The Snake-who-lived

"We found them near the library…" 

Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets, page 270

Chapter 19: The fourth attack

The common room was particularly lively, early that morning. Students were in a good mood, and Harry found himself being patted on the back more than even after the match. The reason why was because Ravenclaw was still missing a Seeker, theirs having been extremely roughened up. He had gained consciousness the very same morning, but madam Pomfrey had declared him unfit to be moved, and that he probably wouldn't be able to play Quidditch for a month.

And naturally, as every juicy rumors do at Hogwarts, it spread like wildfire. Now, everyone knew what was going on – one version of it or another.

Problem was: in one week was the Quidditch match between them and Gryffindor, who had faired so abysmally bad against the Hufflepuffs, since Spinnet had sprained her wrist and McDonald had been knocked out early on – rumors say they had to catch Wood from drowning himself in the showers afterwards – and neither team had a chance of actually winning the cup. Whichever way the game went, Slytherin was keeping its title for the ninth year in a row.

Harry smiled and nodded at the praise, but his mind wasn't in it. A full week had passed since his trunk had been vandalized and the diary of Tom Riddle stolen, and yet he still had no clue of who had done it. After ample reflection, he decided that, of everyone in Slytherin, Ginny was the most likely one to have done it, if only to keep what she had written away from him. Although how she knew he had gained possession of it, he had no idea.

Xu and Emma were both sitting together, doing homework. Ginny was somewhere else by herself, as he had noticed she was doing more and more often. He had to admit he was getting worried about her. Seriously worried. There was an almost… vacant look in her eyes, now, and whenever she smiled, even a blind man would have plainly seen the strain.

Harry, Draco and Blaise were sitting on the sofa close to the fire, studying for their approaching end-of-the-year exams – Hermione had practically torn their arms off to make them start a whole month early.

At least, in theory they were.

In reality, Blaise spent most of the time ranting about the unfairness of giving exams while students were being petrified left and right, Draco was bragging about something he had done when he was little – if one actually believed him, one would start to think he had been a little superhero and was now retired – and Harry, while trying, had read the same line of his History of Magic textbook six times and so far, not one word hadn't gone in through one ear to get out through the other. He had, long since, given up.

A rumble covered the common room as the passage opened. Most Slytherins, now used to it, gave only a glance to see if they knew whoever it was. Harry, hoping it was Ginny, did the same. He had hoped that there was some way to get her to talk to him, but that hope was apparently vain.

Three fourth year girls walked in, talking animatedly about the incoming Quidditch match. Unsurprisingly, they looked quite happy and spared him a glance upon seeing him, before bursting into gleeful giggling.

Harry sighed. They were not Ginny.

He sighed then gave a look at Blaise. She had also been helping him watching her during the length of the year, and this time was no exception. She gave him a somber nod.

"You should go talk to her." She said. "I think it's time to try to knock some sense into her brothers."

"You handle the twins." Draco, quite unexpectedly, said. "I'll talk to Weasley."

"Right. Leave me with the two most dangerous students of the school." Blaise scowled at him. "Why don't you handle them?"

Draco shrugged. "Because I have a plan to make Weasley stop being a git. And stop looking at me like that, Harry," he told his friend upon receiving a disbelieving glance.

"You would help Ginny? She is a Weasley, too." Harry asked.

"Shut up, I'm trying to forget that little fact, ok?" Draco growled. "She's a Slytherin; a housemate, and since both you and Blaise seem to put her under your wing, I can't really do much more than help you, can I?"

"You could pretend she doesn't exist…"

"With all the time Harry spends stalking her?" The boy said quite loudly, causing Harry to blush and splutter at the implications. "I'd have to be blind, deaf, mute, dumb, comatose and dead to the world to ignore her!"

"I am not stalking her!" Harry protested in a hiss.

"Besides," Draco continued, pointedly ignoring him, "she's got potential, even if the rest of her family is a bunch of Gryffindor-supporting penniless farmers."

"…are you sure you're fit to talk to Ron?" Blaise asked in a deadpan.

Draco smirked. "I have a plan, I said. It's foolproof, and considering Weasley is —"

"Thanks, we know." Harry interrupted with a sigh. He didn't need to hear more of his friend's anti-Weasley propaganda this morning.

The hallways, in contrast to the activity of the Slytherin common room, were somber and sad, as if the walls themselves were tired of having the Quidditch cup handed to Slytherin every year without fail. The students were silent, and those who spoke pointedly avoided the subject of the number one sport of the wizarding world.

Harry, Blaise and Draco easily found Hermione, studying up a storm in the library. Four books were open before her, and a well-organized parchment full of notes was growing as fast as the girl's quivering quill allowed it to.

"Oi, Granger!" Draco called quite loudly, causing many studiers to look up and glare at him angrily. As for his intended target, she literally jumped up a foot and landed on a heap, her quill falling noiselessly on top of the fresh ink of her notes. After making sure her heart was still beating normally – albeit a bit too fast – she shot a glare at the smug platinum-haired boy.

"What do you want?" She asked in a whisper.

"Do you know where Weasley is?"

"Ginny? How would I—"

"No, the other Weasley."

Hermione's eyes shone mischievously. "You'll have to be clearer... I mean, there is a lot of Weasleys in the school right now..."

"Ron." Harry clarified, knowing she had been baiting him into saying Ron's name civilly, which would probably have taken hours.

Disappointed at having her fun broken, Hermione scowled at Harry.

"He's in the common room. And I doubt he'd come out of there to talk to you."

Draco shrugged. "There goes my plan, then."

"That's it?" Blaise blinked. "Your plan is screwed already?"

He nodded. "Yup."

"...not much of a plan."

"You said it was foolproof." Harry noted.

Draco shrugged. "Granger's no fool."

"It's not exactly my fault that whatever you planned failed, you know." Hermione noted.

Disappointed, the three headed back to the common room, before Hermione had the idea of asking them how their studying was doing. They had no wish to see her reaction upon learning that it was flat lining and that the defibrillators didn't seem to work.

…not that they had tried them, either.

On their way back, however, Harry spotted Ginny some distance away, slowly edging along the hallway at an intersection. Seeing as Blaise and Draco were, once again, busy arguing, this time about the best way to process along to freak Lockhart out – monkey jokes seemed to have lost their effect, though it had taken nearly four months to do so – and wishing to speak to Ginny privately, Harry surreptitiously slowed to a stop, waited until they were far away enough and followed the red-head.

"Ginny!" He called as soon as she was in earshot.

She tensed up visibly and whirled around so fast her backpack was nearly ripped off her back. Harry noticed that, except for the apparent sadness that had followed her behind her mask of cheerfulness, she looked perfectly healthy. And that gloom disappeared quickly behind said façade.

"Harry?" She asked, smiling. Had Harry not been looking for signs of strain, he would have been fooled into thinking it was perfectly genuine. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, actually," Harry replied, looking about at the students. He had no wish to be eavesdropped on – his position on the whole mess was already suspicious, there was no need to add oil on the fire. "Follow me, I need to talk to you privately."

She nodded and did what he asked. Harry noted that she did not blush at the possible misunderstanding.

Yes, she was getting good at hiding her feelings, but she was trying too hard. It made her bluff obvious.

Finally finding shelter in a secluded, abandoned classroom – Hogwarts seemed to have many of those – that must have once been a Transfiguration class, if the imposing book entitled: Transfiguration made easy in ten thousand pages, dated 1462, lying on the teacher's desk was proof of anything, Harry closed the door and gave a look at Ginny, who was still not blushing. It was something rather unusual for her, he had to admit.

Harry pulled his mind back on the problem at hand, also known as the diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Gi…Di…" He gave a sigh and berated himself. Now he remembered! he hadn't prepared at all for this! The whole 'Getting to Ginny' had played wonderfully, but the 'Asking for Answers' did not.

Ginny merely cocked her head on confusion.

Reeling his thoughts in, he quickly improvised what he wanted to know. "Your diary, is it Tom Riddle's?"

He berated himself. If she lied and said no, which she could easily do, he had no way of continuing.

"Er… yes, why?" Ginny replied hesitantly.

Mentally cheering at his luck, Harry replied, "I had it for a while, but someone sneaked in our dorms and stole it."

Ginny suddenly looked angry. "What do you mean, you had it for a while?! That was my diary!"

"I don't trust Riddle, Ginny. I was only—"

"You were sneaking in my things!" She snapped, tears brimming in her eyes. "Now because of you, someone in Slytherin has my diary!" Roughly, she shoved him out of the way – not that he resisted – and ran out of the classroom.

Alone, Harry groaned and sat down. "That did not go well."

But no matter how badly it had gone, he now knew one thing, from her reaction. She wasn't the thief. Perhaps it was time to ask his dark magic teacher about what those kind of books can do… after all, the dark magic lexicon had showed time and time again in the past the ability to move on its own and change its surroundings.

He walked out of the room, intent on heading to his dormitory. As he went, he did not notice he was being watched from the shadows. The figure frowned calculatingly for a few seconds, before walking away, mid-back red hair waving behind her…

By Talking book, I assume you are implying of sentient enchanted objects like myself, are you not?

Harry knew it was a risk to talk to the book during the daytime. At any moment, Crabbe, Goyle, Draco or maybe even Blaise could open the door, walk in and spot the book. As a safety measure, he held the book's cover toward the entrance, but he did not want to tax the illusionist powers of the book. Who knew, perhaps it had a limit.

Yes, he wrote back, before launching himself in retelling the events he had seen in Tom Riddle's diary, including the warmth on his forehead that he had began to associate with casting or being subjected to Dark magic.

I see… yes, I do know Tom Marvolo Riddle. You can even say that the book you talked to is, in some way, my child.

Harry was flummoxed. Child?

Not in a literal sense, if course, since I am a book, and am ill equipped for such… tasks. It quickly corrected, and Harry felt an odd sense of amusement in the words. But I am the one who showed young Riddle how to 'create' his diary; how to infuse his memories and a part of himself inside a small, leather-bound book, hence why I call myself its parent in some way. Although the book itself has no life of its own except for the soul stored inside it, whereas I… well, enough about myself. Do you want to know something?

So Tom had studied dark magic from the very same book he was holding in his hands, had he… That bore for further reflection. Mister Golden boy was apparently not everything he appeared to be. Quickly, he pulled his thoughts back to what he wanted to know.

What can a talking book like that diary do? I've seen you float and go around, could it do the same?

Hardly, it replied. The book has what powers young Tom Riddle infused in it, and the magic he had decided to sacrifice to create it. It is unlikely that he decided to throw away all his magic and thus give the book the exact same powers he has.

What did your creator use to make you so strong? Harry asked, unable to resist his curiosity.

There was no answer for a moment. Harry felt uneasy; perhaps he had offended it? To his relief, but not satisfying his curiosity, it did not reply, instead asking: Do you have any other questions?

It was a dismissal. Simply put, polite and direct. Harry couldn't think of anymore things to ask it, so he shook his head, perfectly knowing the book saw it, and closed it.

The Dark magic lexicon did not refer to that conversation afterwards. It was still just as polite, and just as cold and professional as ever before. Harry was a bit relieved that his 'lessons' were not hampered. He felt also uneasy to be relieved of that.

It was a bit of a vicious circle, actually.

On the subject of Ron, things were not quite going as nicely as he would have wished. No matter how hard he and his friends tried to corner Ron alone, it was no use. In classes, he seemed to never be far from the other Gryffindor boys now, and while Harry was certainly not afraid of Longbottom, Finnigan or Thomas, it did put a hamper on the whole principle of 'Private conversation' to have someone listening in. Outside of classes, he was in the Gryffindor common room; quite inaccessible to a group of Slytherins.

A whole week passed and no progress was made. In the meantime, news had continued to stream from the infirmary. The extent of his injuries, though heavily edited by the rumor mill, still unanimously declared him unfit for the match, and time had run out. The Slytherin common room was in a festive mood and already two sixth years were preparing to raid the kitchens and bring back a party banquet where, doubtlessly, Harry's "Selfless and underhanded maneuver" would be honored time and time again.

It was understandable, to those who knew how much he liked attention, that the "guest of honor" had no wish to be present.

And so, Harry prowled around the crowded halls of students getting ready to watch a seriously mismatched Quidditch match – with only one team having a decent chance of winning, and neither a chance to get the cup – with Blaise and Draco who had decided to tag along. Students passing by them gave them, or at least, him, angry glares, or grateful smiles, upon recognizing him. It was not nearly as bad as what would have awaited him in the Slytherin common room, but it was bad anyway.

"…ied, eh? What will you do then?"

"She won't! And you won't either!" 

"Ro—come back here! I'm not… Ron!!"

The shouting voices were familiar and cut neatly through the background noise of dozens of chatting voices. Harry recognized them on the spot and didn't need to see the tall, lanky red-head pass by them to know who they belonged to.

Hermione burst out of the crowd, apparently following her on-and-off friend. However, she had miscalculated her path and ended up running right into Draco and nearly falling over, saved from that fate by the aristocratic boy's quick reflexes.

"Er… thanks…" She mumbled, getting her balance back, pulling herself from his hands and moving a strand of bushy brown hair from her face. "Ro- Argh, he's gone!"

"I thought you said he was keeping his head in the sand?" Blaise said.

"He decided to come out today. He said he's got something to do. Probably wants to ask the Ravenclaws to hand over a victory by over four-hundred and fifty points. Honestly, there are other things than Quidditch in life…"

Yes, it was the logical thing to do. The only way for Gryffindor to actually have a fair chance at getting the cup was to end the game with more points than Slytherin, who were 440 points ahead of them. And the only chance for Ravenclaw to win today was to be 160 points ahead of Gryffindor when they caught the snitch, which would, at the same time, put them forty points over the Slytherins.

However, with the living Bludgers that were Fred and George Weasley and the impossibly fast and coordinated Bell, Spinnet and Johnson combo, it seemed unlikely that the demoralized Ravenclaw team would manage to do that. However, their battered pride wouldn't let Gryffindor reap an easy win from what Harry himself had sown, either. And Macdonald, the Gryffindor seeker, would be a prime target during the whole match – the balance hung all on him.

Odds were very good for a tight chaser-based match ending in Gryffindor's favor; the seeker was alone, the beaters would be busy either defending or taking him out, leaving the chasers to fight each other without help.

Ignoring his friends' outraged gasps at hearing Hermione dare insinuate that Life was more important than Quidditch, he spoke.

"He's deluding himself." Harry said with a shrug. "The Ravenclaws won't give up like that."

"I don't want to hear another word about Quidditch, get it?" Hermione snapped angrily and crossing her arms stubbornly, startling the three Slytherins into being silent. With the absence of conversation in their circle, outside words came to their ears:

"…still say our team should give up…"

"…no way, the Weasleys are too good, Macdonald won't fall…"

"…bet you Slytherin wins the cup…"

"…bludgers…"

"…Katie bellissimo…"

"…snitch…"

Hermione sighed in dejection. "Never mind."

Harry chuckled at her discomfiture, patting her shoulder calmingly.

"Are you going to watch the match?"

She shrugged. "No, I've got to study… exams comin—"

"Yes you are, Hermione Granger." Blaise interrupted.

"I know I have to study—"

"I mean you are coming."

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "It's not like I need to go anyway… it's going to be retold so many times that even Neville would be able to give a minute-by-minute retelling of everything."

"I doubt that." Draco drawled.

"You just don't want to be with Ron, right?" Harry asked.

Hermione did not reply, but the hardening of her eyes and the subtle clenching of her jaws told Harry all he needed to know.

"Then you're going to watch it with us."

She gave him a dubious look. "Um, Harry, I'm a Gryffindor. You're Slytherins. If I go and watch the match with you lot, I'm going to get lynched, if not by your housemates, then by mine."

"Which is better; being stuck in the Gryffindor section with Weasley, or being with us in the Slyth's?" Blaise asked.

"Being in the library with my books." Hermione replied evenly.

"Except for that." Blaise corrected.

"Being in the common room with my books." Hermione said on the same tone.

"Something that doesn't involve books."

"Being in the common room with my notes."

"I give up!!" Blaise gasped theatrically under the laughs of her friends.

"Hermione," Harry said, taking a hold on her shoulder, "we're not going to let you overwork yourself. Your average is over one hundred percent, you're the smartest witch in our year, if not the school. One day of relaxation won't hurt. It might even do you some good, you look tired."

And she did. Her eyes had ugly bags under them. Not enough to be alarming, but enough to tell him that she needed rest. She had as far as he knew, spent the majority of her time her nose stuck in her books and a hand on a quill for the past two weeks, and although that fact was not altogether unusual for the obsessively bookish girl, it did not make it a very healthy habit.

"But the Slytherins…"

"--will have to deal with me if they try something." Blaise interrupted, taking out her wand with a quick motion of her wrist.

Hermione sighed in defeat. "Fine."

They killed some time walking about and talking about whatever they could think of. Once or twice, Hermione had to be reminded of why she was not reading something or why she was not in her common room. Twice as many times, she had to be reminded that her scores were high enough to ensure that she would pass her year, with good enough grades even if she flunked her June exams à la Crabbe & Goyle.

The bell rang, announcing what would normally be the first class of the day. This was the signal for everyone in the school – it was time to head for the Quidditch pitch. Hermione made one last attempt to go away, but Blaise's right grip on her shoulder stopped her.

"B-Blaise!!" She protested. "Let go, I have to—"

"—relax, take a break and watch your stupid housemates get their brains bashed through by flying iron balls? That's what I thought." Blaise finished her line for her, clearly indicating she would not bend. "You'll like it!"

"The only reason why I care about Quidditch is because they," she pointed at Draco and Harry, "are in one of the teams!"

"You mean you root for us?" Draco asked disbelievingly. Had she no house loyalties?

Hermione replied with a mischievous grin. "I said the two of you. I still want Gryffindor to win."

Ah. Yes she does.

"Yessss… Free…"

Harry blinked and stopped walking as he heard the voice. "Nemesis?"

"Uh? What are you hissing about now?" Draco asked.

"I… heard something…" Harry said, looking at the floor around them. There were too many pairs of feet and legs to let him see anything clearly, though. He felt confident, however, that the six foot long snake would not pass silently in a hall full of people. No, he would have caused a commotion…

…maybe he had imagined it?

"Kill… this time… tear apart…"

Oh no, he most certainly had not.

"The voice!" Harry gasped.

"…voice?" The other three stared at him blankly.

Harry quickly explained the strange, disembodied voice he had heard on the site of the first attack.

"And you heard it again?" Blaise asked.

Harry nodded. "I just did!"

 "I didn't hear a thing, Harry." Draco said.

"B…But it was there… and…"

"Could it be the monster?" Blaise said hesitatingly, her left hand hovering over her hip-attached wand holster, her eyes staring wildly.

"Could be," Draco said darkly, eyes darting around, his hand over his wand pocket. Harry clearly heard him grumble: "Freeing the monster just before a Quidditch match… no manners at all…"

"How come only you can h… hear… understand… wait… wait, hold on…" Hermione said, before her face scrunched up in thought, her hands motioning in the air and her lips moving in unsaid words. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in realization. "I… I think I might… it might be… but… I need to go to the library, go ahead without me!"

"Oh no you—Hermion—Arh!" Blaise called after her rapidly disappearing friend. "Goes off running while the monster's on the loose. Completely mental…" She turned to her two friends. "You two go to the pitch and get us two seats. We'll be right there."

And she ran off, barging her way through the crowd in a manner not unlike her mother's, inciting annoyed reactions and irritated comments.

Harry and Draco looked at each other and shrugged.

"You heard the lady." Harry said.

"Lady?" Draco queried, inciting a snort from the raven-haired boy.

Seats were easily found in the Slytherin section of the stands. In fact, they found some on the very front row, even with their relative lateness. Normally, those seats were taken within the first ten minutes after – or the half-hour before – the bell. Harry and Draco had reserved two other seats, as well, and when asked, they replied "For Blaise and a friend." Nobody asked twice. Harry wondered, though how the students around them, who were mostly older students – except for Pansy, who was sitting with Millicent two seats away – would react when Hermione arrived. Hopefully she would remember to hide her house badge and to remove her red and gold necktie.

Time passed and more students arrived, finding seats. Conversations passed everywhere around them, bets were made – most in favor of Harry's prediction of the match's results – yet there was no sign of Hermione and Blaise.

'Where are they?' He wondered. Hermione had looked like she had discovered something she thought was important, possibly more important than Quidditch – which was easy, since, in her opinion, doing a defense against the dark arts homework like writing a haiku for Professor Lockhart was more important.

That girl had no sense of priorities at all. The next thing she'd say that being expelled is worse than being dead.

"Harry?" A voice asked, interrupting his musings.

It was Emma. She and Xu were sitting behind them. Ginny, however, was nowhere to be seen.

At his wordless acknowledgement of their question, the adopted pure-blood asked: "Have you seen Ginny? We can't find her anywhere…"

"She like vanish." Xu agreed.

Harry blinked. Ginny was gone as well? Why? As far as he knew, she had no reason to miss the match – she had a healthy interest in Quidditch and would surely welcome the distraction.

"We haven't seen her either," Draco replied for him. "Maybe she's somewhere else in the stands…"

"What's McGonagall doing over there?" The four heard Pansy's rather high-pitched voice ask out.

Harry's attention went to the pitch, where, heading toward the center, was the stern transfiguration teacher, looking unusually flustered and holding a purple megaphone in her hand. The two teams, who had been getting ready to lift off, stared at her in surprise. Upon reaching the middle of the field, she lifted the megaphone to her mouth and said in an obviously magically enhanced voice,

"The match is cancelled!"

Cries of protests and jeers came from everywhere at once. Ignoring them and the teams' captains reactions – the Gryffindor captain sounding especially vehement – the professor continued to speak. 

"The students are to return to their common room and await further information. Hurry up, please!"

"What going on?" Xu asked, blinking. "What fer-der mean?"

Harry gave a puzzled look at Draco, who shrugged and grinned.

"We get the cup."

Following the crowd of grumbling students who had wanted to see the match, as one-sided as it would have been, Harry wondered just what was going on here. Hermione and Blaise still hadn't showed up, Ginny had suddenly disappeared, McGonagall cancelled the match while he knew she was an avid fan of Quidditch herself… hopefully most of these questions would be replied to when they got back to the common room… but, why…

A sudden, chilling thought came to his mind. Could it be…?

Why else would a match be cancelled? Why else would the students all have to return to the common room now? Why else—

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy," A voice called, breaking his musings once again. This time, it was Professor Snape, who had singled them out among the crowd. "Please follow me."

His voice was low, but true to form, both boys clearly heard it. With apologetic looks at the two younger girls, the Draco and Harry disengaged from the crowd and headed toward his standing form. As soon as they were close enough, he whirled around and started to walk quickly forward, his long black cape billowing, forcing the two children to jog after him.

"Sir? What's going on?" Harry asked.

"There has been another attack." Professor Snape said.

The boy nearly froze. His guess had, unfortunately, been right. But why would he call after him and Draco? It made no sense… it if only had been Harry, then he would have guessed that he still wasn't off the hook and that someone still believed he was the heir…

"It wasn't Harry, I was with him all day long," Draco jumped in to defend him, although he was starting to pant from the jog

"I am aware of that," Professor Snape replied, slowing down just a bit. "Rest assured, your innocence is not being questioned."

"Then why?"

Professor Snape did not reply, instead taking a quick right turn. For a second, Harry was able to see the teacher's usually stone cold eyes, looking at them with an unfamiliar emotion… what was it…

Harry recognized the hallway they were in, now. It was on the third floor. But there was nothing in there, except for the infirmary and…

…oh.

…OH.

"P…Professor, who was attacked?" Harry asked nervously,

Please, not who I think it is… not…

The professor did not reply. Harry felt irritation grow in his chest.

"Professor?" He asked again, a bit less of a question and more of a demand in his voice.

This time, the man sighed. "Potter, do not take that tone of voice with me…" His voice was weary and tired, as if all he wanted to do at the moment was to lie back in a comfortable chair with a full bottle of brandy and get himself drunk as quickly as he could.

They had reached the infirmary door by the time Snape continued. "Nevertheless, I believe you may have a proper reason to do so after this."

And he pushed the door open.

Harry had never liked the infirmary. It was either too cold or too hot, the bed sheets were itchy and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant. The food was bad, too, compared to Hogwarts' feasts.

"H…Harry?"

The trembling voice belonged to a shell-shocked Ron Weasley, sitting at the bedside of one Hermione Granger, who was frozen stiff on top of the white covers, an expression of cautious curiosity still etched on her face as she peered at something she must have held in her right hand, which was stretched ahead of her. A small, handheld blue-cased mirror was lying on her bedside table.

And on the bed beside her lay Blaise Zabini, who was in a flawless dueling position, her left hand holding nothing but air, her wand lying on the bedside table. Frozen still, like a statue.

Both were petrified. The heir had struck again, after months of inactivity.

Draco went at Blaise's side, his face cold and emotionless, hiding his pain. Ron's face was brimming with tears. Harry's was a mix of both.

"We'll get him." He hissed. "I swear that bastard will pay."

The youngest Weasley boy and the Malfoy heir nodded as one, neither looking at him.

"Understandable sentiments, Mister Potter," An old, wizened voice said from the doorway behind him as a warm, dry hand fell on his shoulder. Harry nearly jumped – he hadn't even noticed Dumbledore entering the room. "But you will understand if I disapprove of you taking justice into your own hands."

Harry whirled around to face the headmaster. For some reason, cold fury surged from his control, directed at the old man. He was powerful! He evidently knew everything that went on in the school! So WHY hadn't he stopped the heir before this happened?

"See if I care." He growled, ignoring the sudden heat on his bandanna-clad forehead.

Dumbledore did not reply, but his eyes lost their glimmer – how dare it be there anyway?! – and took on a worried air.

And as quickly as it had came, the anger vanished like the warmth under his bandanna, replaced by a feeling of guilt and cold fear that he had gone far enough to anger the old headmaster of the school.

"Er… sorry," He quickly apologized. "I… er…"

"You are on edge." Dumbledore replied for him in a calm voice. "Also an understandable feeling."

Harry nodded slowly. Now that he thought about it, his last train of thought was ridiculous – Dumbledore knew much of what was going on in the school, but if the heir was allowed to continue, it was only because he did not know who it was, or where the chamber was.

He had never felt quite as guilty… as ashamed of himself, as at that moment. How could he have gotten angry so quickly?

…why had his forehead burned?

What the hell was wrong with him?

~~~~

Elmira Zabini, in number six, Privet drive, picked up a faded, brown leather coat so hurriedly that the hanger fell to the floor in a clatter, her wand ready to be drawn in a heartbeat from the holster tied on her right hip. Her watch flashed in bright crimson strobes with a single name:

Blaise.

Few seconds later, a detonation made few heads look up. Figuring that ruddy Dursley boy had once again decided to explode a firecracker, their owners quietly went about their business, not knowing of the most recent dilemma.

Author's notes:

Things are going to speed up from now on. The end of the second book is in sight… I can't believe I just wrote that ^_^

I used to love CoS… now I'm starting to hate it with a passion, lol. My style and the whole 'diving in the characters' thing made this book long!!! And half the things didn't come out nearly as I wanted them to. *Shrug* Oh well. More work for the re-types later ^_-.

ANSWERS TO THE REVIEWERS' NON ANSWERED ANSWERABLE ANSWERS:

(Heh, try to say that fast, lol)

VMorticia: Yes it was. As the book mentioned, Harry is a very fast learner… but he's got help. From who? Now, that's a secret :P. Mitraphobia, eh? What latin-English dictionary do u use? I can't find any good ones anywhere… And I'm glad u liked it ^_-

Alena: Things are going differently… and will do so more and more as the story progresses. My guess is that, by book 6 or 7, I'll have so deviated that I'll only use the basic outline.

Ran Hoshino: Glad people are seeing it the way I want them to… that book is a creepy little thing ^_-

BF110C4: Yup. One of the unforgivables. On his being influenced, though, that's… oh, you know what it is, by now… ^_-. It was Blaise's idea. She despises Lockhart. So, what is better to aim at than him? And I'm breaking the 100,000 words in style!

Sexyxbabi3: Er… yeah. *blink* how come sexyxbabi gave me a typo, but once I added the 3 it didn't? ...weird…

PheonixMan: *Blink, blink* Errr…. Ok…? And i'd still kick the midgets. It's fun to see them fly off. Almost as good as midget-throwing, or midget-catapulting over a shooting range… ^_- (Apologies to any real midgets reading this, I'm kidding)

Flummox: Well, it is in Harry's PoV (Somewhat) so I had to do it. Besides, this is how I imagine controlling someone's body must be like… Moody didn't actually tell any commands, so it's somehow telepathic. I just take it one step further ^_-. Yes indeed, that's the whole reason. Imagine if Harry had read Voldemort used that spell all over the place before asking Harry to use it? Eh-he. That book is wise ^_-. Indeed, I know for sure, and I'm not telling ^_- :P. If it scares you, blame VMorticia. It's her fault. :P

Natara: That's a secret… and the battle in the chamber will be something to see, I promise ^_-

RaistlinofMetallica: Hehe. Getting Flint obsessed like that is Easy. And it's true: He had to be told who Umbridge reported to, after all. As soon as I saw her in Hogwarts – kinda – I had guessed.

Devonny Rose: Couldn't have him tell just yet, so nope. And no, I don't think he'll ever learn.

Sze (All of them, since it's plainly obvious it's the same person under different names): I see no way I could have him curse the Dursleys, sorry. As I mentioned before, romance is not my strong point. Maybe things will change around book 4/5, if I have more experience. I'm just as subtle as a suggestion-with-two-by-four at writing it, right now. Harry still has the lexicon. It's Tom's diary that's gone. And I seem to have hit a Blaise fan, whoopee! ^_^

Blackheart Syaoran: Well, I didn't like it. *Huff* You think he'll have trouble? Well……..that's a secret :P

ZeonReborn: #1 is a secret, #2 is a surprise, yes I swear there will be sequels (I did not go through all the trouble of making up those lovable original chars that haven't screened yet to keep them in the backstage – "Tha's right! C'mon, I wanna play~!" – ignore her, and #3 is something I'll try to do ^_^

Athenakitty: *twitch* thank you for the chapter-by-chapter retelling of the first book… *twitch, twitch*

Kickedoutofthegoblet: Well, I can't do backflips like Neville. But if I wasn't afraid I'd smash my face in the concrete in a spectacular and quite probably painful fashion, and if I found a reason to actually attempt it, I might be able to. Probably, actually. Strange, from what I've noticed, more than half the people on FF.net are crazy… the other half being insane, certifiable or mad. What? It's the same thing? Oh well. *shrug*

Ganymede: I know the feeling… *thinks back of "Doors best left unopened", "The Saotome Gambit" and "On a clear day you can see forever"* But I'm hardly at the level of the authors that can make me read on like that… I'm definitely going to pull away from the books, but it'll be a gradual thing. There are some things that I can't change – there's nothing to explain the change based on the ripple I made in the timeline. And yes, I have one (Read: a bunch), and it's extremely good, in my oh-not-so-humble-opinion.

Simply Myself: Harry: NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! (lol) I know they do. Same path, but not the same motivations at all. Weird, most people are actually freaked by the lexicon around here… Hmmm… might be interesting… next book :P I can just picture it:

Remus: Er… Harry, what's that snake doing behind you?"

Harry: Coming to class; he's the newest student, see…"

Heart of darkness, eh? 'Kay, I'll look it up.

Dragonsprincess: Here, *Hands the defibrillator* Live again ^_-

Corundum Advance: I know what you mean. The way I have it, though, I inspire myself a tiny bit off Fanon, but I hold the canon – even though I'd much prefer if the version I had was in English – like a bible (and the lexicon as a guide ^_-). Every detail I put in (unless it's a part of my fanon) is perfectly tied to canon, and proven by words in it. Call me a perfectionist, if you will ^_-.

Ritsy: On dark!Harry learning imperio so quickly, there's a reason… but that's a secret. And I like Blaise, too. (And her mother ^_-)

Daisereg: Interesting idea, I hadn't really thought of Harry keeping a souvenir. Maybe ^_-. *starts to look in the plot*