thing Rowena and Salazar was very clear on when they first made me," the Hat said. "I am sure that comes as a great relief to you, considering what you plan to do."

"Of course," Harry answered. "But I feel anyone would be relieved to know that they're innermost thoughts could not be shared with the likes of the headmaster or their fellow students."

"You were wronged at such a young age," the Hat murmured. "Normally I would say not to go about revenge but…I see the revenge you intend to bring about is something the wizarding world much needs. Many of the wizards and witches of old would turn in their graves at seeing how magic is shunned in these times."

"It is truly disgusting," he agreed. "Muggleborns and the like have poisoned our world with their prejudiced ways for too long, just as weak minded individuals in power have bent over backwards to them for too long. I am sure I would be turning in my grave with them."

"It is strange, don't you think, that they imprisoned you falsely for murder, but now that they have you released you, you intend to go about just that."

"If they had wished me not to, they shouldn't have imprisoned me. Or perhaps I would have done so anyway simply because I had begun to loathe my parents even before my incarceration…That is something to muse about."

"I would not spend too long on that," the Hat advised. "You already know that I shall send you to Slytherin, and I see you wish to seek out the Chamber. My advice is to seek out the man who made it first, for only he will be able to tell you where it is in the little time you have."

"And how will I find him?"

"Slytherins always stick to their own."

"Hmm…"

"It was a pleasure looking into your mind Scion Potter, it was certainly a refreshing change."

"Glad my mind could be of service."

"Remember my advice Scion Potter…" The Hat pulled out of his mind and shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

As the Hat was removed from his head by a trembling hand, he looked out upon the silent, still hall. Inclining his head to them all, he walked over to Slytherin table with the same grace he had walked up to the stool with, as they slowly began to clap, each move controlled and dignified. Harry allowed a smirk to grace his features. He had, after all, earnt it.

Update: All grammar and spelling errors is gone, I believe.