INTRODUCTION:

            The readers find themselves, once again, in a small, dimly lit, poor bar. Rich metal chairs surrounded cardboard boxes that served as tables – the previous, dangerously damaged wooden tables having all either been sold or sawed off and used to repair the damages done on the building by the angry mob, two weeks ago. Even though their target had been Akuma-sama, a fight involving a dozen authors capable of typing up potential weapons of mass-destruction was not safe for public property.

            The barman, who had just yesterday removed the cast on his arm protecting the wrist sprain received when his attempt of pulling the maimed author out of the mob had been foiled when Simply Myself had typed up a positron cannon – Elizabethan style, of course – and fired, taking out half the bar in the process, was now in the process of sighing, taking a rope and throwing one end down a hole in the floor, where a grateful reader attempted to pull himself out of, unfortunately forgetting that the other end was not tied to anything.

Those few who had managed to avoid falling in the gaping abyss that was underneath the bar eagerly awaited for the show to begin – and attempted, as much as they could, to ignore the despaired and pained wailing that came from the previous reader.

Finally, the lights dimmer further – to the despair of those already in the darkness – and,  the two thick curtains moved, agonizingly slowly, inch-by-inch, millimeter-by-millimeter… before the bar holding them up snapped and the green drape spectacularly fell down all over the stage.

Loud French cursing ensued as a furious author attempted to remove it, before sighing and typing the curtains out of existence.

Akuma-sama in all his… maimed and mangled glory stood on the stage, as well as one can stand on a wheelchair. The FISHER PRICE VOICE THINGY(TM) rolled at his side, also in a wheelchair. Giving an eye over the crowd, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"Umm… I decided to upload this one as soon as I finished it, as I judge you've all waited long enough."

"Judge?!" An angry reviewer asked, glaring. "M'a t'en faire, moé, du jugeage!!"

Akuma-sama deflated and, quickly, turned the fic on.

"What was that intro for?" A girl holding, in her hand, a mob-be-gone spray (just in case) asked.

"Umm… well, just that I'm going to write up two chapters before I update the next one…" The self-declared demon lord hesitatingly said.

A new mob formed. Flummox sighed. She had had a good idea, when she had packed her spray.

The Snake-who-lived

"Name: Harry Potter. Crime: Befouling the castle. Proposed punishment..."

Argus Filch, Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets, page 139

Chapter 8.2: Tricks or Treats

            The grounds of Hogwarts were wet and muddy, that weekend. The lake still held some melting bits of ice from the two previous days of snowstorm. However, while those days had been bitter cold and windy and made the Slytherin dungeons so cold most of the Slytherins had preferred to either stick close to the fire or wander aimlessly around the school halls, today, it was so hot Harry Potter found himself loosening his collar and wiping sweat from his face with his bandanna.

            "How the hell did it get so hot?!" He wondered out loud as he, Draco and Blaise walked in a hall on the ground level, like many other students. There was a fair, comfortable and cool breeze on the lower levels, for which everyone was grateful.

            The two others shrugged. Some things, such as the weather, evaded even magical explanations.

            The temperature was ideal for only three things. Swimming and laying in front of the AC. Unfortunately, as the ice in the waters betrayed, the lake was freezing cold, and Hogwarts had been built long before its invention. Not that wizards use them anyway. The third option was what Harry decided to do; solo flying.

            Understandably, upon hearing the idea, Nemesis had slithered away back up the boys' dorms claiming that, being a crawling creature, he did NOT enjoy being suspended at heights easily thousands of times higher than him by nothing but a thin wooden handle. As Blaise and Draco were occupied in a heated discussion/aggressive negotiation with each other about his broom, which she wanted to use, neither of them heard nor noticed the snake slide away.

            It ended with her gentle and calm suggestion/order of sticking it where the sun doesn't shine.

            Brooms in hand, the three Slytherins lifted off. Harry grinned as he felt the unbelievable rush of freedom that came to him every time he left the ground. He gave a look behind him to look at how his friends were faring.

            Blaise was rather unsteady on the school broom she had borrowed, while Draco was twirling around her in a teasing, annoying manner. He could hear her shouting, but the wind blocked out the words. A good thing, too, since her language was not likely to be something generally allowed for kids her age.

            Twirling in mid-air, enjoying his first Bludger-free flight in well over a year, he looked around the spectacular sight that was the grounds of Hogwarts from the air. A good distance away, connected to the castle by a small dirt path that went to the Hogwarts express station, the wizarding village of Hogsmeade was visible, the thin trails of smoke pouring out of the many chimneys adding to the fine lake mist covering the horizon. Near the forest, Hagrid's hut stood tall, with the gigantic man tending to the giant pumpkins to be used on Halloween, the next week. Flying over the Quidditch pitch, seven crimson shapes easily identifiable as the Gryffindor Quidditch team were practicing.

            He was so captivated by it all that he didn't notice the sky covering up until Draco tapped his shoulder and pointed at it.

            "It's going to rain anytime, now." He noted. "We'd better go back."

            Still wanting to fly a bit and hoping to avoid the rain, he shook his head.

            "You and Blaise go back, I still want to fly a bit."

            The platinum-haired boy gave him a smirk. "You do know that I'm going to laugh at you when you come in drenched, right?"

            Harry gave him a cold glare, prompting the two to head back to the ground.

            "Have a nice shower!" Blaise called after him as she sped away. At least, in theory she was, but speeding on brooms old enough to belong to Merlin was a task that not even the best flyer in the Quidditch league could manage.

            He had no idea how long he had stayed in the air, just enjoying the breeze. His hair whipped in front of his face, partially hindering his vision.

            'I need a haircut.' He noted idly.

            A distant rumbling brought his attention to the dark clouds now directly above him. They looked heavy, as if they were ready to drop on his head at any time.

            ...and within a few seconds, they did.

            Drenched, Harry landed in the entrance hall, not even bothering to get off his broom until he was indoors. Ignoring the shocked whispers from people around him, he attempted to walk back to the Slytherin dungeons, hoping to avoid Filch.

            No such luck.

            While he managed to barely dodge a grumbling Gryffindor ghost - whatever his name is - looking down at a piece of paper while reading it out loud to himself, his wet hair landed in his face again, this time on his glasses.

            One second. He removed them, wiped them clean and was about to put them back on.

            One second. That's all it took for something to trip him and make him fall in an unceremonious, wet heap on the stone floor. That something hissed angrily in a definitely cat-like manner, and Harry felt sudden pain as claws scratched his leg rather badly.

            That something could only be Mrs. Norris, the only cat that had an attitude like that in the whole school.

            'But then that means...' He began mentally, tensing up.

"YOU!!" A screech came from his left, causing him to tense up, accidentally crushing Norris further with his leg. "Messes and disorder! I've had enough!"

A tiny meow came from below Harry at that moment, making Filch suddenly livid. "And you dare step on my cat?!"

            Harry was tempted to point out that Norris had been the one who had jumped in front of him. Before he could think of reasons why not, which included decapitation, dismemberment and general maiming of his physical and psychological self, Filch roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him off Norris, who gave him another rough scratch.

            "Are you all right, my sweet?" He asked his cat in a very oddly affectionate manner. Harry suppressed a shudder, but it was a close call. When she replied with a meow, Filch turned his attention toward him. This time, not even a titanium wall could have stopped his flinch.

            "You are coming with me." He barked, roughly pulling Harry by the arm, toward his office. Wincing at the painfully tight grip, Harry could only follow.

Filch's office was a welcoming place, perhaps if you were into masochism. Small, cold and rather gloomy, Harry idly thought it was fitting for its owner. One of the walls held cases filled with files, containing whatever student misbehavior the caretaker had caught. A pair of cases was dedicated solely to Fred and George Weasley.

The man walked around his desk, moving the perfectly polished metal chains hanging from the roof along the way. More chains and manacles, just as finely entertained, hung on the wall behind him.

"A real pain those softies removed corporal punishments…" Filch had told him, Blaise, Hermione and Ron last year. "Back then, they hung you upside down from the roof by your ankles for a few days…I still got the chains in my office, still usable, just in case those useless masses of fluff that call themselves governors decide to do something right for once."

            Harry gulped and mentally thanked 'those useless masses of fluff'.

            Slowly, as if to savor Harry's fear, Filch pulled out a file and laid it down on his desk, then just as slowly pulled out a quill and ink pot. Dipping the feather in the bottle, the caretaker turned his eyes toward his.

            "Your name?" Filch asked.

            Harry was famous in the wizarding world. In the Muggle world, he was all that was unwanted – at least, to what Muggle he knew. Anywhere he went, he was either completely ignored, or recognized on first glance. And never was he ever asked his name.

            Understandably, Harry gaped.

            "Your name?" Filch repeated irritably.

            "Huh… Harry Potter." He replied.

            Filch's eyes went to the boy's bandanna-clad forehead for a second, before returning to the file as his quill danced on the paper, writing Harry's name.

            "Name: Harry Potter. Crimes: Befouling the castle and attacking a member of the staff."

            "Attac—She jumped in front of me!" Harry protested, frowning.

            Grinning, Filch added: "Impoliteness toward a member of the staff" on the file.

            "Anything to add?" The caretaker pleasantly asked with a smirk.

            "…no sir." Seethed Harry.

            With a sinister glint in his eyes, Filch returned to the file. "Punishment proposed: Two months of detention and sixty points from Slytherin."

            Harry gasped in horror. SIXTY points?! Two MONTHS?! And since detention interfered with Quidditch practices, no Quidditch for two whole months! The folks of Slytherin were going to hang him!!

            "No so happy now, are you?" The man asked with a dark chuckle, getting up and depositing the file in a case. The file vanished in a puff of green flames before Filch sat down again. "You should have thought of that before crushing my precious Norris..."

            "B..But…"

            "Hmm? Do you have anything else to say?" The caretaker from hell asked, bending forward on his desk. "I'd be more than glad to add to your case…"

            The case in which Harry's file had been deposited into suddenly exploded in green fire as the file came back and landed on Filch's desk. Eagerly, the man read it, before his smile vanished, replaced by an angry scowl.

            "Why… that softie… Stay here, Potter. I have something to tell your head of house."

            And Filch, followed closely by his cat, walked out of his office, leaving Harry alone.

            Curious, Harry waited ten seconds, to make sure Filch was really gone, then flipped the file around and read it.

            Underneath the information Filch had written, a message written by hand had been added in a small, tight yet easily readable writing.

                        Punishment allowed: 1 detention, 5 points from Slytherin, 1 meeting with Head of House to be scheduled

                                    S. Snape

            Grinning, Harry mentally thanked Professor Snape. That punishment he was able to take. Happily, he turned the page back around carelessly, accidentally making a piece of paper drop to the floor. He got down and picked it up. It was a letter.

                                    Kwikspell

                        A Correspondence Course in Beginners' magic

            Harry blinked. Filch was taking correspondence Magic lessons? Before he could investigate any deeper, however, he heard Filch's voice in the hallway.

            "…Softy, shouldn't be allowed to give out punishments…"

            Quickly, Harry slipped the paper back on the desk, exactly where he remembered it being. He sat back down just in time as the caretaker walked back in.

            "You're still here?!" Filch barked, glaring. "Get out!"

            Harry nodded with a gulp and, not wanting to push his luck, ran out.

                                    ~~~~~

            "You got caught by Filch!?" Was Blaise's reaction upon hearing his adventure. In fact, he had made quite a scene upon entering the common room; The famous Harry Potter, wet, with a big tear on the hem of his robes, his leg scratched and bleeding, but not seeming all that mad, strolling into the entrance.

            "So, how many weeks of detention did he give you?" Draco asked.

            "He gave me two months…"

            "WHAT?!" His two friends chorused.

            "But Snape lowered it to one detention and five points from Slytherin. Oh, and I have to meet him, too." Harry finished.

            "…So you mean you walked in, made a mess, tripped on Norris and got off easy?" Draco asked with a grin. "Good job!"

            "More like luckhhy break." Nemesis muttered as he slid back toward Harry, who picked him up and let him coil around his arm.

            The lucky break, however, turned rotten pretty soon.

            "H..He can't do that!!" Harry protested, glaring at the offending piece of parchment in his hands. "Not today!!"

            "That absolute bastard!! It was bad enough that we couldn't enjoy it last year!" Blaise said with a frown. "Even if some of us spent it playing 'knight in shining armor saving the princess Hermione'…"

            "With Weasley-the-sidekick." Draco added.

                        To Harry Potter

            Your detention will be held today, at 7:10 in the trophy room

                        Argus Filch

            "The trophy room?" Draco asked, blinking. "So that's why he didn't clean it this week!"

            "…you have got to be kidding me." Harry said in a low voice. "The bastard is holding my detention during the feast, cleaning what's probably by now the dirtiest room in the whole school, probably without magic?! I'll barely have any time left for the feast!"

            "Worse than that, Harry." Crabbe said as he and Goyle sat down. They had been terrorizing a pair of first year Ravenclaws. Goyle was idly flicking through a magazine called The Quibbler. "Peeves found out Filch wasn't cleaning his messes in there. I heard nobody dared to get in that room all week."

            "…oh crud." Harry sighed, massaging his forehead. He had the feeling this would not be a good day.

            A visit to the trophy room during the morning proved him that his feelings were correct. The place was an absolute mess! A thin, but present layer of dust covered everything and the floor was oddly less shiny at spots, as if someone had dropped water on the ground let it evaporate. But that was not the worst.

…it was the multicolored paint splattered over the walls, the glass casings, the roof… By multicolored, this author means it in a magical sense, as the paint looked like an oddly distorted rainbow, or motor oil in water.

Harry was tempted to clean it all up right there, but Mrs Norris had been keeping a close eye on him all week. And as he took out his wand, her eyes glowed with an almost gleeful light, as if she enjoyed seeing students in trouble as well.

'They say the pets are like their owners… I'd say they're right.'

            Harry's mood did not improve during the day, either. It seemed the feast and "How great it's going to be" was the only subject of discussion on everyone's mouths – Except for Goyle, who spend half an hour telling a pair of very bored Pansy and Millicent about some ancient magical kingdom on the moon, which he read out of the snitched magazine; he stopped when Draco pointed out that the Quibbler published nothing but rubbish. Perhaps Harry had eavesdropped on the first two times he had heard someone talk about the feast, but after the tenth time, it had gotten old. By the twentieth, his teeth started to gnash together and by four in the afternoon, he was starting to feel a tad murderous.

            'The next person who talks about it in my earshot is going to get hexed.' He swore.

            "Um, Harry?" A soft, shy and female voice came to his ears.

            "What!?" He snapped, turning toward the girl.

            It was Ginny, who squeaked a quick "nothn'!" and ran away, clutching a small black book in her arms.

            His mood softened a bit, if only to leave place for shame in his anger. The poor girl had enough problems like that; there was no need to snap at her. He made a mental note to apologize to her later, when he didn't feel an urge to commit an atrocious homicide using the nearest sharp, semi-sharp or pointy object.

            The bell rang seven. At four places in the school, doors opened and students piled out of their common rooms, heading for the great hall, which had been richly decorated for the occasion. Twenty minutes later, they would feast on delicious Hogwarts food prepared even more dutifully than usual.

            "See you later, Harry!" Draco called.

            "We'll save… erm… try to save some for you!" Blaise added as reassuringly as someone saying: "Jump down the bungee rope to see if it's long enough".

            They, of course, did not include Harry Potter, who turned and walked opposite direction at the first corner, as to avoid humiliating and angering confrontations with anyone. Along the way, however, he ran into two ghosts he didn't know, both of whom seemed to also be in a festive mood, heading deeper in the dungeons.

            'Even the dead are having a better night than me.' He noted sourly.

            Filch hadn't cleaned the trophy room one bit, he noted to his unsurprised displeasure. It was still as messy; perhaps more. A small, pitiful, rusty metal bucket and an old, paled mop made of wood busy in a believable impersonation of a cactus and long, dirty cloth threads that seemed to have decided to rest in some motor oil for a while.

            "Clean the floor and walls with the mop, then the glass casings with the sponge in the bucket." Filch said with a sinister, sadistic, satisfied smirk. "I want to be able to see my reflection on this floor when I come back."

            How anyone would want to see Filch's reflection anywhere, even this Writer doesn't know. As for Harry, he could only glare at the caretaker's departing back while grabbing what looked to be the softest part of the mop – which didn't prevent him from feeling like he had decided to grab a porcupine in his fist.

            Cleaning the floor proved to be rather easy; years of practice scrubbing everything scrubbable – or not – at the Dursleys' had given him plenty of experience. His mind wandered wherever it could, all the while checking up on his body's progress, as if he had put it on autopilot.

            'Kwikspell… Filch is taking correspondence magic lessons. But why? I mean… he's plenty old enough to have finished learning all the spells he'd need…' He thought, frowning. 'Come to think about it, I don't think I've ever seen him do magic… or his wand, for that matter.'

Beginners' magic, the letter had said.

'…Could he be a Muggle?' Harry hypothesized, moving himself to scrub a particularly tenacious stain of dark red paint. 'But why would he be allowed in Hogwarts then?'

The stain gone, he dunked the head of the mop in the bucket before resuming his cleaning, and thoughts.

'Blaise is Half-blood… she has magic, even though her father is a Muggle.' He suddenly thought. 'Hermione's parents are both Muggles, but she's definitely a witch, and a wickedly good one, too.'

'On the other hand, Longbottom is pure-blood, but if he can ever manage a proper potion, I'll eat Dudley's socks.' He made a mental note to foil every single potion the plump wizard-in-training made, then triple-underlined and highlighted it. 'Maybe Filch is like that, only worse? A wizard-born without magic?'

Harry straightened up, happily noting he had already cleaned the floor. Only the walls and glass casings were left.

'No wonder he's so rotten and a general pain in the arse, then…' He finished with a small smirk. 'He has to be bitter.'

The walls proved to be, while a tad harder than the floor, easy as well. As he splotched away the last bit of red paint off the stone, he wondered why Filch had assigned work as easy as this; normally, he would have went out of his way to make Harry suffer, and while his hands were feeling a bit raw from the old wood handle, he knew the caretaker was usually harder.

His knowledge was accurate. The sponge, as he pulled it out of the bucket, proved to have the consistency of bread. Old, on-the-edge-of-rotten, crumbling, "don't shake me" bread, that is.

And the paint on the casings had the tenacity and solidity of concrete.

Ok, maybe not, but pretty darn close.

            With every bit of pressure Harry applied, a bit of the sponge fell on the floor. Dunking it was an adventure in itself, while passing it over solidified paint caused an effect not unlike snow.

            That he managed to wipe the paint off the two first casings was nothing short of a miracle. Nearly losing half his sponge in a dunk in the bucket, he glared at the reward he was polishing, a 'magical merit' trophy for extremely high grades, given to a certain T.M. Riddle.

           'Probably some bookworm.' He thought, thinking that Hermione had a good chance of snitching that trophy.

            By the time he made it to the back wall, he already felt like he had nothing but a handful of crusty sponge left in his fist. He also felt like his palms were being more efficient than said cleaning tool. Pausing a second to rest his arms, he looked at what was left of work.

Only a handful of casings were left to clean. Grumbling, his stomach replying in the same manner, Harry looked with disinterest at the golden sign at the base of the window he had been furiously attacking not thirty seconds ago.

Head boys/girls

Harry snorted, imagining a box of glass filled to the brim with Percy-look-alikes. With a quick stretch of his arms, he returned to work absentmindedly noting some of the names on the shiny golden medals.

M.E. Goshawk

T.M. Riddle

'Heh. Him again.' He thought distractedly.

J.A. Mackinson

L.D. Malfoy

'Hmm… Malfoy, eh? Wonder if Draco knows…'

G.L. Lovegood

L.O. Evans

J.K. Potter

H.V— "Potter?!"

Stopping his scrubbing, he gazed at the metal plate bearing his family name. More writing, in a small, less visible size, were visible if one looked closely.

James Keith Potter

Gryffindor

72-79

"I honestly don't know what Dumbledore is thinking!"

Chuckling at the quote, he gave a look at the dates, to see who was head girl at that time. Immediately at his father's medal's left, the plate bearing the name of L.O. Evans matched.

Lily Orchiddea Evans

Slytherin

72-79

"Heh, finally got a hand over the Marau-—what? James is head boy?! How? Why? How?"

            Now laughing and wondering exactly how the quotes were taken, he looked outside, at the night sky. It was pitch black, by now. The sun had set hours ago, leaving nothing but the burning fire and the glittering torches as sources of light. It was plenty enough, however. Although it reminded him how far into the night he was, and how Filch would be back eventually.

            Resuming his cleaning, he turned his thoughts toward the plates, while moving toward the casing marked "Service to the school".

            As he cleaned, he noticed a silver medal, shining brightly under the dim torch light.

                        Service to the school

Awarded to T.M. Riddle,

                                    1942

            "Blimey, what was he? A super-hero?" Harry wondered out loud. "Best grades, head boy, and now service to the school… probably bribed the teachers. No way anyone's that good."

            His musings were interrupted by a loud yet soft hissing that pronounced indecipherable words. The voice was oddly familiar.

            "Nemesis?" He called. "Is that you?"

            'No… Nemesis' voice is higher-pitched than that…' Harry thought darkly. 

            Suddenly, her heard a loud metallic clang, followed by a splashing noise and a chilly, wet feel on his socks. Whirling around, he saw the rusty metal bucket had spilled over, flooding the floor with colorful water.

            "That's just great." Harry grumbled, looking for the mop to clean everything up quickly before the paint managed to imprint itself in the floor again. Unfortunately, it seemed to have vanished. "Can anything else go wrong?!"

            Apparently, he yet hadn't learned one of the first lessons on 'how to be a good character'. Especially not the class for "Cue for troubles: whining questions in mid-air = BAD".

            "Looking for this?" A doubled, altered voice Harry recognized as under the Vox Diabolus spell he had used back in Knockturn alley, said with a dark chuckle. Its source was a dark-robed figure a tiny bit taller than him, whose face was hidden under a large, pointed hat. It gave no indication over who it was – every student at Hogwarts had that kind of hat and robes. And because of the spell's alteration on its voice, there was no way of guessing the person's age or sex.

            In its hand was the rough handle of the mop.

            "Yeah, could you give it back?" He asked, frowning. Whoever it was, it was going to get into serious trouble for spilling that bucket like that.

            The figure chuckled and, without warning, burst into a run.

            "H-HEY!!" Harry called after it, taking the chase.

            Whoever it was, it sure could run, as Harry noticed during the first ten seconds. While he wasn't the fastest man on foot, he prided himself on being rather fast and agile – a prerequisite for being Dudley's official punching bag back in grade school. Whoever it was, it was faster than him and was putting up a good chase in the twisting hallways of Hogwarts. It also seemed to know its way around, as it demonstrated by using a secret passage Harry had never noticed before.

            More irritating yet, Harry was certain he heard it chuckle in that eerie, doubled voice.

            'It's playing with me!!' Harry growled, whipping out his wand from his pocket. However, before he could cast a curse, the figure had reached an intersection. With a wild movement, it threw the mop to it's right and dashed at the left.

            By the time Harry made it to the intersection and turned left, the figure was already gone, with no sign of having ever been there.

            "Stupid prank." Harry cursed, taking a step to turn around. To his surprise, his foot made a wet splashing sound as it came in contact with the ground.

            "Great." He growled, looking down at the nearly invisible puddle of water on the floor. "I'll probably get blamed for that too."

            He slowly bent down and picked the damaged mop off the floor. It was then he noticed something… a reflection in the water. He looked back up at its source…

…and gawped.

There, written on the black, moldy stones of the wall was written a simple, foreboding message, imprinted in an unnatural-looking ink, shining brightly between two burning torches.

"The chamber of secrets has been opened!

                        Enemies of the heir… beware!"

Mrs. Norris was hanging by her tail, stiff as a board, her eyes wide in stilled surprise, the fur on her back half-standing, as if she had been photographed Muggle-style in the middle of hissing.

A loud impact came from the other end of the hall as the unmistakable cacophony of a hundred simultaneous conversations flooded the corridor. The great hall doors had burst open and students had started to walk back to their dormitories.

Harry felt his entire body chill, his brain lock into motion at trying to find some reasonable explanation for his presence there. Or, at least, a reasonable explanation for being out of the trophy room, one that included no mysterious running figures – who'd believe that, honestly?

'Maybe I'd better run?' The thought flitted through his head, but he quickly banished it. Running would be useless – who was alone, unwatched during the Halloween feast? And who was the only one without an alibi?

Soon, though, it was too late. The first few students froze as soon as they spotted the cat, with Harry standing directly in front of it.

Harry noticed, however, that their eyes darted to himself, to the cat, to the message and to each of his hands.

He looked down at the mop in his hand and then quickly dropped it.

The strands were still red from the paint, in a tint eerily alike to the ink on the wall.

And his other hand held his wand.

'Oh bugger it, I just jumped into this one…' He thought darkly.

"Harry?" Blaise's voice crossed the crowd as she, Draco, Xu and Emma appeared.

Harry noticed Draco's eyes widened and something that was unmistakably recognition come to his face, before he looked at Blaise, just as fearfully.

"What's going…" Blaise's voice trailed off as she spotted the cat. "…oh."

'Thank you for the resume, Blaise.' He grumbled. 'Can anything go worse?'

*sigh* Harry, your lessons!!

"What's going on here?!" A grumbling voice came from deeper in the sea of students as another unwanted witness arrived. Filch. The sadistic caretaker burst through the front row, pushing Xu directly into a rather tall Hufflepuff prefect, and froze upon seeing the scene.

'Ok, now I'm screwed.' Harry gulped, involuntarily taking a step back in horror.

"MY CAT!!" He roared, pointing at Norris. "YOU! You… You killed her!!"

Harry wanted to take a step back, this time, but found there was a wall standing in his way. Filch's hands made a throttling motion as he advanced toward the Slytherin boy, glaring eyes pointed at his neck. Harry gripped his wand tighter, ready to use it if needed.

'If he takes another step…' He thought, preparing a full body-bind hex.

"Argus, stop this instant!" Dumbledore's voice came to his rescue – of Harry or Filch, neither knew – as it was the elderly headmaster's turn, along with Professor Snape's and McGonagall's, to enter the stage. The latter gaped at the message then stared accusingly at Harry, who barely held a scowl that would only have made things worse.

"Minerva, please untie Mrs. Norris. Argus, do try to calm down. Mr. Potter, follow me." The headmaster politely ordered.

            Enter the circus. "My office is the closest, Professor Dumbledore, sir." Gilderoy "legally blonde" Lockhart quickly quipped, as if needing to tell Dumbledore, who had most likely spent four times more time at Hogwarts than himself. "If you wish to use it…"

            "Thank you, Gilderoy." Dumbledore said.

            Professor Snape put a hand on Harry's shoulder then turned to the crowd. "I don't believe you are all necessary." He coldly stated, glaring at the assembled students. "Get to your common rooms."

            Many students did so, but most of them hesitated. At least, until the authoritarian teacher barked a diamond-sharp: "That was not a suggestion."

            Now, only three were left.

            "That goes to you as well, Mr. Malfoy, Zabini and Miss Granger." He hissed.

            "They can stay." Dumbledore said. "I believe they want to hear this as much as we do."

            Lockhart's office was a frightening place. Not in an eerie sense… relatively speaking, or in a creepy one – also relatively speaking. Harry had never been inside, but he had known enough about the egocentric teacher to suppose an intelligent guess. And he was completely right.

            There was hardly a flat area, in the small, brightly lit office that was not occupied by either a painting of the teacher, a mirror or, in one case, a painting of Lockhart that was painting a Lockhart that was painting a Lockhart until the images became too small for even atoms to be able to discern them. The surface of his oak desk was riddled with graded, to-be-graded papers, a handheld mirror and a collection of his books.

            There were, unfortunately, only two chairs. Dumbledore sat on the large, comfy, neon-purple couch behind the desk – the two of which clashed so horribly they seemed to be at war – while Filch crashed down on the other, much harder, wooden chair.

            Harry and his friends stood, looking at the desk. It was better that than the rest of the room. Dumbledore pushed some papers away to make room for Norris. As Dumbledore, Professor Snape and McGonagall analyzed the cat – and Lockhart made a fool of himself twittering – pun intended – about some Transmogrifian Torture.

            Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

            "She's not dead, Argus." He said, turning toward Filch.

            "N-Not dead?" The caretaker repeated disbelievingly. "But why is she all stiff?"

            "She's been petrified." The elderly man said.

            "That's what I thought, too." The twit quipped.

            "The only question that remains is… how?" Dumbledore asked.

            Filch suddenly seemed to remember Harry was there as his eyes locked on their target. He growled angrily and got up, sending the chair he had been sitting on clattering on the floor.

"You should ask him that!!" He roared, pointing at Harry. "He's the one who did it!!"

"No second year student, even a Slytherin, could have the knowledge required to petrify anything." Dumbledore said.

"It's him! It's him I tell you! You saw the mop, he's the one who wrote the message! And he hates me!!"

      "The same can easily be said for every other student in the school, Filch." Professor Snape reminded coldly.

      "He kicked Norris!!" He added.

      "Your cat has the nasty tendency of jumping in people's legs." The teacher retorted. "Hardly counts as a 'kick'."

      "Although it is curious," McGonagall finally spoke "that young mister Potter was at the scene, wand out and holding the writing tool–"

      "Watch your words," Snape growled at McGonagall. "There is no proof that that mop even was used."

      "Perhaps," Dumbledore interrupted "we should hear Mister Potter's version of the facts before throwing accusations."

      Harry froze as seven pairs of eyes turned toward him. Even his friends were apparently curious. He gave a look at Professor Dumbledore, who nodded encouragingly and smiled, eyes twinkling. A bit hesitatingly, he told the story, skipping over the odd, hissing voice.

      'Hearing voices wouldn't be a good sign in the wizarding world either.' He reminded himself.

      "Headmaster, I think this story is very much farfetched." McGonagall voiced, her eyes staring directly at Harry's. "Perhaps this boy is not entirely telling the truth on the matter--"

     "I see no reason not to believe him," Professor Snape cut in. "He is only a second year, and doesn't nearly possess enough knowledge to cast a petrifaction spell. It is something very few wizards are capable of, after all."

      "Perhaps he was helped." McGonagall said. "Need I remind you of her?"

      Snape gave her a look. "I hardly doubt that she would come back here. His story sounds more believable than yours, now."

      "I don't care what you all think!" Filch roared "My cat has been petrified! I demand punishment!!"

      The eyes were now on Dumbledore, who stayed silent for a few seconds. His eyes turned toward the three other members of the staff as he broke the silence.

      "Innocent until proven guilty, Argus."

      "B...But my cat…"

      "Pompona has managed to get young Mandrakes for her Herbology class." Dumbledore said.

      "Pompona?" Blaise repeated in a whisper, blinking.

      "Probably Professor Sprout." Hermione replied on the same tone.

"Once they reach adult age, we will be able to brew a potion to bring Mrs. Norris back to normal."

      Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had hoped that, perhaps, the day hadn't been totally wasted.

      "I'll take care of it," Lockhart declared. "I must have done it a hundred times."

      Harry suddenly felt hopeful that, perhaps, this day would be memorably good.

      "Excuse me," Professor Snape hissed, glaring at the blonde. "But the potions master here is me."

      Harry's disappointment came back full force.

      Dumbledore turned his attention toward the students. "You may leave." He told them.

      "Potter, wait for me outside of the room. I wish to speak with you privately."

      How long Harry waited, he didn't know. Draco and Blaise had both left, saying they'd wait for him in the common room. He could hear muffled conversations through the door, but couldn't make out what was being said. Finally, Filch burst out, carrying Norris' statue. Harry flattened himself against the wall and, fortunately, the caretaker walked the opposite direction, toward the infirmary. McGonagall and Dumbledore walked out next, the woman shooting him a glance as she went, while the man acted like he wasn't there.

      "Ah, yes, Potter." Snape's voice made him jump as the black-haired man burst out of Lockhart's office. "Follow me."

      Being led by Snape down to his office was a rather scary experience, especially if you feared you were in trouble. Harry had done it twice before, last year. Once when he had caught Neville's Rememberall and earned himself a place in the Quidditch team, and the other time just before boarding the Hogwarts Express. Both had been rather unpleasant experiences.

      The room had about the same air. There was a single, candle-lit table covered by graded or to-be-graded papers with a single wooden chair, a dark, gloomy atmosphere, a tightly locked dresser, a simple wooden desk with face-down pictures and a shelf of unmentionable, mysterious unknown… things in bottles hanging from the wall.

A keen observer, however, would have noticed that few of the pictures had been moved, set back up. The walls were definitely not as naked, also. Harry managed to see what seemed to be a graduation picture. However, the colors weren't too good, and the people on it were quite too fuzzy to be recognizable from afar.

      "Harry Potter," Snape began, sitting down on the sole chair, moving the candle aside to get a clear view. "I must admit, I'm impressed you lasted so long before finding yourself here. Last year, you barely stood two weeks, while this year, you managed almost exactly…" A quick look at the clock later, the professor corrected himself: "exactly two months."

      "Er…" Harry didn't quite know how to answer to that. Fortunately, Snape continued, relieving Harry of having to think of a proper response.

      "I do believe, last time I saw you, that I had asked you to tell me if you ever saw something strange in the school; to go to me directly."

      "I-I didn't!" At his raised eyebrow, Harry took his turn to correct himself. "I mean, I didn't see anything weird until today, I swear!"

      "No need to be so defensive. I believe you. And this only makes things more alarming. At least Quirrell had been stupid enough to leave clues. Let this be a reminder, however." He bent forward on the table, staring at Harry directly in the eyes. "Be careful this year, Harry."

      "Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"

      "Actually, sir, I just remembered! Dobby, the house-elf!"

      "Dobby? Lucius Malfoy's elf? What does he have to do with our current predicament?"

      Harry told him his misadventures with the rather brutal house-elf who apparently wanted to save his life by ending his life.

      "Hmm." was all Professor Snape said as Harry finished the story. The professor slowly got up and strode in the dim moonlight streaming out of the dirty, thin window near the ceiling of his room, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Most peculiar…" He mused out loud. "That elf is quite obedient, usually… Was there anything else?"

      "Uh… no." Harry said, making a mental list. Nope, nothing else to say.

      "Very well. Then I have something to tell you." He turned toward Harry. "I have noticed you've been keeping a diary."

      "Err…" A bit taken aback, Harry didn't quite know what to do, once again. For a lack of better answer, he nodded.

      "I only have this to tell you: Be very careful around it. Your thoughts and feelings make up who you are. Without those, a person is hardly more than a robot – an empty shell. Knowing how someone thinks is the best way to control that person. One should always be wary of who they confide into, unless it is not in their interests of betraying those thoughts. Or, if they are inanimate."

      Still nodding, Harry let the teacher continue talking.

      "I won't hide it from you, neither will anyone - You have many enemies, Potter. One of them being the most powerful and evil wizard of the century. If someone with bad intentions were to access your thoughts, the results could be most dire. They should, therefore, be more guarded than the holy grail."

      "Umm… then… should I stop?"

      "No." Professor Snape replied. "I have a feeling you will come to be very grateful for being able to write down your thoughts in the coming years. Now, I believe Mr. Malfoy and miss Zabini are waiting for you in the common room. You'd best not keep them waiting."

      The hallways were deserted. Filch apparently had no wish of strolling about that night. Grateful, Harry easily made it to the common room.

      Harry noticed Blaise and Draco sitting on the sofa near the fire, inside the common room, which had become their usual seat ever since Draco had blackmailed the 'inferior' older students into scramming. Apparently, more than one family was afraid of the Malfoys.

      Ginny, Xu and Emma were also up – although the latter and former seemed to be on the edge of falling asleep on the nervous Asian – sitting on the sofa in front of theirs. They woke up as soon as Ginny squeaked his name and everyone's attention went to him. Tiredly, he let himself down beside Blaise.

      For a moment, no one talked, until Xu cleared her throat.

      "Good wo'k, Harry." She said, smiling.

      "Good job," Emma corrected, before smirking. "And I agree. But did you have to make it so creepy? This whole… chamber of secret thing…"

      Harry sighed. If even people who at least remotely knew him believed he was guilty, was there hope for the rest of the school?

      "It wasn't me." He said.

      "I told you." Ginny quipped, turning to her two friends. "Harry wouldn't do something like that."

      Feeling grateful for the Weasley girl, Harry gave her a smile. She immediately looked down, blushing to the roots of her hair. Her fist clenched tightly around her small black book.

      "But then, who?" Emma asked, blinking.

      "The heir of Slytherin." Draco darkly said. "That's who."

      "You know something." Blaise said. It wasn't a question.

      Draco nodded. "It's an old legend, passed on only among the highest-ranked, strictly-Slytherin families, like mine, from father to son. An ancient story, dating of the time of the founders. It is said that if any Slytherin breathed a word of this to a student from another house, that Slytherin and the rest of their families would face the wrath of an powerful, mythical curse –"

"Hurry up, you spotlight-hugger." Blaise growled.

The platinum-haired boy shot her a dark look, then shrugged and laid back in the couch. "Well, father hasn't really told me all that much about it. They say the heir of Slytherin has the power to open the chamber of secrets, which was built by Salazar Slytherin himself, hidden somewhere in the school. That chamber holds something that would rid the school of all half-bloods and muggle-borns.

"But we're all safe, right?" Emma said. "After all, only pure-bloods make it in Slytherin…"

"I'm half." Blaise noted darkly.

"My mom was Muggle-born." Harry reminded. "That makes me a half, too."

"…oh." The dark-brown haired girl eeped and shut up.

"Besides, the heir attacked a cat. Do you really think that he's all that selective of his targets?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "If I were him, I'd have attacked Filch, it would have made more of an effect than his cat. Now he lost the element of surprise. Sloppy…"

Everyone stared at him, causing him to stutter a quick and defensive: "Not that I've thought about it!!"

"Well," Draco declared with a theatrical yawn, "I'm knackered. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being a living dead tomorrow… what's the first class, already?"

"I think it's PRAT, first thing."

"Oh, great." The boy sighed sarcastically. "We get to see Lockhart's face first thing after waking up. Stuff of nightmares, that… well I'm off."

He got up and left. Soon, the rest of the group started dozing off, but only when Blaise nearly fell asleep on Harry's lap did they commonly decide to call it a day.

"Oh, Ginny!" Harry said, just before the girl walked up the stairs to her dormitory. "Can I talk to you, just a second?"

The girl, puzzled and, doing her best to hide her blush – to her credit, her ears were barely visible behind her hair – stayed down until they were alone in the common room.

"Look, erm… sorry about how I snapped at you, earlier…" He apologized. "It wasn't really my day, and—"

"It's ok!" Ginny squeaked, her face now bright red. "I understand!"

"I just wanted to apologize." He said, smiling. Taking a breath, he stretched a bit. "Well, I guess I'd better be off to bed, and you, too."

"Bed…?" If it was possible, Ginny turned a shade redder. "Oh, right! 'night!"

And Harry chuckled as her frantic footsteps climbed up the stairs.

That crush of hers was the cutest thing he had seen. In a childish sense, that is. It seemed to be more of a schoolgirl hero worship than a real crush.

However, it was, and he wasn't afraid to call it that way, the funniest thing to play around with.

            Author's notes:

            Heh, 8 chapters into this thing and things FINALLY start. *sigh* too much preparation…

            Yeah, I changed the formatting a bit. Easier to read, ne? It was easier for me to write it when I was using WordPad, but now that I got Word again, I'm not sure I want to switch back ^_^ It feels more… professional. :P

            Sorry for the delay, I've been writing some past scenes to make sure my story stands – it's now ALMOST OotP compatible, with a few differences. *shrug* never said the AUism came simply from Elmira moving at #6 privet drive, did I?

            There's one Anime cameo in the chapter, if anyone catches it, I got brownie points right here ^_-.

            And sorry again for deleting my old chappies!! At least now I got even better ideas ^_^

            Final note, I just can't wait to be through this book T_T. I don't have much planned for it, unlike book 3 and 4 and 5… I just keep popping up quotes and ideas I can't use yet. *sigh* Oh well. At least I got through the first arc of the story "Ginny".

            The dates for Lily and James Hogwarts time, I had planned even before OotP came out. The Lexicon says they were there during 70-77, (and I have no idea how they got those dates) but that didn't match in this universe. Being the author of this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, I do can change a few things. ^_- Consider the dates I gave Fannon in this.

            I'm also going to re-write the first two chapters of book 1. They are not on level with the rest of this. *sigh* Oh, so much work I put myself through for you lot ^_-

And gods this thing is LONG. Lol. I sure can write when I'm on a roll ^_-

ANSWERS TO THE FIC-DELETING ACCIDENTS OF THE REVIEWERS:
(NOTE)

Flummox: Lol, thanks for the push. And thanks for repairing my precious FISHER PRICE VOICE THIGNY™. Yes, computers are evil, aren't they? *Gasps* No, I didn't mean that, Pentium-sama!! NO, NOT THE BLUNT STICK!! *gets poked* AAGGHHHH!!!!! *dies*

            ReflectionsOfReality: *Suddenly gets back to life from Flummox's answer* Actually, I thought the first version of this chapter was perfect. But this one is more alive, it's much, much better. Y'know, it might actually do me a favor ^_-

            VMorticia: hehehe… *sweatdrop* Well, here, I gave you a Draco Plushie. Be glad ^_-. Well, now that you've betaed this, do you think I'll ask you to beta it? ^_- 'course not. :P

            Simply Myself: Sorryyy!!! *ACK!!!* Hey!! Don't cut my knuckles, I won't be able to write!! T_T

            Xava: *blink* …you French? Cuz if you are, you don't need to force yourself to write English, you know. Anyway. Harry/Emma? That's a new one, lol. Sorry, even I'M not sure of how the couples will work out. Romance is something I have trouble planning ahead ^_-     

            (Last chapter)

Mystic (In french): Ben j'lai fait. Pi kein, je t'ai même fait un caméo en haut ^_^.

J.J. Martinson: Thank you!

            Simply Myself: It certainly doesn't warm my heart. Nothing is more terrifying than a writing, obsessed fangirl, apart from tax bills. *shudders* Well, I HAD written faster – I was a day away from updating – but the accident… *sigh* Nice old English, btw ^_-

            Blackheart Syaoran: Sorry, I'm just used to reading Sayoran. Ah… yeah. It shows that I forgot to beta it last chapter, ne? *Sweatdrop* Harry-as-Voldemort, eh? Good luck making it believable ^_-. No I haven't been selected for the awards… *shrug* not that I really care.

           Flummox: YES IT IS RISKY TO EAT A HANDFUL OF BEANS!! Believe me, I've tried the real ones, and… GOD, GROSS!!! Snot tastes… UGH. Creevey wouldn't get in Slytherin if the sorting hat could only send people there. It would have said: "Get outta here!" Doxies? Erm… right, forgot to explain that… Oh well, I'll cover them in third year ^_-. Yes, more anime cameos… including the *Mouth gets blocked* that I was two chapters away from writing T_T. What really makes me go: "…riiight." about Bayblades is when the little top gets blasted into pieces, they react like it's the end of the world. PUUUH-LEASE! Go buy a new one or sumthin'!! Better yet, don't!

            VMorticia: A bloody brilliant pro-Slytherin fic? What's the title? I wanna know!! ^_^ Actually, I asked not to ask how he knew that… cuz I have no idea m'self ^_^;;;. YES, you are definitely NOT a Ron fan. In fact, if I told you there is a Ron-haters group, I wouldn't be surprised if you reply that you already know 'cuz you're the one who started it. Whoops… Erm… really need to remember to beta. I'm veering as far away from the books as I can, and I sure can, because, by now, Harry is QUITE different, along with a lot of important people. Snape, for one. Pokémon, addictive? I guess so, but in a freaky, evil way worthy of the darkest of demons. *Gets hit by a demon, offended by the idea that they might have made them.

            Eriee: Another good review ^_-

           Jordan: *Blink* Erm… *clears throat* Ya, 'ee sur was asgn fpr ot. Think you fr revoweing. Don;t wory, I woll. ^_- Lol