Here I am again. Yadda, yadda, yadda, please don't sue and recognize this as a mark of my respect for JK and her books, etc, etc, etc. Be warned: people yell, get nearly killed, and have angst for no apparent reason.
Enjoy.
--
As McGonagall hurried him through the corridors towards Dumbledore's office, all Harry could think about was that prat, Draco. It was obvious now that Draco knew exactly what was going on, and was doing everything in his power to get Harry away from it. Even if Harry ended up in Azkaban.
Harry tightened his grip on the small book McGonagall had handed to him when she'd arrived on the scene. He didn't know where she'd found it or why she thought he needed it, but he held onto it just the same.
"Non-pareils," Professor McGonagall announced, and there was rumbling and movement, and after a time, Harry was standing in a large, chaotic office. "Wait here, Harry, while I find Albus. I do hope he hasn't gone wandering in the portraits..."
And then Harry was alone with the small book, the strange contraptions filling Dumbledore's office, and a pale, scrawny, and unhealthy bird sitting in a gilded cage.
Harry decided to avoid looking at anything, and flipped open the book.
There was a squawk from the bird, who took to the air with rapid, awkward strokes. It landed in Harry's lap, pecking madly at his hands; Harry screamed and threw the bird and book away from him. They hit the ground together, and burst into flames.
Harry desperately tried to beat out the flames, but to no avail, and when the door opened, revealing Dumbledore, Harry stopped, finding he was holding the notebook, covered in a fine layer of ash.
"I didn't mean to do it, Professor! I was just-and it swooped-and..."
"Oh, did Fawkes finally do it?" Dumbledore asked, peering at the sorry grey pile sitting in front of Harry with interest. "I've been telling him he's been looking terrible." He then bent down and scooped an unremarkable grey sphere from the pile of ash, which he deposited into a cage. "This, Harry, is Fawkes, my phoenix."
"Phoenix...?" Harry asked in wonder. "Then he's not-"
"Dead? Oh, heavens, yes. And no, of course. It is one of the great mysteries of the natural world, the miracle of the phoenix. His death and rebirth is a metaphor for one of the great Muggle religions, you know. But all myths aside, phoenixes are quite remarkable creatures. Loyal to a fault, terrifically strong, and vicious fighters. A man with a phoenix at his side will surely leave the day victorious, as legend has it that if a phoenix cries at the grave of its master, it can grant its marvelous power and revive a man even from beyond the very veil of death."
"Revive...but does that mean-" Dumbledore shook his head, lifting his hand to stop Harry.
"The phoenix will not befriend any but the purest and bravest of men, Harry, so it is unlikely that Voldemort would have ever met a phoenix, much less befriend one. And besides, Voldemort was a Parselmouth, as well, Harry, and phoenixes --eat-- snakes.
"And that, Harry, seems to have brought us to you and by association, your problem. Harry, please tell me: were you responsible for what happened to Justin and...oh, dear."
"Oh dear? What does that mean?" Harry demanded.
"Only that poor Myrtle would not appreciate the irony of what has happened tonight, Harry," Dumbledore said. He seated himself at his desk, and folded his hands in front of him. "Harry, I do not believe that you are the Heir of Slytherin. Nor do I believe you have attacked anyone. However, in light of these recent events, I do not doubt that others will come to an erroneous conclusion. Now, Harry, I wonder if it might not be best for you to..."
"I'm not leaving," Harry said. 'It's what Draco would want,' he thought rebelliously. Because he had to stop this. He had to see it through. "Malfoy-"
"Mr. Malfoy is not what he seems, Harry. I had come under the impression that you two had found some understanding."
"I-we had, Professor. I...I'm not being punished, am I?"
"No, Harry."
"Then I have to go."
As Harry stood to leave, Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, if there's anything you need to talk about, if something is going on you think I should know about...feel free to talk to me."
"Okay, Professor."
--
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the other students began to avoid Harry. It was subtle, but unmistakable how students would take Neville over him as a partner in Potions, how the seats around him filled last, and how the Quidditch team members left him entirely to his own devices.
It seemed that only Ron, Hermione, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas remained in anything like a remotely normal mood around him.
And when Christmas vacation rolled around, most of the students fled to their families and away from the unknown terrors of Hogwarts. Sirius, however, stayed, and Harry decided to remain there as well, hoping to get an opportunity to let his godfather appreciate the season.
The collected Weasleys stayed at the castle, as well, due to their parents visiting relatives in Australia.
And it seemed Neville was hesitant to return to his gran, leaving him in the Gryffindor Tower with the seven other children willing to brave the possibility of an attack over the break. And Christmas morning, Harry woke early to find his godfather and give him something to take the chill from the season.
He found his way between the hallways, moving softly as if Miss Norris, Argus Filch's eldritch cat, would or could punish him for being up at 7 in the morning.
But before he reached Remus'-and now just Sirius' living quarters, he ran into someone in the hall. There was a sharp curse, and then Harry recognized Draco, who was glaring at him.
"It figures you'd be up this early, Potter," he snapped, pulling his cloak tightly around his slim frame, "when I'm trying to do something by myself." Harry didn't bother asking what Malfoy was doing; the other boy would most likely be as close-mouthed as his house-elf, although with less self-mutilation. However, this would give him an opportunity...
"I was trying to find Sirius, but if you're up, I've got a present for you." Harry reached into his robes to remove the small box he'd wrapped the night before, even as he gripped the small pendant from the winter before.
"You don't need to feel obligated," Draco began, but Harry just handed him a box wrapped in gold and green. The symbolism was not lost on Draco, who gave Harry a wry grin as he tore the paper away. Sitting in a black jewelry holder was a small silver dragon, intricately wrought and set with a tiny ruby. Draco glanced up at Harry, smirking.
"You couldn't let yourself be outdone by a Malfoy, could you, Potter? This must have cost you quite a bit."
Harry shrugged, not willing to let on what he'd gone through to get the trinket.
"You surely know that I've gotten you something, as well. I thought that with your Mu-Muggle friend around, you might appreciate something like this." With a slight flick of his wrist, Draco seemingly summoned a small golden watch.
"I've got a watch," Harry said.
"I know that," Draco replied. "You don't have a wizard watch, though. I put Longbottom, Granger, and Weasley on there, so you'll always know what they're up to." And when Harry looked at the watch, it was indeed one of the common wizard's clocks, with each hand bearing a name and pointing to one of several different places: 'home', 'school', 'studying', 'do not disturb', 'traveling', 'in mortal peril', 'lost', 'in trouble', and 'hospital'. Ron was currently not to be disturbed, and Hermione was 'studying'. Harry snorted at that. And then...
"I can't accept this."
"What? Potter, this is a gift given in good faith-"
"You're not on it." When Malfoy's mouth dropped open, Harry plowed forward. "I can't have this if some of my friends are missing." Draco's cheeks reddened slightly, and he suddenly grabbed the watch back.
"Sure. If you absolutely insist, I'll have Mr. Temmains alter this at a --considerable-- expense." But although Draco sounded angry, he looked pleased. He brushed past Harry, and vanished down one of the halls that led to the Slythering dungeons.
Harry grinned, and turned down the hallway to Sirius' room. He knocked on the door, and when Sirius muttered an assent, pushed the door open.
Sirius was still in bed, half-covered (thankfully; Sirius had a tendency to sleep in the nude) with the dark red sheets, hugging one of the bed's pillows like a lifeline. Harry stopped by the side of the bed and removed his present to Sirius. Although Sirius had responded to the knock, he seemed intent on sleeping further, or might have been fully asleep anyway.
Harry tugged the pillow away and replaced it with a gift he'd gotten from Peter years ago; the stuffed fox was charmed to ward away nightmares, and Harry was certain from signs of age that it was a relic from Peter's own childhood. And at the moment, he was sure Sirius needed it more. As he turned to leave, he noticed Sirius clutch the stuffed animal tightly, and heard his godfather give a contented sigh.
"Merry Christmas, Sirius," Harry whispered, and slipped from the room.
--
When Harry started breakfast, the Hall was mostly empty. The only other person in it was Professor Trelawney, who started when she saw Harry. As he finished off his toast, though, she rose from her seat at the High Table to join him at his own seat. Her eyes blinked worriedly behind her overlarge glasses.
"Mr. Potter," she whispered, "I have sensed you have been dabbling into the arts of the future of late, and I wonder if you are aware of the significance of what you are doing?"
Harry looked up at her, into the slightly unfocused eyes of a woman accustomed to staring beyond the reaches of the present.
"I...I am, Professor."
"I trust, Harry, that you will be joining me next year in Divinations," she continued, "unless, of course, your journeys into the future bear no fruit. Tell me, Harry, what do you see?" She thrust her teacup at him, such that Harry could gaze into the bottom, where the leaves lay scattered in apparently random patterns. He stared at the shapes for a moment, seeing nothing in the murky cup bottom.
And then something clicked.
"You are a teacher, not a prophet. But you will play a part in greater things than this. You will show me things I will never see." He looked up into Professor Trelawney's eyes and smirked. "And you will come into money soon."
The woman snorted and took Harry's own teacup. "Very funny, Mr. Potter. I seriously doubt my great-aunt has left some chest of treasures lying about my flat in Surrey." She peered at the bottom of his cup, frowning. "Now let's take a look at..." She suddenly broke off, the cup slipping from her grasp.
"Tragedy will strike you again, Harry. You are stalked by the Grim, the specter of death! And, Harry...your path lies split by your choices. Choices of the head, choices of the heart, choices..." As she had spoken, Professor Trelawney's voice had deepened into something guttural and terrifying. And before she could finish, she froze, and fell forward onto the table, the cup rolling away from her with a rattle.
"One never quite knows what will come from Sybill's mouth," Dumbledore said from behind Harry.
"Wha-what did you hear?" Harry asked, trying to stand and wake Trelawney at the same time. "I just-Professor Trelawney asked me to...I didn't mean to make her..."
"Professor Trelawney has a penchant for dramatics, Harry, and I suspect that this was one of her many attempts to draw awe for her talents. I must say your assessment is quite astute, however. I have seen skilled Seers pass from her classroom, though her predictions are usually no more true than your horoscope." Dumbledore bent over Trelawney and nudged her. "Sybill, it's time to get up."
At Dumbledore's touch, Trelawney raised her head, blinking owlishly at the two.
"Oh! Albus. I was just..."
"No matter, Sybill. I just hope you'll get a good rest. And Harry, I think you might find one of your friends in the library."
--
Hermione had actually holed herself up in one of the more inaccessible corners of the library, having collected an ungodly number of books around her. Harry joked that she would someday get lost in there, and it was exactly why he kept a healthy distance from her whenever she was studying in there.
Harry took a secluded table, and dug in his robes for something to do; he found the small notebook, wrapped in something like leather, or perhaps snakeskin. More rummaging revealed a quill, and Harry decided it might be a good time to start a journal. Maybe something to write down his predictions. He flipped the journal open, and was surprised to discover exactly what it was.
It was a day planner.
From the 1940's.
And it was unused.
Never one to waste writing space, however, Harry opened to the first page and wrote, "Today, Professor Trelawney asked me to read her teacup."
As he wrote the words, they glowed, and when the sentence was finished, the letters faded into the paper. And then new words appeared on the paper.
'Trelawney? I remember her; she was a skittish first-year who spent hours reading the horoscopes.'
Harry froze, staring at the paper. Had it just...answered him? Trembling, he wrote a response.
"She seems to know what she's doing; I think she sometimes might even be right."
'And if I told you you'd go on a long journey, I might be right, too,' the words replied. 'But that doesn't make --me-- a Seer. And if she were, she ought to have seen what Reubus did at the beginning of the year. All she had to say, though, was how I'd become a real Slytherin by the end of the year.'
Reubus? Something rang in Harry's memory.
It had been 50 years since the attacks.
"What are you talking about? Is this about the Chamber of Secrets?"
'Of course! They hushed the whole thing up, but I knew what happened.'
"Can you tell me?"
'No. But I can show you.'
--
Harry wandered through the next few weeks, stunned by the knowledge of what Dumbledore knew and was doing nothing about. If Reubus Hagrid, known for his love of dangerous beasts, had opened the Chamber...
Well, it was obvious he didn't intend anyone to get hurt, which probably was why he'd been allowed to remain around Hogwarts.
And it made Harry worry; the voice whispering to him in the walls, even in some of his dreams, when he would wake with his mind reeling, implied a beast and wizard working in perfect concert. And Hagrid would never order something to kill anyone.
And for someone so obviously of giant descent, he didn't make what one might call "pure-blooded".
Hermione joined him at his bench during the first Herbology lesson after the holidays, when they were transplanting gorgon root, a volatile plant well-known among Muggles by its name for its most famous effects.
"Harry, you've been out of it recently," she said, making sure her hands were fully covered before she uprooted the gorgon root. "What is going on? You know, Ron asked to study with me last night; he said you're not coherent anymore."
"I just..." Harry shook his head. "I can't talk about it right now."
His head shot up at the sound of a commotion. Neville hadn't securely fastened his gloves, and as a result, had let the gorgon root touch his skin.
Madam Sprout shouted at him as she waded through students carrying a small bottle in one hand. "Move aside, everyone! If he doesn't get this mandrake potion soon, he'll have to go to the hospital wing for paralysis." She liberally poured the greenish potion over Neville's hand, muttering to herself. "I'm lucky I've got some out here, or we'd have to go to Severus for a stronger variety. He uses it to treat snake bites."
Hermione's head snapped up. "What?" She lunged under the table for a book, and Harry could hear her flipping through the pages, showing little regard for the book's integrity. And then she was standing, one hand in the air.
"Madam Sprout! I need to go to the library immediately!"
"It can wait until after class, Miss Granger. I must tend to Mr. Longbottom." She tutted quietly, and then turned to the class. "Actually, we'll end class early. I should take Neville to the Infirmary. Please behave yourselves."
Harry barely had time to turn to Hermione when she had gone, running towards the school building, followed by Madam Sprout, leading Neville at a swift walk.
--
Harry went to the Common Room with his journal, planning on quizzing the mind within it, a boy named Tom Riddle, about the Chamber. Maybe he could find it and stop the attacks before anything worse happened.
"Do you know anything else about the Chamber?" Harry wrote, watching in fascination as the ink faded into nothingness and reformed into a new message.
'No; I've told you what I know. It's somewhere near the dungeons, that's all I know. Where else would Slytherin put something like that?'
"Harry, what are you doing with that?" Harry glanced up to meet Ginny's eyes. She was pale, and, he noticed, thinner than she'd been at the beginning of the holidays. "My father always said...don't trust something that thinks for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." She took a few steps towards him. "And that's...not right, Harry. Because..." She stopped, shaking her head.
"What is it, Ginny?" he demanded. She didn't move, instead staring beyond Harry. "Ginny?"
"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall was standing by the portrait hole, her lips tight. "You need to come with me."
--
Harry tried to ask what was wrong as McGonagall led him through the halls, but she remained silent; Harry could tell, however, that she was leading him unerringly towards the Hospital Wing.
"Professor? Nothing's happened to Remus, has it?" She stopped short at the question, and bit her lip. "Professor?"
"I think you'd just better come along, Potter," she said. When she started to move again, it was with a little more hesitation in it, which was why she didn't notice Draco until she ran into him. "Malfoy!"
Draco was panting, clutching something small and shiny in his hands.
"Professor," he gasped, and when he noticed Harry, he seemed to grow more upset. "Oh...you know, then," he said.
"Know what?" Harry demanded.
"Yes, and what are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall said, wavering somewhere between worried and stern. "I thought I'd told Severus to send everyone back to their dormitories."
"You had," Draco said, his face approaching something similar to a sneer towards the teacher, "but when I heard what had happened...here, Harry." He handed over the small object, and Harry recognized the watch Draco had tried to give him for Christmas, with one addition to it. There was Draco's hand, pointing clearly at "In Trouble", Ron's and Neville's pointed at "School", and Hermione's...
"What's happened to her?" Harry demanded.
Hermione's hand was pointed at "In Mortal Peril".
"Professor?"
"We found Hermione near the library, Harry. She's been Petrified."
--
Hermione was essentially lying in state, eyes staring at the ceiling. One hand clasped a small mirror, and the other was clenched in a fist.
"I don't suppose any of this means anything to you, does it, Harry?" McGonagall asked. Harry shook his head, numb as he looked at his friend, appearing as lifeless as Remus had. He reached out to brush her forehead, startled when it felt warm, instead of the cold stiffness he expected from the word.
"No; she'd gone to the library. I...it was after Neville had gotten himself injured in Herbology. I can't say what she was thinking, but...Professor? Do we have any idea what this is? I..." Harry broke off, suddenly not sure if he should reveal what he knew about Hagrid and the strange, many-legged creature he'd released from the Chamber. "I want everyone to be all right."
"So do I, Harry," she responded.
It soon became apparent he couldn't do anything to help her, and so he drifted away from the Infirmary and back to Gryffindor Tower, where McGonagall had encouraged him to return. "With this attack," she'd said, "we're making sure no one is going to be in a situation where they're alone and in danger."
Outside, Harry nearly ran into Draco. The other boy fell into step with him, and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders.
"Harry, I can't say I've been very endeared of Granger, but I know she was your friend. And I'm telling you one last time to go home. Get away from this before you get yourself killed." Harry stopped moving, turning to grab ahold of Draco's arm.
"You've been hinting and scheming all year, Malfoy. Tell me what the hell you know about all this!"
"I don't know anything, Potter," Draco snapped. He pulled himself away from Harry, glaring. "My father doesn't trust me as far as I can throw him, and he hasn't told me anything. I just know that something's happening. My father was a Death Eater, damn it!"
"And you've been pushing me all year, Malfoy." Harry pushed past him, growling. "I just want you to leave me alone."
Harry stormed away from Draco, still feeling angry and terrified when he returned to Gryffindor Tower. He'd yelled at Draco, who he'd been trying to befriend. Malfoy knew something he wasn't telling Harry. Hermione was...
Hermione had found something. Hermione had been attacked because she knew something. She'd found something out, and she'd been cornered.
"Harry?" Harry looked up at Ron as his friend entered the Common Room from their dorm. "Harry, I think you need to see this. Our room-"
Following at a jog he wasn't sure he could actually afford, feeling so distraught, Harry got up to his room, and stopped.
Someone had torn the room to pieces. This person had focused especially around Harry's bed, leaving textbooks and notes scattered everywhere. His trunk had been upended, and sitting on top of his (mussed) sheets was 'The Book of Ages', open to some point in the middle. Harry stepped close, and bent over the book, too shocked to comment or even think about the chaos.
The page was old, weathered, somehow appearing out of place. It should have looked like the other pages, but the paper was yellowed and crumbling.
'She knew what he should have.'
"Harry?"
"Hermione...she's been Petrified, Ron." Harry turned to look at Ron, and swallowed. "And I know who's done it."
"What? Who?"
"It's Voldemort, Ron. He's been attacking the students."
"What? Harry, how do you know that? How is he here? What-"
"I don't know, Ron, but Hermione did."
"Harry?"
"I'm going to find him, Ron."
--
So, here we are. We all know what's going to be happening from here on out, but I hope you'll stick through to the end; I may yet be able to surprise you, eh? Until next time.
Enjoy.
--
As McGonagall hurried him through the corridors towards Dumbledore's office, all Harry could think about was that prat, Draco. It was obvious now that Draco knew exactly what was going on, and was doing everything in his power to get Harry away from it. Even if Harry ended up in Azkaban.
Harry tightened his grip on the small book McGonagall had handed to him when she'd arrived on the scene. He didn't know where she'd found it or why she thought he needed it, but he held onto it just the same.
"Non-pareils," Professor McGonagall announced, and there was rumbling and movement, and after a time, Harry was standing in a large, chaotic office. "Wait here, Harry, while I find Albus. I do hope he hasn't gone wandering in the portraits..."
And then Harry was alone with the small book, the strange contraptions filling Dumbledore's office, and a pale, scrawny, and unhealthy bird sitting in a gilded cage.
Harry decided to avoid looking at anything, and flipped open the book.
There was a squawk from the bird, who took to the air with rapid, awkward strokes. It landed in Harry's lap, pecking madly at his hands; Harry screamed and threw the bird and book away from him. They hit the ground together, and burst into flames.
Harry desperately tried to beat out the flames, but to no avail, and when the door opened, revealing Dumbledore, Harry stopped, finding he was holding the notebook, covered in a fine layer of ash.
"I didn't mean to do it, Professor! I was just-and it swooped-and..."
"Oh, did Fawkes finally do it?" Dumbledore asked, peering at the sorry grey pile sitting in front of Harry with interest. "I've been telling him he's been looking terrible." He then bent down and scooped an unremarkable grey sphere from the pile of ash, which he deposited into a cage. "This, Harry, is Fawkes, my phoenix."
"Phoenix...?" Harry asked in wonder. "Then he's not-"
"Dead? Oh, heavens, yes. And no, of course. It is one of the great mysteries of the natural world, the miracle of the phoenix. His death and rebirth is a metaphor for one of the great Muggle religions, you know. But all myths aside, phoenixes are quite remarkable creatures. Loyal to a fault, terrifically strong, and vicious fighters. A man with a phoenix at his side will surely leave the day victorious, as legend has it that if a phoenix cries at the grave of its master, it can grant its marvelous power and revive a man even from beyond the very veil of death."
"Revive...but does that mean-" Dumbledore shook his head, lifting his hand to stop Harry.
"The phoenix will not befriend any but the purest and bravest of men, Harry, so it is unlikely that Voldemort would have ever met a phoenix, much less befriend one. And besides, Voldemort was a Parselmouth, as well, Harry, and phoenixes --eat-- snakes.
"And that, Harry, seems to have brought us to you and by association, your problem. Harry, please tell me: were you responsible for what happened to Justin and...oh, dear."
"Oh dear? What does that mean?" Harry demanded.
"Only that poor Myrtle would not appreciate the irony of what has happened tonight, Harry," Dumbledore said. He seated himself at his desk, and folded his hands in front of him. "Harry, I do not believe that you are the Heir of Slytherin. Nor do I believe you have attacked anyone. However, in light of these recent events, I do not doubt that others will come to an erroneous conclusion. Now, Harry, I wonder if it might not be best for you to..."
"I'm not leaving," Harry said. 'It's what Draco would want,' he thought rebelliously. Because he had to stop this. He had to see it through. "Malfoy-"
"Mr. Malfoy is not what he seems, Harry. I had come under the impression that you two had found some understanding."
"I-we had, Professor. I...I'm not being punished, am I?"
"No, Harry."
"Then I have to go."
As Harry stood to leave, Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, if there's anything you need to talk about, if something is going on you think I should know about...feel free to talk to me."
"Okay, Professor."
--
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the other students began to avoid Harry. It was subtle, but unmistakable how students would take Neville over him as a partner in Potions, how the seats around him filled last, and how the Quidditch team members left him entirely to his own devices.
It seemed that only Ron, Hermione, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas remained in anything like a remotely normal mood around him.
And when Christmas vacation rolled around, most of the students fled to their families and away from the unknown terrors of Hogwarts. Sirius, however, stayed, and Harry decided to remain there as well, hoping to get an opportunity to let his godfather appreciate the season.
The collected Weasleys stayed at the castle, as well, due to their parents visiting relatives in Australia.
And it seemed Neville was hesitant to return to his gran, leaving him in the Gryffindor Tower with the seven other children willing to brave the possibility of an attack over the break. And Christmas morning, Harry woke early to find his godfather and give him something to take the chill from the season.
He found his way between the hallways, moving softly as if Miss Norris, Argus Filch's eldritch cat, would or could punish him for being up at 7 in the morning.
But before he reached Remus'-and now just Sirius' living quarters, he ran into someone in the hall. There was a sharp curse, and then Harry recognized Draco, who was glaring at him.
"It figures you'd be up this early, Potter," he snapped, pulling his cloak tightly around his slim frame, "when I'm trying to do something by myself." Harry didn't bother asking what Malfoy was doing; the other boy would most likely be as close-mouthed as his house-elf, although with less self-mutilation. However, this would give him an opportunity...
"I was trying to find Sirius, but if you're up, I've got a present for you." Harry reached into his robes to remove the small box he'd wrapped the night before, even as he gripped the small pendant from the winter before.
"You don't need to feel obligated," Draco began, but Harry just handed him a box wrapped in gold and green. The symbolism was not lost on Draco, who gave Harry a wry grin as he tore the paper away. Sitting in a black jewelry holder was a small silver dragon, intricately wrought and set with a tiny ruby. Draco glanced up at Harry, smirking.
"You couldn't let yourself be outdone by a Malfoy, could you, Potter? This must have cost you quite a bit."
Harry shrugged, not willing to let on what he'd gone through to get the trinket.
"You surely know that I've gotten you something, as well. I thought that with your Mu-Muggle friend around, you might appreciate something like this." With a slight flick of his wrist, Draco seemingly summoned a small golden watch.
"I've got a watch," Harry said.
"I know that," Draco replied. "You don't have a wizard watch, though. I put Longbottom, Granger, and Weasley on there, so you'll always know what they're up to." And when Harry looked at the watch, it was indeed one of the common wizard's clocks, with each hand bearing a name and pointing to one of several different places: 'home', 'school', 'studying', 'do not disturb', 'traveling', 'in mortal peril', 'lost', 'in trouble', and 'hospital'. Ron was currently not to be disturbed, and Hermione was 'studying'. Harry snorted at that. And then...
"I can't accept this."
"What? Potter, this is a gift given in good faith-"
"You're not on it." When Malfoy's mouth dropped open, Harry plowed forward. "I can't have this if some of my friends are missing." Draco's cheeks reddened slightly, and he suddenly grabbed the watch back.
"Sure. If you absolutely insist, I'll have Mr. Temmains alter this at a --considerable-- expense." But although Draco sounded angry, he looked pleased. He brushed past Harry, and vanished down one of the halls that led to the Slythering dungeons.
Harry grinned, and turned down the hallway to Sirius' room. He knocked on the door, and when Sirius muttered an assent, pushed the door open.
Sirius was still in bed, half-covered (thankfully; Sirius had a tendency to sleep in the nude) with the dark red sheets, hugging one of the bed's pillows like a lifeline. Harry stopped by the side of the bed and removed his present to Sirius. Although Sirius had responded to the knock, he seemed intent on sleeping further, or might have been fully asleep anyway.
Harry tugged the pillow away and replaced it with a gift he'd gotten from Peter years ago; the stuffed fox was charmed to ward away nightmares, and Harry was certain from signs of age that it was a relic from Peter's own childhood. And at the moment, he was sure Sirius needed it more. As he turned to leave, he noticed Sirius clutch the stuffed animal tightly, and heard his godfather give a contented sigh.
"Merry Christmas, Sirius," Harry whispered, and slipped from the room.
--
When Harry started breakfast, the Hall was mostly empty. The only other person in it was Professor Trelawney, who started when she saw Harry. As he finished off his toast, though, she rose from her seat at the High Table to join him at his own seat. Her eyes blinked worriedly behind her overlarge glasses.
"Mr. Potter," she whispered, "I have sensed you have been dabbling into the arts of the future of late, and I wonder if you are aware of the significance of what you are doing?"
Harry looked up at her, into the slightly unfocused eyes of a woman accustomed to staring beyond the reaches of the present.
"I...I am, Professor."
"I trust, Harry, that you will be joining me next year in Divinations," she continued, "unless, of course, your journeys into the future bear no fruit. Tell me, Harry, what do you see?" She thrust her teacup at him, such that Harry could gaze into the bottom, where the leaves lay scattered in apparently random patterns. He stared at the shapes for a moment, seeing nothing in the murky cup bottom.
And then something clicked.
"You are a teacher, not a prophet. But you will play a part in greater things than this. You will show me things I will never see." He looked up into Professor Trelawney's eyes and smirked. "And you will come into money soon."
The woman snorted and took Harry's own teacup. "Very funny, Mr. Potter. I seriously doubt my great-aunt has left some chest of treasures lying about my flat in Surrey." She peered at the bottom of his cup, frowning. "Now let's take a look at..." She suddenly broke off, the cup slipping from her grasp.
"Tragedy will strike you again, Harry. You are stalked by the Grim, the specter of death! And, Harry...your path lies split by your choices. Choices of the head, choices of the heart, choices..." As she had spoken, Professor Trelawney's voice had deepened into something guttural and terrifying. And before she could finish, she froze, and fell forward onto the table, the cup rolling away from her with a rattle.
"One never quite knows what will come from Sybill's mouth," Dumbledore said from behind Harry.
"Wha-what did you hear?" Harry asked, trying to stand and wake Trelawney at the same time. "I just-Professor Trelawney asked me to...I didn't mean to make her..."
"Professor Trelawney has a penchant for dramatics, Harry, and I suspect that this was one of her many attempts to draw awe for her talents. I must say your assessment is quite astute, however. I have seen skilled Seers pass from her classroom, though her predictions are usually no more true than your horoscope." Dumbledore bent over Trelawney and nudged her. "Sybill, it's time to get up."
At Dumbledore's touch, Trelawney raised her head, blinking owlishly at the two.
"Oh! Albus. I was just..."
"No matter, Sybill. I just hope you'll get a good rest. And Harry, I think you might find one of your friends in the library."
--
Hermione had actually holed herself up in one of the more inaccessible corners of the library, having collected an ungodly number of books around her. Harry joked that she would someday get lost in there, and it was exactly why he kept a healthy distance from her whenever she was studying in there.
Harry took a secluded table, and dug in his robes for something to do; he found the small notebook, wrapped in something like leather, or perhaps snakeskin. More rummaging revealed a quill, and Harry decided it might be a good time to start a journal. Maybe something to write down his predictions. He flipped the journal open, and was surprised to discover exactly what it was.
It was a day planner.
From the 1940's.
And it was unused.
Never one to waste writing space, however, Harry opened to the first page and wrote, "Today, Professor Trelawney asked me to read her teacup."
As he wrote the words, they glowed, and when the sentence was finished, the letters faded into the paper. And then new words appeared on the paper.
'Trelawney? I remember her; she was a skittish first-year who spent hours reading the horoscopes.'
Harry froze, staring at the paper. Had it just...answered him? Trembling, he wrote a response.
"She seems to know what she's doing; I think she sometimes might even be right."
'And if I told you you'd go on a long journey, I might be right, too,' the words replied. 'But that doesn't make --me-- a Seer. And if she were, she ought to have seen what Reubus did at the beginning of the year. All she had to say, though, was how I'd become a real Slytherin by the end of the year.'
Reubus? Something rang in Harry's memory.
It had been 50 years since the attacks.
"What are you talking about? Is this about the Chamber of Secrets?"
'Of course! They hushed the whole thing up, but I knew what happened.'
"Can you tell me?"
'No. But I can show you.'
--
Harry wandered through the next few weeks, stunned by the knowledge of what Dumbledore knew and was doing nothing about. If Reubus Hagrid, known for his love of dangerous beasts, had opened the Chamber...
Well, it was obvious he didn't intend anyone to get hurt, which probably was why he'd been allowed to remain around Hogwarts.
And it made Harry worry; the voice whispering to him in the walls, even in some of his dreams, when he would wake with his mind reeling, implied a beast and wizard working in perfect concert. And Hagrid would never order something to kill anyone.
And for someone so obviously of giant descent, he didn't make what one might call "pure-blooded".
Hermione joined him at his bench during the first Herbology lesson after the holidays, when they were transplanting gorgon root, a volatile plant well-known among Muggles by its name for its most famous effects.
"Harry, you've been out of it recently," she said, making sure her hands were fully covered before she uprooted the gorgon root. "What is going on? You know, Ron asked to study with me last night; he said you're not coherent anymore."
"I just..." Harry shook his head. "I can't talk about it right now."
His head shot up at the sound of a commotion. Neville hadn't securely fastened his gloves, and as a result, had let the gorgon root touch his skin.
Madam Sprout shouted at him as she waded through students carrying a small bottle in one hand. "Move aside, everyone! If he doesn't get this mandrake potion soon, he'll have to go to the hospital wing for paralysis." She liberally poured the greenish potion over Neville's hand, muttering to herself. "I'm lucky I've got some out here, or we'd have to go to Severus for a stronger variety. He uses it to treat snake bites."
Hermione's head snapped up. "What?" She lunged under the table for a book, and Harry could hear her flipping through the pages, showing little regard for the book's integrity. And then she was standing, one hand in the air.
"Madam Sprout! I need to go to the library immediately!"
"It can wait until after class, Miss Granger. I must tend to Mr. Longbottom." She tutted quietly, and then turned to the class. "Actually, we'll end class early. I should take Neville to the Infirmary. Please behave yourselves."
Harry barely had time to turn to Hermione when she had gone, running towards the school building, followed by Madam Sprout, leading Neville at a swift walk.
--
Harry went to the Common Room with his journal, planning on quizzing the mind within it, a boy named Tom Riddle, about the Chamber. Maybe he could find it and stop the attacks before anything worse happened.
"Do you know anything else about the Chamber?" Harry wrote, watching in fascination as the ink faded into nothingness and reformed into a new message.
'No; I've told you what I know. It's somewhere near the dungeons, that's all I know. Where else would Slytherin put something like that?'
"Harry, what are you doing with that?" Harry glanced up to meet Ginny's eyes. She was pale, and, he noticed, thinner than she'd been at the beginning of the holidays. "My father always said...don't trust something that thinks for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." She took a few steps towards him. "And that's...not right, Harry. Because..." She stopped, shaking her head.
"What is it, Ginny?" he demanded. She didn't move, instead staring beyond Harry. "Ginny?"
"Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall was standing by the portrait hole, her lips tight. "You need to come with me."
--
Harry tried to ask what was wrong as McGonagall led him through the halls, but she remained silent; Harry could tell, however, that she was leading him unerringly towards the Hospital Wing.
"Professor? Nothing's happened to Remus, has it?" She stopped short at the question, and bit her lip. "Professor?"
"I think you'd just better come along, Potter," she said. When she started to move again, it was with a little more hesitation in it, which was why she didn't notice Draco until she ran into him. "Malfoy!"
Draco was panting, clutching something small and shiny in his hands.
"Professor," he gasped, and when he noticed Harry, he seemed to grow more upset. "Oh...you know, then," he said.
"Know what?" Harry demanded.
"Yes, and what are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall said, wavering somewhere between worried and stern. "I thought I'd told Severus to send everyone back to their dormitories."
"You had," Draco said, his face approaching something similar to a sneer towards the teacher, "but when I heard what had happened...here, Harry." He handed over the small object, and Harry recognized the watch Draco had tried to give him for Christmas, with one addition to it. There was Draco's hand, pointing clearly at "In Trouble", Ron's and Neville's pointed at "School", and Hermione's...
"What's happened to her?" Harry demanded.
Hermione's hand was pointed at "In Mortal Peril".
"Professor?"
"We found Hermione near the library, Harry. She's been Petrified."
--
Hermione was essentially lying in state, eyes staring at the ceiling. One hand clasped a small mirror, and the other was clenched in a fist.
"I don't suppose any of this means anything to you, does it, Harry?" McGonagall asked. Harry shook his head, numb as he looked at his friend, appearing as lifeless as Remus had. He reached out to brush her forehead, startled when it felt warm, instead of the cold stiffness he expected from the word.
"No; she'd gone to the library. I...it was after Neville had gotten himself injured in Herbology. I can't say what she was thinking, but...Professor? Do we have any idea what this is? I..." Harry broke off, suddenly not sure if he should reveal what he knew about Hagrid and the strange, many-legged creature he'd released from the Chamber. "I want everyone to be all right."
"So do I, Harry," she responded.
It soon became apparent he couldn't do anything to help her, and so he drifted away from the Infirmary and back to Gryffindor Tower, where McGonagall had encouraged him to return. "With this attack," she'd said, "we're making sure no one is going to be in a situation where they're alone and in danger."
Outside, Harry nearly ran into Draco. The other boy fell into step with him, and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders.
"Harry, I can't say I've been very endeared of Granger, but I know she was your friend. And I'm telling you one last time to go home. Get away from this before you get yourself killed." Harry stopped moving, turning to grab ahold of Draco's arm.
"You've been hinting and scheming all year, Malfoy. Tell me what the hell you know about all this!"
"I don't know anything, Potter," Draco snapped. He pulled himself away from Harry, glaring. "My father doesn't trust me as far as I can throw him, and he hasn't told me anything. I just know that something's happening. My father was a Death Eater, damn it!"
"And you've been pushing me all year, Malfoy." Harry pushed past him, growling. "I just want you to leave me alone."
Harry stormed away from Draco, still feeling angry and terrified when he returned to Gryffindor Tower. He'd yelled at Draco, who he'd been trying to befriend. Malfoy knew something he wasn't telling Harry. Hermione was...
Hermione had found something. Hermione had been attacked because she knew something. She'd found something out, and she'd been cornered.
"Harry?" Harry looked up at Ron as his friend entered the Common Room from their dorm. "Harry, I think you need to see this. Our room-"
Following at a jog he wasn't sure he could actually afford, feeling so distraught, Harry got up to his room, and stopped.
Someone had torn the room to pieces. This person had focused especially around Harry's bed, leaving textbooks and notes scattered everywhere. His trunk had been upended, and sitting on top of his (mussed) sheets was 'The Book of Ages', open to some point in the middle. Harry stepped close, and bent over the book, too shocked to comment or even think about the chaos.
The page was old, weathered, somehow appearing out of place. It should have looked like the other pages, but the paper was yellowed and crumbling.
'She knew what he should have.'
"Harry?"
"Hermione...she's been Petrified, Ron." Harry turned to look at Ron, and swallowed. "And I know who's done it."
"What? Who?"
"It's Voldemort, Ron. He's been attacking the students."
"What? Harry, how do you know that? How is he here? What-"
"I don't know, Ron, but Hermione did."
"Harry?"
"I'm going to find him, Ron."
--
So, here we are. We all know what's going to be happening from here on out, but I hope you'll stick through to the end; I may yet be able to surprise you, eh? Until next time.