Author's notes: Ok, for this chapter and the next few, I'm going to break off the Harry-centric PoV. It just can't be done otherwise. Too many things are going on at the same time. This is it; the final run.

Warning: attempts at dark and moody setting have been done for some scenes. Discretion is advised, blindfolds are recommended ^_-

The Snake-who-lived

"At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school"

Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, page 194

Chapter 20: The Chamber of Secrets (part I)

That bloody statue. She had never liked that statue. Made of gold and standing atop a fountain filled with crystal-clear water, it depicted five figures making a stand; a wizard, the tallest and proudest, shooting water from his wand, held high in the air; the unnaturally beautiful witch, standing behind the wizard, her wand just a bit lower than her compatriot; a goblin, looking quite ridiculous with the water shooting out of its pointed hat, looking up in an adoration that a genuine goblin would never have at the human pair; the centaur, shooting water from its bow while also looking up at the humans… And finally, a house elf, whose admiration went right up to veneration, although she had known one or two whose obedience had gone that far. Yet even those did not shoot water out of their ears in an almost laughable way.

There were so many symbols and significations to that statue that she couldn't list them all; most of which were old, bigoted and arrogant beliefs, such as the superiority of pure-blooded wizard kind, which unfortunately held the corrupt ministry like a pincer.

She had never liked the statue.

She had never liked the ministry, either. If she had any choice in the matter, she would have never walked in at all.

Unfortunately, going to Hogwarts legally required a mountain of paperwork and riffraff, most of which seemed to be quite useless, like that form that demanded her to describe the shape of her nose. Normally, she would have scoffed the rules, but due to her… peculiar situation, that was not a safe thing to do.

And so, here she was, sitting beside the charity sign at the foot of that bloody golden statue to honor the superiority complex that wizard kind seemed to suffer from so much, holding her sixth empty cup of coffee and looking at frequent, regular and increasingly irritated intervals. Anyone else would have been asked to wait in one of the many waiting lobbies, but her… The uniform-clad young Auror posted at the door she had came out of, who was giving her wary, antagonizing glances when he thought she wasn't looking told her all she needed to know.

It was a silent warning for her to keep in line. She snorted – that little kid didn't look like he had seen battle, himself. He was even younger than her; probably twenty-one, barely out of the training courses.

No. One of those new generation softies, by-the-book Aurors who went through training regimens regulated and decided by fools who were blinded by the arrogant, ignorant belief that this peace would be eternal, belief that seemed to have taken control of the magical world's ministry and populace, as well.

If she decided to go by force, he wouldn't be the one to stop her, even if she hadn't seen a true magical battle in the last… oh… decade or so? Fighting, after going through the nerve-wracking, intensive and demoralizing training she had pushed herself through, was like riding a bicycle.

"Mrs Zabini?" A timid voice finally asked.

The woman whirled around to face her interlocutor – a small, aged wizard with enormous glasses and frizzy grey hair, holding an armful of forms she recognized as most of those she had filled herself.

"Yes?" Elmira Zabini asked, growling inwardly. If she was asked to fill even one other form, she was going to flip…

"I'm afraid you did not fill form B-76-8 correctly, ma'am," The wizard said in a high-pitched, highly annoying, nasal tone. "'Normal' is not a proper answer for the shape of your nostrils and…"

It was only intense self-discipline that allowed her to resist the sudden homicidal urge that took her over…

…barely.

She badly needed another coffee.

***

If one had the ability to see the same room at two different moments in time, one would have been shocked by the heavy contrast of moods that reigned over the Slytherin common room. Just a few hours had passed since the Quidditch game had been cancelled, and news of the attack, and the identities of their victims, had long since traveled everywhere. The reason why everyone was so shocked, though, was not only because there had been another attack...

Blaise Zabini, half-blood bearing the name of an Italian pure-blood family, known to everyone as one girl with a seriously volatile temper and one who would fancy cursing anyone who triggered the explosion, a second year student and close friend of Harry Potter…

…and a Slytherin. The very first Slytherin to have been attacked.

It seemed that this fact had made everyone in the house realize they were not safe from the heir's wrath. He had, after all, attacked Percy Weasley, who was a pure-blood guilty only of being a member of a Muggle-friendly clan. And, while they would not admit it, more than a few Slytherins were members of such families.

The tensions were such that they would only be cut by a laser beam. Discussions were held in hushed whispers and in small, tightly closed groups who became silent as soon as someone they did not know approached. The atmosphere of the room, which was normally something akin to a busy stock exchange room, now held the silence of a library and the stress of an operation room's lobby.

To resume everything for those who have skipped over the last few lines – make that paragraphs – a dropped pin would have caused half the room to jump on the rafters.

Including the furniture. One of the chairs had already scampered away in surprise from someone who had tried to sit on it.

Harry was one of the subjects whispered across the room. Sitting on the sofa near the fire, rolled in a blanket and holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his hands, he didn't seem to have gotten one bit of sleep. His hair was a mess, but that was not unusual, and his normally fiery green eyes burning with a glittering mischievousness were dull and lightless, staring at the transparent mist hovering above his cup.

The porcelain cup was scalding hot – the mere act of holding it made his palms feel like they were being burned in a fire. He didn't care. The steam slowly rose from the dark brown liquid, lazily floated for a mere second before disappearing out of existence. It had been changed ten minutes ago, yet Harry had yet to drink a sip. He had not drunk anything in the previous thirteen cups, either. 

"You really are… Err… I mean… You were saying?"

Blaise… Blaise had been his very first contact with the Wizarding world, his escape rope from the hellhole that was the Dursleys'. If it hadn't been for her, he would have probably made the mistake of showing his admission letter to Uncle Vernon, and then… he would probably have never entered Hogwarts. She and her family had been the first to actually show kindness toward him, without demanding anything in return.

"So? It's still a school, which means teachers, work, work, more work and… Homework…"

She had been—was—, and Harry felt fairly certain in this declaration, his very first friend. With Dudley constantly bullying anyone who dared do the unforgivable sin of showing kindness to him, it had certainly not been easy to find friends… no, Harry knew his childhood had been a lonely one, until she had arrived.

"I really wonder what it is though… who knows, maybe it's one from of your fangirls."

Her friendly banter and teasing had been a welcome addition to his life, a well-deserved change from the often cruel baiting from the kids back in Surrey. Blaise never seemed to be out of life and energy – at least, as long as school was not involved – and would, in an instant, jump to his defense, whether he asked for it or not.

…she was also the first person to do this for him, as far as he knew.

Yet even now, she laid in the infirmary, still as a rock, the stubborn expression of someone who would never give up fighting frozen still on her face, her limbs stuck in the dueling position she had showed them.

"Hermione, there is such a thing called control. You should try it sometime."

"Oops."

And Hermione… he knew the bookish muggle-born Gryffindor less than Blaise, but it was still a blow. The girl was essentially what held Ron to their group – quite honestly, Harry was certain that, if she had not been there, Ron would have simply branded Harry with the "evil" mark he seemed to have aimed at Draco and would have either ignored him or went out of his way to make his life difficult. More than it already was, anyway.

Yet even now, he could see her in his mind – cautiously peering at something, her right hand stretched ahead, holding nothing but air, an expression of curiosity he could easily recall seeing in the past – during a potions lesson as she tried to understand the "why" of porcupine quills and armadillo bile; as she read the daily prophet, trying to understand and memorize just who held every important position in the ministry of magic…

As she stared directly at whoever had petrified her…

Idly, he rubbed at his forehead. It felt warm – the mere darkness of his thoughts enough to make him feel like he was getting ready to cast one of the spells-he-was-not-supposed-to-know. He found himself able to recall every single detail of Blaise and Hermione's frozen bodies, down to the way the bookworm's bushy, puffy hair had been oddly tilted upwards – or forwards, depending on the point of view – as if the girl had just had enough time to recoil in horror before… whatever happened, happened.

Harry was still mulling over dark, circular thoughts when Draco walked down from the stairs, his white-blond hair slicked back in his usual manner, yet, to the practiced eye, obviously more sloppily that he would have allowed himself to otherwise.

Draco was seen immediately. Whispers dropped faster than a heavyweight from a cliff, though the number of diversified, but none of them pleasant, looks rose like the same heavyweight launched from a catapult. He did not care, nor did he give them more than a passing glance.

The sound of his shoe-clad feet touching the ground seemed louder than gunshots as he approached his friend, people moving out of his way without requiring any prompting. If, before, they had been respected, if only for their names – being angry at Harry Potter was one thing, but being mad at a Malfoy and attracting that family's anger was like being mad in the nutty sense – now, they were given plenty of space because people were quite unsure of how to react.

Given one or two days of this, though, and they would go back to normal.

"Harry?"

The black-haired boy did not reply to his query and continued to stare blankly in the fading mist of is cooling chocolate in the cup held by his burned-red hands. He didn't seem to notice anything.

"Harry," he called again, this time shaking the other boy by the shoulder. "Oi, wake up… Harry!"

That seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, although his startled reaction made him drop the cup of steaming-hot chocolate, which fell with a hollow thud on the green and silver, fireproof-charmed carpet laying in front of the roaring flames in the grate.

"Uh?" The wordless query was empty and numb, unreadable simply by its lack of content.

"Weasley said he'd meet us in the infirmary. We've got ten minutes."

Harry frowned and looked down at the blot of chocolate near his feet, rapidly spreading across the easily staining material of the green and silver rug. After few seconds of reflection, the boy got up and nodded.

"Let's go, then."

It gave him something to do, at least.

***

Elmira Zabini had been angry before in her life. She had also been furious. Now, though, she was starting to believe that the annoying bureaucrat was going to put her on the setting "enraged" if he asked her to correct just one more form...

…she had thought that for the last three, as well.

But then, she hadn't been ready to tear the chair apart and knock it on his head back then.

So far, her self-restraint had been admirable.

The chair she was sitting in was crispy, uncomfortable and in dire need for a good cushioning charm. It felt like she had broken a window and had taken a fancy into sitting in the shards, only without the cutting and major ouchies. The office was plain, filled to the brim with forms of all kinds, posters on regulations and enough rulebooks to put Filch to shame. She had yet to spot the chains, though. The only things that remotely decorated the office, unless one was into the whole… papery ornament thing, were two perfectly mundane metal torch holders, which were now empty, since artificial/natural sunlight was seeping through a tiny hole in the roof, which fell directly on the desk, making reading and writing forms possible.

Swell.

There was a single door in the back wall through which even more forms were accessible. It seemed the hundred or so in the room were those for everyday usage; those she needed that badly were somewhere in the back.

I would like to take this moment to apologize for breaking sarcasm-o-meters of readers everywhere. Even those of who are not reading these words.

And that young auror, standing by the door, was laughing at her. Oh, not directly, but she could hear the small clinking of the dragon scales in his mail, and his mouth was suspiciously blocked by his hand. No doubt he knew her by reputation and thought she was now harmless, just because she had lost her position.

She felt dearly tempted to show him the error in his ways.

"Now see here, you're supposed to tell us the reason the way you want to head to Scotland in A-17-B1's question 11."

"I wrote 'Rescuing my daughter from danger'." She replied stonily, her fist clenching. A single flick of her wand… just one…

"Yes, but you need to tell us exactly what—"

"I don't know what it is, that's why I'm going there…" She growled, repeating herself for the hundredth time. She was mentally thinking of what curse would fit best with those huge, glasses that could easily have been cut-off bottle bottoms.

"Ah, yes… just a second, I'm going to have to get form F-02-18-C4, for demand of information… and the authorization 18-072-D6 to get your answers… and 01-05-E for the reason of the demand…"

And he wandered off into the backroom, still muttering to himself about forms and other things that were starting to give her an incredible headache.

Normally, she would have been impressed at the memory of the bureaucrat at remembering every number of all those forms. Now, however, she was in a hurry. A hurry mistimed by all this idiotic administration by a few hours – who knew what trouble Blaise was putting herself through right now? And if she was anything like her mother, Elmira absolutely had to hurry! To just charge in would be reckless…

…but it wasn't like she could just barge in and wreck havoc…

…right?

The idea was starting to feel really appealing.

The old man came back from the back with twice as many forms as she had filled.

…right.

Havoc it is, then.

A pair of glasses turned into two dark whiskey bottles. The weight sent the old man sprawling, where his forms spread across the floor.

The impetuous Auror was shown the error in his ways.

He would be found an hour later hanging from the lamp by the bottom of his messed up uniform, upside-down, along with the frantic bureaucrat trying to put his precious forms back in order.

And Elmira left the room, intensely satisfied and intent on seeking her answers, even if she had to break a hundred laws for that.

Most of them were useless, anyway.

***

Harry had never liked the infirmary. Perhaps it was the fact that every time he walked in here, there seemed to have some problem involving pain, perhaps poison or even a class accident involving asparaguses in his ears after a messed up jinx in charms – how Crabbe had foiled the spell this badly was still was mystery – or perhaps it was the pure white, boring and sterilized atmosphere that set him on edge…

Whatever it was, he did not like the room, nor what was in it. Madam Pomfrey was kind enough, except when people wanted to get out or didn't want to be fussed over.

The people petrified on the tables, though, were a different story.

Ron was already there, sitting at Hermione's side. His hair was a mess and he was still dressed in night robes, apparently not having taken time to dress up or to try to make himself presentable before going to see his friend. Madam Pomfrey was giving him glances every now and then, ticking her tongue in disapproval. Harry spotted a glass of water at Hermione's bedside, which was probably intended to him.

"Hey Weasley," Draco said, sitting on a chair – some distance away from the red-head. "Anything?"

Ron shook his head and turned to them. "Nothing on Zabini, either." He sighed. "They're just… frozen stiff. It's scary."

Harry nodded. The images in his head were one thing; it took him a few seconds to convince himself that he wasn't simply imagining seeing his friends like this.

Ron sighed. "Hermione… she and I argued just yesterday… she wanted me to apologize. Kept pestering me all year about it… asked me what I'd do if Ginny got petrified… or if she'd be petrified…"

"Having second thoughts about 'perfect git' Weasley's idea of 'caring for family'?" Draco drawled, although Harry could detect a victorious tone in it. Pity it had to come to such a price, though.

Ron nodded in agreement and seemed to find his feet exceedingly interesting for a second, before he gave the blonde a 'cocked-eyebrow' look. "And, what would you know about family care?"

Draco glared at him and opened his mouth, but Harry lifted his hand and went between them.

With a loud, heartfelt sigh that made him feel slightly better, but not that much, Harry sat down on the chair wordlessly assigned to him in the space separating the two other boys and preventing tempers to flare… too much, that is.

There was silence once again, interrupted only when Madam Pomfrey dropped a small drop of water-like liquid in a bubbling cauldron, causing a snappish, flashy explosion that, from the look of the matron's face, was perfectly normal.

"She said she had an idea about what was happening," Harry said after a few moments.

Ron chuckled. "That's Hermione. Smartest witch ever, I swear… pity she won't be able to tell us… yet."

The final word was added with forceful certitude, as if to remind himself that she would, eventually, move again, once Professor Snape had finished with the Mandrake Restorative Draught.

Draco frowned. "She's usually more organized than that, though… if she found something, she'd have brought back some proof of what she's saying."

Ron stared blankly at Draco. "I thought you didn't care about her?"

"I don't," Draco replied factually with a shrug, "but then, I don't care about much, so…"

"Pull the 'cool, cold guy' act to everyone else, Draco…" Harry mumbled, thinking over what the now outraged boy had said.

"Oi! It's not an act—"

"Mister Malfoy, be silent!" Madam Pomfrey called from where she was tending after some second year Hufflepuff with an imposing acne problem.

"Sorry!" Draco called back loudly, before snickering.

Harry, however, wasn't listening. He had seen something – a little thing tightly clenched in Hermione's left fist… it looked a bit like a page of old parchment…

It also felt like it, he decided when he tried to pull it out of the girl's fist. However, the girl simply would not let go.

"Draco, Ron, I found something… help me out!"

After quite some time pulling and tugging at the paper – "I'd bet Hermione would have a spell handy," Ron mused – they finally succeeded at taking it out, although it was fairly damaged in the end.

If madam Pince had seen the page, she would have thrown a fit. Ruffled, apparently torn out of a book, the page was evidently near the end of its life, just about ready to be thrown in the trash. However, what was written on it was what interested Harry. It seemed to be something taken from an old magical beast manual and held the twisting and twitching image of a snake whose eyes were blocked by a blindfold and was furiously trying to remove it.

"Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."

There was a stunned silence as the three boys processed what Harry had just read. It fit. It all fit. Like a giant jigsaw puzzle, the pieces went perfectly in place, fitting snugly, simply thanks to a few words on a page.

"Two of Hagrid's roosters got killed..." Harry mumbled.

"The voice only you could hear... you're a parselmouth, it's a snake..." Draco whispered, awed, while picking up the glass of water absentmindedly.

Ron frowned. "It can kill with a look... but... nobody died, it doesn't say that it petrifies anywhere—"

"Except if the power of the gaze is dulled somehow," Harry said. "I guess that if someone looks at it indirectly, there are still side-effects... Petrification, for one."

"But what..." Draco mumbled, sipping at the water, before stopping abruptly. "Water... there was water on the floor when Norris was petrified."

"Weasley – your brother, I mean – wears glasses." Harry noted, starting to smile.

"Creevey had his camera..." Ron supposed, looking at the melted tool sitting at the Gryffindor boy's bed table. "He must have been looking through the lens..."

"Flitch-Fletchley, though? There was nothing..." Draco stopped himself short. "The Bloody Baron!"

"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed, getting excited. The other two were, as well. It was plainly obvious. "And a ghost can't die again, so the baron was safe."

"Relatively." Draco pointed out while looking at the floating dark mass of smoke.

"It figures Hermione's the one who figured it out..." Ron said, giving the girl a wistful smile. "She must have looked around the corner with that mirror and..."

Harry nodded as the taller boy fell silent. "But... it says here the Basilisk can reach gigantic size..." He pointed at the specie's specific specs. "There's no way a huge snake like that could go around and not be spotted, even with help from the heir..."

"There's something written, there..." Draco said, pointing at a single word, which had almost been torn off the paper in their attempts to take the page. "'Pipes'."

"Of course!" Harry slapped his forehead. "The voice came from the walls; that snake's been going about the castle by crawling in the pipes! She even figured that out... Ron, remind me to tell her she's a ruddy genius."

"Right after I will." Ron replied, grinning.

"The hallway close to the entry hall... the Ravenclaw common room's entrance... that passage on the third floor... the hallway in front of the library..." Draco listed, counting off his fingers. "That thing has to have access to the entire school. And if the only way for it to go around is by using pipes, then that means it's hiding somewhere with lots of them… Preferably to somewhere that has access to the entire castle."

"The boiler room?" Harry suggested.

The two boys stared at him blankly.

"The what?" Ron asked.

"Never mind." Harry sighed. It figured wizards didn't use those.

 "A bathroom!" Draco said, clicking his fingers and smirking victoriously.

"Right," Ron said sarcastically, "like I wouldn't notice a thirty ruddy feet long snake hiding in the toilet."

Draco opened his mouth.

Harry quickly spoke: "Maybe not in the toilet, but there has to be plenty of space in the pipes under the room…" he defended, while giving a pointed glare at the disappointed blonde.

"I still say he wouldn't…" Draco mumbled and grumbled under his breath.

"So, to find the snake, follow the smell?" Ron supposed, not hearing the blonde.

"Besides," Harry continued, ignoring the red-head, "the victim who died fifty years ago was killed in a bathroom..."

"Eh?" Ron blinked.

"Where did you learn that?" Draco asked.

Realizing his slipup, Harry quickly thought of a way out. "Would you believe me if I told you a snake told me?"

…ok, so it was lame and unbelievable, but heck… and besides, Tom was being sneaky, so, a snake he was.

The other two boys' dubious looks told him all he needed to know on the credibility of his story, not that he didn't already know.

"Er… right. Anyway… I think that's a good lead."

"Hmm," Ron agreed, giving him one final distrusting glance before nodding. "Maybe we could ask someone if they know where she died?"

"Professor Snape." Harry immediately said.

"Professor McGonagall is older." Ron retorted.

"And McGonagall is a sucker for rules. If we tell her, she'll lock us up in our common rooms and won't let us out until September." Draco reminded the red-head in a lazy drawl. "And professor Snape is too young for that… I'm thinking about… Binns."

"Binns?" Harry blinked. He hadn't thought of the ghost who taught them history at all.

"Sure," Draco continued, grinning superiorly at having through of it, "Binns could probably state you the year and day of the invention of the wheel, and the hair color of the inventor. If he can't tell us in which bathroom that girl… die..d…" His voice trailed off as he stared at nothing.

"Oi, Malfoy, what's up?" Ron asked.

"Harry, ghosts are dead, right?"

"Hmm?" Harry agreed in a puzzled way. "And?"

"What if the girl was still in that bathroom?"

The black-haired boy blinked in confusion, before gasping in realization. There was only one girl ghost he knew, and she just happened to haunt a bathroom, awfully close to the first attack's site, too. "You think…"

"It's worth a shot." Draco replied with a shrug.

"What in the name of Merlin are you two talking about?!" Ron asked, looking at each boy in turn.

***

"Er… Mrs Zabini… we… er…"

How those guys had managed to land on the board of Hogwarts school's governors, she had no idea. Eleven people sat before her, around a rectangular table with no chair on either short end. Most of them were old men, balding, tired and probably easily scared. Only one of the chairs was empty, and Elmira was quite glad for that; she knew it belonged to that blonde, arrogant, dark-lord-butt-kissing "Oh, sorry, I was under Imperio when I joined him of my free will, here's some money to keep you quiet" arsehole that went by the name of Lucius Malfoy.

Yet, for a second, she wished he was there – at least, in that case, she would have had some answer, not just incoherent blabbering and nervous mutters. Maybe she should have hidden her wand? They did constantly give nervous looks at it…

A dark red spark shot out of the tip.

"There'studentpetrifiedalloverschool!" The closest governor shrieked as the spark landed an inch in front of his left hand, which seemed to vanish at the speed it was hidden.

"What was that?" Mrs Zabini wanted to blink in confusion, but held herself to looking menacing and furious – not that it was all that hard. She knew that, to them, she was a violent, dangerous maniac. Perhaps it wasn't safe – or fair – to use their image of her against them, but hey, it worked.

"There… er… have been small problems… involving students beingpetrifiedsincethestartoftheyear--"

The last few words were told on a higher pitch and faster rate than the rest, but Mrs Zabini clearly understood them. Her sense of alarm grew. Petrification? This was high-level dark magic, not just anyone could do that.

"And what have you done to correct this?" She pushed on a low and melodious tone that promised pain if there were no straight answers.

"Er… well… see… it's a complex problem that needs a complex solution and—"

Not a straight answer. Another spark.

"We-ordered-the-last-culprit-to-Azkaban-and-kicked-Dumbledore-out-please-don't-hurt-me!!"

"KICKED DUMBLEDORE OUT?!" Mrs Zabini shrieked, causing two governors to topple from their chairs in alarm. "How is that supposed to solve anything?!"

"Er… well, see… it's… er…"

"Yes?"

A flick of her wand caused more sparks, one of which delicately floated by the governor's nose, trailing a distinct smell of burnt hair.

"It-was-actually-Mister-Malfoy's-idea!" The old man gasped as one exceptionally long word.

"Right." Mrs Zabini growled, now openly sneering in disgust at them. She could imagine it just well – blackmailed them, threatened their families or their wallet… she was well aware of Lucius Malfoy's methods, and she wished it was only by reputation.

She dearly wanted to exact a little bit of will-strengthening punishment – if cursing to the point where they would have wished they lived on a hellmouth could be called that – but now that she knew what was going on – and exactly how badly things were going – she knew she had to hurry back to Hogwarts.

It was much to the council's relief that she left. The blabberer soon followed, seeking a new – and clean – pair of underwear.

***

The bathroom was barely more welcoming than the last time. It was still as empty and lifeless, deathly quiet and stank of stagnate water that made Draco's nose scrunch up in disgust. However, this time, the only water on the floor formed a few puddles around the cubicles, over which the ghostly girl was looking down at them from.

Only he and Draco were in the room. After being explained their idea, the Ron had decided he had better things to do… like find Ginny and finally apologize, as per Hermione's wishes. Harry felt very much glad he was finally learning to push his pride aside.

"How did you die?"

Perhaps asking the question straight ahead like Harry had just done wasn't such a good idea – he didn't know the first thing about the ghost, after all, and, perhaps, he was stepping on a touchy subject.

To his surprise and relief, however, the girl's lips twisted into a pleased smile and her body floated down to his level.

"Oh, it was horrible," She replied on a merry tone of voice quite unfitting for the nature of the story. "It happened right here, in the cubicle behind me... I remember it so well." 

Harry heard Draco mumble something about the ghost having weird favorite memories.

"I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then --- I died."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Saw herself in the mirror." Draco whispered. Harry almost snorted.

"No idea." said Myrtle, in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of big yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away ..." she looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" Harry asked, feeling a pang of trepidation. It fit exactly with what Hermione had found. 

"Somewhere over there," Myrtle said, waving lazily at the sinks.

Harry nodded his thanks and went to the sinks. The faucet holes were too small for a Basilisk to pass through, and the taps were even more so. There was no possible way that the snake could have come from there.

'Maybe one of them can grow bigger?' He supposed. Once again, at Hogwarts, anything was possible.

As he and his friend checked them over, they couldn't find anything strange or unusual about them. They were just plain, normal taps, and they didn't even responded to wand-touches, which was how most magical instruments were activated.

The sinks were normal as well, if a bit dirty from constant waterlogging and disuse. However, Harry noticed that one of them was much drier than the others... desert-dry, actually, which was very odd, in his opinion.

"That tap has never worked." Myrtle told him as he looked at the inactive source of water.

And he found it.

There, etched on the metal surface of the tap, was a single, twisty snake.

'The heir is supposed to be a parselmouth... then...' 

"Open." He hissed.

"Eh?" Draco asked from the other side. "Open what?"

'I spoke in English...' He cursed, before concentrating on the snake. For an instant, he could imagine it twisting, writhing on the tap and slowly turning its eyes toward him...

"Open."

This time, there was an immediate movement. The tap quickly slid inside the side of the sink as the faucet lowered into the ground with a thunderous rumbling sound, revealing a passage easily wide enough for a human and much more for a twenty feet long snake.

"Whoa...  I found it!" Harry called, grinning.

"I noticed that…" Draco drawled with a wince and a pinky finger in his ear, "and I think that Hagrid might have, too."

"Now what do we do?"

"We should tell Professor Snape where it is," Draco suggested, "so he can do something-"

"No, not Professor Snape, Dumbledore. There's a Basilisk down there," Harry reminded him, "and it can kill you with just one look. If anyone can take it out, it's Dumbledore. Come on..." He turned to the tap, muttered a quick "Close," and turned toward his friend again as the sink complied and rumbled back into position. "We'd better hurry."

***

"Damnit—Ruddy Mud!"

Elmira Zabini's day was not going as she had planned at all. Instead of lounging in her favorite sofa while reading the newest edition of Laughs for Lunatics, she had been forced to head to the ministry, which was her second most hated place, just after the dentists'. Instead of indulging herself to a warm cup of hot chocolate – extra sugar, of course – she was thirsty and had to stand seeing people drinking warm Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. She was tired, not having even closed her eyes at all during the night – no matter how much the damned bureaucrat made it tempting – her legs were sore from walking all over the place and standing for hours on end...

...and she had Apparated directly on top of a knee-deep puddle of wet, sticky, disgusting mud.

Thankfully, she hadn't decided to wear pale clothes, that day. That did nothing to make her look any less ridiculous as she painfully pulled her legs out of the bog. The sole square meter of mud in the village, and she had to land in it.

Then again, she had always been cursed with horrible luck with that particular spell.

Back to matter at hands, Elmira quickly cleaned herself with a charm – though her jeans stayed stained, damned domestic charms – and walked toward the Hogwarts gate in a jogging pace.

'Hold on, Blaise.' She thought resolutely, ignoring the looks she was receiving from the startled populace. 'Mommy is coming.'

'And woe betide anyone who dared hurt you.'

Somewhere in the magnificent castle, the heir of Slytherin shuddered inexplicably.

Author's notes:

I like how this chapter turned out, even though there really wasn't all that much action – mostly character development. That's about all I have to say… oh, yeah. One last thing.

About why the governors/ministry are so scared of Mrs Zabini, it will wait for either chapter 2 or 3 of book 3 – the big block of information revealed on our lovable Elmira (among other things) ^_-

ANSWERS TO THE PERFECT, COMPLETE AND UTTER NUTTERNESS OF THE WHACKY PEOPLE WHO READ THIS AND BOTHER TO REVIEW:

Blue Duck: ¬_¬ ok, lazy. As I mentioned before, don't ask me about couples. I have no idea myself. Maybe I'll even drag it over to post-hogwarts... who knows… well, except my time-traveling neighbor, that is, but he's not telling. Rest assured, though, I don't like Slash either. There ARE some already made couples (past events), but I can't really say anything though, secrets, y'know ^_-. None of them are on characters that are already in the canon, though. Thanks for Blaise, that's a secret, that's another and thank you! ^_-

Phoenixman: *blink* er… o~kay. Midget blaster right here...

Lord Thanos: Thanks, I will!

Ran Hoshino: Phibrizzo, eh? Heh, I guess… I can just picture a little kid teaching Harry the darkest of dark spells… mwahaha… And no, this isn't a Slayer/Harry Potter crossover… well, except for that little mention from before…

BF110C4: I'm not "rushing" it. It's just that, right now, the plot is bunched up together – there's no other way to do it; In the real books, by this time, Harry and Ron are somewhere in the forest. Obviously, since Harry doesn't think Hagrid is the heir, he doesn't go to the forest either. And so, everything happens at the same time, a bit earlier than in the cannon.

Blackheart Syaoran: If he's lucky… hehe…

Simply Myself: Oh, I'm already planning the 'backstage' chapter. A standalone, that one will be. Quite, indeed. Blaise's sheer stubbornness has a big hand in it. Oh, and the rest? Well, you know what it is ^_-.

RaistlinofMetallica: Yup, they're coming together; I'm tying things back up. This book has gone on far long enough! If your use of "Petrify" intentional, for the spiders? Anyways. Thanks for the pats.

Daesereg: Interesting… Voldieroach… *pictures Voldemort with big antennae crawling around in a junkyard, looking for food* Ugh. I doubt Reducto actually works on living things. Otherwise, it would be a risky thing to teach fourteen years olds, wouldn't it? *gulps* And who wrote the lexicon? That's a secret ^_-.

Flummox: Actually, it was "piss Weasley off using Granger", but… close enough. For some reason, my textbooks seem to go that way – my french book, "Le Français, simplifié" (translated: French, Simplified) is about 360 pages long, and I swear you could count the number of short words per page on your fingers. I know I'm mean. It's a gift ^_-. I had noticed that… made me sad, too ^_-.

Natara: Yup, I know I'm mean for cutting the book off like that. You read some signs bad, but I don't blame you – they are misleading on purpose ^_-. And yes, it IS the start of the chamber of secrets part – look at the title. I'm not going to tell anymore (no matter how much I'd like to ^_-) 'cuz… well, it's a secret.

A.J.D'Angelo: Thanks

Athenakitty: *blink, blink* Gaah, getting bombed~…