The next two weeks at Hogwarts went by quite pleasantly, thank you very much. No longer insufferable, but still a know-it-all, Hermione warmed up to both Harry and Ron more than expected (although she flat out refused to let them see her answers to the homework). Their friendship caused some confusion amongst their respective roommates. The boys didn't see the point of being friends with a girl who wasn't a tomboy, and the girls in Hermione's dorm were shocked that she had made any friends at all. But they let them alone, having more concerns with the tiresome school days than the matters of their peers.
This day in particular was carrying on very slowly, with another boring Potions class. The only thing that was mildly interesting was Professor Jumega's voice, which had a twang like a banjo in it.
"Class, please prepare me a Hallucination Potion using the ingredients on the board," he said, "I trust our previous notes will be sufficient in helping you make it." With that said, he sunk into his seat, put his long, gangly legs on his desk and fell asleep, his shock of black hair falling neatly into place. Absolutely everything about his appearance was completely orderly, an appearance, tragically, that he did not bother to extend to his classroom.
Knowing that he would awake at the slightest sound of mischief from previous experience, the class reluctantly took out their cauldrons and began their work.
"Ron!" Hermione hissed.
"Just a minute," he said, dropping in three pieces of the Venomous Tentacula Root he had just cut into eighths. Hermione squeaked.
"You're supposed to cut the root into quarters!" she whispered fearfully. "And you have to put the Beozar in at the same time!"
"What?!" Ron exclaimed, looking in at his potion. Harry, curious, copied him.
What was previously a red potion now had somehow shriveled into what looked like a large orange prune. Ron crinkled his nose at the lump.
"How did it turn solid?" Ron queried, poking the former potion. Suddenly, large billows of brown smoke burst forth from the shriveled pouch. Several people screamed – the smoke filled the room in an instant. Colours danced about in the smoke, resembling the Northern Lights. The sounds of students crashing into desks, chairs, and each other ricocheted around the classroom.
"What – what?" They heard Professor Jumega's voice over the racket. He swore very loudly, and then he banished the smoke. The first things Harry saw were a bunch of bottles lying in shards on the floor, and his classmates either on the floor or with their arms out, blinking at the sudden loss of the fog. Jumega was absolutely livid beyond belief. His face was a sizzling red, and his eyes were wide and insane. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.
"Who did this!" he spat venomously. "What imbecile could possibly mess up such a simple potion!"
Ron was trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Draco Malfoy raised his hand.
"Weasley did it, Professor," he stated, gloating, a smirk unfolding on his face. "He added in the ingredients wrong, I saw him."
Ron's mouth was ajar, staring at Malfoy in indignant disbelief. An indistinct sound gurgled from his throat.
Jumega turned his vengeful glare upon Ron. "You?" he hissed. "You! You will have detention for a week, if I can manage it, a month! Your idiocy is a shame to this class!"
Malfoy's greasy-haired friend raised his hand and spoke. "Professor, I think that Weasley should receive extra homework to help him study Potions. It could also be an extra punishment for not paying attention to the instructions."
Ron looked ready to tell the boy to shut up with a few choice words. Hermione gripped his arm as tightly as she could, stopping him.
Jumega did not smile, but he did calm down considerably. "Yes," he said slowly, breathing deeply, "That's a good suggestion, Severus. Ron will have extra homework for punishment as well."
Ron's face now resembled a hot pepper. Satisfied with their handiwork, Malfoy and Snape smirked at him, smarmy as ever.
Jumega regained his composure and concluded the class. "There will be no homework tonight, with the exception of Ron. Class dismissed."
He sauntered into his office, and the students picked up their books and left. Ron was moving very stiffly, and he kept his eyes on the backs of the two Slytherins on the way to the Great Hall.
"Ron, you aren't going to – try to get revenge, are you?" Hermione questioned.
"I never even talked to that greasy-haired git!" Ron exclaimed. He slammed himself down onto the bench and glared into space. "I've never done anything to either of them, and they go and land me in a pile of dung. Bloody Slytherins." He jabbed his fork into a piece of chicken and shoved it on his plate. Hermione chewed her lip nervously.
"Slytherins have hated Gryffindor for ages," Harry said. "It's no secret that they go out of their way to make trouble for the rest of us. They probably just see you as another Gryffindor."
"Not Malfoy," Ron said bitterly. "He's known me for ages. I'm telling you, he's got it in for me."
"Just try your best to ignore them," Hermione advised. "They're not worth your time if they're going to be that way."
Ron snorted.
"Maybe I can help you with your Potions homework," she said. Ron looked at her interestedly. "I won't do it for you – but I could help you with it."
"All right."
"Good. I have the perfect place to brew the potion," Hermione said, "Meet me at the girl's toilets on the first floor after supper. I'll bring the textbook and the cauldron, you two bring the ingredients."
"A girl's toilet?"
"Oh, don't be silly, Harry," Hermione chided, "No one goes in there anymore."
"Why not?" Harry asked. "Someone pop their clogs in there?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione answered. She took one last bite of her meal and carried off her books, presumably heading for the library.
"I was only joking," Harry said, nonplussed.
After a hearty meal, which Ron thoroughly enjoyed ("Honestly, can the food get any better?"), they followed Hermione down several twists of corridors. Quite unexpectedly, Harry stepped in something wet, and saw that the entire floor was drenched in water.
"What happened here?" Ron asked, now splashing with every step in the massive puddle.
"Myrtle must have flooded the bathroom again," Hermione replied nonchalantly.
"Who's Myrtle?" Harry asked.
Hermione stopped abruptly in front of a door at the end of the soaked corridor. "Myrtle haunts the toilets. She's really sulky, and wails most of the time. When she's really upset, she floods the loo." Hermione sighed. "We'll just have to try our best not to upset her. Myrtle's madly sensitive, so it's near impossible not to get her blubbering. Just don't talk about her being dead, and we should be fine."
Ron and Harry exchanged doubtful glances, but soon shrugged and followed Hermione. Upon entry they saw a squat ghost girl sulking by the sinks. She was covered with spots, and had thick opalescent spectacles magnifying her gloomy eyes. She looked at them suspiciously.
"Why are they here?" she queried. "They're boys, tell them to use their own toilets."
"We're not here to use the toilets Myrtle, we're here to use the potions," Hermione said. "Besides, we can't use the toilets because you've flooded-"
"Oh, I see," Myrtle interrupted, glowering. "My toilets aren't good enough for you. Nobody wants to even come here, because Myrtle's made the toilets all flood again! And who wants to even be around Moaning Myrtle anyway?"
"Well, it'd be a bit uncomfortable having to go with you floating around, you know?" Ron said awkwardly.
"So you think I peek on people!" she shouted furiously. Ron recoiled, mortified.
"No, I-"
"Or is it because you think I'm horrid that you don't want me around, is that it?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Nobody ever liked me, not even when I was alive!" She let out a mournful wail and flew into a cubicle. The door slammed shut. They could hear her tragically sobbing.
Ron and Harry stood stunned. Hermione sighed.
"That's Myrtle for you. You'll get used to it eventually."
She led them to an open cubicle, where she had stored a cauldron, a potions text and some ingredients, all set out and ready to use. She even had the forethought to set them on a wooden slat, which kept them safe from Myrtle's flood. Hermione picked up the book and flipped through the pages.
"Why don't we start with the Hallucination potion, since that's the one you're having the trouble with," she suggested.
The moments ticked by slowly for Harry as he diced all manners of stuff to mix in with the bubbling mass before him. There were at least a hundred other things he'd rather be doing with his time than brewing potions. Not only was it smelling like cabbage ("Yes, Ron, it is supposed to smell that way, now pay attention"), but he had been splattered numerous times with as the bubbles popped. After only a half hour of work, his hands were beyond filthy.
"Hermione, can I just go wash my hands?" he asked. She sighed.
"Quickly, Harry, we're going to need you in a moment."
Harry approached a sink and turned the tap on, but no water came out. He tried again more forcefully, but the sink remained dry.
"That tap's never worked." Harry spun around to face Moaning Myrtle. She had apparently finished her blubbering.
"Is it broken?" Harry bent down to look at the pipe underneath it.
"Just use the next one, Harry," Ron advised. "If you try to fix it, it might end up shooting more water out."
Harry, however, had found something interesting. On the side of one of the copper taps there was a tiny scratched image of a snake.
"Someone's scratched a snake on the tap," Harry announced.
"Probably just some grafitti, Harry," Hermione said nonchalantly. "Just finish washing your hands and get back here, we're going to need you soon."
Harry took one last glance at the snake and moved on to the next sink.
Ron, for what was probably going to be a first and last ever in potions class, was smug. His brew had equaled Hermione's, and Jumega even complimented his obvious improvement. And with Snape and Malfoy seething like mad, Harry couldn't help but feel a little smug as well. Hermione positively beamed at Ron.
"You're doing so wonderfully!" she whispered excitedly. "Maybe we should think about continuing the tutoring after you've finished your extra work."
"Er- "It was obvious that Ron didn't want to take on any more work than he had to.
"It couldn't hurt," Hermione badgered him, "Potions is a high priority subject, you know."
"Only if Harry takes lessons with me," Ron decided quickly.
"Done!"
"Hey!"
Hermione beamed at Harry. "Don't fret, it'll be fun! Besides, you could use some help too, you know."
Harry just shot a dark look at Ron, who grinned, and slumped a little in his seat. He despised Potions.
So Harry found himself back in a cubicle in the girl's toilets that night, mixing another concoction for the sake of Ron's grades. And Harry wasn't about to let him forget it.
Ron wasn't happy to be brewing away, either. He kept on checking his watch and asking Hermione how much longer the potion would take. Her only response was a sniff and a vague, disapproving answer.
"For goodness' sakes, Ron, it won't take that long. I'd thought you would care more about some extra study. After all, Potions is an important lesson, you know."
"Sure, right," was Ron's dull reply.
After chopping wormwood for what seemed like an hour, Harry, quite frustrated, scooped up the whole lot and tossed it into the cauldron nonchalantly. Hermione, who had been consulting the text book, turned around to face a violently bubbling potion.
"No! What did you do!" she shrieked, bringing her hands to her cheeks. "Quick! Pour it out! Get rid of it!" As she shouted, splatters of the brew hit their faces as large bubbles popped with increasing ferocity.
Harry grabbed for the cauldron and ran to the nearest sink – the one with the broken taps. He dumped the mix in, dropping the pot in the sink when it had run dry.
Everything was still for a moment. They could hear the potion gurgling down the pipe, and then –
BANG!
The pot came at them like a torpedo, followed by the shrapnel that had once been sink, pipe, and wall. Harry fell on his rear as the cloud of porcelain dust enveloped him. He heard Hermione let out a short scream, and a muffled thud told him that the pot had collided with someone's head. Bits of pipe scraped his skin as they flew by, and some embedded themselves into Harry.
The onslaught ended in a split second, the cloud of porcelain dust settling on the ground. Harry sat up and winced; some of the metal had cut through his shirt and nested on his stomach. He pulled them out easily – they hadn't cut him deep, quite fortunately. Harry looked behind him, hoping that his friends were all right.
Hermione wasn't that bad. She had received less of the pipe bits that Harry had, and was painfully extracting them. Ron, however, sported a large blotch on his forehead – most likely from the pot that was lying crumpled and useless beside him. His bruise was fast turning a nasty purple and he seemed a bit dazed, but other than that Ron looked relatively unharmed.
"You two feeling all right?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded, and Ron looked at Harry with unfocused eyes and shrugged hesitantly. Moaning Myrtle suddenly swooped down on Harry from above, wailing loudly.
"What did you do to my sink!" she cried, "You've gone and blown it up!"
"It was an accident, I swear-"Harry began.
"I was kind enough to let you work in here, and you repay me by destroying my toilets? It isn't enough that you make fun of me behind when I'm turned around, but you have to ruin my bathroom too!" she accused. She was waving her arms around frantically and her face had gone silvery all over. Myrtle was the ghostly epitome of livid.
"We didn't mean to, Myrtle, really-"
"Don't lie to me!" Myrtle shouted at Ron. Tears glistened in her eyes, magnified by her thick lenses. "You all just meant to make me miserable. If any of you had died, I certainly wouldn't let you haunt my toilets!" Her tears came in torrents, and she flew off into her cubicle sobbing loudly. The sounds of the toilet flushing told them that she had fled through the pipes.
Hermione stood up slowly. "Don't worry about her," she said. "We can get the teachers to fix this mess, and we can just practice Potions somewhere else from now on." She looked at both boys. "Can you stand? Are any of you hurt too badly?"
Harry and Ron rose. "My head hurts, but I think I'll manage," Ron said gruffly. "How about you, Harry? Didn't catch a tap, did you?"
"No. Just some metal, that's all. It's not serious, just scratches and the like," Harry assured them. He looked at the wall, and gasped. "Bloody hell!"
An enormous hole occupied the spot where the sink had been, but that had been expected. The abnormally large pipe, big enough for a man to fit in, was not.
"That's definitely not for the sink," Hermione said quietly.
"Do you reckon it's some sort of secret passage?" Ron asked. "It looks big enough for someone to slip into."
"Harry, you were the one that had a good look at it," Hermione said, "Did you notice anything strange about the sink?"
Harry thought for a moment. "What about that snake?" he recalled. He looked at Hermione and Ron. "The one scratched on the copper tap. Could that have been some sort of clue, or trigger of some sort?"
"Salazar Slytherin's symbol on the Hogwarts crest is a snake," Hermione muttered excitedly. "And he was a Parseltongue, too!"
"That's right," Ron said slowly. "He was a Parseltongue."
Harry turned back to the wreckage in front of him. "Maybe this leads to a secret chamber of his," he concluded. The group moved closer to the hole, until all three were crouched down before it. They observed it curiously.
"I knew he was a loony," Ron said, "Putting a secret passage in the girl's toilets, honestly."
"Can you see any other snakes scratched on here?" Hermione queried. They squinted into the dark opening. Harry thought he saw something, on the roof of the pipe. He couldn't see it clearly, so he leaned closer, lifting his foot to move forward.
It all happened too suddenly for any of them to react. Harry had stepped on a piece of the sink, which slid out from under his foot, causing him to fall frontward – into the pipe. Harry yelped, and for a split second thought he was going to tumble down the pipe. Two hands grasped his right ankle in a desperate grip, and Harry was suspended in the steep, pitch black pipe.
"Harry!" Hermione cried.
"Help me out!" Harry shouted, panicked. His heart was beating at the speed of a snitch.
"Don't worry, Harry!" Ron said shakily. "We'll get you out, I promise!" Ron addressed Hermione, some of the quavering gone from his voice. "Hermione, grab me round the middle from behind. If you brace me, I'll have a better chance."
Harry heard Hermione scuttle behind Ron. His heart started to slow down, and he tried to regain control of his breathing. They would pull him out. Panicking would only make this worse.
"Harry, see if you can push against the sides," Ron instructed.
Harry brought up his heavy arms and groped the walls. He pressed his palms into them as hard as he could. Too late he felt the slippery sludge against his hands. His hands slipped and pushed him down, the grasp on his ankle suddenly slack as he pulled his friends down with him.
Neville was worried. Harry and Ron had been gone an awful long time. He wasn't too sure about Hermione, but he didn't think she had come into the Common Room all the while he had been waiting on the couch.
A couple of hours ago, Harry had come up to Neville and told him that he and Ron were going to be late to bed, because they were out studying with Hermione. "Don't bother waiting up for us," he had said, "we might be there for a long time. You know Hermione," Harry rolled his eyes, "the only thing she likes better than learning this drivel is making us learn it too." Neville had only nodded. He didn't know Hermione too well, so he had decided it was best to just agree and go along with it.
And while Neville had to admit it was pathetic that he was in the Common Room waiting for them to come back when Harry had told him not to, he had good reason for doing so. A piece of parchment that had unfinished Potions homework on it needed his attention, and frankly, Neville would have better luck trying to read Chinese than finishing it. He knew that Hermione, with her unusual grasp of knowledge, or Ron, who was on a roll with Potions, would be able to help him with it, but neither of them were coming anytime soon, it seemed.
Normally, Neville would have asked one of the other Gryffindors, but they had already fallen asleep by the time he had finally gotten around to the assignment. He also was feeling extremely lethargic, but his anxiety kept him awake and about. Except now his concern wasn't just for his work, but for his three missing classmates.
It was now twenty past eleven, and they still hadn't shown up. If they didn't get back soon, the caretaker would catch them, and Neville didn't like that thought, particularly because of the rumours that circled the torture sessions in the dungeon. But what if something had happened to them? Should he go find McGonagall and tell her about them?
Neville mentally shook his head and started up the stairs. Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the world. What could possibly happen to them that would be so dreadful? And yet...
He took one last nervous glance at the portrait hole behind him. They will come back, Neville thought. He should get some sleep and work on the assignment tomorrow. They would be fine.
Harry landed with a hard thud on a damp floor when the tunnel finally ended. Ron shot out a split second after him, landing painfully on Harry's ribs, and Hermione toppled onto both of them. All of them lay breathing heavily for a moment, covered in slime and trying to regain their orientation.
"Ooh," Hermione groaned, rolling off gently. Ron quickly followed suit. They all sat hunched over, Hermione clutching her ankle and Ron rubbing the bruise from the pot on his forehead. Harry felt like he was developing a bruise on his chest from when he landed on the ground.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, "The tunnel was too slippery, I couldn't-"
"It was an accident, Harry," Ron reassured, "You didn't mean to."
"At least you didn't fall alone," Hermione said knowingly. "That would have been scary."
The tunnel they were now in was dark, and the way ahead was pitch black. Harry wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to go any further.
"Some chamber this is," Ron spewed. "What a weirdo."
"We should try to figure out how to get out of here – oh, blast it, this darkness makes it hard for me to see where you are. Lumos!" The tip of Hermione's wand lit up, casting a dim light that did little to dispel the dark.
Harry got up and examined the pipe's opening, looking hopelessly up its cavernous inside. "This is too steep. We wouldn't be able to climb out of here even if it wasn't so slippery."
Ron swore and Hermione's face fell a little.
She looked around her cautiously. "I didn't expect we could. From the looks of things, my guess is that we're under the lake."
"Figures," Ron said darkly. "Reckon there's another way out of here?" He gestured towards the foreboding passage.
"Could be," Harry said, moving away from the pipe. "This is linked to the plumbing, right? We could find another way out."
"Hopefully not up any toilets."
"We can't be too picky, Ron," Hermione said. "But I think we should stay near here. Someone's bound to find the mess, and they'll know something's up if we don't return to bed on time."
"Won't Myrtle try to find someone to help us?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head. "She didn't see us fall. She was already in her toilets, remember? Besides, Myrtle is peeved at us right now. She probably doesn't care about what happens to us now."
All three glanced to the foreboding passage ahead. Harry chewed his lip lightly, wondering what to do next.
"If we do go, I think we should mark our way back somehow," Harry said quietly. "For all we know, this could be a maze."
"Right," Hermione looked a little more nervous. "I'll do it – Ron, you use your wand for light, I'll look after the markers."
Ron quickly complied just as Hermione's light went out. Hermione mumbled to herself for a moment. Finally, an incantation was heard, and a red 'X' flew from the tip of her wand. She let out a sigh of relief.
"I wasn't sure if it would work," she admitted.
Ron led their expedition through the darkness, with Harry in the middle and Hermione at the rear, occasionally blasting an X to mark their passage. The tunnel was a dark abyss, scattered with rat's skeletons and unappetizing sludge. Harry felt his heart sink a little lower each time Hermione's markers left the safe spread of light behind, dread mounting within him.
At last, Ron shattered the eerie silence with an astonished remark.
"Oi, up ahead there –"he gestured to the front of himself, "is that a statue? Or a door of some sort, I reckon?"
When they approached the icon, they saw that it could easily be either. The intricately carved snakes glinted sinisterly in the lamp light, entwining about the ornate door – for it was unmistakably a door, as they could see the equally garnished hinges facing outwards. They stood in awe before the dark work of art, their breath leaving in short puffs of curling gray mist.
"Loony," Ron exclaimed, "only old Slytherin would put creepy snakes on his door."
"Do any of you see a handle?" Hermione asked.
"No," Harry said blankly. "Just the snakes." None of them lifted enough off of the surface to grip properly, let alone pull. Not that Harry really felt inclined to touch them. There was an odd quality of realism to the metal works; perhaps it was how their jeweled eyes winked at the trio, or how smooth and lithe their solid bodies seemed to be.
"Does that mean we're stuck here?" Harry looked around him, searching for a hidden lever, or something that would spring the door open. None of his surroundings looked too promising.
"Nobody saw any other tunnels while we were walking?" Hermione wondered. A small wrinkle formed between her eyes as she considered their options. "Maybe it's activated by a password."
"That could take days to figure out!" Ron said exasperatingly.
"Just take a guess," Harry said. "Salazar founded the Slytherin house, so why don't we use what we know about that for starters?"
Ron looked apprehensively at Hermione, and edged away until he was outside striking distance. "Mudblood?" he tried timidly, pointedly avoiding looking Hermione in the eye. Harry gasped.
"What does that mean, anyway?" Hermione continued, completely oblivious. "That Lestrange girl had called me that once before, and I haven't found it in any wizarding dictionary I've found – "
"You mean you don't know?" Ron asked, scandalized.
"Hermione, it means dirty blood," Harry explained, "it's the worst thing you can call a Muggle-born. A lot of pure-bloods think Muggles are scum, so they hate any mixes between the two."
Hermione looked down at her feet and chewed her lip. "Oh..."
"I wasn't trying to take the mickey out of you, Hermione," Ron reassured tentatively. "I just thought – since Slytherin is so... you know, that that might be the password."
"I know," she gave him a shy smile. "It was a good try, anyhow, but it didn't seem to work."
"Snake?"
"Serpent."
"Parseltongue."
They continued for the better part of an hour until they gave up on guessing, and, as Ron soon pointed out, "Who knows if there's actually anything we'd want to meet in there anyway?" Rather than trek all the way back to the entrance, they decided to spend the night in front of the door instead. The ground was drier here, giving them a better chance of lighting a proper fire. After finding out that none of them was experienced enough to transfigure something into a log, Harry generously offered his outer robe as fuel, and soon Hermione had a perpetual fire running.
"Are you sure it won't burn out while we sleep?" Ron eyed it suspiciously.
"Haven't you been paying attention in Charms?" Hermione lectured. "It won't burn out, it just needs something to start on."
"We don't need to pay attention," Harry yawned, "we have you to tell us about it, after all."
"Oh, Lord," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Just get some sleep."
"Unless any of you have something to eat?" Ron piped up hopefully. Both of his companions solemnly shook their heads.
"Maybe they'll find the hole tomorrow..." Harry pondered wistfully.
"Hopefully," Ron muttered.
As the first-years slumbered uncomfortably, the smoke from their small fire stealthily slipped through the tiny crack between the door and the wall. It wafted in measured steps, eventually making its way over to a gargantuan beast. It, too, slept, until the gray tendrils tingled its senses. The great thing stirred. Heavy eyes became alert. There was a scent of young flesh, not too far from its resting place. It rose laboriously, shaking its long hibernation.
There would be meat tonight.
The sounds of mechanical workings forced Harry to open his eyes. He thought he had been dreaming when he heard a low, menacing hiss (steam, perhaps?), but then there was some loud, clicking sounds of monstrous cogs turning, and there was no doubting that that had nothing to do with his dream at all.
"Hermione, Ron!" he whispered, not yet daring to raise his now leaden head.
"You hear that too?" came Ron's frantic voice from across the fire.
"I think the door's open," Harry commented ominously.
"Don't move," Hermione ordered. Something slithered by Harry's foot, and it took all of his willpower to not flinch. "It's a snake," she concluded frightfully, "I think – I think it's a basilisk."
"And what is that?" Ron squeaked.
"If you look it in the eye, you'll die. Whatever you do, make sure you don't look at its face – and watch out for its fangs, its poison is deadly."
"How do we get rid of it?" Harry asked, his face contorting into the most morbid fear imaginable. He hated snakes.
All he received was a squeak. It had touched her. The basilisk's hiss echoed off of the tunnel walls, a sinister sound even without added definition.
Harry knew that it would soon either squeeze or bite one of them. They had to do something fast, but they were merely a small group of first-years, who were struggling to know their basic spells.
Directly in front of him was the fire – his robe was still intact, the flame merely danced on its surface, unknowing of the evil lurking around it. An idea was birthed, and Harry shifted his eyes to see where the snake was, praying he wouldn't look the wrong way.
"You two stay still," he ordered quietly. His voice was slow with measured words. "I'm going to burn its eyes out."
"Harry –"
"Are you mad?"
"Listen – its either this, or Hermione should cast the spell on it herself, and she may accidentally look it in the eye. If I can crawl on top of it quick enough – even just the robe would do, just enough so that its eyes are covered..."
"And I suppose we'll have to distract it?" Ron queried.
"Harry - the charm isn't able to-"
Her words were cut off by her shrill shriek as a sharp hiss sounded next to her ear. Harry, all fear forgotten by this new urgency, leapt at the beast's head furiously, grabbing the fiery robe. He moved too quickly for it to raise its eyes to meet his, and it suddenly felt Harry's arms wrung around the base of its head.
The Basilisk lunged upwards, utterly furious, and moved to smack the boy off of its head with its great tail. Harry, who was now beyond the point of hesitation, secured himself by straddling its neck with his legs, and rubbed the robe into its face. His hands felt the scorch of heat, but he ignored the flame in the frantic desperation of burning the deadly eyes.
An agonized cry rebounded on the dank walls. The Basilisk struck its head against the wall, hoping to dislodge its tormenter. But Harry held fast, gripping the robe tighter than a hell-bound broomstick. One hit smashed him square on his back. He gasped in pain as the crushing sensation surged down his spine.
"Quick, Hermione!" Ron yelped, lobbing another stone at the snake. His distraction was extremely ineffective, but he threw them with all his might. "Harry's been hurt!"
"I'm working on it!" Her reply was distressed, Harry could hear. What was she doing?
"Fetch!" she yelled. Harry couldn't bother to try and look. The Basilisk was swinging him around with a ferocity that only a wounded and desperate creature could create.
"Harry! Move your arm!"
He tried to yell back that he couldn't, not while there's a chance that the Basilisk may be able to use its eyes –
"Do it now, Ron!" Hermione cried, "While you still can!"
A sudden, searing pain exploded in Harry's arm, at the same time that the snake let loose an unearthly scream. Harry screamed along with it, from the pain and the violent jerking that sent swoops of air past his dizzy head.
After what seemed an eternity of suffering, the Basilisk relented. It fell to the ground in a slow, gliding arc. Harry tried to jump off, but his wounded arm was pinned to the beast's head, and he fell with it. When they hit the ground, Harry felt his leg become crushed under the heavy weight, and he nearly passed out at the enormity of it all.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, running over to her friend. Ron reached him first, all the colour from his face completely evacuated.
"Bloody hell," he sobbed. "I told you move your arm..." Astonished guilt had fixed all of his features, and as Hermione approached, Harry saw that her face was covered in tears.
"Don't move, Harry," she said shakily. "That'll only make it bleed more."
Now that the battle was over, Harry decided to take a look at what had befallen his arm. Laboriously lifting his head, the grotesque sight raised the want to faint yet again.
There was the blunt end of a large, long rock protruding from his forearm. It had sunk right through it, into the Basilisk's head, and trickles of blood escaped in the tight space around the rock. Every groove of the rock pressed against a blindingly sensitive nerve in his arm, and Harry couldn't bear to look at it any longer – it had been bad enough without seeing it.
"I didn't mean to," Ron insisted dreadfully, "I didn't!"
"Just get it out," Harry gasped.
Hermione shook her head woefully. "It'll bleed more that way. We're going to have to try pulling the rock out of – (here she shuddered) the h-head."
Harry groaned. The world was twirling in circles around him. He had never been hurt this badly before, not even when his first broom had bucked him off in midair, straight over a forest.
"Ready, Ron?" Hermione had gingerly grasped the free part of the rock, and was pushing against the basilisk head with her other hand. "One, two... Ron! A little help would be appreciated!"
"What is that?" Ron said in wonder. He was looking in the opposite direction, at the mouth of the tunnel. Something glinted faintly in its depths, and Harry had to wonder for a minute where the light was coming from. But then the soft sound of feet padding on the murky floor resounded, and all three leapt to alertness.
"Hullo?" Ron called out.
"Young Mister Weasley, I presume?"
It was the Headmaster.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione cried out. "You've got to help us! Harry's hurt!"
When he stepped into the dim light, Harry could see that he had a remarkably large and beautiful bird on his shoulder. It was a phoenix, there was no doubt, and it regarded them curiously from its perch.
"Oh my," Dumbledore exclaimed. He looked at the fallen basilisk, surprised, and then to Harry, then the still burning robes that had been cast aside in the denouement of the escapade. "It appears you aren't as safe and sound as I had hoped."
"Harry...his arm, it's..." Hermione trailed off. Dumbledore needed no indication of Harry's injuries, for he walked urgently over and knelt by his side. He swept his wand from his pocket and pointed the tip at the offending object. A spell was muttered and the rock dissipated. The air stung the walls of the gaping hole in his arm, and Harry hissed painfully.
The phoenix fluttered down beside Harry as well, and it laid its glorious head on the wound, opalescent tears dropping from its eyes. Suddenly, the hole didn't hurt as much anymore.
"Blimey," Ron whispered. Blimey was right. Harry's arm was entirely healed.
"Phoenix tears have healing properties," Dumbledore provided, and Hermione nodded her head. "I believe the next order of business is to get that Basilisk off of your leg."
Another spell was cast with the graceful flick of a wand, and the dreadful thing was heaved off slowly (even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore has trouble with lifting such a large load) and put down a few feet away from him. The mystical bird cried once more, this time resting its head on his leg until Harry could no longer tell he had been injured in the first place.
"I believe that we should make our exit?" Professor Dumbledore said placidly. He peered at Ron and Hermione over his crescent moon glasses. "Unless you two are gravely injured as well?"
Both shook their heads hesitantly.
"I shall have to award house points to each of you," the Headmaster remarked, beaming at the three. "Not only have you proved a rather stubborn myth, but you have also managed to slay a fully grown basilisk, a task many older than yourselves would have lost their lives to."
"It was Ron," Harry said quickly. "He was the one who killed it. He threw the rock at it."
Ron looked at him, befuddled. "But Harry, you –"
"You killed it."
It would feel – wrong somehow, if Harry got credit. Ron was the hero here, he hadn't really done anything.
"I believe that you all participated in the defeat of the Basilisk," Dumbledore said, his wise eyes twinkling away. "I can assume Mr. Potter risked his life to prevent it from looking you in the eye?" Harry nodded slowly. "And then Miss Granger sharpened the rock with a well executed sanding charm." Hermione beamed at this praise. "And Mr. Weasley dealt the final blow with his exceptionally good aim?" Ron smiled happily. "I think, then, that all of you managed this together, and that deserves rewarding. Fifty house points apiece sounds right."
"Fifty? "Ron gasped.
"It's a good start for Gryffindor this year, at any rate." Dumbledore raised his arm, and the phoenix fluttered back to its perch. "Come. I should return you to your housemates at once, now that the immediate danger is passed."
Hermione scuttled up to him curiously. "But Professor, how did you know we were down here?"
"Neville Longbottom informed Professor McGonagall of your absence early this morning. And when Mr. Filch went to clean out Miss Myrtle's bathroom and found the mess, it wasn't hard to guess what had happened."
They had begun to walk through the tunnel once more, the Headmaster's wand illuminating its dark corridors. Ron wrinkled his nose when he saw just how many rat skeletons were on the floor, some dismally crushed from their first trip.
"I must admit, I am wondering," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "what were you three doing in the bathroom to create such a ruckus?"
"We were practicing Potions, and we brewed it incorrectly," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.
"I had gone to dump it down the sink," Harry admitted. "It exploded when it went down the pipe."
"So that lump of pewter I found was a cauldron, then," he mused. "I was wondering about that too."
When they had reached the end of the abyss, Dumbledore instructed them to grab onto one of Fawkes' (the phoenix, they found out) tail feathers. After he explained that the magical bird could carry exceptionally heavy loads, it became apparent that they were all going to fly out on his phoenix.
Even a broomstick couldn't compare to the sheer thrill of this ride. As chilly air swept past Harry, he couldn't help but feel uplifted. He and his friends may have just battled one of the most fearsome beasts known to wizarding kind, but everything was going to be all right.
Everything was going to be all right from now on. And that meant no more extra Potions lessons if Harry had anything to do about it.
Not my best work, probably, but I tried. What can I say? I suck at action scenes.
