In the days and weeks following Hermione's attack, an eerie calm had settled over the school like a heavy blanket – to Harry, it was as if everyone within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

April was upon them, and with the arrival of the new month, came the showers that kept everyone indoors. The tense atmosphere was only exacerbated by the constant pitter-patter of rain against the thin windows, the distant, booming thunder, and the sharp flashes of lightning.

Harry shifted his cloak around him a little more – it was the middle of the day, and the halls were so cold, that he needed his cloak to go anywhere outside of the Gryffindor Common Room – the thick pelt around his shoulders tickled at his cheeks, and the few stray strands of hair wafted back and forth in front of his eyes with each step.

The click-clacking of his boots on the flagstone floor echoed down the corridor, and a particularly powerful gust of wind rattled the windows to his left before a flash of lighting lit the dark shadows. He paused, slowly approaching the closest, and peered through.

The glass was old – most likely the original pane that was placed during the castle's construction – and as such, it wasn't terribly clear. The surface was uneven, and in some areas, completely opaque and misty white. He drew closer to it and squinted through a patch of clear glass; his breath fogging against it and tickling the tip of his nose.

Through the thin barrier between himself and the outside world, he could just spy Hagrid's little hut, smoke wafting from the chimney and the warm, flickering light of the candles and hearth inside the stone dwelling – a shadow passed one of the windows by the door, so large, it could only be Hagrid.

His eyes darted to the forest, and he felt himself shiver slightly at the thought of just what dwelled beneath those thick evergreen pines, shrouded in the shadow of the forest floor. He shook himself as he looked away – there was little use in dwelling on creatures that he had no intention of coming across.

There was only one creature he cared about.

After the attack on Hermione, he had heard nothing of Ruhxu; that Lilith hadn't heard so much as a muted hiss didn't fill him with confidence either. He had wandered the halls late at night, beneath his invisibility cloak, and his sword on his hip, checking behind every tapestry and peering into every nook.

He had startled more than a few portraits from their slumber, and even now, he winced at the memory of the tongue-lashing he'd received from a pair of portraits by the entrance to the dungeons, startled awake by the tip of his sword appearing out of thin air and prodding at an odd stone emblazoned with a snake carving.

His nightly patrols did nothing to solve the riddle of Salazar's Basilisk, and it brought him no closer to driving his sword down her gullet. The magic within him thrummed with the need to avenge himself upon the creature, and the longer it went on, the harder it was to focus past it.

Outwardly, he maintained a grim and stoic face – a façade. He wanted nothing more than to see the Basilisk and its controller pay dearly for daring to attack someone who meant so much to him. Internally, he was a tempest, awash in anger and loss.

Practical lessons were harder – his magic, in his simmering rage, was barely controllable, and it took a herculean effort to rein it in enough that he felt comfortable around others. His wand, while eager to perform spells for him, could barely focus his magic, and often speared whatever he was aiming at with lances of magic – just the other day, he had immolated a plank of wood when he attempted to turn it into a bottle.

He huffed a breath out of his nose as he continued down the corridor – thinking about the Basilisk and his magic barely being under his control wouldn't help anyone, and frankly, it was more likely to make him even more furious.

That whoever was controlling, or directing, Ruhxu was still walking the corridors of the school unpunished and without a care in the world infuriated him; most days he could barely hold it together during classes, watching every student around him carefully.

Skidding around the corner, Ginny Weasley almost barrelled into him as she darted past him, her loose hair billowing in her wake as she clutched that familiar black book to her chest tightly. He watched her run down the corridor until she turned the next corner before shaking his head and carrying on.

Neville had gone out of his way to fulfil what he deemed his duty as 'the older brother' and had taken to sitting up late with him most nights. Neville had always needed more sleep than him, but in the wake of Hermione's attack, he had sacrificed that in an effort to make sure that he was alright. Even now, just thinking about it, was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

Daphne and Tracey had thrown themselves into looking for the entrance, and Harry couldn't recall ever seeing that look of steely resolve in Daphne's eyes before – he'd definitely never seen Tracey so serious. They rarely left the library, only appearing for classes and meals.

Most days, he joined them – annihilating journal after journal, account after account. While he learned a lot about Salazar, it was nothing of any real value or merit – just the personal thoughts of a powerful wizard that enjoyed passing on his knowledge to those determined and cunning enough to understand what he was teaching; not that he ever explained what in Merlin's name that was.

When he wasn't pouring over the faded writings of the past, Harry scoured the castle, Neville bravely at his side. The two of them would explore whatever lead Daphne and Tracey thought they had found, though each one had proven to be a dead-end thus far. Neville was often silent during their searches, his stony expression and determined eyes a far cry from the funny, boisterous boy Harry knew and loved.

Everyone else in the castle was acting out of sorts, though, like Ginny Weasley. There were whispered conversations as he passed, and the usual stares that he'd grown used to over the year, but none of the open hostility; he hadn't even had to break anyone's nose since Hermione had been attacked, and it left him on edge – tense.

It was like he was the centre of some huge joke that he'd missed, and every second of every day, it was like waiting for the punchline. A number of students had approached him in the time she was attacked, offering apologies and their condolences for Hermione – like she was dead!

She wasn't dead – he'd know if she was. She was simply petrified, stuck in a dreamless sleep that she would be brought out of just as soon as that bloody potion was ready. When she did wake, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would, he would be there, at her side with her friends – no doubt she would be carted off to speak to whoever turned up from the D.M.L.E, but he would be there.

It was where he spent his free time these days – when he wasn't poking at tapestries with a sword, or checking behind suits of armour, and not being able to perform simple spells, or dodging running first years. He was at her bedside, writing out his essays and notes for her – she'd have hated to have fallen behind for any reason, Basilisk be damned; nobody got between Hermione and her schoolwork.

He shrugged his shoulders, shifting the cloak a little closer to the nape of his neck as a chill ghosted across his skin when he passed an open door to an outer courtyard, the dark patches on the flagstone trailing in where the rain had been blown in by the howling wind. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to be a Dwarf and live inside a mountain, never having to be bothered by the rain and the cold that came with it – the hot forges of their cities sounded wonderful compared to the cold, miserable Scottish Spring.

With his cloak tighter, he stepped up to the large oak doors of Madame Pomfrey's domain and pushed gently – even after being fixed by the professors, there was still a noticeable bend to them where his magic had struck them violently.

The Hospital was quiet, with the rows of silent patients lining the left wall in small, private areas for friends and family to visit the sick and injured. At the far end on the right-hand-side of the room, a fifth-year girl was perched on the edge of her bed, staring at her slowly swinging feet nervously. He ignored her and ducked behind the partition for Hermione.

She remained as he'd left her the day before – her hair was splayed around her head on the pillow like some great halo, and the mirror remained tightly clutched in her hand as her wide, chocolate eyes stared at her reflection in surprise. He settled into the chair beside her bed with a huff and scooted the piece of furniture closer, until the arm was touching the side of the bed, turned so the back of the bed was against the side-table and the brick wall.

His left hand reached out slowly, and brushed the back of his knuckles against her own outstretched hand – the coldness of her skin something he didn't ever want to get used to. While her hand was indeed as cold as ice, and pale enough to even put him to shame, it was still soft, smooth, and nothing at all like the stone-like stiffness of her limbs.

"Hey, Hermione." He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't think I didn't notice that Daphne and Tracey brushed your hair for you." He added, smirking a little as he nodded at her thick head of hair. "I reckon Daphne's wanted to get her hands on it since the wedding."

He smiled sadly at the thought of the wedding – it seemed like his whole world had shifted after that. Sometimes, in his dreams, when he wasn't plagued by nightmares, he would revisit that night, dancing under the moonlight with Andromeda and Hermione, laughing as they spun around. Other times, it was simply the same location with different faces.

Arcturus would be there, dancing with Melania, whom Harry had only ever seen silent portraits of – she would be beautiful, dressed in a gown of black Acromantula Silk with silver patterning over the bodice and skirt, beaming up at Arcturus. The man himself would be dressed as he always had been, in a fine doublet with the sigil of House Black proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his black and grey peppered hair loose and falling about his shoulders freely as he spun Melania around.

Sirius would be there, also – dancing the night away with Amelia, the two lost in each other's eyes and oblivious to the world around them. Sometimes, Sirius would pick Amelia up playfully by her waist, hoisting her into the air to the rhythm of the song, laughing as she would squeal and slap his shoulder until he put her down.

Sometimes, his parents were there with him – the two of them off to the side of the dancefloor, content to simply watch and enjoy the presence of the other. His mother's head would be pressed to his father's shoulder, and his father's arm would be draped across her shoulders. His eyes would dance merrily, and he would wiggle his eyebrows at him when he caught his gaze – nothing would be said between them, but it would be enough. It was always enough.

He, like Sirius and Arcturus, would be dancing with Hermione – laughing as they talked about Hogwarts and what spells they were learning. She would tell him of her time before she knew she was a witch, and he'd tell her stories of growing up with The Marauders and Neville.

His fingers would clutch at her waist, the shimmering, silver satin would be warm under his touch, and flow about his fingers like water. Her hair would whip about her shoulders, but for the small, braided crown that wrapped around her head; the colour of chestnuts and glimmering in the light.

The two of them would continue talking, and laughing, of course, about everything and nothing, and in those moments of peace, he would notice little things – the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose, or how she would purse her lips and arch her right eyebrow when she tried not to smile about a prank his father had pulled on Sirius.

In their many twirls and spins, they would pass others whose faces he knew; Andromeda and Ted dancing together, the gentle sway of their bodies as they held one another close, Neville and Daphne, the two of them laughing away, and Tracey giggling as she spun around with Nymphadora. Everything was just about as perfect as he could wish.

Like all dreams, however, the morning would dawn, and he would find himself in his bed, Clara and Hedwig nestled either side of him, the soft feathers of both his Familiars tickling his cheeks, and it would slowly sink in that it had all been just that – a dream.

Harry sighed and ran his free hand down his face and rubbed at his eyes – it was in these visits that his magic was the most under control, when he felt at his calmest, but the headaches refused to go away. Hermione would know what to do – she always knew what to do.

"Diggory kicked my arse on Thursday – you'd have liked that." He snorted, folding his legs as he stared at the bottom of the bed. "Sirius said it would 'build character' to take on a fourth year – I think he just wanted to see me go flying through the air, frankly." It was difficult to keep himself from pouting.

"Used a Reducto on the floor at my feet, and then hit me mid-air with a Stupefy – never let it be said that the Badgers are pushovers." He said, grinning a little. He nudged her arm a little. "Tracey trounced Neville, by the way, and Daphne practically obliterated Weasley – you should've seen him! He was so nervous; he almost dropped his wand."

He smiled a little at the memory before sobering and clearing his throat as he glanced back at her – her vacant eyes looked through him. "Daphne hasn't been the same since, well," He muttered, nodding vaguely at her. "You know. None of us have been – Neville's still helping me look around the castle, but I know he's throwing himself at those Mandrakes. Fairly sure he'll drag them kicking, and literally, screaming to maturity for you."

Harry huffed at his own little joke before sighing and rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on – that was a good one." He was quiet after that, content to simply listen to the background noise of the Wing as Madame Pomfrey bustled about – Andromeda had stopped by a few times when he'd visited, helping the lone matron where she could.

Occasionally, he would hear the clatter of something on a tray, or the hushed conversations of students asking the Healer for something or another.

Only once did Madame Pomfrey duck her head through the partition to check on Hermione, and Harry simply smiled sadly at her, earning one in return. Over the weeks, she had asked him if there was anything she could get him – a drink, a potion, a plate of food from the Great Hall – and each time he would refuse.

He ate sparingly – just enough to keep him going, but not so much that he would injure or make himself sick if the Basilisk appeared out of nowhere. Logically, he knew the chances of him stumbling across the serpent were slim, and McGonagall had been forced to outright ban him from wearing his armour and sword to classes on the off-chance it attacked during the day – but still, his magic thrummed with the desire to throw himself against it.

"You're an arse for ending up in here, you know." He grouched, momentarily glaring at her. "If you hadn't gotten laid up in here, we could be picking on Neville right now – I don't even know why you went to the Trophy Room in the first place, Neville and I looked all over that place and there's nothing there. Just some stupid statues of the Founders and some awards."

"It should've been me." He muttered, picking at his cloak petulantly. "I'm the one supposed to be in a bed, not you." His lips pressed together tightly, and his throat constricted uncomfortably as he looked up at her through his eyelashes. "I don't know what to do." He admitted, timidly.

She said nothing in response, not that he expected her to reply, and so he contented himself with simply remaining at her side, his fingers absently dancing along the back of her hand and her wrist as he allowed his thoughts to wander freely.

He felt himself reaching out with his magic, just as he often did – the most recent being in Transfiguration a few days prior, when McGonagall had caught him reaching out to Hermione and checking on her. Despite the chastisement, he couldn't find it in himself to feel contrite, nor seek forgiveness – his magic craved the reassurance that Hermione was fine.

Recently, it was often difficult to tell if he controlled his magic, or if it controlled him.

His magic brushed against her own. He'd always thought that Hermione's magic was unique, in that it felt like the wind against his face as he flew a broom, and at the same time peaceful and content – a strange contradiction that oddly suited the girl next to him. She was fierce, yet patient; brave, but cautious. Crossing the chasm in the year prior had been the bravest thing he'd ever seen anyone do.

He could still hear her voice, calling out to him through the rubble, just before he'd stumbled upon Quirrell and Voldemort – he could taste the dust in his mouth, feel the coughs as they wracked his chest violently, and the softness of her hand as she gripped at his own.

She had wanted to go with him, into the next room – it hadn't taken a genius to work that out. Instead, she had been separated by a mound of rubble that stretched to the ceiling, and wall-to-wall – a barrier that neither of them could overcome.

What would have happened if she had followed him? He certainly didn't think the two of them would have survived the ordeal, and frankly, Harry detested the idea of Hermione witnessing Quirrell smash his face into the Mirror of Erised, screaming at him to see the stone.

He had been hopelessly outmatched in that chamber, and the only reason he had survived as long as he did, was that he was being played with. Voldemort had wanted to gloat as he killed him, and he'd done that through Quirrell, toying with a measly first year, a child of eleven that didn't even know the most basic of shielding spells.

He breathed deeply, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of Hermione's wrist as his side twinged along his second and newest scar. It had been a deep wound, and even almost a year later, it still ached occasionally, though both Andromeda and Pomfrey had assured him it was simply all in his mind. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought of what Hermione could have suffered in that room.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, and he withdrew from Hermione's presence and opened his eyes lazily, his gaze darting to the partition between the bed and the rest of the Wing. He recognised the quiet voices and shifted in his seat.

Sirius stuck his head through, much in the same manner that Pomfrey did, and smiled sadly at him, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. "I thought you'd be in here." Sirius said, stepping up to the bed.

Sirius looked much the same as he usually did – dressed richly in a fine doublet and coat, both in the colours of House Black, with the sigil emblazoned on his breast. His hair was tied back behind his head in a messy bun, much like Harry's own.

Remus entered behind him, his auburn hair greying speckled with a few more strands of grey, and a new scar stretched across his face, pink and ragged against the paleness of his face.

"Hello, Harry." Remus smiled, his moustache twitching as his eyes twinkled in the midday light. He folded his hands before him and rocked on his heels.

Harry said nothing, simply nodding and offering a small smile – he spoke to them both each night through his mirror, Neville always at his side. Their presence confused him, however, as it was a Saturday, not a Thursday; the two of them, as far as he knew, had no business in the school outside of that one day a week.

Sirius shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair before slumping into it, rubbing his forehead with his fingers while Remus settled into the one next to him silently. The two of them seemed ill-at-ease, Sirius most of all, and Harry felt his shoulders tense uncomfortably.

"What's wrong?" He asked, a lead weight settling into the pit of his stomach. "Who died?" He asked, his eyes darting between the two.

"Died?" Sirius blinked, looking up sharply. "Nobody died, Harry. Why would you think that?"

Harry shrugged and looked at Hermione. "Everyone's been offering their condolences recently. First Arcturus, now her."

"She's petrified, not dead." Sirius said, shocked. "Where'd they get that bloody idea from?"

"I stopped asking just after, well, you know." Harry muttered, turning to look at the two visitors. "It's been hard, seeing her like this, I mean."

"Oh, Harry – we can't even begin to imagine what this year must have been like for you." Remus sighed, putting his hands in his pockets.

"It's fine – I've had the two of you, Andromeda, my friends." He paused, his throat constricting. "Arcturus."

"And you've not exactly had the best news in recent months either, Gods take me." Sirius muttered, wiping a hand down his face. "Merlin, you must have thought the worst when you saw us turn up out the blue."

He tried to fight the little up-tick at the corners of his mouth. "Not any more than usual, I guess."

Sirius snorted. "This really isn't the time for your cheek."

"Not had anyone else to be cheeky to for a while." Harry shrugged, the hint of a smile fading. "She can't exactly answer me." He said, nodding to the girl whose wrist he was holding, the pad of his thumb absently moving back and forth.

"You've had an extraordinarily tough year, Harry, something, I think we can all agree, nobody should have to suffer through – add in the attacks that have been happening-"

"Something I should've been able to stop." Harry muttered; his eyes locked on Hermione's stunned face.

"What are you talking about? There's nothing you could've done." Sirius asked, confused – the chair scraped against the flagstone floor as he shifted.

"If I wasn't with Hope, and talking to Wes, I could've done something." He muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Hermione's. "She shouldn't be in here." Harry sniffed, staring at a spot on the floor just beyond the toe of his boot. "I could've stopped it."

"There's no way you could have done anything, Harry – whoever is attacking students would have done the same to you."

"I could have talked to it – made it stop." He muttered.

"Talked to it? What are you on about?" Sirius asked, frowning.

Harry hesitated and wet his lips as he looked between the two men. "I-" He began, and he felt his chest constrict tightly. "It's a snake – a Basilisk."

The two men were silent as they stared at him with open mouths before glancing uneasily between themselves. Eventually, it was Remus who spoke first. "Harry – that's a serious accusation. Do you have any proof?"

"I can hear it talking to itself, but it's been getting less coherent with each attack – it calls itself Ruhxu. We also found a large scale – it's in my trunk, wrapped in a tunic. We've been looking for the entrance so Amelia wouldn't have to tear the school apart."

Both men rocked back at the information, and Harry felt himself cringing – it had been foolish to go along with Neville and Tracey's plan, but despite the shit year that he'd had, and the fiasco at the end of the last year, he loved Hogwarts, and the thought of it being torn apart in the hunt for the Basilisk broke his heart.

"Have you told anyone?" Sirius asked.

"Hagrid knows – I heard he was held responsible for it all last time, so I asked him about it. He worked out it was a Basilisk after I told him I could hear it – he thought for years it was his friend, Aragog."

"Who?" Remus muttered, his eyes darting to Sirius briefly.

"It's, uh-" Harry shifted uncomfortably again, before clearing his throat. "His friend – an Acromantula that lives in the forest."

"A what!" Sirius cried, launching to his feet, his eyes wide and face pale. "Next to a school? Is he mad?"

Harry winced as Sirius began pacing – the parchment was balled up in his godfather's hand, while the other raked through his hair, tugging the occasional strand loose. "I was going to tell you." Harry admitted in a quiet voice. "I just don't want to see this place torn down."

"None of us want that, Harry, but you have to understand – a Basilisk and an Acromantula are serious creatures that need to be handled properly, not by five second year students." Remus said, placatingly. "Harry, if it had been you instead of Hermione, there's every chance that you would be dead – as it is, the young Miss Granger is incredibly lucky."

"I know." He murmured, staring at the floor sullenly. "It just doesn't feel right."

"What doesn't?" Sirius asked, finally ceasing his furious pacing. His grey eyes were ablaze with barely contained fury, and his hands were planted on his hips – he looked every bit the powerful Lord Black, a title that still felt odd for Harry to link to Sirius.

"Not being the one in the bed." Harry shrugged, nodding to the bed next to him – at some point, his hand had gently closed around Hermione's tiny wrist. "She usually reads Hogwarts: A History to me when I'm in here, but I can't remember what chapter she got up to last time."

Sirius's eyes softened as he settled into the chair he had leapt out of and huffed out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Why didn't you mention any of this before?"

"I want to stay in the castle, with my friends." Harry answered. "I love spending time with you both, but-"

"We're adults." Remus finished for him, nodding slowly, his eyes soft and crinkling in the corners. "Despite what some may think." He added with a smirk in Sirius's direction, earning him a glare from the man himself.

"And I don't really want to go back to Blackwall just yet." Harry added, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll just be reminded of him."

"Oh, Harry." Remus sighed. "He's not gone, you know – he's as much a part of you, as he is us."

"That doesn't help very much."

"Not right now, no – but in time, it will." Remus said, gently. "You're still so incredibly young – despite what you've already endured. It isn't easy for us, either."

"I know."

"You realise I have to tell Amelia, right?" Sirius asked, looking at him. Harry nodded sadly as an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest.

"What will she do?"

"Follow up the claims, no doubt. It'll take time, but she'll find it soon enough."

"But nobody has ever found Slytherin's sanctum before – it could take her years!"

"And a group of second years could find it quicker?" Sirius asked, archly – Harry felt his shoulders deflate. "Look, Harry – there are plenty of other schools around the country. Take your pick and you can go to any of them."

"But none of them are Hogwarts."

"No, but they certainly don't have a Basilisk and a nearby Acromantula."

"Or my father's room."

Sirius sighed and put his face in his hands wearily, rubbing at his eyes. "You and your bloody stubbornness – what happened to the boy that believed everything I said without question?"

"He got smart after you told him that Hippogriffs deliver babies on broomsticks, dressed in skirts." Harry scoffed and glanced back to Hermione. "We could all get separated, you know."

"It's possible, but it will be up to their own parents to decide where to send them." Remus answered him, glancing at the girl in the bed. "I can't imagine they'll be very happy to hear of their daughters' condition."

"How would you feel if the Marauders were broken up?" He asked, refusing to look at the two of them.

"That's totally different." Sirius scoffed.

"Is it? Neville called us The Vargarnir – The Wolves. We're a pack – Neville is to me what my father was to you. So are Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey."

"There wasn't a bloody Basilisk roaming the halls!"

"No – there was Voldemort!" Harry snapped, his magic flaring wildly; a bottle smashed on the table behind him as the furniture trembled. "There were his followers in the school, and still, you returned, year after year."

"Harry." Remus warned, his eyes darting around him as everything trembled – behind him, the panes of glass rattled noisily as a small cloud of dust trailed from the ceiling. "Harry!"

The anger left him quickly, and the trembling stopped just as quickly as it began – both men were looking at him, and at the furniture around them. Harry's shoulders slumped tiredly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to." He murmured; his voice strained. "I didn't mean to."

Remus and Sirius were around him instantly – Remus kneeling and cupping his face, tilting his head up until he was looking the older man in the eye, while Sirius hovered at his side, worriedly chewing on his thumb and glancing between the two of them.

"Tell me, how long has your magic been acting out like this?" Remus asked, tilting Harry's head this way and that.

Harry squirmed under Remus's intense stare – his green eyes boring into his own, as if searching for something. In the back of his mind, he felt the familiar presence of both Sirius and Remus brushing up against his magic. "It got worse after Hermione was petrified."

"Worse?" Sirius frowned, kneeling at Remus's side, and looking up at him. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the end of last year – after I woke up in here." Harry muttered, reluctantly. Remus rocked back on his heels and got to his feet and perched on Hermione's bed, rubbing his face tiredly as he did so.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sirius murmured, cupping Harry's cheek.

"I didn't want to bother you – I can control it most of the time, but-"

"His control is slipping." Remus finished for him when he trailed off. "This might explain a few things over the summer – Arcturus's study, for one."

"The study?" Sirius asked, turning to look at Remus. "Oh – the day we went to Diagon, right?"

Remus nodded slowly and folded his hands in his lap. Harry looked between the two of them, and he felt his thumb still against the inside of Hermione's wrist.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, looking between the two of them.

"You've been angry, moody, for a long time now – we noticed it just before we went to Arpton – don't give me that look, we know you better than you think we do." Sirius said, taking Harry's free hand in his own.

"I'm not moody." He pouted, huffing a little as he looked away.

"And when Andromeda had to be called in by Poppy?"

Harry jumped in his seat, his eyes darting between Sirius and Remus as his jaw opened and closed – his hand, held firmly in Sirius's own, trembled and his limbs felt weak. "She told you?"

Neither said anything for a moment. "Enough." Remus said, eventually.

"They've been getting better – and I haven't trashed a room since Clara, at least, I don't think I have, and the potions have been helping, but I don't want to be on them the rest of my life, and Neville helps, and Hermione knows-"

"Harry." Sirius said, gently, a small smile on his face.

"Sorry." He winced, hissing in a breath. "I just-"

"We know." Sirius nodded slowly, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "We love you – unconditionally."

"I know." Harry murmured, glancing down at his lap – his lips having barely moved. "I know." He repeated, a little louder and stronger. The corners of his eyes stung, and he sniffed defiantly – he wouldn't cry. He had to be strong, for himself, for his friends, for Sirius and Remus, and for Hermione.

"Not to mention," Sirius added, "I know one of my own glamour spells when I see one. Why don't you take it off – we won't think any less of you, and nobody will come in with us here."

Harry chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he stared at the partition at the far end of the bed. "You promise? She won't know, will she?" He asked, tipping his head in Hermione's direction.

"She's petrified – just a dreamless sleep." Remus said, soothingly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, his shoulders sagging with the relief of letting go of the spell he had maintained for so long – it had become the norm for him, to maintain it almost at all hours, never allowing it to so much as flicker, though recently, it had been getting harder and harder with each passing day.

Both men gasped as the magic danced across his skin, and Harry opened his eyes. "Pup," Sirius choked, his hands darting to his mouth as tears leaked from his eyes – he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Sirius cry in his life, let alone Remus, who was in a similar state on the bed.

Harry knew how he looked – bloodshot and sunken eyes that were surrounded by dark circles, the scar over his right eye was an angry red against the pale skin. His cheeks were gaunt, and his cheekbones clearly visible, the skin practically clinging to the bones of his face, and his lips were pale and thin. Even his infamous scar on his forehead, as faded as it usually was, was clearly visible.

"Merlin, Harry." Remus muttered. "We had no idea."

Harry licked his lips and shrugged awkwardly. "The potions don't really let me get much sleep – proper sleep, I mean. The nightmares did the rest. I, uh – I don't like sleeping." He admitted, looking away.

"Harry," Sirius moaned, pulling him into a crushing hug. Harry buried his face in the crook of his neck and wrapped his free arm around Sirius. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." Harry murmured, leaning back, and smiling weakly as he fiddled with his cloak. "I thought the glamour was holding up well enough, and I have Clara – she helps."

"But you need your sleep, you understand that, yes?" Remus asked, softly – his eyes were shiny when Harry looked at him, and another tear was trailing down his cheek.

"I have nightmares."

"Andromeda said, I just-" Sirius muttered, rubbing his eyes with the base of his hands roughly. "We should have said something sooner."

"Everything's been happening so fast." Harry shrugged.

"That's no excuse – you are what is most important to us." Remus said, shaking his head and staring at the floor.

"But-"

"No buts, Harry – you're all that matters to us." Sirius sighed, glancing back at Remus.

"The nightmares won't go away." Harry moaned, his voice was pitiful, even to him.

"They don't, not really, but you learn to live with them – we have nightmares too, from the war."

"Y-you do?" Harry blinked, stunned. "But why? I thought-"

"Harry, you must understand, this is something that that many suffer with, and it isn't your burden alone." Remus said, his voice soft as he reached out and cupped the back of Harry's neck. "Your father helped me when the nightmares of my transformation got to be too much – let me do the same for his son."

"I dream about the battles I've been in." Sirius admitted with a sniff. "The people I fought beside that died, and those I've killed."

"How do they stop?" He asked, quietly – for a moment, he hadn't even considered that the words had been asked aloud, until Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair. "I don't want to be scared anymore, I want to be brave, like you two."

"Oh, Harry – we're terrified all the time." Sirius chuckled, though there was no humour in it. "It's the only time you can be brave, and I know you're the bravest of us all."

"I don't want a Mind Healer." Harry said after a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I don't need one."

"If you don't want one for now, you don't have to have one, but we will be helping you through this – do you understand?" Remus replied, arching his brow carefully. "The moment you decide you want one, if you want one, you need only tell us – forcing one on you won't do any good."

"We'll talk, each night, for as long as you need to, okay?"

Harry nodded at both men and quickly focused on the glamour once again, feeling his skin tingle pleasantly as it hid his ragged appearance. Absently, he couldn't help but wonder just when he'd become so comfortable hiding behind a spell.

"Now, lets talk about this control problem."

"I don't have a problem." Harry muttered automatically before wincing. "I mean-" He sighed, shifting in his chair. "I don't know – I just get angry, and my magic is always wanting me to do something, to use it, but I know I can't, or shouldn't."

"How does it feel?" Remus asked, shifting on the bed, and folding his hands in his lap.

"Tense, restless, agitated… furious."

"Do you have any idea why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, licking his lips. "It was difficult after the Troll, but after Quirrell? It's been screaming at me ever since, and now with Hermione…"

Sirius and Remus looked at one another – Remus shrugged, and Sirius rubbed at his jaw, the slight stubble of his chin making a scratching noise in the quiet of the large room. "Harry – you know the history between our Houses."

"Of course." He answered, quickly. "Potters and Blacks have been rivals for almost two-thousand years."

"What are your House Words?"

"We Watch The Way." Harry replied instantly. "And, Under The Moon, We Howl."

Sirius shifted in his seat, the leather cushion creaking with his every movement. "Your sigil is a prowling wolf, everyone knows this – but there was a time, a long time ago, when the howl of a wolf in the night would keep my ancestors awake. We feared nothing more than a Potter."

Harry blinked.

"Your family has a reputation for having a temper – Charlus had it, and James definitely had it." Sirius muttered, rubbing his jaw absently as he cast a quick look at Remus, who chuckled silently, his eyes distant and twinkling with fondness. "Lily had one too. Lily's was fast and furious, but your father – James could hold a grudge that lasted years, and it was terrifying – something you inherited."

"I'm angry because my family has a history of having a temper?" Harry asked, dumbly. "That doesn't make any sense, a temper isn't hereditary."

"It isn't – but Family Magic is."

Harry looked to Remus, his jaw opening and closing. "Wouldn't I know if the Potter Magic was reacting? It's different from my own, right?"

"That's a complicated answer." Sirius answered, instead. "Remus doesn't have any, so there's no way for him to know, no offence."

"None taken." Remus shrugged.

"Family Magic is the culmination of all those that came before you, and all that have served your family over the years. It's there to guide and protect you – how it reacts to your own magic is something that differs from person to person. Some have a loose connection, and can clearly separate the two – others, not so much." Sirius shrugged.

"So, what am I?" Harry frowned, staring at the tiles of the floor as he chewed on his lip.

"That's something you'll have to find out for yourself as you get older. You're exhausted, but you want to do something to help Hermione, right?"

Harry nodded.

"That's the Potter Magic, and your own, wanting to protect something, or in this case, someone, you care about. It doesn't make your own feelings about it invalid, though – Merlin, this is complicated." Sirius muttered, rubbing his face. "Think of it as your magic trying to nudge you in the right direction."

"I'd hardly call it a nudge." Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Feels like I'm being dragged along behind a stampeding Re'em."

"I'm sure it'll quieten down after Hermione and Hope are released. Explains why you were so determined to learn those spells at Arpton over the summer with Felix, too."

"I did that because I don't want to be defenceless again." Harry scowled. "I had enough of that with the-" Harry tensed, his eyes darting around the room briefly, eyeing the partitions, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. "With the Ambush!" He hissed.

"You wanted to, aye, but your magic, whether you acknowledge it or not, will have helped you in some fashion." Remus smiled. "It could be something as simple as helping you understand spells better – we'll never truly know."

"I don't like the idea of it pushing me to do things, especially if I can't control it – I immolated a plank of wood in Transfiguration the other day! What if that was Neville, or Daphne, or Tracey?" Harry snapped, staring at the hand in his lap – a thin tendril of magic skittered along his skin before forking between his fingers. "I feel like a walking bomb."

"You need rest – get some rest, let your body recover. Your magic wants to help Hermione, but the best thing you can do is make sure you're strong when she's woken up." Sirius said, his lips pressed tightly together. "It won't do anyone any good when you keel over."

"And you'll stop this foolish search for the Basilisk." Remus added, his voice stern as he fixed Harry with a severe look.

"But-"

"You'll stop it – immediately."

"Fine." Harry huffed. "But you have to promise to not let Amelia tear the castle apart."

"She'll do what she has to, and it will take as long as it needs to, is that understood?" Sirius retorted; his eyes hard and unwavering. "If we say that it's for the best that you have to study elsewhere, that's what will happen – I won't risk you with a Basilisk roaming the halls."

"Yes, Sirius." Harry grumbled, feeling his jaw clench and unclench painfully as he glared at the floor.

"You'll understand when you're older, Harry – we have to do what we feel is best for you, even if that means you moving to a different school." Remus sighed. "Makes a lot of what we came here for rather redundant, though."

Harry frowned at that and looked up, glancing between the two of them warily. "What are you talking about?"

Sirius snatched up the crumpled piece of parchment off of the arm of the chair he was occupying and waved it absently between his fingers. "This." He said, handing it to him.

Harry finally released his hold on Hermione and sat up, taking the parchment, and raking his eyes over the lines of script. It was short, to the point, and depressingly official. "Is this real?"

"As real as you and me." Sirius grimaced, while Remus just nodded silently.

"Why would he do this?"

"He's wanted Dumbledore gone for years – he finally managed to bully enough of the Board to suspend him from his duties." Sirius shrugged. "We watched him leave the grounds with Fawkes."

"But it's Dumbledore – I might think him an arse for the whole thing with the cloak last Christmas, but he's Albus Dumbledore!"

"And, if what you said about the Basilisk is true, and someone's been releasing it, they'll only be bolder now." Remus added quietly, nodding.

Harry looked between them. "And you did nothing to stop the Ministry taking Hagrid away? He didn't do it!" He snapped, waving the parchment.

"Anyone who knows Hagrid would know he wouldn't hurt a soul – but there was nothing we could have done. Minister Fudge wanted to be seen to be doing something. As it is, House Black has only been able to keep him at bay for so long." Remus answered him calmly. "We've been trying to temper the Wizengamot and the other Lords and Ladies ever since that poor boy was killed."

"Justin."

Remus nodded sadly. "The Lords, as much as I hate to say it, don't care about the life of one Muggle-Born boy, or the Muggle-Born that have been attacked – they simply fear for their heirs. There's been an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot twice a month to debate closing the school."

"Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Because you are a child and belong in school." Sirius answered him.

"That you're about to take me out of." Harry huffed, getting to his feet, and leaning against the bed. He stared at Hermione and traced the knuckles of her fingers – the ones that held the handle of her mirror tightly – with his own.

"And you're exhausted, Harry." Sirius replied evenly, folding his arms over his chest. "What would you have me do? Let you return here, even if the Basilisk is still roaming about?"

"I-" Harry tried, his throat constricting as he took a shuddering breath. "I don't know, but I could've done something to help with the Wizengamot, at least."

"And as we've already said," Remus began. "You're still so very young, and you deserve to remain in school."

"I'm just fed up of it all." Harry murmured weakly. "I want to be helpful; I want to do things – I feel useless."

"It'll come to you, in time." Sirius muttered, appearing at his shoulder, and giving it a squeeze. "You just need to be patient. You're trying to grow up too quickly."

Harry nodded silently and chewed on his bottom lip. To his left, the rain continued to hammer at the glass of the window, and the random flashes of light would be followed seconds later by the deep crack of thunder.

"You told me, at the Citadel, that Voldemort was gone – that he'd never come back." He said, eventually.

"We did, and at the time, we believed that promise." Remus answered him – there was a shuffling to the side, and a moment later, Harry could feel the presence of the gentle man behind him.

"He's not dead."

"No, he isn't – how, we have no idea, but we will, with time." Sirius breathed, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Harry leaned into the embrace and closed his eyes – Sirius smelled of home.

"He's going to keep coming for me, for my friends."

"And we'll be there."

"I have to do something to help – I have to be ready."

"Ready for what? Harry, you'll be an exceptional wizard one day – but at the end of the day, you're twelve, almost thirteen. Let us adults do our jobs, hm?"

"You don't have a job."

"Okay, well, let Remus do his." Sirius sniffed, giving him a squeeze, while Remus chuckled behind them. "He might have even had another one if there hadn't been this whole thing with a Basilisk."

"What?"

"Sirius has gotten it into his head that I'd make a passable teacher – he joined the Board of Hogwarts for the sole purpose of placing me here as a professor next year." Remus answered him, moving over to the window, and leaning against the stone wall, a flash of lightning briefly lighting up his face. "He thought it best if you had someone here you could turn to among the faculty."

"I have McGonagall – I think me and Hermione are her favourites in Gryffindor."

"Hermione and I." Remus chided, softly. Sirius snorted while Harry shrugged unapologetically.

"You would be one of her favourites – she changed your nappies."

Harry's eyes grew large, and he physically felt the blood drain from his face. His head spun to meet Sirius so quickly, he thought he might have continued spinning if not for the strong grip his godfather held him in. "She didn't." He moaned, much to Sirius's obvious delight.

"Poppy too."

"Well now I have to leave Hogwarts."

The two adults chuckled between themselves as he squirmed uncomfortably – the thought of both women having changed his nappies when he was a baby was mortifying. How was he supposed to look either woman in the eye now, let alone concentrate in their classes? Merlin, if Daphne ever found out, he'd never hear the end of it.

"You have the Easter Break coming up next week – after that, it'll be your last term at the school. Enjoy it but be safe. We'll talk about other schools closer to the summer, okay?" Sirius murmured into his hair as he pulled him into a crushing hug. "I'll be telling Amelia about the snake tonight."

"I still don't want to leave. Not really."

"None of us ever do – Hogwarts is a home away from home for many of us." Remus offered, just as Harry was released by Sirius.

"Can I stay here? Over the Easter, I mean."

The two adults looked at one another, a silent conversation passing between them that Harry couldn't understand. Finally, Sirius nodded. "Alright, but there's going to be conditions." He said, pointing a finger at him.

"That hardly seems fair." Harry huffed under his breath.

"I'm on the Board now, so I get to make the rules." Sirius replied smugly, folding his hands behind his back, and rocking on his heels. "You'll get to bed on time each night, and we'll have our chats, okay? That's the first rule."

Harry nodded uncomfortably – he wasn't looking forward to that.

"Second, you'll let Amelia and the Ministry deal with the Basilisk – is that understood?"

Harry nodded and let himself be pulled into another hug from Sirius. Harry wrapped his arms around the man and balled his hands into the doublet on Sirius's back, squeezing for all he was worth. He felt Sirius place another kiss to the top of his head, and buried his face into his chest as much as he could – it was the small things, like Sirius's hugs, that he always missed the most when he was at school.

"Anything else?"

"Probably," interjected Remus before Sirius could say anything more. "But if we let him continue, it will be about a prank or ten."

"We should get going, and you should go and spend some time with your friends." Sirius said, leaning back and cupping Harry's face after elbowing Remus in the side.

"I'll stay here a little longer – keep her company for a bit." He murmured, tipping his head in Hermione's direction. "I'll go and see the others later."

"Alright – but don't forget to look after yourself, okay? I'm not above setting Andromeda on you."

"I'll remember." Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. "I'll talk to you both later." He said, pushing Sirius gently toward his chair, which still had his coat draped over it. As the two men left, Sirius shoving his arms through his sleeves, a pit of dread settled in the bottom of his gut.


The rest of April passed quickly, almost as if a blur, and it wasn't long until they were into May. He spoke to both Sirius and Remus each night before crawling into bed, Clara would nestle against him, and Hedwig would bury herself into the crook of his neck, barking softly and tossing strands of his hair from his face before finally closing her large eyes.

He had stopped his consumption of Madame Pomfrey's potions shortly after Sirius and Remus had visited, though by that point they did little other than to force his eyes to close. His dreams were still just as fitful and restless, but he found himself feeling less exhausted as the days went on.

His appetite returned, as did the sharpness of his mind. His magic felt less out of control, though it still screamed in the back of his mind, gnashing on the leash he had collared it with as his strength returned.

Talking had helped – he told Sirius and Remus about all sorts of things. At first, he had been reluctant; his failings weren't something he enjoyed discussing, even with those he trusted and cared about as much as his two guardians. It was a slow process, and over the last month, it had taken untold hours, but eventually, the dam had burst.

They had started from the beginning, at Remus's urging, and were going through all sorts of old stories together – moments they had all shared with one another, though it all boiled down to the same inevitable question. How did he feel about each memory?

Harry knew he was luckier than most. He was born to loving parents and into an old and powerful family. While his parents were no longer alive, he had been raised by three wonderful guardians, and both Lispy and Andromeda had played their own parts in his life. He couldn't have asked for more.

It had also helped that Sirius and Remus had both talked to him about their own troubles. In some ways, he felt very much like he had seen them both in a new light, and for all that he hadn't been looking forward to talking about his nightmares, it felt good to share them with the two most important men in his life.

While he was far more rested than he had been in a long time – he hadn't needed to apply the glamour for a few days – and his magic was under more control than it had been in weeks, his nights were still plagued with nightmares. His loyal Familiars helped, of course, and in the middle of the worst dreams, he could often hear the distant trills of Clara, chasing them away.

With his renewed energy, he had thrown himself back into his schoolwork, making sure to continue to make double the notes for Hermione; their exams would be taking place shortly after she was scheduled to wake up, and she'd need everything she could get her hands on – he'd already put out orders for the relevant book material from the Hogwarts Library, the Potter and Black libraries, and various booksellers, just to make sure that she wouldn't go without.

He no longer patrolled the corridors in his armour and sword. Instead, his free time was spent helping Daphne and Tracey in the Library; he wasn't looking for the Basilisk, he had reasoned, he was looking for the entrance to the Chamber.

In the weeks since the visit from Sirius and Remus, not a single Auror had turned up at Hogwarts, nor had Amelia arrived, ready to tear it all down to its foundations, and level the forest – at first, Harry had thought she might enlist the help of the Dwarves. He'd been wrong.

With the arrest of Hagrid and the dismissal of Dumbledore, the Ministry was quite content to simply call the whole thing done. Hagrid had been sent off to Azkaban for his crimes, and not a single person had seen hide nor hair of Dumbledore – the Prophet had been claiming sightings of the wizard for weeks. Dumbledore hadn't even appeared at the Wizengamot for May's session, according to Sirius and Remus.

The school had been quiet, for the most part, with only a small number of students crowing the departure of the Headmaster. They had mostly been seventh years, from all four Houses, and from families that often found themselves falling in line behind House Kullens and their ilk.

As it was, most were saddened, or at least confused, about his abrupt dismissal – many wondering if, or indeed, when, McGonagall would step in to fill the void. Even now, sitting at the Gryffindor table, absently moving his bowl of fruit around with his spoon, the High Table of Hogwarts looked empty. He wasn't sure which void was larger, the gaping hole where Hagrid's bulk usually occupied, or the golden throne of the Headmaster.

Neville huffed at his side, pulling a face as he forced some wriggling fruit into his mouth, his complexion turning almost as green as Harry's eyes as he began to chew. Harry huffed his amusement before shovelling a spoon of his own into his mouth – he'd opted for strawberries and condensed milk, not… whatever it was that Neville had grabbed.

He looked up at the banging of a book on the table across from him – it was thick and heavy enough that it made the trestle table shake, and, worryingly, groan under its sudden weight. He jumped back at the sudden noise and looked up, mouth still full, into the powerful gaze of Daphne Greengrass.

He blinked.

"We need to talk." Was all she said – her chest heaved, and her hands were planted firmly on her hips as she stared down at him. Harry knew that by the set of her jaw, and the long, wild ponytail that she'd pulled her hair back into – something that still almost reached her hips – that she wouldn't be dissuaded.

"By all means. Where's Tracey?" He said, swallowing his food quickly and gesturing to the seat across from him. His eyes darted around the Hall; besides those that had looked over at the sudden racket, everyone was still blissfully shovelling food into their mouths. Tracey was nowhere to be found.

"Still in the Library." Daphne huffed, sitting down roughly before spinning the book on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Ron gesturing in their direction as he talked to his friends. Harry rolled his eyes and focused on the page Daphne had flipped the book to.

"What's this?" He asked, sliding his bowl out the way as he looked at it – it was one of Salazar's journals, he recognised the handwriting and the familiar feeling as he brushed his fingers along the lines of script.

"One of Salazar's journals – I'm no Parselmouth, but I thought this might interest you." Daphne answered him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she tapped at the page with her other hand.

"-rests in the shadow of the serpent-tongue." Harry recited slowly, frowning. "Okay?"

Daphne huffed at him, and Harry glanced at Neville, who simply shrugged and gingerly slid his bowl away. "Honestly, how the two of you ever work anything out is simply baffling." She muttered, loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Neville squawked his indignation at the same time as Harry, both of them glancing at one another before pinning Daphne with a glare. "We get along just fine, thank you, but not everyone drops half a sentence, with no context mind you, from a book over a thousand years old, on us every day." Harry snorted. "Sorry if I'm a little rusty."

"What does Parseltongue mean?" Daphne demanded, with a roll of her eyes.

"Serpent-" Neville began, only for his eyes to grow wide. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed." Daphne hummed, before massaging her temples slowly. "Where's Hermione when you need her." She added, under her breath.

"Still in the Hospital Wing, as of twenty minutes ago when I left her." He replied, nodding in the direction of the large doors. She glared at him from across the table, though it had no malice. "Just think, you might not have to deal with this soon." He grinned, waving a finger back and forth between himself and Neville.

"Wouldn't that be the day." Daphne replied, rolling her eyes, and shaking her head. "Look, this is the best clue Tracey and I have found in weeks – I think it's worth looking at."

"So why isn't she here? And why's nobody looked at this before?" Neville asked, and Harry couldn't help but nod in agreement. The tome itself looked older than Hogwarts itself, so there must have been hundreds of people, students, teachers, and researchers that had read the exact same passage in their own private quests for the lost domain of Salazar.

"She's reading the volume that directly follows after this one, in case there's anything he mentions in that." Daphne replied, edging forward on her bench. "I think, obviously, people have, but they've never made the connection before."

"I refuse to believe nobody thought of Parseltongue and Salazar, Daphne." Harry sighed, arching an eyebrow at her. "Merlin, most Parselmouths would probably kill for the chance to find the Chamber."

"Most people are idiots; we know this better than most after this year." Daphne answered quickly, jabbing her finger at the book. "There's only one statue of Salazar in the castle, and it's in the Trophy Room."

Harry rubbed his temples and groaned. "Look, we've been all over that room – there's nothing there besides four statues, some alcoves, and a stupid number of trophies and awards."

"There was the Prefect's Passage – that was neat." Neville commented with a shrug. "Didn't realise how much smaller Lily was than James – you sure you're not part Dwarf?"

"Pretty sure." Harry said, looking at the boy next to him.

"Pity."

"Boys!" Daphne snapped, and Harry sighed. "Can you focus for five minutes?"

"What do you want us to say, Daphne? I want to find Ruhxu more than anyone, but I made a promise not to go looking for it." Harry said, turning to look back at the girl across from him. "Yes, we're justifying it by looking for the Chamberyour choice of words, by the way – and sure, you might have found a clue, but there's nothing in there that vaguely resembles a passage, let alone large enough for a Basilisk!"

Daphne stared at him for a long moment before she leaned forward against the table. "Don't you think the passage would be hidden? Or require a password? The castle was built using magic, Potter!"

"So, what's the password?" Neville asked, wiping a hand down his face slowly and blinking. It seemed he was just as enthusiastic about returning to that room as Harry was.

"I don't know the bloody password!" She huffed, glaring at Neville. "But I'll work it out."

"You seem pretty sure about that." Harry replied neutrally. "But it could be anything, or, more likely, this whole thing could be nothing at all."

"Fine," Daphne snapped, leaping to her feet. She snatched up the book and clutched it to her chest. "I'll do it myself."

All around the table, Gryffindors were eyeing the three of them curiously, muttering amongst themselves in between bites of food. Harry glanced at Neville and the two of them shared a look before getting to their own feet – Neville picked up his bag, while Harry quickly slung his coat about his shoulders.

"She's going to get us into trouble one of these days." Neville muttered as they hurried toward the large doors, which Daphne was already through.

"Pretty sure we get into enough trouble without Daphne." He scoffed, breaking out into a slow jog. "It's a wonder we don't get more detentions."

"It's favouritism." Neville grinned. "McGonagall likes us best, obviously."

Harry couldn't have stopped the snort even if he'd wanted to. Moments later, as they took the stairs two-at-a-time, they caught up to the determined Slytherin, who simply glared at them both out the corners of her eyes.

"I believe this is a record." She sniffed, stepping onto the first landing, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone tiles.

"Look, just because we admitted you were right once, doesn't mean you're always right." Neville grumbled, hurrying up the stairs to the second floor. Harry chuckled as he followed, leaving Daphne to rush to keep up.

The three of them quickly ducked into the corridor – it was one of the wider ones in the school, and all along it there were small alcoves with shining suits of armour brandishing brutal looking weapons on either side. Occasionally they would pass the darkened doors of disused classrooms; the dark, shadowed alcoves seemed to swallow all the light as they passed quietly, their footsteps echoing up and down the corridor.

Eventually, they made their way to the entrance of the Trophy Room. To call it something as simple as a room was a gross exaggeration in Harry's mind – it was a huge corridor that spanned the length of the castle on the eastern side, and looked out over the Forbidden Forest, the tops of the trees swaying gently in the evening breeze.

The ceiling was vaulted, with large chandeliers of Magefyre candles; the cold blue light casting harsh shadows against the stone walls, the names on the plaques dancing in the flickering light. Each time they had come in search of the entrance to the Chamber, Harry had always felt a strong sense of disquiet as he moved along the many alcoves, recesses, and display cases.

Even now, with both Neville and Daphne at his shoulder, he felt that familiar cold feeling creeping up the back of his neck; the hairs on his arms rising as his skin broke out into gooseflesh. His magic became agitated, and he got the distinct impression that he was being watched.

"Slytherin is down here, come on." Daphne said, hurrying past him, the large book still clutched tightly to her chest.

They passed the statue of Godric Gryffindor first; once, when he was younger, Godric had been his hero – a proud, powerful warrior and wizard that fought against evil and vanquished dark wizards. Now, after reading the journals of the Founders themselves, he couldn't help but wonder just how much of that had been made up.

The Godric he had read about had been a brash, arrogant man that was quick to anger. The Founders had been friends for most of their lives, most having grown up and studied together, and yet, that hadn't stopped Godric from levelling his sword at Salazar's throat during an argument.

Nobody had been blameless in that confrontation, and none of them, from what they had all read and shared with one-another, had been without blame for the destruction of their friendship. Harry hadn't been able to stop himself from imagining their small group of friends in the Founders shoes – could he level the tip of his sword at Neville's throat? Daphne's? Tracey's? Hermione's?

He tore his eyes from the stone visage of the founder of Gryffindor House – Godric may have once been a great man, but Harry could no longer respect or admire a man that would turn on his friends so easily. It reminded him far too much of Wormtail.

Helga Hufflepuff was next – her statue was shorter than the others. The witch was depicted as the soft and plump person they had all seen before. It was her smile, and not her stature that drew his eye. It was wide and kind, and Harry felt himself smile in return as they hurried past.

Ravenclaw followed; her statue was made of white marble, unlike the other statues, which were made of plain stone, and her long, dark hair looked to be carved from glimmering onyx. He'd never paid much attention to it before, but now – now he stopped before it, his eyes raking over it.

There was something about it, some elusive thing that he couldn't quite place that called to him. If the statue were anything to go by, Rowena had been a beautiful woman, with sharp, angular features and full, smirking lips and dark, cascading hair that fell almost to her knees.

She clutched a thick volume in her hand, but the stone was so worn, there was no possible way to see if it ever had a title. The footsteps of Neville and Daphne halted, and he quickly glanced at the two of them. "There's something about the statue – I've never really noticed it before." He admitted.

"It doesn't matter, come on." Daphne huffed, rolling her eyes as she spun on her heel and continued her march toward Salazar, the last of the four. Harry's body shivered slightly, a chill running up his spine, as he gave the statue one last look before hurrying to catch his two friends.

The statue of Salazar was the same material as Godric's and Helga's, only it was slightly larger – almost of a similar height to Rowena's. Instead of staring forward, however, his head was turned toward the marble statue of Ravenclaw, his hands cupping the locket around his neck delicately.

The evidence of previous students was all over the statue – carvings of names, and messages for the alienated Founder pockmarked the once-pristine surface. Harry's fingers traced the surface lightly and scowled.

There were dozens of messages, or scribbled insults not just to Salazar, but Slytherins as a whole, all over its surface. Some had been carved in by sharp object, like knives or daggers, while others, far more recent in their appearance, looked to have been placed magically.

It was an insult to the memory of Salazar. For all of his faults – and through reading his journals, Harry had gotten a sense of a few of them – he had still been a remarkable wizard who yearned to pass on his knowledge to those he deemed worthy, a goal shared by all of the Founders.

"This is it." Daphne murmured. Harry glanced over his shoulder and looked at his friend – she was staring up with wide eyes at the statue, her mouth slightly open in wonder. "He must have been brilliant in his day."

"They all must have been." Neville agreed quietly. "We've looked all around here, but we never took the time to actually look, you know?"

"Why do you think he's staring at Rowena?" Harry asked. "Do you think it has anything to do with what Hermione thought – about him and her, I mean?"

Daphne shrugged as she stepped up next to him. "Possibly – nobody knows. He disappeared after he left Hogwarts, and she died a few years later. I'd like for it to be true; I think."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Daphne?" Neville scoffed, wincing as their Slytherin friend slapped him in the arm with the back of her hand.

"Just because all you think about is your next adventure, doesn't mean we all think about the same thing, Longbottom."

"She's got you there." Harry snickered, watching his two friends out the corner of his eye. "Besides, I think it's a little romantic; in a tragic sort of way."

"Harry Potter, the romantic." Neville grinned, causing him to roll his eyes as Daphne stepped up to the statue.

"You're sure you both checked this over – every nook and cranny?"

"Without ripping it from the wall, yeah." Harry nodded, stepping around it. "Look, it's sunken into the brick like all the others. There's no way around it – I think even the Dwarves would have trouble shifting it without bringing the whole alcove down."

Daphne hummed quietly before placing her book down at the base of Salazar, her eyes scanning the likeness with a stubborn set to her jaw – Harry tried not to cringe outwardly, but nothing good ever came of that look. It was the same look she had just before she beat him into the dirt – the same one she'd had before dousing him with water while they were duelling.

"There's nothing here, Daphne." Neville sighed, throwing his arms up in the air. "Just a bunch of useless plaques and trophies."

Harry shook his head and wandered to the far side of the room, to a section of wall between two large windows that housed a number of plaques. His eyes swept the names until one stood out – Tom M Riddle. He knew that name; it was the student that had turned Hagrid in the last time the Chamber was opened – the plaque before him must have been awarded to him after that.

"Shit!" Daphne cursed, and Harry whipped around. She was scowling at the statue and sucking on the pad of her index finger. Neville wandered over from where he'd been staring at the plaques in the alcove.

"What happened?" Neville asked, as Harry made his way back before the statue.

"I didn't do anything – something bit me!" Daphne growled dangerously. He could feel her anger in her magic, rolling off of her in waves.

"What were you doing? There's nothing on that large enough to hide in – maybe you just nicked yourself on the stone?"

"I know the difference, Harry." She snapped, quickly scowling at him. "I touched the bloody locket." She muttered.

"The locket? There's nothing but the snake." Harry muttered, reaching out and tracing the serpent with his finger.

"Who stirs Haju from slumber?" A voice hissed softly, and Harry peered curiously at it, noting the faded runes that ran up and down the snake. Harry inched closer and watched in fascination as the stone snake blinked.

"It blinked." Harry murmured, pointing at the snake – Haju, with wide eyes.

"What did?" Neville asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"The snake did, on the locket. See? It just blinked!"

"Of course!" Daphne cried, throwing her arms in the air. "He was a Parselmouth – it'd make sense for only another to find the door."

"Uh, hello." Harry said awkwardly, before clearing his throat. "Open the Chamber of Secrets." He said, his voice much more assertive.

Nothing happened.

"Well shit – one riddle down, one more to go." Neville groaned as he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "Brilliant, that."