Just two chapters left of the second year. This chapter is definitely a bit more erratic and all over the place - a mirror of how Harry's feeling, as I'm sure you'll see. The calm before the storm . . .
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The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Riddle's Plight
XV. Beneath the Bathroom Sink
Cold. So cold.
She was alive, Ron knew that much. But despite all of Madam Pomfrey's assurances, she didn't feel alive. Her skin was cold, lifeless and smooth; to Ron, it felt a lot like the vase that sat on the kitchen table back home.
But it's better than nothing.
They would be revived tonight. If all went well - something that rarely happened - they would not just have gotten Hermione back, but Hagrid as well.
Here's to hoping.
Ron raised his head, straightening up as he rose from his seat in the Hospital Wing. He carefully pushed his chair closer towards the bed before sitting again. From the other side of the bed, he heard Neville snuffle quietly. The pudgy boy hastily wiped his tears away, his eyes refusing to move from the prone girl that lay beside them.
She probably reminds him of them.
Cold, unmoving, and detached. Removed entirely from the world around them - and not by choice. Hermione and Neville's parents had a lot in common, if what Ron's mother had said held any truth to it.
Cold, unmoving, and detached. Eyes blank and unseeing, skin smooth life glass. Hermione Granger and Neville's parents seemed to have a lot in common -
If what mum says is true. It might not be.
Across from him, Neville shifted. Ron grimaced.
But it probably is.
He traced his fingers along Hermione's frozen palm. Out of the corner of his eye, Neville's faint form continue swaying back and forth, like a leaf in the evening breeze. A timid leaf, and a meek one - nervous, too - but one still attached to the tree nonetheless. Alive. Alive and well.
I'll wait. He can tell me when he's ready.
A soft, rough sensation tugged at the tips of Ron's fingers. Ron paused, looking down. Within Hermione's right hand sat a torn piece of parchment. It had been scrunched up into a ball, and was almost definitely from a library book - when Hermione finally woke up, Madam Pince would kill her.
Ron leaned forward, silently prying Hermione's fingers apart. He tugged at the parchment, saddened but thankful that Neville's quiet sobs drowned out the ruckus he was making. For several tense moments, he thought Madam Pomfrey would walk in - but at long last, the paper came free. Ron quietly unrolled it, holding it up to the light as he began to read.
The world around him dimmed. Ron felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Everything was so cold again, so unbearably cold -
Shaking, Ron jumped up from his seat, and, ignoring the boy's protests, dragged Neville out of the Hospital Wing.
-(xXx)-
Even amidst hundreds of students, Harry had never felt so lonely.
Two days had passed since Emily's diary had been taken. Two long, miserable days. With the end of the school year slowly approaching, the prospect of returning to the Dursley's had somehow gotten even worse. Despite whatever happened within Hogwarts, Harry had been happy to know that he would no longer be alone.
It was too perfect to be true. I should've known.
Harry quietly swallowed his steak, barely tasting it. He took a sip from his goblet, but as he set it down, he could barely feel the pumpkin juice that swirled within his mouth. He glanced at his reflection in the golden goblet. Dull, unseeing eyes stared back at him, accompanied by messy black hair and a forlorn frown.
I look horrible.
Harry silently pushed his dinner away. He made his way along the Slytherin table, walking towards the large oak doors that lead out of the Great Hall. Countless heads turned to face him, and whispers broke out amongst the sea of students.
"He looks absolutely miserable, doesn't he?"
"'Course he does. The victims are all being revived tonight, aren't they?"
"They'll probably rat him out by nightfall."
Harry's blood didn't boil, and his heart didn't pound loudly in his chest. The magic that swirled within him wasn't angry, or irritated, or vengeful -
Just sad. Lonely.
The corridors outside the Great Hall were long and empty. Harry walked alone in silence, his mind consumed by questions he couldn't answer.
Who took her? Why?
"Why didn't you tell me what you were?" Harry frowned, his eyes following the grooves in the tiled floors, "Why didn't you tell me we were the same -"
Both Parselmouths. That's something special.
Harry paused. Something pressed against his skull, and he reached for it, grasping the idea before it could flee. He turned on his heel, and within minutes he was in the library.
High, dark shelves loomed before him. Harry passed them one by one, making his way to the aisle furthest from the front. Thin, silvery-black chains covered the door, and a post above the door read 'The Restricted Section'. Harry stretched his fingers forward, reaching for the clasp -
"It's closed, Mr. Potter." said a disapproving voice from his left, "And you would do well to ask me, next time."
Madam Pince pulled a few books from the nearest shelf, organizing them into a neat stack within her hands. Her beady eyes were glued to the side of Harry's head all the while.
I need it. The book about Basilisk venom. Potente Maxima.
Harry turned. Madam Pince was frowning at him now.
She wouldn't let me, though. She doesn't know I ever had it in the first place.
"Right." Harry stumbled backwards, turning around. His head felt light and his thoughts scrambled, "I'll - I'll be going now."
And he did. His shoes slid across the polished wood, his head ducked and his eyes blank. He was trying to think, trying to reason -
What if . . .
"She could've." Harry frowned, his fingers pressed tight against his palms, "She might've -"
No. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
"Emily -"
Something poked out from the corner of his eyes. A small emerald book, its corners covered in thin black silk, was sat upon a small stack. Ornate gold ink covered it, and it read, 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'.
Harry reached towards it. Someone swam into view. A girl, just slightly older than him, was watching him with narrowed eyes. She was a Ravenclaw, one with blonde hair, starling grey irises and a long, thin nose.
"Er - could I borrow that for a second?" Harry shivered, his eyes still on the book, "Please?"
The girl looked him over, and her head slowly shifted up and down.
"Thanks."
He pulled it closer, nervously flicking through the pages until he found what he sought. His eyes fell, and he began to read:
'The first recorded Basilisk was bred by Herpo the Foul, a Greek Dark wizard and Parselmouth, who discovered after much experimentation that a chicken egg hatched beneath a toad would produce a gigantic serpent possessed of extraordinarily dangerous powers.
The Basilisk is a brilliant green serpent that may reach up to fifty feet in length. The male has a scarlet plume upon its head. It has exceptionally venomous fangs but its most dangerous means of attack is the gaze of its large yellow eyes. Anyone looking directly into these will suffer instant death. Its only weakness is the cry of a rooster, which is fatal to it.
If the food source is sufficient (the Basilisk will eat all mammals and birds and most reptiles), the serpent may attain a very great age. Herpo the Foul's Basilisk is believed to have lived for close to nine hundred years.
The creation of Basilisks has been illegal since medieval times, although the practice is easily concealed by simply removing the chicken egg from beneath the toad when the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures comes to call. However, since Basilisks are uncontrollable except by Parselmouths, they are as dangerous to most Dark wizards as to anybody else, and there have been no recorded sightings of Basilisks in Britain for at least four hundred years.'
"A Basilisk." Harry shivered, wincing as panic flooded his veins, "A fucking Basilisk . . ."
He turned back to the girl, placing the book neatly in her hands. He ignored the look of horror she sent his way.
Basilisk, Basilisk, it's a Basilisk -
"Maybe not." Harry whispered, "Maybe I'm wrong."
She wouldn't. I know she wouldn't.
Harry took a slow, deep breath. He let the silence spread across his skull, doing his very best to clear his mind -
The walls shook. From somewhere in the corner Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the halls.
"All students will please return to their House dormitories at once." she called, her voice brisk and worried, "All teachers return to the second-floor corridor. Immediately, please."
The sound of hundreds of hurried students met Harry's ears. He watched as the blonde-haired Ravenclaw shoved her books into her bag before slinging it across her shoulders. Her soft, dainty shoes clattered loudly against the floors as she ran towards wherever the Ravenclaw common room must have been.
The silence returned. His fingers pulled something from his pockets - the Invisibility Cloak - and tossed it over his head. Harry felt his eyes close again.
A basilisk. It's a basilisk.
A large, dark green snake swam rampant amongst his thoughts, its tail slashing through all in its path. A pair of bright golden orbs sat where its eyes might have been. They promised death, whispering of it in soft, dulcet tones.
A moment later the golden orbs were gone, and the snake faded into nothingness. A plain, old diary sat in its place. It too whispered, speaking in a language identical to the snake -
She's a Parselmouth.
Only a Parselmouth could open the Chamber of Secrets. It was a Parselmouth that had opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago -
Inky black words written on aged, yellowing pages flashed within Harry's mind.
". . . I am a memory of my sixteen year old self, preserved within this diary for fifty years . . ."
Harry stirred. His feet were moving again. He watched with unseeing eyes as they dragged him out of the library and towards the second floor.
"The teachers will be here." Harry muttered to himself, "McGonagall asked them to meet her here."
Something bad must've happened. Someone must've died, like last time.
"A girl. Aragog said it was a girl."
A girl who had died in a bathroom. One who might've never left . . .
Harry made his way down the hall, turning on his heel as he continued onward. A blank gaze overcame his features as he walked, his mind lost and his palms balled into fists. Still hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry delved deeper into the castle at a slow, unsteady pace. Ice tightened in his chest, spreading from limb to limb from the veins that connected them -
Emily.
She had opened the Chamber of Secrets. There was no other explanation, no other possibility -
Harry shouted. Something angry escaped his lips, something loud and hateful. He slammed his fingers across his mouth, silencing himself as his voice rang through the hall. Magic flickered across his skin and bones, whispering something in a low, soothing voice. It slammed against the aged castle floors with every step he took.
I'll find her. I'll find her, and I'll ask her myself.
"She won't lie. Not to me."
I don't think she would -
Harry grit his teeth, his fists clenched and his eyes tightly shut. He felt a cut form on the inside of his cheek, and thick, red blood stained the inside of his mouth. His body refused to calm, and his emotions fought against his feeble attempts to rein them in.
Loud, coarse shouts reached Harry's ears.
"She's my sister, you git!" roared a boy Harry's age, "You don't get to run off, you're going to help us find the fucking chamber -"
Harry paused, his eyes glued to the door of the defense classroom. The image of a tall Gryffindor boy swirled at the forefront of his mind, a young, redheaded girl standing to his side.
Ginny Weasley, then.
The shouts from within grew louder - a moment later there was a deafening bang, and all the voices fell silent. The uneasy feeling in Harry's stomach grew slightly.
Emily. You're wasting time.
Sparing one last glance at the classroom door, Harry continued down the hall.
The second floor corridor had long been vacated. The ground was covered in countless puddles, and by the window sat a small cluster of unmistakably dead spiders. Harry, removing his cloak, glanced up at the wall opposite him. He felt his breath leave him at once.
A second message had been written upon the wall. It sat just beneath the first, scrawled in the same, bloody writing.
'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.'
Harry slowly reached into the pocket of his robes, his fingers wrapping tightly around his wand. The door of the second floor girl's toilet slowly creaked open as he approached - Harry raised his wand, a curse on the tip of his tongue -
"You're not a girl."
Harry almost sighed in relief.
A thin, transparent girl hovered just before him. Her robes, though old, were patterned blue and bronze. A pair of thick, horned glasses sat upon the bridge of her nose. She watched him uncertainly, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"No, I'm not." agreed Harry, "I wanted to see you, actually. You're Moa - you're Myrtle, aren't you?"
The ghost nodded slowly. Harry paused uncertainly.
"Er - If it's alright with you, I wanted to ask how you died."
He waited for the ghost's eyes to narrow and for her lips to part angrily, but the glowing ghost did much of the opposite; her lips curved into a rather cheerful smile, and she zoomed through the bathroom, stopping just a foot from his face.
"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish, "It happened right here, in this very stall. I remember it so well. 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."
"Who?"
But Myrtle only shrugged, her eyes alight with wonder.
"I don't know." she admitted, "But she said something funny - a different language, I think. I was distraught. I thought she was here to make fun of me, just like Olive Hornby. And so I opened the door to tell her to go away, and then . . ."
"Yes?"
"I died." whispered Myrtle.
"Just like that?"
"Oh no, there was more." said Myrtle eagerly, "I still remember it, even now. I remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes over there by the sink."
Harry's eyes followed Myrtle's finger, eventually landing upon what looked like any other sink. Smooth white porcelain curved beneath a dated golden faucet. Harry raised his wand, edging closer to the sink as he examined it more carefully.
It looks normal -
Harry turned, his eyes landing upon a small, strange scratch upon the copper tap nearest the bottom. It was shaped like a tiny serpent, its mouth wide open and its fangs bared.
The Chamber's Entrance. This is it. It has to be.
His chest tightened as adrenaline shot through his veins. Harry felt it get lost in the pool of worry and fear trapped within him. He leaned forward, an outstretched hand reaching towards the cold copper tap.
"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as his fingers slid across the cool, cold metal. He turned it, watching with irritation as the sink remained as still as ever.
"But," crooned Myrtle, zooming through the bathroom and right behind his ear, "I know a secret."
Harry frowned. His eyes stayed glued to the copper serpent.
"And that is?"
"Just hiss at it." whispered Myrtle helpfully from behind him, "That's what she used to do whenever she wanted to enter."
A cold, cruel sensation overcame Harry, and all of the world came to a standstill at once.
"What?" Harry shouted angrily, turning around, "You've seen Emily go in?"
But Myrtle only looked confused.
"Emily?" she asked, "Who's Emily?"
The cold, unforgiving feeling slowly receded into the darkness. Confused thoughts reigned supreme once more within Harry's head.
"No one." he lied after a long pause, "Who's the girl you saw go in?"
"The little redheaded girl, I think." said Myrtle quietly, "I didn't like her much. She always used to stare at me until I'd go away."
Ginny.
The confusion, dark and twisted, grew stronger and colder - but Harry ignored it, just as he had ignored all else.
Emily. I've got to get to Emily -
"Open."
Harry watched as the sink began to shake before slowly folding in on itself. It collapsed into the ground, and when it vanished, a large hole appeared upon the bathroom floor.
Harry slowly approached the circular chasm, his wand held aloft. The hole was dark - the colour of cement - and dark green moss seemed to be growing upon it. Water trickled down the sides, staining parts of the pipe a shade of grey darker than the rest.
Emily's down there. Ginny, too.
He had to go down. He couldn't just let someone die - not when he knew he could prevent it. As for Emily -
I can't lose you too.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry spun around, watching in horror as his wand soared through the air and into an outstretched hand -
"Lockhart." Harry breathed heavily.
The man certainly looked worse for wear. Beads of sweat covered his body, and his often-flawless hair sat matted against his forehead. There was a deranged look in his eyes, and a single cut marred his left cheek. Within his hands were four wands - all of which Harry recognised.
"Harry," he began, his body hunched over as he regained his breath, "Harry, Harry, Harry -"
"Why are you here?" asked Harry, his eyes on the wands clasped within Lockhart's hands, "What do you want?"
Lockhart followed Harry's gaze, his wild eyes also landing upon the wands he held. He straightened up, dusting himself off. He jumped slightly as sparks flew from the ends of the wands - but another second past, and it was as though nothing happened.
We're wasting time.
"I'm here, Harry, to save Hogwarts from the deadly, dangerous Basilisk of Slytherin." Lockhart muttered, slowly pocketing three of the wands as he pointed the last at Harry, "A task given to me by my dear colleagues, as you might have guessed -"
"You?" whispered Harry, fear and anger crashing together within his chest, "I know your books are bullshit. You couldn't harm a fly."
A dark look overcame Lockhart's features, and he took a step closer.
"Is that so?" he said softly, twirling his wand. Harry watched it carefully, twitching slightly as Lockhart pointed it between his eyes, "I disagree, Harry . . . I think you understand very little -"
A cruel image flashed before the eye of Harry's mind, and the dead body of Ginny Weasley fell beside a diary split in two.
I don't have time for this.
His eyes narrowed, his teeth grit and his palms balled to fists - but Lockhart's wand flashed into view, sparks flickering from its tip.
Control yourself. You've got to think smart.
Harry took a deep breath, and a drop of serenity splashed across the surface of his mind, joining all else that swam within its depths.
"Then enlighten me."
Lockhart smiled, his pearly-white teeth almost glowing in the dark room.
"Memory Charms." he whispered, "The key to my success. I have quite the talent for the spell, if I do say so myself. Whenever I came across someone with an interesting story, I simply wiped their minds, and made the story mine."
"Is that what you did to Ron and Neville, then?" asked Harry, eyeing two of the wands that jutted out from the pocket on Lockhart's lilac robes.
The man shrugged, pushing the wands further into his pocket.
"They've only forgotten their memories of the past few hours." he assured, "Nothing important - or, at least, nothing they need to concern themselves with."
"And you'll do the same to me." surmised Harry, "But that doesn't help you save Ginny Weasley."
Lockhart chuckled, shaking his head.
"Oh, Harry." he said softly, "For someone so famous, you really don't understand how fame works. No, I've got to be alive to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and a Basilisk is an excellent way to snuff out that light. No, I'm thinking of something different." he paused, pacing back and forth, "You see, I don't need to kill the Basilisk - I've just got to be the one to find it. The man who discovered its den, and the man who presented the Aurors with everything they needed - a victory on a golden platter."
"Then why tell me anything?" asked Harry indignantly, "You wouldn't need to wipe my memory if you hadn't just told me everything -"
"Wouldn't I?" asked Lockhart, slowly stepping closer, "I'm sure you know of what happened to young Longbottom and Weasley - they only discovered the secret of the Basilisk minutes ago. You must've heard it from them . . ."
Harry frowned.
"I didn't."
"I don't care." Lockhart shifted his weight, his fingers sliding idly along his robes, "It doesn't matter. But you know what I've done. That's a problem, Harry -"
"How'd you know to come here?" Harry interrupted, nervously watching as Lockhart's wand rose, "You couldn't have figured that out from them."
Lockhart smirked.
"No, Harry, I couldn't have." agreed Lockhart, "No, I heard your shouting. You were yelling at her, I believe."
Harry followed Lockhart's outstretched finger, his eyes landing upon the horrified form of Moaning Myrtle. His gaze shot back to Lockhart as the man raised his wand -
"A-and what about her?" asked Harry desperately, nodding at Myrtle, "She'll remember everything - s-she'll expose you."
But Lockhart's grin only grew wider.
"A ghost?" Lockhart laughed, flashing his perfectly white teeth across the bathroom, "Harry, you really ought to do more research. Ghost's - well, they're rather one-dimensional. A shell of their former selves, if you will. Echoes. You'd have known that, if you'd studied Memory Magic as much as I have. But you didn't. You don't. And now, it's too late . . ."
His eyes, a soft, bright blue, glanced as the shivering form of Moaning Myrtle, and his smile grew.
"So long as neither of us see her again, I don't think she'll remember much at all." he grinned, "Certainly not enough to speak about it. Not unless you coming running her way again."
Harry paled, the colour draining from his face. He watched as Lockhart inched ever closer, the gap between them slowly fading to nothingness.
"And I promise, Harry, you'll forget all about her -"
Emily. Ginny. I've got to get to them -
"Say goodbye to your memories, Harry."
Lockhart's wand slashed through the air, and a horrified, fleeting sense of desperation shot through Harry like ice on a hot, humid day.
"Obliviate!"
A loud bang tore through the air, and a jet of harsh green light slammed upon Harry's tightly shut eyelids. His hands shot up, shielding his face from harm -
Protect me, please. Someone, anyone -
White light flared within the room, so bright that Harry could see the veins in his eyelids. It was gone as quickly as it came. Harry nervously opened his eyes.
Lockhart lay unmoving upon the cold stone floors. The three wands he had taken had fallen from his pocket - Harry's own wand was but a foot away from him. He tentatively picked it up, his eyes still on the unconscious man before him.
You.
Heat swirled within his veins, and an almost unseeable glow surrounded his emerald irises. Angry sparks flew from the tip of his wand, and small cracks appeared on the floor as he edged closer. He made his way towards Lockhart, his wand outstretched -
"Shit!"
Harry slammed his eyes shut as the bright white light flared back into existence. It pressed against his eyelids as he stepped back. The light dimmed, and Harry slowly opened his eyes.
The glow was almost gone now. What was left wrapped around him like a thin barrier, separating him from Lockhart. Harry slowly raised a finger to it. The invisible barrier flared a bright white once more.
This isn't Nonverbal Magic. It can't be.
Harry drew his eyes away from the glimmering shield, turning to face the circular chasm. It almost taunted him, and images of a torn diary flashed through his mind once more, accompanied by the bloodied body of a young redhead girl.
I have to hurry. Now, before it's too late.
Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and jumped into the Chamber of Secrets.
It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. Harry could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none were as large as the one he slid down. The pipe seemed to slope steeply downward; Harry had no doubt he was deeper than even the dungeons now.
All at once, the pipe leveled out. Harry shot out the end, falling roughly upon the damp, mossy stone floors of whatever room he now lay within. Harry pushed himself off the ground, ancient bones crushing to dust beneath his feet.
They looked far too much like human bones for Harry's comfort.
Lumos.
Light shone across the stone slabs of the pathway. The crunching of bones beneath his heels, the trickling water, and the cruel shadows all might have alarmed him at another time, but he was far too consumed by worry to remain fearful now. The light stretched forward, reaching towards the very end of the hall -
Emily, I have to find Emily -
Harry came to a halt, staring at the wall opposite him. Two stone serpents sat upon it, their heads raised and their eyes glimmering like emerald. They watched as he lowered his wand, his lips slowly parting.
"Open."
The serpents slithered aside as the wall cracked open, and the halves slid smoothly out of sight. Harry, taking a deep breath, pushed himself through the opening, his wand held aloft.
He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. Off to either side were pools of seemingly unending water.
A pale body lay upon the floor of the hall. Harry felt the colour leave him as he raced towards it, dropping to his knees as his wand slipped from his fingers. She lay upon the floor, cold as ice. Behind her was a large statue of a bearded man - the great Salazar Slytherin.
"Ginny!" Harry swallowed, "Don't be dead, please -"
"Don't worry," whispered a soft, smooth voice, "She isn't."
Harry turned around, and his breath left him at once.
This isn't real.
She was beautiful. Her pale skin seemed soft to touch and her dark, perfectly straight hair neatly framed her angelic face. Hazel eyes watched him curiously, just as they had from within the Mirror of Erised more than a year ago.
"Hello, Harry." whispered the girl, smiling as Harry's eyes grew wider, "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment."