Chapter 6: The Chamber of Secrets

In the morning, I learned that the redheaded man I saw with Fleur in the woods was named Bill Weasley, and he was none other than Ginny's brother.

It was not from Fleur that I learned this information. No, the veela indignantly pretended like the whole thing never happened—except, conveniently enough, my tears. Fleur was loathe to forget that I had been crying and incessantly brought it up, though I told her nothing.

No—I discovered the identity of Fleur's beau from none other than the little Weasley herself during Care of Magical Creatures when a large redheaded man walked by with a group of other muscular men, lugging sacks of merlin knew what.

"CHARLIE!" Ginny screamed, causing me to jump. I wasn't the only one.

Her brother dropped the sack on someone's toe, startled by Ginny's cry. As he patted the man's back in apology, Ginny ran over to him, dragging me along. When we got close enough, she literally jumped on him; thankfully, he was large and attentive enough to catch her just in time.

"Well aren't you just a little firecracker these days—"

She jumped down and slapped him, looking suddenly mad, proving his point.

"Why haven't I seen you yet?" she demanded, eyebrow arched.

He shrugged his humongous shoulders somewhat sheepishly. He had much more freckles than Ginny or Ron, biceps the size of my head, and a face so kind that I suspected he used his strength only in defense or to help others.

"You're not supposed to see me, at all, Gin. In fact," he said, glancing uncomfortably back at the men staring at him a couple paces away. "Even this is technically against regulations—"

"Bullocks," Ginny interrupted firmly. "Just because you don't write me, doesn't mean my other brothers don't. I know Bill was with you just last night."

Charlie Weasley rubbed the back of his neck. "Gin, that's different. He's here on official business…"

"Oh please, you can stop with the secrecy." Ginny waved impatiently. "You don't think Bill told me? He also told me he got an earring of all things…Egypt is getting him into some strange trends."

The mention of an earring sparked my memory: a redheaded man with an earring who graduated from Hogwarts but was visiting on business? Bill Weasley perfectly matched the profile of Fleur's beau.

But the question remained: if he had just gotten there, why and how were they involved? Engaging with the brother of the Hogwarts champion's best friend was not a smart move.

"And who is this?"

I felt Charlie Weasley's eyes on me and looked up at him. I nearly blushed. Perhaps it was the fact that with only a tank top for coverage, his arms were on full display.

"This is Margot," Ginny presented proudly. I smirked a bit at the anglicized nickname Ginny had taken to calling me.

I stuck out my hand. "Marguerite Flamel."

His eyebrows raised at my name, and he shook my hand, his palm bigger than the full length of my fingers.

"Beauxbatons?" he asked. I nodded. "I'm guessing you know Fleur then?"

I rolled my eyes. "She makes it a point of informing anyone within a 20 foot radius of who she is."

Charlie belly laughed at that, hard enough that I suspected he must have had a run-on or two with her while she was with Bill last night. "She's definitely got confidence, that one. Anyway, I'm off, girls. Great to see you, Gin."

With a ruffle of Ginny's hair, which she protested, Charlie lifted his sack and caught up to the rest of the men.

"How old are your brothers?" I asked as we walked back to the castle.

Ginny gave me a knowing look. "Charlie's 21, so I guess not too old for you in a couple of years from now. Though I doubt he'd go for someone so young right now." My mouth dropped open, ready to protest but Ginny kept going. "I wouldn't advise it though; Charlie's nice and all but he's chronically single. Probably because they all get scared the dragons will do him in."

"Dragons?" I asked in surprise.

She grinned. "Yeah, that's his job. Pretty hard-core, huh? Everyone likes a bad boy. It was always an issue with my brothers' female friends growing up."

Things began to fall into place in my head; Fleur had been with Bill, Charlie's brother, last night when she had told me she would be spending the night preparing for the first task. Now that I remember, they hadn't been very far from where I had spotted the dragons with Karkaroff in the woods.

My guess was Fleur had been spying on the dragons when Bill caught her, and she began to flirt with him to talk her way out of it. Maybe she had even convinced Bill to bring her around the dragons when he went to see his brother after his 'official business.' That would be classic Fleur behavior.

My theory wasn't confirmed until I confronted Fleur about it the next day, and she merely hmphed and turned away, nose high in the air.

I would have advised her that cheaters never won, but at this point, I'm pretty sure we were all cheating.

While walking to charms one day, I came across Cedric Diggory bent over as he listened to Harry Potter whisper something intently. It did not take a genius to put two and two together. Especially when I saw Cedric blatantly researching fire-repellent amour in the library just 2 hours after.

"This is awful," Hermione whispered the next day as we sat in our usual table in the library. Krum, thankfully, did not grace us with his presence that day, probably off doing his own cheating and dragon research. "It's supposed to be a competition measuring skill, yet the way it's headed, only the one with the most spies and resources will win."

I shrugged dispassionately. "Well, that's not too bad for those of us with spies and resources, pissenlit."

She frowned and looked back at her book, though I could tell she wasn't reading. The silence was thick, as if she had something to add. I dutifully ignored it, until she broke.

"You know." I looked up. Hermione fidgeted with the corner of the book's page, her face slightly red. "I know this isn't fair of me to ask of you, but—" she paused and took a breath before rushing out the rest quietly, as if she'd rather not hear the words herself. "If you know of any strategies Harry could use to not die, I would really be so grateful."

My eyes narrowed. My first impulse was to tell her off for even asking, but I reigned in my temper just in time for her to follow it up with a defense.

"I'm not saying tell me the strategies or tips that Fleur will be using. Or anything that'll help him win—"

"Good, because I would never tell you that anyways. "

"—I'm just asking for something that'll keep him alive. A defensive measure. Strictly so that he doesn't die."

I sighed, frowning at Hermione as she looked at me with pleading eyes. Tapping my fingers on the table, I considered her words and weighed my options.

"I sympathize with you. I do," I assured, and she relaxed a little. "Potter clearly does not know what he's doing, and facing a dragon is deadly, even for a trained wizard."

"However," I continued, slamming my book shut as I began to pack up. "Last time I tried to help him, he got all pisse. So frankly, I'd rather not get involved again." I would be lying if part of the reason wasn't Dumbledore's warning; Harry reminded me of my birth parents, a reality I would prefer to forget.

Hermione scowled. "Of course, that's just like Harry." She shook her head in disappointment at her friend. "But trust me, he'll be much kinder to you this time. Especially after hearing that Snape sent you to Dumbledore's just for being caught alone with him. He feels bad, you know."

I sighed, not surprised. For all his flaws, he really did seem like a kind boy. And I would hate for him to die if there was something I could do to prevent it. Hell, he had done everything in his power to prevent my father's death when he was only 11, and he hadn't even known the man.

My fingers tapped nervously for another 2 minutes before I relented. "Fine."

Hermione beamed.

"Tell him to meet me under the tree at 4 PM sharp. Not a moment later. I have a meeting with Fleur at 7."

I knew Harry was once again standing outside my classroom door from the whispering that broke out well before I spotted eyes on him nervously pacing outside in the hallway.

"I thought I told you to meet me under the tree."

He spun around to face me, hands behind his back. Funnily enough, it echoed the posture I had taken with him during our last conversation.

"I figured this would make things quicker," he said. "I heard you're in a rush."

"It also makes things more dramatic," I said lowly as I fell into step beside him, walking away from my classmates' prying eyes, Ginny's among them.

I would set the record straight with her later.

"So where are we going?" he asked. His hands fidgeted a bit more than usual, which is why I think he kept clasping them behind his back.

"You tell me," I replied drily. "Ginny tells me you have access to a basilisk."

He stopped and stared at me. "Why would she tell you that?"

"Well, it wasn't just your story, Potter," I said, somewhat irritated. "Friends do share traumatic, lifechanging experiences with each other every now and then."

Really, the reason she had told me was to explain the development of her feelings for Harry Potter. But I wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.

He looked surprised, as though he had never considered the impact it had on Ginny, before changing direction and walking me up the stairs. "I'm guessing there's some sort of potion requiring basilisk ingredients?"

"Not exactly, no." If my plan was going to work, I couldn't risk telling him before I got access to the snake myself, so I just said, "I'll tell you when we get there."

The entrance to the snake's lair was a girl's bathroom of all places. Harry told me one of the male founders, Slytherin, made this 'chamber of secrets', and I couldn't help but think he must have been some sort of pervert.

My next thought was: so is this where all the secrets come from and go in this incessantly secretive place? Perhaps visiting would offer me some guidance, as I still hadn't decided what route I would take in coaxing the many secrets out of my parents and Dumbledore.

The dank, dark tunnel leading to the basilisk smelt disgusting, like sewage and decaying flesh, the latter of which greeted us once we stepped out into the grand, intimidating hall to which the tunnel led.

Honestly, it was the most impressive room I had seen in Hogwarts, including the Great Hall. There was something regal about it. The architecture was old and cried of privileged nobility. I had once visited a medieval castle in France, and the vibe had been very similar.

The black statue of Slytherin sneered at us as we approached the decaying form of the snake, curled around it.

I wondered if the massive beast had retreated to its master's likeness in its final moments in one last act of loyalty.

"You killed this thing?" I asked Harry in shock.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Technically, but it was really Fawkes who did most of the work."

"Fawkes…?"

"Dumbledore's phoenix."

My brain processed two things: Dumbledore had a phoenix and…

"If Dumbledore's phoenix came to help, why wouldn't Dumbledore himself intervene? No 12-year-old should be fighting a basilisk."

Harry frowned. "I'm pretty sure he didn't know, and Fawkes came just because I called for help with the sword."

"The sword?"

"The Sword of Gryffindor."

I rolled my eyes. These Hogwarts students were way too obsessed with their school founders. In Beauxbatons, we don't even know their names: just that they were a group of powerful witches.

"I'll never understand why Dumbledore's allowed you to get into the situations that you have."

"Well, what happened was—"

"Before you launch into a story doubtlessly long enough to write a full novel," I interrupted sarcastically, and Harry snorted. "Start cutting off that skin." I jerked my chin toward the dead snake.

Harry's mouth dropped. "Why—"

"Basilisk scales are fire repellent. Make a coat out of one of those and it might just be enough to keep you alive."

Understanding dawned on his face, and he beamed. "How do you know these things?"

"I've been researching tirelessly with Fleur. This was one of the few fire repellent objects we stumbled across, but it was rare enough for me to ignore—until now."

I left Harry to slicing off basilisk skin, walking around and inspecting the chamber to distract myself from the disgusting sounds. When I reached a spot near the center, my ring burned slightly.

Tilting my head, I knelt down to see blood on the floor.

"Did someone die here?"

The question floated eerily in the air, slightly echoing in the dark hall.

Harry looked over.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. A piece of Voldemort's soul."

My brows rose. "A horcrux?"

Harry frowned. "What's that?"

"It's dark magic that splits your soul into separate artifacts, usually ones of personal significance to its maker."

Harry paused for a moment. "I've never heard that word, but yes. I suppose that's what it was. I killed it with the sword though so it's gone now."

The hair on my arms stood up as I reached out and traced the blood stain on the floor. If Voldemort had broken his soul into a horcrux, he could have easily come back to life in Harry's second year. This man was determined to not stay dead.

"What was the artifact again?" I asked in morbid curiosity. I wondered what could be of personal significance to a monster in childhood.

"A diary." I shivered. What a strange choice of object; perhaps because Voldemort had become so inhumane, it spooked me that at one time he had been human enough to have a diary.

"He was just human, you know," Harry called out as he worked on the snake, as if he had read my train of thought. "Had 2 parents, just like any person, though he was orphaned. I spoke to him face to face, and he looked like he could have been any 6th year, walking the halls. Even had a regular name: Tom Riddle."

A cold silence fell over the hall, as if we were visiting a grave site. To think that the mass murderer had once been just like any of us was not only scary but tragic.

Tom Riddle. What an ordinary name.

"What was he like?"

"Well spoken, wavy dark hair. Uniform always neat. I was under the impression that most of the girls in his year were charmed by him."

That's right—Ginny. She had never outright said that she had been taken with young Voldemort's memory, but the ashamed blush that had risen on her cheeks when she briefly mentioned the situation told me more than enough.

It took me a lot to be charmed by anyone, so I doubted that would have been a problem for me.

"Actually…" Harry trailed off.

"What is it?"

He did not answer for a few moments and then relented.

"He reminded me a bit of myself."

That sunk in, and then I laughed. "Wow, Potter. Because you're so charming, right?"

I looked up to see him shake his head. "It's not that. Just certain…mannerisms."

"Like what?"

"Like when we're angry, we give a similar look."

I frowned. Was Harry confessing that he had some intense evil lurking in him, similar to Voldemort's?

"Also, we both speak parsletongue."

"Parsletongue?"

"The language of snakes." Then he startled me by hissing in a way that made my skin crawl.

I gaped. "I didn't know that was possible."

"It's a rare trait. Only in Slytherin's family from what I know."

My brain did quick math, and I didn't like the solution I found.

"You must be related to Voldemort then," I said with certainty, which meant that I somehow was related to this evil overlord as well.

Harry scoffed. "Unlikely. My family line has always been full of Gryffindors, and Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, hence why he could control the basilisk."

I mulled that over. Harry had to be missing something, but he didn't seem open to further discussion about Voldemort being a distant relative, which was understandable, and so I rose and walked around the room, inspecting the decorations on the walls.

The designs were intricate medieval carvings, depicting mostly snakes but also pictures of a man going through different stages of life. I could only assume it was a carved auto-biography of Slytherin, especially when he drew 4 figures sitting on thrones in what appeared to be the Great Hall.

When I got to a picture of a man handing a tiara to a woman, an inscription underneath caught my eye. Unlike the rest of the decorative wall art, it looked freshly carved, darker than the rest. It read:

Mon âme ~ 1943

My hand brushed over it, and I felt a jolt run through my body, like electricity.

I knew instinctually that Voldemort must have written that, even without asking Harry what year Voldemort had opened the chamber.

"All finished."

I whipped to face Harry, who had so much snake skin in his arms that it nearly piled over his face.

"Good. You cut extra," I praised, walking over to him. "Lay them on the floor."

He did as I asked, and with a series of complicated enchantments and transfigurations, I turned the basilisk scales into 2 vests, 2 pairs of gloves, and 2 hooded cloaks.

Harry caught on to what I was doing, and stepped in front of me in protest. "What are you on about? I just cut all that skin."

"Yes, well you wouldn't have known about the properties of this skin without me." I flicked my wand lazily, adding a clasp to the cloak. "Step aside."

"The extra set is going to Fleur I suppose?" he asked bitterly.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh don't be so childish about this. These robes will not help anyone win the task. They'll just keep you from getting seriously injured. Annoying as Fleur is, I'd rather her pretty face not be burned up at the end of this. It's one of her biggest strengths, you see."

Harry didn't say anything after that, seeming unable to argue with the logic behind my words. However, he pouted all the way out of the tunnel, even as he tried on his fancy new cloak.

With a begrudging thanks, he left me right outside the second floor bathroom. Oddly enough, as soon as he rounded the corner, Professor Moody appeared, walking past him, straight toward me. What was the one-legged man stalking Harry?

I scowled at him as he approached.

"Ms. Flamel," he grunted in greeting.

"Professor," I replied with disdain.

He narrowed his eyes. "Awfully odd that you feel the need to help champions not in your own school. Not only is it cheating, but some might say its disloyalty."

I narrowed my eyes right back at him, and took a step closer, looking up at the battle-beaten professor without an ounce of fear.

"I am many things, sir," I said quietly. "But disloyal isn't one of them."

With that, I turned my back on him, stomping off to the Durmstrang carriage where I would give Fleur the biggest advantage for the upcoming challenge that her spying and flirting with Weasley hadn't already gotten her.

In the blink of an eye, the first challenge started and finished. So much hype surrounded the 4 brief battles—what really turned out to be hide and seek for the most part—as the contestants tried to steal the eggs. All 4 champions finished in a total of 2 hours.

Fleur, of course, won.

In the stands, I noticed in amusement as Bill Weasley paled a bit when the fire caught her mid-chest. Naturally, she was just fine, since she had on the fire repellent vest under her clothes.

Harry didn't do too badly, coming in third place. He summoned his broom, and showed the crowd that he actually wasn't half bad at flying—though probably not as good as me, I thought smugly.

He, too, was caught by the fire multiple times. Without the basilisk vest and cloak, he would have been in serious trouble, perhaps even burned alive.

As a result, I knew I made the right decision.

However, I didn't like that Moody knew about our little basilisk adventure, and I certainly didn't like that the more attention Harry Potter seemed to be paying to me, the more I found the war-veteran Professor lurking around in the shadows.

And Harry certainly was paying more attention to me. Not just after class now, but publicly, in the middle of the day, the middle of the halls, even the middle of the Great Hall.

It seemed that after he realized that the scales, and by extension I, had saved his life, he assumed that made us automatic friends. I suppose I couldn't blame him for feeling a bit attached; not many of his peers had been able, or even willing, to save his life in the first challenge. Even Ron Weasley had seemed content to see him burn a couple of times in those days approaching the challenge. I had helped him in an all-time low, and friendship seemed the best reward he could give me for that.

Personally, I didn't like all the attention it was attracting, not just from Moody but from everyone. Madam seemed to think Harry had taken a shine to me and pressured me to get secrets out of him; that was certainly not going to happen, since I knew he had as much intel as a blank chalkboard. Likewise, the Hogwarts students buzzed with rumors of a budding relationship—whispers followed me everywhere, just as they did Harry.

By the time mentions of the Yule Ball came around, the rumors, which started as an annoying but small blemish marking me, swelled into a full tumor that projected off my skin and weighed me down each time I entered a room.

Ginny Weasley was even less thrilled than I was.

"Are you sure you don't have feelings for him?"

I sighed and replied for the sixth time that day, "Yes, Ginny. I have zero romantic interest."

"But then why…"

"They're just rumors."

"But you helped him in the first task," she reminded me in a somewhat accusatory but thankfully low tone. That was not common knowledge, and I wanted it to stay that way, lest Harry get disqualified and Madam become furious. I had only confided in Ginny because she had angrily confronted me about where Harry and I had disappeared for 2 hours the day before the challenge.

"Only because I didn't want him to die," I answered, at this point tired of repeating myself. "Hermione asked for my help. Besides, he risked his life to save my father 2 years ago."

"If you say so."

I sighed, massaging my head. "Ginny, if you're so interested, why don't you march right up to him and ask him yourself? In fact, while you're there, you can ask him to the Yule Ball."

At that, Ginny blushed and after a few more conversations like that, she finally accepted the rumors for what they were: rumors.

However, after receiving a note from the headmaster himself, I realized Ginny Weasley would not be the only person I needed to convince. In his letter, Dumbledore meant business. He wrote:

Ms. Flamel, it is urgent that you see me in my office at once. If what is circulating about you and Mr. Potter is true, we have much to discuss. If you are not up here within the next half hour, I will resort to sending a Professor to retrieve you.

Crumpling up the paper in my hand, I walked as slowly as I could to the headmaster's office, formulating a plan with only one end goal in mind: answers.