A/N: Hey, guys! So I have some good news and some bad news regarding this story. The good news is rather obvious, and that is that Chapter 22 is finally complete! Yay!

The bad news is that updates from here on out are likely to slow way down... :( I don't want them to, but the reality is that in just a couple weeks, I will be going off to attend law school, and I will therefore be very, very busy in the coming months.

But don't worry! I have absolutely loved writing this story up until this point, and I will continue to write whenever I can. It just might take a while to get updates out.

But enough about that. Enjoy Chapter 22!

Harry trudged slowly up the steps of the grand staircase the following morning after quidditch practice, completely and utterly exhausted. Wood had been absolutely relentless in the team's first official training session of the year, and the young seeker wanted nothing more in that moment than to be able to return to Gryffindor tower and crawl right back into bed.

But of course, he wasn't going to be able to. Because Professor McGonagall was expecting him in her office that morning, and Harry didn't think it would be wise to miss the appointment. He sighed then, as he turned in the direction of the Transfiguration hallway. Hopefully, whatever it was that his head of house wanted to discuss with him wouldn't take too long.

Harry was nearly to McGonagall's office when he heard the sound of footsteps and partially muffled voices getting closer to him from the next corridor over. Instinctively, the young boy darted into the nearest alcove off of the corridor then, and shrank back into the shadows. He would recognize those voices anywhere, and he had no desire to run into their owners that morning.

A second later, two men rounded the corner, and Harry was finally able to make out what they were saying.

"I already have the headmaster's approval, Severus," the first man said in a jovial tone. And Harry knew that that voice could belong to no one but Lockhart.

"Do you?" came the silky reply, and Harry thought that Snape sounded rather irritated.

"Oh, yes. Of course, nothing has been finalized yet, but it shouldn't be too much longer before the Hogwarts Dueling Club becomes a reality! Now if you would just agree to become my assistant—"

Snape came to a sudden halt then, whirling around to glare at the other man. "Your assistant?" he practically whispered, causing Harry to shiver at the dangerous tone.

"Well, of course! I can think of no better man for the job!" Lockhart replied, seemingly unaffected by the terrifying scowl on the potion master's face. "Besides, the headmaster seems to feel that this would be quite a big undertaking for just one professor—"

"In other words, you are incapable of organizing the group yourself?" Snape sneered.

Harry had to stifle his laughter then, at the look on Gilderoy Lockhart's face.

"Well, of course I could if I had to, Severus. But it's Dumbledore, you know—"

"I'm sorry, but I must decline," Snape said dismissively, turning to continue on his way down the hall, not even bothering to offer any further explanation.

"Just think on it, Severus!" Lockhart called after Snape, before the man disappeared out of sight.

And then Lockhart stood alone in the corridor, looking slightly put out, but still determined.

"Let me rip you...Let me tear you...Let me KILL you..."

Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sudden shock of once again hearing that disembodied voice coming from the walls. Terrified, he pushed away from the stone and stumbled out into the corridor, eyes wide as his head turned this way and that, desperately looking for the source of the whisperings as he tightened the grip on his broom.

A second later, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he cried out in fear, spinning around as he immediately reached for his wand.

"Harry!" the man in the corridor said in surprise. "Where did you come from? Is something wrong?"

Harry stared up at Lockhart for several seconds, his heart racing, and mouth slightly agape. Then he finally shook himself from his shocked daze and took a step back from the defense professor.

"S-sorry, sir. I have to go."

And then, Harry bolted.

He turned and hurried off around the corner and down the next hallway until he was standing directly in front of Professor McGonagall's office. He knocked quickly and waited then, trying his best to calm his breathing in the silence that followed. And moments later, he finally heard his head of house from the other side of the door bidding him to enter.

McGonagall frowned as she watched Harry step into her office, deathly pale and clinging to his broomstick for dear life.

"Potter! What on earth—?"

"I'm sorry, Professor," the boy finally managed to get out. "Oliver extended practice this morning and so I'm a little late—"

"Never mind that," Minerva interrupted, running a critical eye over her student. "You're as pale as a ghost, Mr. Potter. What has happened?"

Harry shook his head, hoping that his next words would sound at least somewhat convincing. "Nothing, ma'am. It was just a long practice."

McGonagall's frown deepened. She knew of course that Wood was a rather...enthusiastic...team captain. But if he was perhaps taking things a bit too far...She would have to have a discussion with the sixth year.

"Very well. Please sit down, Harry."

Harry leaned his broom up against the wall next to the door before taking a seat across from the professor. He carefully folded his hands in his lap then, and did his best to appear nonchalant as he secretly strained his ears for any further sign of that voice.

Maybe McGonagall would be able to hear it, even if Lockhart couldn't. Maybe only competent witches and wizards could.

Or maybe Lockhart had been lying about hearing it all along. Maybe he was the reason for the voice in the first place. He had been right there both of the times that Harry had heard it, anyway. What if he was—

"Mr. Potter, have you been listening to a word I've said?"

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and focused his gaze back on McGonagall, who was staring at him with a very stern expression.

"Sorry, ma'am. I'm listening."

He tried to focus then, as his head of house began to talk about staying out of detentions for the remainder of the year, and her disappointment in his behavior regarding the whole Malfoy incident. Harry tried to look as contrite and remorseful as possible, in the hopes that the professor would let him go soon, but he thought that he probably just appeared ill.

"Are you sure you're alright, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall suddenly asked, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Perhaps a trip to see Madam Pomfrey is in order."

Harry shook his head with wide eyes. If Madam Pomfrey discovered that he was hearing homicidal voices coming from the walls...she'd cart him off to the nearest mental institution immediately.

Maybe that's where I belong, the boy couldn't help but think for a second.

"Harry?" the professor said in concern, and Harry gave his head a little shake.

"I'm okay, professor," he forced himself to say. "Just tired from practice."

"Then perhaps you should go rest, Mr. Potter," his teacher eventually replied after a long moment of consideration.

Harry just shook his head again as he got to his feet. "I really don't think I have the time, professor."

"Why not?" McGonagall asked in surprise.

Harry's thoughts then wandered to the picture in his pocket."I have a lot of homework to do."

And then Minerva was just staring at the child in front of her, momentarily lost for words.

Harry sat in the library by himself, trying to work on his essay for Snape.

But after staring at the same page in his potions textbook for nearly an hour, he was finally forced to give up and concede defeat.

The problem was that he just couldn't focus. His mind was too preoccupied by "The Voice in the Wall", and it was now even harder than usual to think about potions.

And this was supposed to be his best work, too. The best potions essay he had ever written.

Harry groaned and put his head down on the table. There was no way he was going to be able to follow through on his deal with Snape. His essay would never be good enough for the potions master. And he would never get any information out of the man about his mother.

The boy sighed and his eyes began to droop. He was still just so tired from the quidditch practice that morning. A minute passed, or perhaps several. Harry really couldn't be sure.

And then finally, the boy drifted off to sleep.

Severus had to admit that he was somewhat perplexed. After speaking with Potter yesterday and "making a deal" with the brat, he had actually expected the boy's work to improve. The child had seemed to want to learn something about his mother so badly. He seemed to have been motivated to do well.

So why then, was his essay still so substandard?

"Dismal," the potions master bit out, dropping the scroll of parchment back in front of Harry, who stood on the other side of the teacher's desk, waiting for the verdict.

Harry didn't respond, but bit his lip instead, refusing to look at his professor as he reached once more for his essay. It was the third time that night that Snape had flat-out rejected it, and Harry wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

He was tired, and nervous. And if he was being honest with himself, he was scared, too. The nap he had taken in the library had been a short one. He had startled awake rather violently when "the voice" had started penetrating his dreams, threatening to kill him. Threatening to rip him apart into little tiny pieces and devour him for dinner.

He had just been thankful that no one had been around to see him topple out of his chair onto the library floor when his eyes finally flew open.

"I was under the impression that you were going to put some effort into this assignment, Mr. Potter," Snape was saying. "Have you given up on our deal so quickly?"

Harry immediately shook his head, finally looking up at his professor with pleading eyes.

"No, sir. Please. I'll try harder. I'll do better."

Snape raised his eyebrows and took the opportunity to really look at the child for the first time that night. The boy was pale, and anxious. He was definitely on edge about something.

But what?

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Potter?" the potions master drawled out at last.

"No, sir. I'll just work harder on the essay—"

"I am not referring to the essay," the man snapped. "I am referring to whatever it is that is distracting you from the essay."

"I'm not distract—"

"Do not lie to me, Potter."

Harry fell silent and looked down at the floor. There was absolutely no way he was telling Snape about the voice. The man would probably have him locked up in the insane asylum even quicker than Madam Pomfrey would.

"I'm just a little tired, sir," Harry finally spoke up.

Snape didn't respond right away. He just continued to glare at the boy across from him, allowing the silence to fill the room.

"How is your hand?" the man eventually asked.

Harry's brow furrowed for a moment before he remembered the fist that he had thrown at a wall yesterday.

"It's fine, sir," the boy answered, holding up his hand and flexing the fingers. "The bruising is all gone. Just like you said."

Snape gave a short nod and then ran his gaze over the boy once more, before finally coming to a decision.

"You are dismissed for the evening, Potter."

Harry's mouth fell open as his eyes found the professor's.

"But, sir...the essay—"

"The essay is clearly not a priority of yours tonight, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a dismissive tone, getting to his feet. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think that it might be...But I suppose we can try again tomorrow—"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, casting a glance back at the pile of supplemental materials stacked up on his desk. Those books belonged to Snape, and the man would likely never let Harry take them from the classroom. But Harry needed them if he was going to write the perfect essay.

And that meant that he would have to stay.

"Just give me one more chance, sir. Please. I don't want to wait until tomorrow."

It had to be the first time in Hogwarts history that a student begged a teacher to extend a detention, and Snape was finding it rather difficult to keep the surprise off of his face.

The potions master scowled down at the child after several more seconds of complete silence in the potions classroom.

And then he finally gave his reply.

"Fine, Potter. But if I don't see some noticeable improvement in your next draft, I am sending you straight off to Gryffindor tower."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Harry said quickly.

And with that, he hurried back over to his table and opened up one of the books on the top of the stack.

This time, he really needed to focus.

A/N: Thoughts? Once again, I have no idea when the next chapter will be out. If I get the chance, I may be able to update once more before school starts, but I really can't make any promises. My life is extremely hectic right now, so I'll just have to see how it goes.

Thanks for reading!

-Ailee17