(A/N: The real chapter 35. I hope you all liked my little tease. If you took it too personally and got pissed, well then that's your problem. All I really did was post what I had at the time. I didn't have time to edit this chapter. My way of editing is call a friend and read it outloud. Well it's 3:38 AM, Ally won't be very happy if I call her up to read. So if there are a few mistakes, letters in the wrong place, figure it out, I'll fix it later. Not too much is left to go in this year. Wait till you read the sequel. It cracks me up and I'm writing it!)
Chapter 35
Finding the Chamber
Harry turned to face the statue. He didn't really have to walk toward it; it was doing a good job of pulling him. He stared into the mouth of the lion. This was it. Now. He would know. His heart was pounding into his chest as he reached up toward the mouth.
The teeth suddenly looked much sharper. He had been through a lot of pain, what was one little pricked finger to all that? But his breath caught as he touched it. That had hurt much more then a little cut should have. And it bled more then a little cut should have.
All he had to do now was touch the blood to the lion's tongue. He was about two centimeters away, and stopped.
"I can't."
"Do it Harry, damn it!" Harry didn't move. With a frustrated growl, Ginny walked up and pushed his bleeding finger down into the statue lion's mouth.
Nothing happened at first. Harry pulled his hand back. He was sure he wasn't wrong. Then the blood started to glow. Then it sunk into the statue and disappeared. Harry and Ginny stared.
There was a golden light behind them. They spun around to see. The discolored circle in the stone was glowing gold. As they watched, it turned from gold, to red, to scarlet.
They walked towards it as the light started to dim. In place of the circle, there was now a large hole. Attached to the edge of the hole, there was a ladder. The ladder went down low enough for you to clear your head of the hole's edge, and then became a stairway.
Harry turned to Ginny. He held out the broom and the cloak. "Take these. Go back. I'll get back using the map when I'm done."
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but then saw his eyes. He was absolutely terrified. She swallowed once before taking the two objects from him. "Okay, but I'm coming back in a few hours to check on you. And I won't tell Hermione or Ron anything. I promise. Just be careful."
Harry nodded absently, his attention already on the ladder. He started to climb down it slowly. As soon as he reached the stairway, the hole closed again in a flash of gold and red.
Ginny didn't want to go. She had no idea what was happening down there. 'James wouldn't send him anywhere dangerous. He'll be fine.' With a sigh she climbed on his broom and wrapped his cloak around her before flying back to the Gryffindor common room.
Torches flared up all around Harry as he stepped off the stairway. This was not what one thought of when one heard hidden chamber. When Harry heard the phrase hidden chamber, he thought of the Chamber of Secrets. Cold, dark, slimy, damp. This was nothing like that.
The floor was covered in a thick, deep red carpet. The walls were a soft golden yellow. But the most amazing part was the paintings and portraits that were everywhere. Not just hanging from the walls, but laying on the floor, or propped up against something. In the corner of the room was an easel, sitting on a piece of fabric to protect the carpet.
Harry hardly dared to believe it. He turned to the painting right beside him and looked at it closely. In the corner was the signature.
James T. Potter
These, at least most of these, were all his fathers. His eyes darted all around the room, trying to take it all in a once. Harry himself was very proud of the stick figures he used when explaining Quidditch plays, but he had never tried to fool himself that he had more talent then that. This was obviously not true for his father. There was talent there, or there used to be.
His eyes traveled to a painting that was wrapped in parchment on the coffee table. He walked over and very carefully removed the paper that covered the painting inside. It was the school. The same painting that the picture had been of it the museum.
What surprised Harry was that very few of the paintings were alive. And none of the portraits were. It seemed like such a shame, as they were so well done.
He walked over to the painting on the easel. It was of Hagrid's cabin, right down to a rather large puppy that had to be fang when he was little. It looked like it was done to Harry, but clipped on a piece of parchment beside it was a list.
Highlight the pumpkin slightly more on the right side.
Not enough shading on Fang's underside.
The shadow of the forest tress isn't large enough.
The list went on, and Harry looked closer at the painting. It looked fine to him. James must have been very critical of his own work.
'Maybe that's why none of them were brought to life. Maybe he didn't think they were good enough.'
He started to look around again, and then he noticed the doors. This wasn't all of it. It was bigger then this.
The left door led to a small green bathroom. He didn't see anything too interesting about it, and anxious to move on, he shut the door and moved to the other one.
It was a kitchen. Complete with stove and a magical icebox. He walked onto the white tile and looked around in complete shock. This was scary. Not the fact that it was a kitchen, he should have assumed there was one, but it looked lived in. There was still a glass of water sitting on the counter. There was a book sitting open on the table, right next to a vase of flowers that had been dead so long he could no longer tell what they were. There weren't any paintings in this room.
A strange sense of familiarity washed over Harry. This looked right. He searched his brain, are realized that this was the setting for many of the pictures in his photo album.
As he walked toward the door on the other side of the room, he realized what this place was missing. There was no sense of age to it. No sense of storage, like a house that is going to be closed up for thirteen years would have. Then he realized, it was because it wasn't closed up. They had just left. Nothing had been ready for it. They just walked out, no notice at all. Were they living here? It didn't make sense.
The next door led into the family room. There were several large plush chairs, and a large couch placed in front of the fireplace. The hard wood floors were covered in several areas by oriental rugs. There were a few paintings in this room, but none of living things, none of them moving. The room was spacious, but cozy. It made you want to curl up by the fire and read. Which would probably explain the large number of books in the bookshelf by the fire.
There were three more doors leading off of this room. The first one Harry tried was a broom closet. The second led to a little bedroom. This was the only room he had seen so far that looked like it hadn't been lived in.
The third door led to another bedroom, and this one was very obviously lived in. The bed in the middle of the large room was queen sized. The bed was not made. There were two wardrobes on either side of the room. On each side of the bed there was a small stand. On one of these stands there was another vase of long dead flowers. There was also a set of reading glasses on the other one, and a quill stuck in an ink bottle that had dried up because it had been left open.
On the same wall as the door that Harry had just walked in, there was a dresser. The dresser had a large mirror, and lots of little drawers. Sitting on top was a hairbrush and a hair clip of a water lily that looked so real he reached out to touch it. He snapped his hand back quickly. He was afraid of disturbing anything. It had to be his mother's brush; there were a few red hairs inside it.
There were yet two more doors leading off of this room, one on each side. He walked to one, and found yet another bathroom. This one was a lot bigger then the other, four times as big actually, but it was still only a bathroom.
The next door opened to reveal a small bedroom. The color of the room was a soft green, and as he walked in his chest tightened.
The bed was a crib. This had to have been his room. He shook his head. That didn't make sense. Why would his parents live in the school even after they had both graduated? Or maybe they were hiding here?
The room smelled like baby powder. There was a book shelf with a number of different titles in it. The Little Witch's First Wand. The Little Witch and the Spell That Wouldn't Stop. The Little Witch and Her First Potion, were just a few of them. Most of them seemed to start with 'The Little Witch'. There was also a bin full of baby toys, and Harry decided against touching them yet. A soft chair sat beside the crib. He peeked over the edge of the crib. There was a wrinkled blanket and a small stuffed phoenix inside it. He reached over the edge and picked up the little stuffed animal.
He searched his brain for any memory of the little thing. He found none, but he was sure it was his. It, felt like his. He set it back down in the crib. There was a picture resting on the dresser of his parents, holding him for what he assumed was the very first time, judging by the size of him.
Harry turned, and walked back out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He really wanted to look around in there more, but he didn't know if he could handle it right now.
Now, before he lost all his courage completely, he had to find his father's journals. Then, he would know why this place looked like they had just got up and left. Then he would know everything.
Where would you hide something in this room? He spent what seemed like hours, but was probably only about ten minutes, looking in all the obvious places; under the bed, under the pillow, and so on. He was beginning to get frustrated, and as the time went by, it seemed he got more afraid of what he was looking for.
Then he stopped and thought for a moment. James and Lily were the only people who could get in here. He wouldn't need to hide it from Lily, she wouldn't have read it unless he let her. That much about his mother's personality he knew. So he didn't hide it, there was no need. Where would he store it? Just to keep it out of the way?
Harry's eyes fell on the wardrobe, and a spark lit. The kind of a spark when you know something before you know it. He got up off the floor and opened the wardrobe. There were a bunch of robes, and a few cloaks, various hats. The bottom seemed to be covered with shoes. There was a shelf at the top, and though it was above his head, Harry could just see the spine of a book.
With a rush of triumph, he reached up to pull whatever was up there down. Into his hands fell not one book, but ten. Some small, some thicker, but Harry had been in the wizard world long enough to know that not only could you not judge a book by its cover, but you also could not judge it by its size. A small book could easily be a very large book, just hiding until you thought you were almost at the end.
The first book, on a blue denim cover, read James T. Potter, First Year. The next six books were labeled in the same way, his father's name, and what year he had been at the time he wrote it. Then the eighth book changed. James T. Potter, it read Hogwarts Teacher. The next one read James T. Potter, Husband. The last book's title made Harry's heart pull. It read simply; Harry's Father.
Carrying his new find, he walked back out into the family room, and sat down on the couch, scorning the irony of the room. 'Curl up by the fire with a good book my ass. It's too warm for a fire, and this isn't exactly a book.'
He wasn't exactly sure why, but he had already decided to read the last book first. It might not have all the answers, but it would have been the closest one to James' death. That thought made Harry reach up and touch his mother's ring on his chest.
He opened the book, and hardly breathing, started to read.
The title of this journal is easily explained. For someday, I hope to be known through my son. Funny, as a child, the son never wants to be known by his father, but as a father, he want's to be known by his son. Someday, a person on the street, or in a bar, that I don't know, will point at me and whisper to his company "That's Harry Potter's father." And I will smile, my heart filled with pride. Because even if this person only knows my son's name because they met the day before, I will be proud of him for whatever he does, and will be honored to have been the one to father him.
So, this journal is no longer a journal, but more a book to my son Harry. Someday when I'm dead and gone, he will pick up this book, and see what it was like from this side of the arrow.
Dear Harry,
I love you. Precautions must be taken into account. For with your birth, the protection of my life was lost, a sacrifice I most willingly make. But there's the chance, that I won't be around. In which case you must learn who, and what you are. This book, can never leave the chamber, because the information it holds could be fatal to you, or the next in your bloodline. Over the next month, all that I know, everything I have researched and found out, will be put into these pages. Read this well, because I write this book for you. And always remember that I love you, it makes the world seem a little brighter.
Love,
Your father, James Theodore Potter
Dear Harry,
I love you. You are a week old today. Your eyes are your mothers, I can see it in them already. Lily says that you are going to look just like me. I hope this is so, I wish my son to have stunning good looks such as I. As I sit here, watching you sleep with Leeka, your little phoenix, I write down things that in a few short years will change your life. I should probably start where it starts. You must know about Hogwarts, if you are reading this, as it will never leave the chamber, and the chamber is in Hogwarts. The founders of Hogwarts, Godric, Helga, Rowena, and Salazar, is where it starts. It seems they are where a lot of things started. Back then, magic was pure. It was real. And it was starting to die. The people without magic, the ones we now call Muggles, were becoming jealous of the power that was only granted to few. Nothing is very clear on the how, only the why. The power that lived in people was beginning to fade. During their time, it was hardly noticeable. But working at the school, the founders noticed, and it worried them.
Helga was a seer, if that's the way you're supposed to put it. Her visions all seemed to involve this knowledge that the founders held. This knowledge of the falling of magic as a whole. They hoped that it would fade off. Be fixed and made up for by the birth of the next year. But it seemed Helga's visions proved otherwise. This would continue, and for some reason, it needed to continue. But hundreds of years later, it needed to stop, and be reversed. And it would be the founders jobs to do this.
They were rather stumped. How were they supposed to fix something, but were not allowed to fix it until they were long dead and gone. Over many years, they tried to come up with an answer, but they couldn't.
It seems you are awake, and want to be held. You don't cry Harry, you just reach out and whine until somebody picks you up. You don't even care who. Just as long as you're held. I will write again later.
Love,
Your Father.
Dear Harry,
I love you. We went back home for a few days, so everybody could come visit you. Lily doesn't seem to mind that we have to spend so much time in the chamber. I think it has become a comfort to her, a small bit of peace.
Your Godfather, and Godmother I suppose, were there today. Sirius does really have a soft spot, one with his mother's eyes and my hair. I have never seen him so careful, or so quiet. He seems to believe that if he speaks above a whisper he'll hurt you. You just smile and look at him, and reach out to be held. That scares him. He's afraid he'll drop you. Heather on the other hand, never wants to put you down. She caries you around and tells you stories about what an idiot Sirius is. Then Remus came in, and once again you were fascinated with his hair. You're mother's is long, mine is, well you'll know in a few years, Sirius' is long, Heather's is long, but Remus', is short. This fascinates you. Whenever he holds you, you reach for his hair and can't get to it. It's a shame Peter hasn't been around. His hair is shorter then Remus'.
Back to what I was saying. The founders couldn't come up with an answer. Then one day, as they were sitting in what I'm assuming is the great hall still, Helga had a prediction. She didn't get them often, she was more often a viewer, but this was indeed a prediction. Except, they didn't understand a word of it. To them, it sounded like gibberish. But after she finished talking, she spoke it again, in the language they knew, and they were shocked. Then, a light, golden we think, flew out of Helga, split into four lights, and one went into each founder.
It was Rowena, never really believing in this kind of magic, but now seeing it for herself and accepting it for what it was, that came up with the answer.
The first part had not been gibberish, but rather a language that had not yet been invented. Godric, having built that room, could make the walls talk. So he had them repeat what it had heard. Over and over. They wrote down and sounded out everything they could of the one that sounded like gibberish to them, and then what they had heard.
Your mother has every book in the Hogwarts library checked out on this subject. They are in the bookshelf by the fireplace. They will not go back to the library. She says she doesn't want your classmates to learn of it if possible. She's being paranoid. But we'll let her go for a while, huh? If you need to read the prophesy, it's there.
Well, after the prediction, Helga performed a spell, unconsciously, that used all her magic. She was never able to perform magic again. I'll go into the spell later. Lily wants me to put you to bed.
Love,
Your Father.
Dear Harry,
I love you. You grow so fast! You're the most curious little thing I've ever seen. You love being talked to, or read to, or sung to as Lily tends to do. You should be very grateful that I have never sang to you. Lily is currently, 'Not talking to me.' Though it's only been five minutes and she's already messed up twice. She want's me to send my painting of the school to the museum for their new section going up on Hogwarts. I don't want to, it's not good enough. I tried to paint you the other day, and destroyed it almost instantly. Adults are easier. There is a light, a life in a smiling baby that can't be captured in a painting, and is dulled even in a moving photograph. Maybe I will try while you are sleeping.
Right, the spell. Let's see, it was a large one. No wonder it took all of her magic.
First of all, the singlazation (Is that even a word?) of the bloodline. They knew that there would be descendants. But if only one was to be left standing, and they let the bloodline spread, there would be thousand of descendants that would die. So each founder was limited to a single child. And their children, a single child. And there would always be a child. The next in the blood line would always have a child.
The next part was the protection. The bloodline couldn't be cut by an outside party. This fight was between the founding blood. So, until their child is born to carry on the line, the descendent would be protected. They could not die. Only by the hand of another descendent. If they were to have died if not had this protection, (in other words, if Lily had tied to blast me to bits before you were born) they would experience the pain, but not die.
There was a little bit of happiness thrown into all of this. If you didn't want a child, or were going to try not to have one, a pain would seize you. It is what killed my father. The problem was, once this pain seized you, even if you had a child, it didn't go away. However, the fates wanted to be fair. If you had to have a child, then you could have it with the right person. A love, a true love, would come to every descendent. There is no protection on this person, no guarantee that your child would be with them, but you would meet them. And love them. Mine would be your mother.
So, you now have four very happy people, meeting the person of their dreams, falling in love, and the only way they can die is if these four people want to kill each other.
That is where the gift comes into play. The 'Founder's Crown.' To be granted to the first descending child born when the other three line are dead and gone. Suddenly, there's a prize to killing off the other very happy people.
Well, the founders were suddenly all very suspicious. This wasn't supposed to happen for thousands of years, but what if their line was cut? There had been problems from the start of the school. Lily and I think this is the real reason Salazar left the school after Godric beat him at a sword fight. That story is something in its self, look it up. So, the Chamber of Secrets was supposedly invented. I think that was twisted, personally. This chamber, the one you are sitting in right now, (because if you took this out of there I will be very upset), was built by Godric. And just like The Chamber of Secrets, can only be opened by his bloodline. He used a seeing spell and a blood testing spell on the entrance. It can be opened only by his blood, and that 'one true love' person of his descendent. (Maybe that's the monster living in the chamber? Don't tell your mother I said that.) Maybe Salazar did build the Chamber of Secrets. Maybe Helga and Rowena did too. They all wanted to do was protect their children's children's children's, well you get the idea.
Lily suddenly wants to talk to me again. I'll write again later.
Love,
Your Father.
Harry had to stop. He rubbed his eyes hard, making things blurry. What was his father saying? If only Godric's bloodline could open the chamber, then he was of Godric's bloodline? It was, wrong. Dumbledore had told him once that Voldemort was Salazar's last living descendent. He really needed to read the prediction, this prophesy, but as soon as he could focus again, he plunged right back into the book.
Dear Harry,
I'll just jump into what I was saying before. Wait, I love you, don't forget. So, Godric creates this chamber, there's supposedly a sword out there if his blood line is one of the chosen, and he's still not done messing around with future generations. So, this fall of wizards. This seeping away of the magic. If he could stop it from happening to his blood line, he could give his line an advantage.
The spell was, odd. It wasn't set to work for thousands of years, when he was predicting the Descendant's War would take place. It would give the power a boost. The child, would have twice as much magical power as the parent. Then that child's child, would have twice as much power as it's parent. Godric was a brave man, just not a very bright one. This started about a hundred years ago. The spell came into effect. The power grew, and grew.
So, a very smart witch a few generations back, realized that depending on the person, this power might be more then they could hold without burning out. Burning out wouldn't kill them like it would others, it would just hurt, and hurt, and hurt. So, she spent her life, designing a block, and a redirection. The block would go over the power that the child was being given, not what they would have naturally had. Then, when they were able to handle it, and the block sensed they were, it would break, letting all that power out. She also channeled it away. Some of it. Using a lot of it to become Animagus. Think of it. Becoming Animagus with raw power. It took a lot. If she had not directed that amount of power into that, the block would never have come down for anybody, because nobody would be able to handle it.
The block was also stretchable. So if some of this power was needed, in an emergency one could draw through the block.
I'll tell you what happens if you never get the block down later. We're going to go see Sirius, Remus, and Heather again.
Love,
Your Father.
Dear Harry,
I love you. So, what happens if your body is never able to handle the power? The block never comes down. You die with it. That's what happened to my father. The child, gets twice as much, as was behind the block of the parent, even though that block never came down. When the block does come down, it hurts. Your blood speeds. The magic pours through, and you're body has to adjust, and can't fast enough. Then you start to turn into a lion. Yes, a lion. Every transformation is the same. If you actually take the steps to becoming Animagus, you have to take the alter to second choice. Or else you will become Animagus twice. I don't know what happens there. I don't want to.
What haven't I covered? Well. Oh, I know. The descendants are, were, kind of connected. The Ravenclaw and Huffelpuff descendants are dead. I felt them go. Voldemort, we call him now. I didn't want to have to go into this, but should something happen to us, and not you, you need to know.
Voldemort. The name is spoken in fear. Or not spoken. He is Salazar's descendent. I'm not positive what happened to him, but I have my theories. I think he killed his love. I don't know why I think this, but when I get these feelings, they are always right. He hasn't had a child, and won't. That means the pain is with him. It still hasn't killed him. Because he still hasn't had a child.
But, he shouldn't be able to bare it for too much longer. In the meantime, us two being the only descendants left besides him, are probably who he will come after. Just to be safe, we are going to go into hiding soon. Dumbledore will send us the word, short notice. Our ultimate goal is to keep him from you.
I don't know what the Founder's Crown is, or what the tests are. But I can't be the chosen, so we're assuming it's you. And him. If he receives those gifts, who knows what horror he might let in the world. You, little Harry, are the world's greatest hope right now.
It's kind of scary, watching the world's unknown hero sleep in a crib curled up next to a phoenix named Leeka. (Your mother named it, not me.) But, even if you really are worth the world to everybody, you are my world. You always have been.
Love Always,
Your Father.
That was it. There was no more. Harry let out a despaired cry. They must have gone into hiding the next day. He was more confused then ever. His father had wrote this assuming he had already known it, just as a precaution. Assuming he knew the prophesy.
Harry looked over at the bookshelf. Helga's Last Act, The Descendant's War; Myth or Fact?, and Hufflepuff's Viewings were just a few of the titles he saw.
He reached over and pulled The Descendant's War; Myth or Fact? off of the shelf. He opened to the table of contents.
The Prophesy; The Descendant's War - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Page (3) Three appeared at the top.
Harry turned the page to three. Now, it might all make sense.
(A/N: Don't you love me? Thanks to some guy in the Poconos who owns a house he rents out for his name. The Phoenix spells if differently for Mr. Leeka's safety. *Snort*
Draco- Lily has news.
Lily- I do, I do. It seems, one of my good friends gave my penname to my parents. Now I suddenly have my parents reading this. The writing might change, and those of you who were hoping for a lot of Draco snoging in the sequel's sequel, well so was I! Oh well. We'll keep it nice and clean..... mostly.
Draco- No snoging?
Lily- They can read between the lines. You live between the lines. Do your snoging there.
Draco- *Looks pointedly at a picture* She's not between the lines.
Lily- Parts of her are! The parts you know anyway. Are you all very confused yet? Thanks for reading, you earn brownie points if you review.)