Harry hoped sincerely that the recent circumstances would not make Hagrid reconsider supporting him during the Quidditch game. Because the latest point of division between Slytherin and the other three houses centred around Harry himself, and particularly the matter of Hermione's petrification. All suspicion was taken off Malfoy's back and the Hogwarts students were united in their conviction that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. Even the Slytherins themselves were as well, but that led to entirely different reactions.

Like one Monday morning, on his way to Transfiguration, when a fourth-year boy with an exceptionally pimpled face had stopped him on his way to ask who was next on his hitlist.

'I dunno,' Harry murmured, so sick of these kinds of questions from his fellow house-mates that the shock of people actually being supportive of his supposed status as the Heir of Slytherin had long since worn off. 'Who are you, even?'

'Patrick Thickletum. Me great-grandpa is a Muggleborn but other than that we're pure… I think. Anyway, there's this Muggleborn bloke in my year, right,' the boy hissed, 'Billy O'Dowell, Hufflepuff. He's a right prick. No one would miss him, and people've seen going to the Owlery after curfew sometimes.'

'Okay.'

'Catch you later, Potter!' And the boy was gone.

'Who was that, then?' another voice asked behind Harry.

He turned around and saw Ron Weasley catch up with him, also on his way to their shared Transfiguration lesson.

'What were you two whispering about?' he pressed.

'Nothing,' said Harry. 'I thought you suspected Malfoy of being the Heir of Slytherin?'

Ron narrowed his eyes. Several of their classmates cast appraising glances at them while they went up the stairs to McGonagall's classroom.

'You've been whispering to an awful lot of Slytherins like that, haven't you?' Ron asked, ignoring his question.

'They've been whispering to me,' replied Harry. 'I don't exactly ask for it, you know. Will it ever get through to you that I didn't do those attacks?'

'Don't try it, Harry.' Daphne appeared on his other side as they reached the top of the stairs and turned left. 'Us Slytherins just have an air of mystery and deceit around us. Gryffindors have been taught to never take our word for anything. Isn't that right, Weasley?'

'Exactly,' said Ron, who in Harry's opinion was entirely too much in agreement with her.

The door to the classroom was already open, and they all went inside, finishing their conversations in hushed tones.

'Do I really have an air of mystery around me?' Harry whispered to Daphne.

'No,' she giggled. 'Not to me, at least.'

'What does that mean?'

'Mr Potter, Miss Greengrass!' called Professor McGonagall, rising to her feet behind the teacher's desk. 'You'll have plenty of time for chit-chat, but not in my classroom.'

Daphne shot one last teasing smile his way and quickly took her place a few rows in front of him.

With a strange ache in his chest he sat down at his own table, next to Sophie Roper.

He missed Hermione. She was one of the few people who he could actually talk with, and on top of that they had their shared secret of the strange dreams and their connection with paintings inside the castle. Now that she wasn't there anymore, her nosy attitude and insistence on spending every minute of spare time in the library seemed far less bothersome than it had done before.

He did his best to listen to McGonagall's lecturing and participate in the practical part of the lesson, but was only marginally successful at it. If Sophie noticed his absent behaviour, she didn't make any mention of it.

The stares, the whispers and the adoration of the bigoted section of Slytherin house quickly became too much, and Harry's separation from the rest of the students was made literal when he began to spend most of his free time in Maud-Marianne Melanchton's secret meeting room. The cold of the room didn't bother him that much, but the claustrophobia of being surrounded by dark, solid granite walls on all sides made him glad for the regular Quidditch trainings.

There couldn't be a bigger contrast in Harry's mind between the solitary hours in the secret room doing homework, writing in his diary and trying in vain to decipher the antiquated script of the books and scrolls hidden away there; and the trainings spent soaring through the crisp winter sky, passing quaffles to each other and dodging bludgers while searching for the snitch.

What made those moments with the Slytherin team even more welcome was that they were the only respite from the fearful atmosphere that had descended over Hogwarts. After Hermione's petrification in the hallway, the worry that many students felt had turned to outright panic. Dumbledore had even hired guard trolls to patrol the hallways after curfew, which made any nightly trips to the Restricted Section or the secret room all but impossible. During the day no one walked the halls alone anymore, and the teachers had become far more rigorous in checking the register before every lesson, to make absolutely sure that they would know if anyone was missing.

'But not to worry, kids!' a cheerful Lockhart proclaimed after going through the names of their class. 'I am mighty close at catching whoever did all of this. And I assure you, they will regret choosing to strike while I am in this castle, you can be sure of that!'

Finally, after several anxious and lonely weeks, the day of Harry's first game dawned, and he found himself standing next to Adrian Pucey, broom in his trembling hands as they listened to the roaring crowds just outside the changing room.

'Chin up, Harry,' said Adrian, bumping his elbow against him. 'Focus on the game now. Just remember how you flew at the trainings, and you'll be fine.'

Harry looked up at the older boy and cracked a nervous smile, and turned his eyes back to the gap between the flaps of the tent that showed the Quidditch pitch, lush and green in the early February sun.

'Everyone ready?' shouted Marcus Flint. 'Let's go!' And one by one, they flew out through the opening, onto the pitch. Harry mounted his own broom and followed Adrian into the air.

Cheers rose up from the green section of the audience, and jeers from every other. Harry was sure that much of it was directed at him, the suspected Heir of Slytherin. And through all of that noise rose the amplified voice of Lee Jordan: 'AND THERE ARE THE SLYTHERINS: CAPTAIN FLINT… BLETCHLEY… MONTAGUE… DERRICK… BOLE… PUCEY… AND THEIR NEW SEEKER: POTTER!'

Particularly loud boos rose up from the stands. Harry gripped the handle of his Nimbus tighter and rose up a bit higher and watched the Hufflepuff team getting in position on the opposite side of the stadium. Their seeker, a tall boy named Cedric Diggory, was looking straight at him with a stony expression.

'YES, POTTER JOINS THEIR TEAM AMONG CONTROVERSY AND THE UNFORTUNATE TIMING OF THE PUBLICATION OF ANOTHER BOY WHO LIVED BOOK…'

Harry clenched his jaw and instead returned Diggory's stare. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the balls were released. Harry and Diggory rose up even further and began circling the pitch while the chasers and beaters below converged on each other.

'THE SLYTHERINS TAKE IMMEDIATE ADVANTAGE OF THE SPEED OF THEIR BROOMS, WHICH WERE GIFTED TO THEM BY THEIR PREVIOUS SEEKER'S FATHER… ONE HAS TO WONDER WHETHER OR NOT HE'S REGRETTING THAT PURCHASE NOW… BUT FLINT STORMS AHEAD, PASSES IT TO PUCEY… AND THORNE'S FINGERTIPS DENY AN EARLY GOAL FOR SLYTHERIN!'

Harry tried to keep one eye on the proceedings below and another on Diggory, who was mirroring his circling pattern. But so far there was no sign of the Snitch. Harry had no specific assignment to speed up the game or draw it out, because the title was lost already. But Hufflepuff was definitely still in the race, and Flint thought that Diggory might be looking for an early victory, before the superior Slytherin chasers could ramp up the score too much.

But the Hufflepuff seeker hadn't made any dives or sudden movements. After a wild start with a few nasty fouls, the game settled into a flow. Slytherin scored a few times, to Lee Jordan's loud dismay, while Harry and Diggory kept circling each other high above the pitch.

Despite himself, Harry still felt his attention slipping away from the search from time to time to watch the Slytherin chasers perform yet another carefully orchestrated attack.

'FLINT… PUCEY… BACK TO FLINT, WHAT A PASS! THORNE STORMS OUT TO INTERCEPT… BUT FLINT FINDS THE UNGUARDED LEFT POST! 60-10 FOR SLYTEHERIN!'

The Slytherins in the stands roared in joy and Harry couldn't resist somersaulting with his broom in celebration before focusing on finding the snitch again.

But as he scanned the sky around the stands and the field, his eyes fell on the scenery behind the stadium: between the lake reflecting the bright sunlight and the snow-covered lawns, the Hogwarts castle stuck out between them as a dark entity, its towers rising up high against the heavenly blue sky, its shadow cast far up the surrounding terrain. There was something about this black granite mass that sparked some deep fear in Harry, so sudden and unnatural that he barely knew how to put it into words in his diary that evening. It was as if its towers grew more slender and reached higher and higher, like skeletal fingers grasping at the sky, and it was as if its shadow grew larger and darker the longer he looked at it…

But then, below him, flickering in the sunlight, was a speck of gold. Harry glanced quickly at Diggory – he was looking the other way. Harry didn't hesitate, and pushed the nose of his broom down into a deep dive.

The speck of gold of the Snitch had moved away considerably, further towards the centre. The sounds of the crowd and commentary dimmed as blood and wind rushed through his ears. From the corner of his eye he saw Diggory making a diving motion towards him. The Snitch, previously moving more towards the Hufflepuff Seeker, seemed to realise this, and descended further down towards the pitch to evade him.

Harry pressed himself tighter against his broom, picking up even more speed. Everything became a blur, except for the Snitch and Diggory's fast approaching form.

The green of the pitch came closer and closer. Harry and Diggory locked eyes. Would the other pull out? Diggory was known for his agility and speed, and his refusal to give up on a chase. But Harry hadn't played a single game and so Diggory couldn't know what to expect from him… All that went through their heads while the Snitch stopped right above the ground, as if daring them both to go on. They would surely crash into each other, and then the ground… But then Diggory disappeared from his periphery, and all he saw was the detail on the small golden ball, and the dream of being cheered on by everyone as he lifted the Quidditch Cup…

His hand closed around the ball as he closed his eyes and desperately yanked the front end of his broom up, expecting his feet to dig into solid ground or Diggory to barrel into him at any moment… but it didn't happen. He opened his eyes and found himself hovering not three feet above the grass. Diggory was above him, shaking his head, and he quickly flew away. Harry barely had time to lift his fist grasping the Snitch up before his teammates barrelled into him.

'A DIVE THAT SHOWED GUTS YOU'D NEVER EXPECT FROM A SLYTHERIN! POTTER DARED DIGGORY TO FOLLOW, AND CAME OUT THE BRAVEST OF THE TWO! THAT WAS EITHER A FINE BIT OF FLYING, UTTER LUNACY, OR MAYBE BOTH! BUT SLYTHERIN WIN WITH A COURAGEOUS CATCH FROM THEIR NEW SEEKER!'

The Slytherin stand roared in joy as Marcus pounded Harry's back so hard he found himself short of breath. The otherwise silent and emotionless Montague grabbed him by his hair to kiss the top of his head. Hagrid, easily noticeable in the Professor's stand, jumped and clapped while the other teachers looked at him in bemusement.

Harry held the Snitch as tight as he could in his fist as he joined his teammates in celebrating in front of their House, vowing to never, ever, forget his first Quidditch victory.

'Next year, Flint!' he bellowed in his captain's ear as he wondered whether Snape was actually smiling at him from his seat in the teacher's box. 'That cup is ours!'

'I'll hold you to that, you bloody maniac!' Flint shouted back, grinning from ear to ear. 'Just don't kill yourself trying to outdo this catch!'

That game was the thing that finally made the Slytherins truly accept Harry as one of their own – all the Slytherins, not just the blood-purists who were egging him on to take another Muggleborn victim. All week he received congratulations from his house mates, with only a few of them ribbing him that he had outed himself as a secret Gryffindor. Hagrid was equally enthusiastic, and strangely enough even Dean Thomas had complimented him on his catch.

The following Sunday found Harry walking to the library to finish a few essays. It was Valentine's Day, and Lockhart had set an army of tutu-wearing, Valentine poem-reading dwarves on the students. Harry's heart sank when he felt a tug on his robes on the moving staircase, but breathed a sigh of relief when he turned around to see Terry Boot asking if they could have a chat.

They went off the stairs into a busy corridor and stopped next to a dark image of pale mountains with a great ark stranded on the highest one, and a stream of ghostly animals leading out from it.[1]

'I was just wondering if you wanted to join us for some studying again,' said Terry without preamble. 'Binns gave you an essay to do as well, right? On the witch trials?'

'Yeah, he did.' Harry sighed and rubbed his neck. 'To be honest with you, Terry: I don't know if I want to join you and the others again.'

'Why not?'

Harry frowned, but then remembered how uncomfortable Terry looked whenever the other Ravenclaws talked about Muggles. 'Well, it's just… The way the others like Padma and Michael spoke about Muggles… I don't know, it just didn't really sit right with me.'

Terry seemed to deflate before his eyes, and he scratched his blond hair into disarray. 'Mate, tell me about it. That's kind of why I asked you, you know? Cause you grew up with Muggles as well, so you're not as… what's the word? Prejudiced.'

'You're bothered by it too, aren't you?'

'Yeah… Honestly, I really am.'

'D'you know where that comes from? Because it just completely came out of the blue for me. Remember that one time you explained to Padma what a pencil was, and she was looking at you like there was something wrong with you?' He chewed his tongue. 'From the Slytherins I'd expect that sort of thing, but is this sort of thing really that common here?'

'I dunno…' said Terry, staring at the painting of the ark, clearly deep in thought. 'It's just a part of the Wizarding World, I guess. My parents don't really talk about it much. But, you know – it is what it is, I guess, and ‒'

He stopped and turned around when they heard some commotion further away.

'… what's with these stupid dwarves anyway? Get out of my way, you cretins!' Harry instantly recognised Malfoy's voice.

Harry was about to ask Terry whether he'd been victim of Lockhart's Valentine surprise yet, when a dwarf dressed in pink tutu emerged from the crowd and tugged on his sleeve.

'Are you Harry Potter?'

'Err… yes,' he said, trying to tug his arm out of the dwarf's grip. 'But listen, not here, okay?'

'Yes here,' said the dwarf, pulling him back with surprising strength.

'Look at all the people around us!' hissed Harry in mounting panic, seeing far too many familiar faces among the amassed crowd, including Malfoy and – her hair clearly noticeable between other students ‒ Ginny Weasley.

'Let me go!' he whispered, giving an almighty tug one more time to try and get away, but the dwarf suddenly let go of him, and Harry toppled onto his back with a startled cry.

'Not until I have given you your poem,' replied the dwarf, crawling on his chest and pinning his arms down.

'Just get it over with, mate,' whispered Terry, who looked entirely too amused at the situation as the dwarf began to recite:

'His eyes are as green as the snake on his clothes;

It suits him so well, the house that he chose.

And I know the real him,

Is not quite so grim,

So your secret admirer gives you this rose.'

Harry was far too aware of the laughter that filled the hallway. The dwarf laid a rose on his chest and blew him a kiss before jumping to his feet and rushing away.

'Terry, mate,' Harry mumbled, feeling the heat of shame rise to his cheeks as he scrambled to his feet. 'I'll be drowning myself in the loo if you're looking for me.'

He didn't catch what Terry replied to him, and instead pushed past Dean Thomas and a few other students, chucked the rose to the ground and hurried all the way down to the dungeons to hide in Melanchton's secret chamber. Desperate to think about anything else than what had just happened, he pulled some old tomes off the shelves. His hands still burning from the memory of having that poem recited to him in front of everyone, he opened a particularly thick one, with a faded yellow-ish cover.

'BESTIARIUM,' was the word he managed to discern from the damaged title page. The book had a thick red ribbon attached to it, and with some trouble he lifted the many thick parchment pages to look at which page the previous reader had bookmarked centuries ago. He breathed out and some of the tension left his body. Boring as they were, at least these books didn't embarrass him in front of the entire school.

His eyes are as green as the snake on his robes.

He clutched the book harder and tried to focus on the words on the page instead. But they were unreadable: he didn't understand the language, which seemed to be Latin, and the ink had faded too much in many places. But the image of a large snake with oddly vibrant yellow eyes was still clear, as well as the name of the beast below it: 'Basiliscus.'

His eyes are as green as the snake on his robes.

'Basilisk,' he whispered, unable to keep quiet due to the rush of euphoria that suddenly stirred in him.

Could this be the Monster of Slytherin? All he knew about Basilisks, from books and overheard conversations in the common room, was that their gaze was lethal, and their venom one of the most powerful among all magical creatures, capable not only of killing their victims within minutes, but also of destroying objects and artefacts that were otherwise impervious. But there was nothing he could remember about a basilisk that turned people into stone, although it seemed too much of a coincidence that everywhere he searched for clues, he always seemed to encounter more snakes.

He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, and then grabbed the one next to it.

The first few pages were dedicated to a list of names and dates. Some were uninteresting, like Henwick Doe or Julianne Evelyn, but the name Elizabeth Greengrass stuck out to him. He resolved to ask Daphne about her family history one day ‒ if he could bring up the courage. The year this book was written in, was 1591.

An idea struck him, and he quickly retrieved A Secret History of Hogwarts from one of the shelves (he'd put it here permanently, or at least until Hermione would wake up again) and after looking up the right page his suspicion was confirmed: this journal had been written in two years after Melanchton's death.

So they continued whatever they were doing here after her death?

The notes on the first few pages, although barely legible, began with an elaborately ornate letter in the top left corner. He couldn't tell which letter it was supposed to be, as the handwriting was completely alien to him, but whoever had written in this, had drawn snakes in the margins as decoration. To Harry it all began to merge together: the snake emblem of Slytherin, the two unnerving snakes above the fireplace in the corridor, the small serpentinite rock lying on the shelf in this chamber, the bookmarked page on the Basilisk…

He renewed his attempt to decipher what was written here, and eventually (his heart gave a jolt) he found Maud written there, on the third line. And suddenly things began to make more sense, and letter for letter, word for word, he transcribed the passage:

… the seconde year since our Maud has vanished and we have chosen not to lye in Wait for further Tidinges, but wyll search for her ouerselves. Beatrice is certayne that she is in this Castel. For, sayed she, was it not Maud who discovvered that throughout the Ages many Personnes have vanished? Was it not Maud who douted that the great Salazar Slytherin had truely left the Castel after his famouse Quarrelle with Godric Gryffindor? Was it not Maud who was certayene that the Castel itselve condemned the Venturings that we undertake?

Ouer new Professor will not grant to us the olde Protections given to us by Maud, and has warned that he will not indurate secrete Searches that the Headmaster has forbidden, and so we muste be vigilant and dylygent, and for this Reasone I have procured a Cloaque of Invisibilitie.

More than ever, Harry wished Hermione was here with him. Not only would she have been much better at making sense of the handwriting, she also would have immediately known several books she could borrow from the library that would help make this a bit clearer. But even then, Harry was certain that what he had just read was important.

So Melanchton had not died, but disappeared? And these people, her pupils, seemed almost convinced that there was something in the castle itself which had caused it. Was this just superstition, or did they have reason to believe this?

His rumbling stomach informed him that deciphering the text had taken a lot longer than he realised. The embarrassment of the poem seemed very long ago now as well. He placed the ancient book back on its faded oak wood shelf and doused the conjured lights one by one as he walked back up the uneven carved steps. And then he heard a sound that made him stop in his tracks.

'Rip, tear, kill… I want to rend your bones.'

The hairs on Harry's neck stood up, and he quickly looked back into room. It was almost shrouded in darkness again, as it had been for centuries until he'd discovered it once more. But there was nothing.

He shook his head and climbed the stairs further. The suit of armour slid aside for him to pass and slowly closed behind him again.

'I have not eaten for so long… I smell blood…'

That ethereal voice was there again, seemingly coming from the walls themselves… Yet the dark dungeon corridor was empty. His thoughts wandered to the ancient speculation on Melanchton's disappearance. 'The Castel itselve condemned the Venturings that we Undertake', it had said there, in centuries-old scrawl. And now, some four hundred years after that mysterious author had written that down, Harry felt his skin crawl at that very same thought. The grey walls, the granite arches, the tiled floor… In that moment, as Harry strained his ears for more whispers, it all didn't seem so welcoming anymore. He let out a quiet whimper and ran back upstairs towards the Great Hall.

His heart was still pounding as he sat down at the Slytherin table. All seemed normal, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He even almost welcomed Malfoy's familiar taunting as he passed by him ('enjoyed your poem, Potter?'). But everyone was here, just chatting with each other and eating lunch. Perhaps that diary entry was just superstition after all.

Harry was about to smear butter on his toast when the normal chattering seemed to die down, and he heard someone talk loudly near the entrance.

'… Telling you, his body's right there, in the bathroom! Like his own reflection scared him so much he turned to stone! His hands still had soap on them!'

He stood up, and saw that it was an older Ravenclaw talking in animated fashion to some others at the doors. Others stood up as well, muttering broke out and got louder and louder…

'SILENCE!' bellowed Dumbledore. Every student turned to the Head Table as the Headmaster slowly rose from his seat. It was instantly quiet. 'Mr Godfrey, please explain to me what you have seen.'

'There's been another attack, sir!' the Ravenclaw cried. 'In the boy's loo on the second floor. Dean Thomas has been petrified, right there, in broad daylight!'

Several panicked shouts rose up around the hall, but it seemed like all students waited in terse silence for what Dumbledore was about to say next. He was unmoving in his chair, and slowly stroked his long, grey beard. Then, in a soft voice that nonetheless carried throughout the entire Great Hall, he said:

'Prefects, please escort all students back to their common room. Teachers, please follow me to the second floor. Mr Godfrey, you may come with us as well.'

Everyone seemed to be shocked into silence as they followed their prefects out of the Great Hall to their respective common rooms. Harry heard a few hushed conversations among other students here and there, speculating who they saw come in for lunch late and who was missing. A fair few appraising eyes were cast on him as well.

They entered the common room and were told by the prefects that everyone was to stay here until they were given permission to leave again.

Harry waited until everyone gravitated to their own favourite place, and when he was certain that Daphne wasn't watching him anymore he rushed up to his dormitory. He donned his Cloak and snuck out, hoping no one had seen the common room entrance open and close.

As he arrived at the second floor bathrooms, the teachers had already assembled. Harry saw Filch's crooked back as well, and a flash of thankfulness shot through his mind as he remembered that Mrs Norris was also petrified. That cat always seemed to know he was there, even if he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak.

'… same thing as with the others, Albus,' said the slightly muffled voice of Snape inside the bathroom. 'Turned to stone, eyes wide open in fear. Mr Godfrey was right, he still has soap on his hands. This was an extremely sudden attack.'

'There are dried tears on his cheeks,' said Flitwick. 'And his eyelashes are wet. Curious…'

'Did you see anyone here, Mr Godfrey?' Albus asked.

'No, sir,' said Godfrey with a trembling voice. 'I mean, it was practically deserted here. No one really stays here, so close to that… text on the wall.' There was a pause. 'But I just really needed to go. So I told my mates to wait for me at the stairs, just in case. But then I opened the door, and Dean was right here, exactly the way he is now. And that's when I ran to the Great Hall.'

Dumbledore took some time before he responded.

'Very well, Mr Godfrey. Thank you for your explanation. Please follow Professor Flitwick to your Common Room, and stay there with your housemates.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said an audibly relieved Godfrey. Harry watched him and Flitwick depart. After they disappeared down the hall, the discussion continued.

'You don't think a student like Potter could have done something like this, Albus?' asked McGonagall.

'I do not,' said Dumbledore. 'And Severus agrees with me. This is dark, advanced magic, far beyond the capabilities of even our most gifted N.E.W.T. students.'

'Even… The most talented N.E.W.T. student we've ever had here in this school?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Perhaps it would not have been beyond his capabilities, no. However, I'm beginning to consider the thought that this could not have been the work of a witch or wizard at all. Perhaps the rumours of a Monster could be true after all.'

'The last time this happened,' said McGonagall, 'Hagrid was expelled for it. They blamed him and that blasted "pet" of his, I remember. But ‒'

'Hagrid has my utmost trust,' Dumbledore interrupted. 'I did not think it was him who did it last time, and I do not think it is him now.'

'Then… who?' asked Snape slowly.

It was silent.

'I reckon it might be some form of poison,' said Lockhart in a jovial tone that clashed horribly with the mood of the others. 'Why, when I was in Tibet, I ‒'

'This is no poison,' Snape interjected.

'Oh. Erm… But I assure you that if you read Dances with ‒'

'And I assure you,' hissed Snape, 'that it is me who is the Potion's Master. Not you, Lockhart.'

Harry was surprised when Lockhart didn't press the matter anymore.

'This might be the end of Hogwarts, you know,' said McGonagall then, so softly that Harry could barely hear it. She sniffed. 'Four students now, Albus. Four.'

'And Mrs Norris,' croaked Filch.

'The Board of Governors has made itself heard already when the Weasley twins were petrified,' McGonagall continued. 'If you don't close the school now, then I'm afraid they'll do it for you. The troll guards have not helped one bit, the curfew turned out to be useless now that this attack has happened in broad daylight, and I'd bet the students and their parents are not willing in the slightest to finish this semester here.'

Harry could almost imagine Dumbledore stroking his beard in deep thought.

'You know Lucius Malfoy,' Snape added. 'I would think that unless you catch and expel whoever might have done this, he will most certainly press the matter and use it for whatever ulterior motive he might have.'

'And then he will frame Hagrid again.'

'Do you have any suspicions of who it might be, Headmaster?'

'Suspicions, ideas, theories… One more outrageous than the other…'

'What about the Potter boy, though?' asked Filch. 'Half the student body is convinced it's him already!'

'Preposterous!' cried Lockhart. 'I assure you that I have been alone with him quite a few times during this year, and not once has he attempted anything strange.'

'Have you now?' asked McGonagall sharply.

'But surely Mr Potter would not attempt anything foolish when he is around an accomplished fighter of the dark arts such as you, Lockhart?' Snape drawled. Harry barely suppressed his laugh.

'S-surely you're not saying…' Lockhart stuttered.

'Potter has not shown any motivation nor talent for these attacks,' Snape continued. 'And I have better things to do than to pay any serious attention to the empty-headed gossip of schoolchildren. Albus, unless you have something else to say…'

'No, I'm afraid I don't,' Dumbledore sighed. 'Please make sure you visit your house's common room to see if there's anyone else missing. I will organise a meeting tonight to…'

Harry didn't catch the rest of the sentence, as he had started to run back to the dungeons to try and head Snape off.

In his hurry he almost missed a small figure with long red hair disappear up the stairs further ahead.

He paused, and for a brief moment of adrenalin-fuelled determination he changed his course for the stairway. But then he remembered that he was supposed to be back in the common room before Snape, and he reluctantly stopped chasing after who he'd just seen.

When he arrived at the common room, he barely had time to take off his Cloak in a secluded spot and join the others in the central area before Snape arrived.

He tried listening to their head of house giving them a speech about extra safety measures and the fact that it was possible that the school would be temporarily closed soon, but he was distracted by the distinct feeling that he was being watched. And sure enough, out of the corner of his eyes he saw Daphne looking straight at him with narrowed eyes. Apparently his getaway hadn't gone unnoticed.

When Snape parted with the warning that anyone caught out of bounds would be immediately expelled, Daphne marched straight up to him through the crowd of mingling students who sought each other out to discuss what had happened.

'The usual spot, Potter,' she whispered, and she tugged him along in the direction of the alcove they'd last talked in.

'You snuck out just now, didn't you?' she asked as soon as they entered the dark recess.

'Why d'you want to know?' he shot back.

'Because I want to know who's behind these attacks, you Flobberworm!' Harry's stomach turned. 'And so who else would I pay attention to other than the one person who always seems to be nearby when an attack has happened?'

'Alright, fair enough,' said Harry. 'I wanted to know what had happened, and what the teachers might want to say about it, alright?'

'Did you hear them?' she asked, suddenly looking much more interested.

'Yeah I did, but it's honestly rather disappointing,' he said. 'Dean was there at the sinks, like his own reflection turned him to stone. They basically have no idea who did it, nor do they know how these attacks happen. All they know is that it's advanced magic, far beyond the capabilities of ordinary Hogwarts students. Oh, and Snape still hates Lockhart.'

'Who doesn't?' asked Daphne.

'Girls?'

'I'm a girl, in case you didn't notice,' she drawled. 'And I despise him.'

'Not at first, you didn't,' he said, smirking. 'You were right up there in the front rows those first lessons, weren't you?'

'D'you want me to rat you out to Snape immediately, is that it?' she asked, her eyes glittering in the pale watery light. 'Remember what he made Crabbe do?'

Harry swallowed with difficulty.

'Anyway, so the teachers are clueless and we're clueless…' she said, glancing into the murky water.

Harry's mind flashed back to the red hair he saw in the distance a few moments ago in the hallway. He opened his mouth to tell her about it, but something inside him, be it some strange form of sympathy with the quiet and lonely Ginny Weasley, the idea that it was just much easier to say nothing at all, or something deeper that he didn't quite understand, stopped him. And he held his tongue.

It's scary, isn't it?' she mused, seeming lost in thought. 'I mean, those Weasleys were found next to a polished trophy case. And now Dean Thomas next to the mirror…'

And suddenly it clicked in Harry. The gaze of the Basilisk might be deadly, but what if you were indirectly looking at it?

He glanced back at a brooding Daphne. One thing was for sure: she could not know about this. It would only give her more ammunition for the strange game she was playing with him.

'Are you done interviewing me?' he asked instead.

'D'you know what the Monster could be?' she asked.

'I… I don't know. You?'

'No idea,' she sighed. Then she pressed her lips together, troubled by some thought.

'Do you think the school will close?' she asked.

Harry blinked. 'Err… I don't know?' Then the realisation kicked in, and it settled in his stomach like a block of lead. That would mean going back to the Dursley's for a long, long time. 'I mean, I hope not,' he said slowly. 'That would be…'

Uncertainty flickered in her dark eyes. 'Yeah. Not good at all…' Suddenly she looked a lot smaller than she normally did.

Weariness snuck into him. 'I'm going to bed, I think,' he said. 'I need blankets.'

'Me too. And let's just hope…'

'… That they'll solve this before the school closes.'

'Merlin's saggy underwear, I hope they do.'

They nodded at each other, but Harry saw the tension in her look, and knew that she was as hopeless as he was. They left their alcove, parting ways in the still crowded and unruly common room.

'Tomorrow', Harry later wrote in his diary, 'I'll try to talk to Ginny.'

[1] Jheronimus Bosch, Zondvloed en Hel (ca. 1514), right panel of the double-sided painting.