The next morning, Megan had to drag Lucy from their dormitory, much to her dismay. Lucy was content to sleep all day, but her friend was having none of it. She sounded more like Anthony at the moment as she lectured her.
"I can clearly see you're ready for the day and it's not healthy to spend all your time inside!" Megan scolded, pulling her out the door. It was a miracle she didn't fall down the stairs.
Lucy let out a pitiful groan. She went limp as soon as they reached the common room, throwing herself onto the couch. "Would you look at that? I've left my dorm," she declared. "Mission accomplished, shall we celebrate?"
She didn't know why, but she was so bloody tired today. She thought she slept perfectly well last night, but when she woke up at ten in the morning, she felt like her bones had turned to liquid. Maybe she had caused too much chaos this week, and it was all catching up with her. As a girl of twelve years old, she didn't have the same youthful energy as last year...
"Did somebody say CELEBRATE?"
Anthony jumped over the couch and sat next to Lucy, narrowly missing her head. She sat straight up and glared at him. "You could have smothered me!"
"Don't back talk me, Lucille Rochester!" He scolded, and he threw himself across her, crushing her into the couch. "Is this smothering enough, Lucy? Am I embaaaarasssing youuuu!"he teased.
Lucy groaned and shoved against his chest. This only encouraged him to push her further into the couch. "Okay, okay!" she couldn't help but laugh as his elbow jabbed into her side. "You win, get off!"
Grinning, Anthony sat up again. She pulled a face at him. "How are you even awake? Don't the parties stop at sunrise?"
"Objectively, Lucy, the party never stops, but that's beside the point. What are we celebrating?" He asked.
"Trying to get this prat out of the common room," Megan said exasperatedly. "I've tried everything, mum. Offers of food, threatening to take her pets hostage, threatening to bring Lockhart— everything!"
A sly grin came over Anthony's face. "Did you tell her that Harry Potter has stopped by three times already to see her?"
"WHAT!"
Lucy gasped and jumped off the couch like it'd burned her. "Three times? Oh no! I should give him the password! Poor Harry, he probably waited around, too..."
Megan and Anthony shared an incredulous look.
"Is he the only one you're nice to?" Megan demanded.
Lucy looked at her, and then she grinned and threw her arms around her. "I love you sooooo much, Megan Jones! You're the best filthy muggleborn I've ever known, and you own my whole heart!"
Megan cooed and hugged her back. "Awww, I love you too, Lucy. You're the best future prison resident I've ever known!"
Lucy thought it was a sweet moment, but Anthony looked at them, disturbed. "You lot are weird," he said. "And that's coming from me."
Although Anthony had no room to call people weird, she didn't argue with him. She wanted to see what Harry stopped by for. She released Megan, throwing an amused glance her way. "I'd better go find Harry and see what he wants. Don't go filthying up the place with your muggleness, Megan!"
Megan nodded solemnly. "I shall try my hardest, Lucy." Then she started laughing, shaking her head. "We're terrible, did you know that? We're absolutely terrible."
"I did know that, actually," Anthony said. "Surprised it's taken you this long to catch on. The first step is acceptance, you know?" Megan punched him in the arm. "Merlin, woman, no need to beat me!"
As Lucy left the common room, she said loudly, "Oh, hello, Maxine! Yeah, Rickett's in the common room, and he said you couldn't bench press him if you tried!"
Maxine was nowhere in sight, but the terrified shriek Anthony gave as the door swung shut was music to her ears. There was no way he was leaving the common room for the rest of the day. She couldn't blame him... Maxine was terrifying.
She walked through the hallways, surprised to note that they were empty; she hadn't passed a single person so far. It was a little past noon at this point and from what she saw, it was windy and cold outside. Still, the students were determined to soak up what little time outside they had left before snow coated the ground.
"Morning, Riddle," she said, pausing to look at the yellowing autumn leaves. Riddle appeared beside her. He followed her gaze and stared out the window at the changing season. "Or afternoon, I suppose," she amended.
He grinned slightly. "Good morning still works. Hogwarts is really something else in the autumn, isn't it?"
She nodded. "It's a shame it'll be covered in snow in a month's time..."
She started walking again, and he kept pace with her, glancing out the windows all the while. "What's on your evil list of deeds today, Lucy?" He mused. "Are you going to kill another troll? Make Lockhart cry?"
"You wish," she snorted, shaking her head. She wasn't planning anything that exciting. "No, I'm going to see why Harry tried to get into my common room. Must be important if he tried three times— the Hufflepuffs unnerve him, especially Anthony."
Riddle could understand that. He must not have been around Hufflepuffs when he attended Hogwarts; he thought they were the strangest group of people.
"And then after that?"
"Homework. Maybe I could practice some spells too, while I'm at it," she said thoughtfully. "I'm not slaying trolls every day. I'm responsible now, didn't you know?"
"Last time you said that, we skipped History of Magic to walk through the Forbidden Forest," he said bemusedly. "And just yesterday you pelted the Slytherin team with Reductor Curses."
"You're awfully accusing for someone who taught me the troll killing spell," Lucy pointed out. He only liked to play innocent when it was in his favor; she looked in his book of spells, some of which he invented or modified to be more gruesome— he didn't exactly have any moral high ground.
"I didn't tell you to use it," he said innocently.
Lucy scowled. There was no use arguing with him— he always won, even if he was wrong. "All right, Tom Riddle. What are you going to do today?" She countered, knowing it would annoy him.
As predicted, he her a flat look. "I suppose I'm going to do whatever you decide to do," he said, gesturing between them. "Since I can't exactly move on my own."
"That's quitter talk, Tom."
"It's physically impossible."
"Quitter talk!"
"We're not having this argument."
"That's such a mum thing to say," Lucy complained.
Riddle arched an eyebrow at her. "How would you know?"
Okay, ouch! Lucy gaped at his absolute ruthlessness. Riddle smirked at her shocked look. "I'm sorry, was that too harsh?" He asked, not looking sorry at all.
She looked him in the eyes and put her hands on his shoulders. She couldn't feel anything but it was imperative she did so for the drama of it all. "Riddle, never apologize for a sick burn," she told him in a serious voice.
Riddle laughed, and to her delight, it sounded genuine. Observing him, she found he had a few different laughs— one was when she said something genuinely amusing, one when others were in pain and one was sarcastic. So far, she'd experienced more of the latter. She liked when he was happy, and she couldn't help but laugh with him.
"If Dumbledore could see me talking to thin air, he'd have a heart attack," she snickered. If what Riddle said was true, and the headmaster didn't trust her, she could only imagine his reaction.
"At first I was worried people would question you talking to thin air, but the more I see you interact with everyone, the less I fear."
Okay, that was a fair point. She wasn't exactly the most balanced person out there.
"Life's a lot more fun when it's absurd," Lucy said, grinning. "Take Snape for example. I don't think he's ever had a happy thought in his life. Can you imagine him smiling?"
"He smiled when he thought Potter and Weasley were expelled," he recalled.
"Oh, right." Lucy frowned; she'd forgotten about that. Maybe his smile was so horrifying that she removed it from her memory... That seemed very likely.
"I have to admit, I'm curious on what the Potter boy has to say," Riddle commented as they neared the common room.
She wasn't surprised; he was curious about everything, he just didn't want to say so. She was tempted to call him nosy, but they were getting along so well lately that she didn't want to mess it up by teasing him. It wasn't his fault he didn't know anything, the real Tom Riddle left him somewhere, and he hadn't spoken to anyone in decades. She desperately wanted to know what happened to the diary's creator, but every time she brought it up, Riddle told her to drop it.
"He probably found something new to be nosy about," she said wisely. Last year had been filled with poking around in other people's' business, there was no way the same would happen this year, despite her wishes it would be a smooth year.
Lucy arrived at the Gryffindor common room just as Angelina and Katie stepped out. Although they were two of the chasers she was going to play against, she beamed at the sight of them. "Why hello my third and fourth favorite chasers!"
Angelina snorted, and Katie looked at her curiously. "Who's first and second?" She wondered.
"Daisy is first, of course, but recently Marcus Flint has won a spot in my heart," she swooned. Riddle bristled just from hearing the name, but Angelina burst out laughing.
"I think you're my fourth favorite," she winked. "Right behind me and the girls. Now, I expect you're not here to admire the scenery?"
"You know, I was originally, but now that I'm here..." Lucy said slyly.
Katie smiled, shaking her head. "The password is 'Morgana'. Merlin knows why— she was a Slytherin."
The Fat Lady was appropriately outraged to have two Gryffindors giving out the password, but she couldn't do anything about it. Lucy ignored her scolding and stepped into the common room. Her foot caught on the edge of the opening and she nearly fell face first into the carpet. Riddle, of course, laughed at her.
"You're rotten," she complained, steadying herself with the wall.
He smirked at her. "Maybe I can find a spell to keep you on your feet," he teased.
"You're rotten!"
Ron, sitting in front of the fireplace, gave her a weird look. From his perspective she had just walked into the common room, tripped, and started yelling at the floor.
"Luce, mate, it's all right— we all fall down once in awhile," he said slowly.
"Oh. It's you," Lucy plastered on her best Malfoy-like sneer. She could see Ron's temper start to rise at the sight of it. He wasn't angry at her, but the reminder made him angry in general.
"What's that look for?" He demanded.
Before she could answer, Harry walked down the stairs from the boys' dormitory. "Yeah, no, Seamus isn't a lizard—" he stopped himself mid-sentence. "Lucy!"
She dropped the sneer immediately and smiled. "Harry!" She repeated, running forward to give him a hug.
Ron looked at them, outraged. "He gets a hug and I get a glare? What is this, Lucy? I thought we were friends!"
"That's just how it is, Ron," Harry told him knowledgeably.
"What do you mean Seamus isn't a lizard?" She questioned.
Harry and Ron shared a long, disturbed look. The latter shook his head and told her gravely, "You don't want to know."
"...Okay then..."
Lucy sank down into the Gryffindor couch, throwing a nearby blanket over herself. Harry sat in an armchair by Ron and to her amusement, Riddle settled on the couch next to her. She wondered if this was the first time he'd seen the Gryffindor common room. She had an inkling that was the case; he was looking at everything, half curious and half disgusted.
"So, Harry, what brought you to my humble home three times today?" She asked him, curling up in the blanket. "I am a very busy wizard, you know. I don't have time for just anyone."
"Sorry to have disturbed you," Harry joked. He then turned serious, thinking hard on how to explain it to her. "So last night, I had detention with Lockhart..."
"Gross," she said immediately.
Harry nodded. "Gross indeed. It wasn't too bad, just answering his fan mail. By the way, Ron, I'm certain one of them was from your mum."
"Oh, what!" Ron complained. He shoved Harry's arm, scowling. "You didn't have to tell me that!"
"Sorry! Anyway... yeah, answering fan mail— you know what, I take it back, it was awful! My wrist still hurts."
"I'm sure it was, but what happened?" Lucy demanded. Usually she was all for interruptions, but she had to admit her curiosity was piqued. Last year, he hadn't bothered to tell her that Fluffy was guarding the Philosopher's Stone. She could only imagine the grand scale of information he thought was worth mentioning.
"It could have been me being tired..." Harry began. "But I really don't think it was that— it was so clear. It was– well, cold, I'd say. It was a cold voice. I didn't know where it was coming from, but it wasn't in my head– something was somewhere. It kept saying it was going to kill something. Rip it, tear it? Have you heard of anything like that?"
She hadn't, nor had she read about it. There were a thousand things it could have been– maybe Lockhart's fanmail turned into hate mail, and it was a howler. Maybe someone was playing a trick on him. Even worse, maybe someone wasn't joking, and something bad was happening at Hogwarts... she hoped that wasn't the case. Last year had been bad enough, couldn't this one be normal for once?
She glanced over at Riddle, arching an eyebrow at him. He looked mostly confused and sort of... frustrated? She didn't know why. He caught her eye and immediately went from looking confused to looking sure of himself.
"It's probably nothing, Lucy," Riddle said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about it— people play tricks all the time at Hogwarts."
Lucy nodded. She trusted his judgment. Turning back to Harry, she smiled apologetically. "I got nothing, Harry. Did you hear it again?"
"No, just the once," Harry sighed.
"Well, if you hear it again... then I guess we're going to be a bunch of nosy gits like last year." She pulled a face at the thought; she'd rather play Quidditch and have fun with her friends, not hunt frustrating mysteries.
Both Ron and Harry looked satisfied with her answer. There wasn't much they could do; Harry only heard the voice once, and from how quiet Hogwarts had been lately, nothing happened because of it. All they could do was wait to see if the voice had a purpose or ill intent.
"So what do you want to do now?" Ron asked after a long silence.
"Homework," she said immediately at the same time Harry said, "Quidditch."
"How about neither, since homework stinks and it's freezing outside?" Ron rolled his eyes at the two. "How about Wizard Chess?"
Lucy looked at him darkly, remembering how Quirrell sacrificed her on the giant chess board. "If I never play a game of Wizard Chess again, it will be too soon," she hissed.
"C'mon! I got knocked out too, it wasn't that bad," He argued.
"You didn't get knocked out by bloody Moldevort."
"It's Voldemort, Lucy," Harry sighed.
Riddle looked just as disappointed in her.
"Listen, Harry, when you're as tight-knight with the Dark Lord as I am, you can call him whatever you want," Lucy told him.
Harry rolled his eyes while Ron was horrified at the casual mention of Lord Voldemort. "I'll keep that in mind next time I meet him," he said sarcastically. "I'll walk up to him and say, 'Yeah, my mate Lucy thinks you're a laugh— want to grab lunch some time?' I'm sure he'll be pleased."
"See, now you're getting it!"
"Can you both stop talking about You-Know-Who?" Ron groaned.
Lucy blinked at him. "I don't know who you're talking about. Can you be more clear?"
"You know full well who I'm talking about," he glared.
She caught Harry's eye, willing for him to join in. He grinned mischievously before sobering himself, turning to face Ron.
"I'm afraid we don't," she said solemnly. "Maybe if you clarify, we can stop this conversation and play some Wizard Chess."
"You're not really going to make me..." Ron trailed off as he took note of their mischievous smiles. He glanced toward Lucy. "You'll really play Wizard Chess if I do? And you won't make it weird by being friends with the pieces?"
"You do that?" Riddle said incredulously. He shook his head, sighing. "No, never mind. I'm not surprised."
"I promise. Now say it, Weasley!"
"Say it," Harry agreed.
"I will! Give me a moment," Ron scowled.
She and Harry started chanting in unison, "Say it say it say it say it say it say it!"
"Merlin," Ron looked like he wished he was friends with literally anyone else in the world.
"Wrong name, no points given," Lucy sighed, shaking her head.
Ron threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "Voldemort! Okay? Voldemort!"
"WHO SUMMONED ME?!"
Ron let out a shriek as Fred Weasley appeared behind him, clamping his hands down on his shoulders and shaking him violently. He threw himself off the chair and turned around, his face pale and his heart hammering in his chest.
"What- what the HELL, FRED!" He shouted.
That was it. He killed her. Fred killed her.
Lucy fell sideways onto the couch, clutching her ribs as she laughed. Harry wasn't doing any better, and Fred and George leaned on the sofa. All four of them had tears of laughter streaming down their faces. Even Riddle was trying his best to fight a smile.
"You all suck!" Ron hissed. "I nearly had a heart attack, you bleeding prats!"
No one could manage any human words. Hermione came out of her dorm, pausing at the scene in front of her: four of her friends laughing while Ron lay on the ground, white as a ghost.
"What happened here?" She demanded.
Ron glared at the four of them and walked over, grabbing Hermione's hand. "We're leaving," he declared. He started leading her out of the common room.
"Where? Why?"
"We'll do homework, I don't know— anywhere but here!"
Hermione suddenly looked very, very afraid. If something scared Ron to the point where he volunteered to do homework... she didn't want to know. They left through the portrait hole, and slowly but surely, the other four managed to get a hold of themselves.
"So..." Harry took off his jacket and cleaned the lenses with his shirt. They had tear stains on them. "Want to play Quidditch?"
Lucy rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the couch. "Good lord, do you think about anything else?"
"I do!" He protested.
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Sometimes I think about food."
She headed toward the door. "Goodbye forever, Harry," she told him. "I'm off to join the Dark Lord's ranks, all because of you and your impudence!"
Harry and the twins laughed as she left. Riddle didn't look as amused.
"Bring us back a souvenir!" George called after her.
"Your first born son on a platter? Certainly!"
The rest of the month passed far too quickly for Lucy's liking, but she was feeling a strange amount of exhaustion. She chalked it up to Quidditch practice, but even that didn't account for the four other days of the week she was tired.
It was October now, and coldness seeped through the castle and even into the warm Hufflepuff common room. Madam Pomfrey's infirmary was filled with students lining up for Pepper-Up potions. As stubborn as Lucy was, even she was feeling the effects of sickness taking over her.
"You should go to the hospital wing and get it over with," Riddle scolded her after she sneezed on her homework for the tenth time that night.
They were sitting beside each other by the Black Lake, and every time she sneezed, he inched further away. It was ridiculous seeing as she couldn't very well touch him.
"No! And have smoke pouring out of my ears?" She pulled a face at the thought. In Potions class today, she and Malfoy mocked everyone who showed up with steam pouring out of their ears. If she succumbed to the same fate, she'd never hear the end of it.
"It's a small price to pay. You've had this cold for a week, I'm sick of hearing you cough all the time. It's gross."
"Okay, Tom Riddle, have you ever taken Pepper-Up potion?"
"Yes, when I happened to get sick," he replied.
There was no sign of it, but Lucy was certain he was lying.
"I don't believe you," she told him.
Riddle arched an eyebrow at her. "Why wouldn't I take the potion? It's the most sensible thing to do. Am I not sensible?"
"Yeah, I'm sure you'd willing walk around with steam pouring out of your ears," she said sarcastically. "There's no way— you probably brewed it yourself if you had to and took it overnight, so no one would notice."
To her surprise, he let out a laugh. He gave her an impressed look. "You're spot on. You know me well," he mused. He then shook his head. "The point is, I took the potion, and so should you."
Lucy was awfully tempted to sneeze on him, but then she'd be left to do her Potions assignment on her own.
"That's not the point at all, the point is I don't want smoke pouring out of my ears," she scowled.
"But it would look ridiculous— isn't that your thing?"
For a moment, Lucy was convinced by that fact, and she was about to run and take the potion. She leapt to her feet and started toward the castle— then she realized Riddle's sneaky trick. "You're such a snake!" She complained, sitting right back down. "I almost fell for it, too. You'll have to be sneakier than that to fool me, Riddle!"
Riddle looked satisfied that he'd almost convinced her, anyway. "I still made you consider it," he smirked.
His smile fell away, and he turned to her, putting on his 'I'm older so you have to listen to what I say' look. He pulled that card an awful lot. "If you're still sneezing by Halloween, you're going to the hospital wing, and that's final."
"Pfft, Halloween's two weeks away! That's fine by me, Tom," she snorted. Her snorting made her choke, and she coughed into her arms. It sounded horrid, like a frog might jump out of her throat.
Riddle pulled a face at the sound, but he looked happier at the prospect of him winning a bet. "You won't be better by then," he said resolutely. "And you will go to the hospital wing."
"Hah! You're going to be wrong for the first time in your life, Riddle."
As it turned out, Riddle was not wrong. He never was, the stupid git. A few days before Halloween, Lucy's cold was worse than ever; it'd gotten to the point where Heidi, her fellow chaser, was too paranoid to catch the Quaffle from her in case it had diseases on it.
That suited her just fine; at least then Heidi wouldn't try and kill her by throwing the Quaffle into odd places and expecting her to die trying to catch it... Although the way things were looking now, she'd be in the hospital wing by Halloween. Riddle hadn't outwardly gloated about it, but his smug look each time she sneezed made Lucy want to fight him.
Shamefully, she hadn't caused much trouble in the month of October. For one, she had been sick for most of it, and also, her professors genuinely believed she had turned over a new leaf. Professor McGonagall looked at her with pride as she worked quietly in Transfiguration, and Professor Snape no longer gave her random detentions every time she entered the room.
Even Lockhart had gotten less insufferable recently. His Creative Writing Club was still "in the works", as he put it, and he was getting ready for a grand reveal... She was not looking forward to that...
Riddle was as helpful as always, which meant that he equally teased her as much as he showed her spells. Right now, he was teaching her conjuration, and she practiced it at every given chance. Even now, as she watched Harry practice Quidditch, she tried her hand at conjuring herself an umbrella. Because it was freezing and raining outside.
"I don't understand why you're sitting here in the rain," Riddle huffed, sitting next to her on the bleachers. "Watching the other team practice, out of all things. Do you enjoy being cold?"
"I think the rain gives me more incentive to conjure the umbrella," Lucy countered. She winced as Harry and Angelina collided and smashed into the mud. She then grinned as Fred and George soon followed. "The violence is a plus, too."
She waved her wand, concentrating on an umbrella appearing. Still nothing. The rain beat down on her further.
"This is pointless," Riddle sighed. "Conjuration is the second most complex form of transfiguration— I don't know why we're bothering right now."
"I believe it's because you told me I couldn't do it, and now you're stuck watching me until I manage it," she said, grinning. He should know better by now not to challenge her... It never ended well.
"Yes, that's it," he said dryly. "Maybe instead of trying to show off, you can say the spell out loud?"
"Now that you've told me to, I won't."
Riddle put his face in his hands as Lucy waved her wand again. To her delight, something started to materialize, and she watched hopefully as the stem of an umbrella appeared... except it didn't have the part to keep her dry.
"Oh, come on!"
"Luce, why are you talking to yourself over there?" Harry called from the air.
"Just going crazy, don't mind me!" she called back.
She recently realized that she didn't need long explanations to explain away her strange behavior— she was such a madman on a daily basis that talking to thin air wasn't considered strange for her. As long as she didn't do it all the time, no one really questioned it. Still, it bothered Riddle when she did so, so in class she had to resort to writing in the diary manually. Gross.
Oliver Wood also stopped beside Harry to stare at her. "Why is the Hufflepuff chaser even here?" he demanded. "She could be spying on our moves!"
"Wood, I've been watching you lot play and trust me— you'd be better off stealing from us."
Riddle snorted, and even the Weasley Twins laughed at Wood's outraged expression.
"Come on, Ollie, she's allowed!" Fred flew closer to slap the Gryffindor captain on the back.
"She tried to blow up Flint, remember?" George added.
"Yeah, I suppose," Wood said grudgingly. He looked at his battered, muddy team and heaved a great sigh. "We might as well call it, for today. But don't think we won't put in a few hours tomorrow!"
"You'd better not, if you don't want to die, Wood!" Angelina threw the Quaffle at his head. He caught it and glared at her.
Lucy vanished her umbrella and headed out of the bleachers to meet up with Harry. She didn't particularly enjoy watching Quidditch in the first place, but Harry's flying was always so good that she wouldn't want to miss it.
"Have fun, Luce?" Harry went to sling an arm around her shoulder, and she ducked out of the way.
"Gross, you're all muddy!"
"Am I?" He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, effectively coating her with loads of mud.
"You're such a git!"
Harry released her and stepped back, laughing. She had mud all down her sweater now. Whoever did her laundry would not be amused.
Scowling, she pointed her wand at the ground and said, "Reducto!" and a great wave of mud washed over both of them. Even if she sprayed herself, at least she tried to counter him.
"Using magic's cheating," he complained.
Lucy grinned, twirling her wand between her fingers. "All's fair in love and war, dear Harry."
"This isn't love and war. This is cold and wet."
"Same thing, don't you think?"
They walked up to the castle, each kicking mud at the other the whole way up there. In the back of her mind Lucy knew she could easily scourgify the both of them, but she wanted Harry to feel the pain of his muddy clothes. It was all fun and games walking through the rain— once they got inside, it'd be much more uncomfortable.
"You look like a pair of swamp trolls," Riddle told them, unamused as they tracked mud through the hallway. "If I was a prefect, I'd have you in detention for weeks for this."
"Prefects are lame, don't you think, Harry?" She asked Harry, shooting a pointed glance in Tom's direction.
Harry gave her a confused look. "I mean, I haven't thought about it. I might want to be one, someday."
"I'm liking Potter more every day," Riddle smirked.
"Traitors, the both of you," she muttered.
She sneezed, and this time she aimed it Riddle's way. She pulled this on him a few times already, and each time it made him burst out into a rant. Sure enough, he jumped back, disgusted.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Lucy! That's horrible!" He snapped.
"Prefects sure are lame," she repeated.
Harry shot her an odd look. He was saved from replying as they rounded the corner; Nearly Headless Nick floated by a window, staring morosely outside. "... Don't fulfill their requirements... half an inch, if that..." he was muttering.
"Hello Nick," Harry said politely.
"Sup, headless man," Lucy nodded.
Nearly Headless Nick was too surprised to see them to be offended by her. "Hello, hello!" His eyes scanned over their muddy appearances, and he floated backward. What was with spectres and being afraid of germs? "You two look troubled, young ones," he said, tucking a transparent letter into his pocket.
"So do you," Harry pointed out.
"What's up, Nick?" Lucy asked. "We're all friends here."
"Ah... A matter of no importance..." Nick began coyly; it was clear he was desperate to rant to someone, but he was too elegant to say so. "It's not as though I really wanted to join... Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements'—" His somber demeanor vanished, and he erupted into a rant. "But you would think, wouldn't you, that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the headless hunt?"
"Oh— yes," Harry agreed. He didn't know what Nick was talking about, but it seemed the right time to say yes.
Lucy was more ferocious in her answer. "You know that's more than enough, Nick!" she burst out. "Forty-Five times... these fools haven't had scarcely a third of that!"
"I mean, no one wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However—" Fueled by Lucy's loud proclamation, he furiously pulled out his letter and read it: "We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore."
"Well, he doesn't fill the requirements," Riddle scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's a headless hunt. He still has his head."
Lucy glared venomously in his direction. Traitor!
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore!" Nick continued.
"It's not enough— that's not what beheaded means," Riddle said exasperatedly.
I've had enough of this nonsense from you, Riddle, Lucy thought to herself. Couldn't he see the injustice of it all? That Nearly Headless Nick clearly dreamed of joining the headless hunt? There had to be some activities he could participate in!
Nick took several deep, calming breaths in. He looked at the two, free of any fury. "So— what's bothering you? Anything I can do?"
"No, Nick, what can I do for you? Do you want me to exorcise Podmore? Because I will absolutely exorcise Podmore," Lucy said seriously.
Nearly Headless Nick chuckled. "You're very kind, but I like to think I'm a little more chivalrous than Podmore."
"You should start your own ghost club! I'd come to watch it! I'd die to join it!"
"Quit encouraging him," Riddle scolded as Nearly Headless Nick was beginning to be convinced by her words.
A high mewling drew Lucy out of her thoughts of a ghost-revolution, and she looked down at her ankles to see Mrs. Norris staring up at them with yellow eyes.
"Oh hey, little lady!" Lucy cooed, crouching down to scratch under Mrs. Norris's chin. The cat looked grumpy at her attention, but there was no mistaking the purr that made its way out of Mrs. Norris's throat.
"You'd better get out of here, kids," Nick said quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood— he's got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place—"
"Then Filch and I will have a sneeze off," Lucy nodded, like that had been the proper answer all along.
Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her along. "Right, that's not happening," he told her. He began pulling her away from Mrs. Norris's gaze, but they weren't fast enough; Filch burst out of a tapestry to their right, looking worse than Lucy did.
"Filth!" he yelled, staring at the muddy puddle beneath Lucy and Harry's feet. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me!"
"What filth?" Lucy said. She made a show of looking around as Harry followed Filch.
Filch turned around and gave her a murderous glare. "I said, follow me!"
"I know you said it, but you never specified where or when. And might I add, why or how? We've established the who, of course—"
Snarling, Filch lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her painfully through the hallway. For being sick, he had an iron grip, and she made a pained face at the tightness of his fingers around her wrist.
Riddle stared darkly at the caretaker, walking right behind Lucy.
They were led to Filch's office. She had been here a few times, and it never ceased to depress her. It looked like more of a dungeon than the actual dungeons looked; it was windowless and hardly lit at all, and all the walls had wooden filing cabinets. She noted that a few students had drawers to herself— to her delight, she was one of those students. Filch shoved her into the office, daring her to try and escape.
She absently rubbed her wrist, all the while looking at the cabinets. "It looks like you've redecorated," she said, examining the chains behind his desk. "Did you polish recently?"
"Name... Harry potter. Crime..." Filch was muttering.
"It was only a bit of mud!" Harry protested.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me, it's an extra hour scrubbing! Crime... befouling the castle... suggested sentence..."
Before he could write more, there was a loud BANG on the ceiling of the office. The cabinets rattled, and Filch jumped out of his chair. "PEEVES!" He roared. "I've have you this time, I'll have you!"
He ran from the office, Mrs. Norris following closely behind.
"Should we run?" Harry said cautiously, looking toward the door.
Lucy shook her head. "Nah, I've done that— only gets you double the detention."
Harry shrugged and then sat in the chair next to Filch's desk. It took him less than ten seconds to start snooping, and he picked up an envelope off the desk. Meanwhile, Lucy looked at the filing cabinets.
Her eyes fell on a familiar name. Grinning, she looked over at Harry. His father had a drawer to himself. Her friend was absorbed in opening Filch's letter, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. Pulling out her wand, she tapped it on the filing cabinet's lock. "Alohomora," she muttered.
She promptly grabbed all the files, stuffing them into her satchel. She locked the cabinet again afterward.
"Kwikspell," Harry read aloud, holding it in his hands.
Riddle had been quietly stewing up until now, but as Harry said that, he walked over to peer over his shoulder at the letter. Lucy held back a grin; they were both alike in many ways, their nosiness included.
"He's a squib," Riddle muttered to himself. His eyes fell upon Lucy's wrist, and glancing down, she could see purple marks appearing. Riddle's gaze darkened, and he disappeared without another word.
At that moment, Filch walked back into his office. "That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!" He was telling Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet—" his eyes fell on Harry, then to the envelope which was definitely not in the place he had left it. Filch's face turned an ugly red. "Have you— did you read—?"
"No," Harry said quickly.
"If I thought you'd read my private— not that it's mine— for a friend, be that as it may— however—"
"Flich, I think you should take a deep breath in," Lucy advised. "You're looking a bit tense."
"Very well— go—" he spluttered, "And don't breathe a word... not that... however, if you didn't read— go now, I have to write up Peeves' report— go—"
Lucy could hardly believe their luck. Filch never let any student go... She and Harry fled from his office, out of the dungeon and back upstairs. They slowed to a walk, and she turned and pointed her wand at him.
"Scourgify," she cast on both of them, and all the mud disappeared.
Harry looked at her, annoyed. "You couldn't have done that earlier?"
"You made me muddy, I wasn't going to clean you up."
"Harry! Harry, did it work?" Nearly Headless Nick burst from a classroom. Through him, there was a shattered black and gold cabinet. "I persuaded Peeves to crash it over Filch's office. Thought it might distract him."
"Was that you?" Harry said, pleased. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"
As they walked further down the corridor, Harry kept glancing at Nick's letter. "I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt..." he said apologetically.
Nick stopped, and to Lucy's amusement, Harry stepped through him. He shivered at the feeling. Lucy could relate— whenever Riddle brushed against her, it was always such a cold feeling.
"But there is something you could do for me," Nick said excitedly. "Harry— would I be asking too much— but, no, you wouldn't want..."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundreth deathday."
"YES! Congratulations, Nick!" Lucy held up her hand for a high-five. She didn't know if a deathday was a good thing or not, but five hundred years excited her anyway. Amused, Nick humored her, even though his hand fell through hers. "What a milestone!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, quite," Nick agreed. "I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be an honor if you two would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss. Granger would be most welcome too, of course—" his gaze then fell to Lucy, and he looked nervous. "Please don't bring Mr. Rickett.. I'm afraid he would disrupt the ceremony."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Nick," Lucy assured him.
"No, we'll come," Harry said hurriedly.
"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And—" he looked extremely excited. "Do you think you could possible mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"
"You bloody bet I will," Lucy said fiercely.
She could hardly believe Nick was inviting her. She imagined herself surrounded by hundreds of dead people, and in every scenerio, she ended up saying something horrible insensitive. And hilarious.
She couldn't wait.
As it turned out, she would have to wait, because by the time Halloween came around, she was still horribly sick. And Riddle wasn't budging an inch.
"It's the deathday party! I promised Nick!" she protested, but the effect was somewhat dulled by her voice cracking halfway through. She entered another coughing fit.
"It's going to be your deathday party if you don't," Riddle said sternly. "I don't know why you said you'd go in the first place... It's utterly useless..."
"I have to go," she said, determined. It was afternoon, and she spent the entire day in her dorm.
She wanted to give Harry the detention files on his dad she stole out of Filch's office, but she hadn't gotten a chance in the past few days— she figured today was as good a day as any.
"I'll go to the hospital wing tomorrow." She picked her satchel up, slinging it around her shoulder.
Riddle followed her unhappily into the common room. "You promised me you would go if you weren't better by Halloween. Are you breaking your promise, Lucy?" he said in a low voice.
Lucy rolled her eyes at his dramatics, when a hazy feeling came over her. The once loud common room seemed to become muffled background noise, and the only thing she could clearly hear was Riddle's voice.
He looked at her, concerned. "You look pale, Lucy, I think you should lay down," he told her in a soft voice.
"I.. I'm good." She tried to fight the hazy feeling away, but as she tried, it seemed to crash over her like a wave. She stumbled a bit, exhaustion hitting her like a brick.
Anthony spotted her from the couch, and he hurried over to her. She could see his mouth moving. Was he speaking? She couldn't hear anything.
"Please, Lucy, lay down," Riddle repeated. His voice was coming from all directions. Blackness seeped in the edges of her vision.
Another wave came over her, and Lucy collapsed, falling into Anthony's arms.
"What do you mean she's not coming?" Ron demanded, outraged after Harry broke the news that their favorite insane friend wasn't coming along.
"I asked Anthony and he told me she was in the Hospital Wing, she passed out," Harry said, frowning. He'd been in to visit her, and true to Anthony's words, she was out cold. Madame Pomfrey told him it was a fever before she ushered him out to give her room.
He felt bad for her; he knew how much she was looking forward to the Deathday party, and now she would have to miss it. Although he had to admit, she didn't look very sprightly in the past month. It concerned him how pale she looked all the time, and even when she was pulling pranks, she had an air of exhaustion around her.
"Maybe we shouldn't go," Ron said hopefully. "Since Lucy can't go, and all..."
Hermione glared at him. "A promise is a promise," she repeated. "If we don't go, who's going to tell Lucy what the party's like? We have to go for her."
If Harry didn't want to go before, he was certainly rejuvenated now. He had to experience this horrid Deathday party— he had to live like he was Lucy.
"Mate, I don't like the gleam that's just come into your eye," Ron said slowly.
Harry gave him a solemn look. "I'm channelling Lucy tonight, I'm afraid."
"Why would you?" His friend said, horrified.
"Because someone has to."
Harry tried to keep Lucy in mind as they passed the glittering, warm Great Hall to head to the dungeons. He hadn't sat through the feast last year either, since they saved Hermione from a troll. He wished he was missing the feast for equally important reasons.
The dungeons were freezing, even more so than usual. Harry wrapped his robes tighter around him, and he took in the sights of the grim decorations. He wondered who put them up— certainly not Filch? And as he looked at the rotting food, he still couldn't fathom who would willingly do such a thing.
"My dear friends," Nearly Headless Nick greeted them mournfully, spreading out his arms. "Welcome, welcome... So pleased you could come..." His eyes looked for their missing party member. "Where's Miss Rochester?"
"She's sick," Harry said apologetically. "She really wanted to come. Sorry, Nick."
"She sends her regards," Hermione added, even though it was likely that Lucy would have passed along a more ridiculous message.
"She did look rather unwell..." Nick muttered. He swept off his hat and gestured them into the dungeon.
The party passed slowly, and Harry found himself counting down the seconds until they could leave. The horrible smells, the scraping music, it was all horrible. He found himself longing for the food in the Great Hall, but he couldn't think of a proper enough excuse to leave. He wished Lucy was here to liven up the party— with how horrible everything was, he was certain his friend would have a splendid time.
Once Sir Patrick arrived, Harry was determined to channel his inner Lucy. At Nick's meaningful look, he turned to face Sir Patrick, plastering what he hoped was a disturbed look.
"I'm glad you can take your head off all the way, Sir Patrick— it puts me at ease, really," Harry said without paying much attention to his words. "The first time Nick detached his head, I had nightmares for weeks. How gory is it, having your neck chopped forty-six times?"
Catching on, Hermione nodded fervently. "After getting over my fear, I think it's very impressive... Oh, Nick, the first years are terrified of you!"
Sir Patrick's smug grin faded, and he looked between the children for signs of any lies. When he found none, he huffed, looking back to Nick. "Well... Good to see you have a name for yourself, Nick," he said stiffly.
Harry fought the grin that was threatening to appear. After seeing Nick in high spirits, he took it as a cue to finally leave. They left the dungeon, shivering and terribly hungry.
"Pudding might not be finished yet," Ron said wistfully as they headed toward the steps.
Harry heard his stomach growl at the sound. And then a different sound entered his head...
"...rip... tear... kill..."
Shivers worked their way up Harry's spine. It was the same voice from Lockhart's office— the same chilling, murderous tenor. He stopped in his tracks and grabbed onto the wall, putting his ear against it. He looked around the corridor, squinting to see anything.
"Harry, what're you?" Ron began.
"It's that voice again— shut up a minute—"
"...sooooo hungry... for so long..."
"Listen!" Harry looked from Ron to Hermione incredulously. How could they not hear it? It was so clear, so evil.
"Kill... time to kill..."
The voice faded. He heard it from above him— how was it moving upward? Images of horrible creatures flashed to the front of his mind, terrifying limbed beings climbing their way up the walls, and it made him clutch his wand tighter. No, he told himself, it doesn't matter what it is. Someone was in danger.
"This way!" He shouted, and he ran up the stairs and into the entrance hall. Confused as they were, Ron and Hermione followed close behind. He ran past the Great Hall, up the staircase to the first floor.
"Harry, what're we-"
"SHH!" he hissed furiously.
From above him, the voice returned. It was still faint and growing fainter. "...I smell blood... ...I SMELL BLOOD!"
"It's going to kill someone!" Harry gasped, and he sprinted up the next stairs, tackling them three at a time. If he had the time, he would admire his stair climbing skill, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He sprinted through the second floor, his friends close behind, and he didn't stop until they reached a deserted passage.
"Harry, what was that about?" Ron panted, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I couldn't hear anything..."
Hermione gasped. She pointed down the corridor. "Harry, look!"
He couldn't see it, so he walked closer. Between two windows, he could see large words painted on the wall. They seemed wet, and they glimmered in the light of the torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Ron's voice trembled, pointing to a ledge. "What's that thing— hanging underneath?"
Walking closer, Harry nearly slipped on a huge puddle of water. His friends caught him, and together, they inched closer. Harry leaped back as soon as he saw it; Mrs Norris was stiff as a board, hanging by her tail from the torch.
"Let's get out of here," Ron said in a hushed voice.
"Shouldn't we try and help—" Harry began.
"Trust me, we don't want to be found here—"
The sounds of hundreds of footsteps approaching told them that they were too late. From each direction, students arrived, happily talking to one another. Then all the sounds vanished, and the rest of the Hogwarts population stood, silently staring at Mrs. Norris and the three Gryffindors.
Draco Malfoy pushed to the front of the crowd. "Enemies of the Heir, beware!" Malfoy leered. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
"What's going on here? What's going on here?"
Harry wanted to be literally anywhere else; Ron was right, they didn't want to be found here. Argus Filch pushed his way through the crowd, and as he looked at Mrs. Norris, his face drained of all color.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris!" he shrieked.
His eyes fell upon Harry, and he lunged forward. "You! You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you, I'll—"
Before Harry could open his mouth to explain he was innocent, Dumbledore and the rest of the professors arrived at the scene. "Argus!" he cut across the man and removed Mrs. Norris from the torch. "Come with me," he told the caretaker. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, Ms. Rochester—"
"Sir, Lucy's not with us," Hermione told him hesitantly.
Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised. He looked around, and sure enough, he wasn't. "My mistake." Though it was a grim scene, he still managed a smile. "I've come to expect the four of you in a package."
Yeah, me too, Harry thought miserably.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster- just upstairs- please feel free," Lockhart offered eagerly.
Harry didn't think there was a professor he could hate more than Snape, and then he met Gilderoy Lockhart. Mrs. Norris may have died this evening, but Lockhart was the worst part of tonight.
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said. He led them through the crowd and up to Lockhart's office. It was lined with portraits of himself, all of which had hair curlers and dodged out of the frame at the company.
Dumbledore set Mrs. Norris on the desk and examined her carefully. All the while, Lockhart rambled on. "It was definitely a curse that killed her- probably the Transmogrifian Torture- I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her..."
Filch let out a sob, and Harry glared at the professor. He hated Filch, but he felt sorry for the man; he couldn't imagine losing Hedwig so abruptly.
"She's not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said, straightening up.
"Not dead?" Filch said, stunned. "But why's she all- all stiff and frozen?"
"She's been petrified. But how, I cannot say..."
"Ask him!" Filch shrieked, and he pointed at Harry.
Oh, great, Harry thought.
"No second year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"
"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found- in my office- he knows I'm a- I'm a... He knows I'm a Squib!"
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said, looking around nervously at the stares directed at him. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish! He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I may speak, Headmaster," Snape said, stepping out from the shadows.
Please don't, Harry thought miserably. This would be, what, the second time Snape's tried to expel him this year?
"Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurriedly explained the Deathday party, and how there were hundreds of ghosts there as witnesses.
"But why not join the feast?" Snape countered. "Why go up to that corridor?"
"Because- because-" Harry searched his mind for an explanation that wouldn't make him sound like a raving lunatic.
"And," Snape began, as though he would unleash a finishing blow. "Where is the fourth member of your party, I wonder...? Lucille Rochester... She wasn't at the feast, now was she? She's the only one unaccounted for in this story..."
To Harry's horror, even Headmaster Dumbledore began to look suspicious as well. "She's in the hospital wing," he said angrily, "You can ask Madame Pomfrey— you can ask Anthony Rickett who saw her pass out!"
Snape's smile faded. He'd been sure he was onto something. "That doesn't explain why you didn't go back to your dorms," he said icily.
In a stroke of brilliance, Ron said, "We wanted to visit Lucy and see if she was awake yet! We felt bad, since she really wanted to go to the Deathday party..."
McGonagall and Sprout looked particularly touched by this sentiment, while Snape scowled angrily at them.
"The Hospital Wing is on the first floor, Weasley," Snape said, sneering.
"She left her jumper in the Gryffindor common room," Hermione countered.
"Hufflepuffs aren't allowed in the Gryffindor common room. I will be speaking to Ms. Rochester about this—" Snape began.
Professor Sprout cut him off. "I believe that's a matter between Minerva and I!" She then turned to McGonagall. "Does my Hufflepuff have permission to go into your common room?" she said pointedly.
"Of course," McGonagall replied.
Harry didn't think it was possible to respect Professor McGonagall more than he already did, but alas, he was proven wrong.
Snape's resolve to stick them with something only seemed to harden. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."
Harry stared at him, horrified.
"Really, Severus," McGonagall snapped. "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."
"And I don't appreciate accusations against my student, when she isn't here to defend herself," Professor Sprout added.
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."
Snape and Filch were both seething. Harry would have felt more triumphant if he wasn't staring at a petrified cat.
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore continued. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
Filch didn't look satisfied, but at least he had stopped screaming at Harry.
Dumbledore then turned to Harry and his friends. "You may go," he said calmly. As they left, right before the door closed, Harry caught one last snippet of conversation. "...And I will be stopping by the hospital wing, to see if Ms. Rochester is, indeed, sick."
Harry resisted the urge to scowl.
Like Lucy would ever harm a cat— if she had the ability, she would have gone for Filch.