Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Fourteen | Occam, Meet Hanlon

"Helene, could I pop in here for a moment?" Sirius asks, poking his head into my room.

"Yeah, that's alright," I reply, marking my page and setting my book down. "You hiding from Terra again?"

"No, not today," he replies, smirking. "I actually wanted to talk with you, if you're not too busy that is?"

"I uh, I wanted to talk to you about what happened the other day," he says, a glimmer of fear in his eyes. "What you told me and Octavius."

Shutting my eyes, I blink tightly and pinch my nose. This was bound to happen sooner or later. "What specifically did you want to talk about Sirius?" I ask quietly, my stomach clenching as the words slip out of my mouth.

"You've gone through something horrid, absolutely fucking horrid," he begins, tentatively placing his hand on my shoulder and smiling slightly when I don't recoil. "I'm here for you, I always will be. Same goes with Octavius and Terra. We haven't told her what's happened, and are respecting your privacy, but I think it would be good if you told her at some point. We'll always be here for you, but Terra is a little bit better with these serious talks, no matter how much my name may sway you to believe otherwise," he finishes with a smirk.

Sirius fidgets nervously, staring at his hands. "We never have to discuss details, that should be saved for a mind-healer. There's no way in hell I'm qualified to have that sort of discussion. What I'd like to talk about, if you're willing of course, is when you mentioned that you- you er… you killed the man who attacked you." He says the last part quietly, hesitantly. Like he doesn't want to voice the fact that I killed a man.

"Ah," I reply, staring at the wall and hoping for the life of me that it'll open up and transport me to some place where I don't have to have this conversation. Unfortunately, walls are inanimate and respond as any other inanimate object would. By doing fuck all. "Yeah, I killed him." Detached is the best way to describe how I feel now. Distanced from the problem. Hiding from it. Can't have nightmares if you block it out of your head, right?

I let out a nervous huff, like when someone wants to laugh but they're unsure if it's appropriate. "I cut his head off. Just a stump was left. He was shocked, you know? His face frozen that way, mouth agape, eyes wide, sweat still dripping from his forehead. Just… just frozen that way, like he didn't know he was dead yet."

I can feel my nails digging into the skin of my thigh, the sharp bite of pain keeping me together as I regurgitate my thoughts, baring my soul to Sirius.

"At first I couldn't quite believe that I did it. Like I was going to wake up an instant later and find it was some weird, stupidly gory dream. It was Lockhart." I scratch my nose, resting one finger on my lips, biting it as I think. "Funny how I should have seen it coming. How you had to fight him off me at Flourish & Blotts. The looks he gave me in class, like I was some sort of… trophy? He looked at me like I was prey, something to hunt."

I shake my head. Yeah, I should have seen it coming. "I don't really know why I didn't see it, or if I just chose not to recognize what was right in front of me. Hindsight is 20/20, and there's nothing I can do about it now. All I can do is just try and get by a day at a time, come to terms with it, at least that's what Severus tells me."

"Severus? Severus Snape?" Sirius asks, a spark of anger flashing across his face.

I close my eyes and clench my fist in front of my mouth, wagging one finger. "Yes, that Severus Snape. Don't get started, alright? He's been incredibly helpful with all this mess and is completely aware of what happened. In fact, he's the one who removed the obliviate from my mind so that I could figure out what in the hell actually happened to me." I drill even further, hoping to nip Sirius' aggression in the bud. "Know what? He's a mind healer as well, and he hasn't charge me a fucking thing for the last month that I've been seeing him. So don't you dare say anything."

I look on as Sirius grimaces, his jaw stubbornly set forward as he wrestles with the idea of Severus Goddamn Snape helping James Potters daughter of all people. It's easier to understand when people realize that I'm just as much Lily Potters child, not to mention I'm pretty much a carbon copy of her. You know, save for the apparent homicidal tendencies.

"I… I imagine you know how I feel about you being anywhere near that man, let alone having him look through your mind," he growls with a shake of his head. "I can't say that I feel great about him being that close to you, but if it helps, it helps. You do know he used to be a Death-Eater, right?"

"Yes Sirius, I'm perfectly aware of his past. I'm also perfectly aware of how you and my dad treated him at Hogwarts."

"The greasy shit had it coming! He was practicing dark magic!"

"Yeah?" I ask, laughing harshly. "Did he ever hurt anyone?"

"No! But he was still practicing dark fucking magic Helene!"

I grit my teeth, spitting out the next few words. "Did. He. Hurt. Anyone?"

"Does it matter?" he argues, an incredulous look on his face. He really can't understand why I'm backing Severus up, does he? "He was bound to one day! Always slinking around the school leering at everyone! Not to mention the way he looked at Lily! The disgusting little bastard couldn't wait to sink his claws into her!

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Who gives a shit? Did that give you a right to attack him? Because what you did was bullying Sirius. I saw the memory of him calling mum a mudblood- hey! Don't interrupt me!" I clip, staring daggers at Sirius. "Let me finish what I'm saying for Christs sake! You publicly humiliated him! I was downright fucking ashamed to see what you and my dad did in that memory and I won't hear any excuses about how he was practicing dark magic, because it doesn't matter! Honestly, you tried to kill him by sending him off to Remus on the full moon! You nearly murdered another student and used Remus as the tool! Do you think that's even remotely acceptable?"

I hold one finger up aggressively. "And piss off with the dark magic complaint, you can kill someone with a levitating charm just as easily as you can with an organ expelling curse!"

"I didn't try to kill him!" Sirius pauses, one eyebrow cocked as he frowns at me "...where did you learn about that anyways? Did he tell you? Do you think that I don't regret what I did? It was phenomenally stupid of me to send Snape off to Remus and I tried to make it up to him! I tried so many times!"

Sirius looks genuinely ashamed as he continues, "He never even let me get a word in for an apology without trying to hex me! You have no idea how many times I tried to make it up to him. Also, going back a second," he says, leaning forward and crossing his arms. "Where the hell did you read about an organ expelling curse? What kind of books have you been looking at?"

Slamming my mouth shut tight, I look away from Sirius. Shit, of course I had to let slip my little foray into the dark. I don't think I can keep this conversation focused on Severus and avoid a confrontation. "Restricted section, I happened across it," I deadpan, the lie slipping through gritted teeth.

"No, there's no way that would ever be found there," he says, cutting me off. "What in the hell have you gotten yourself into Helene?"

"Something that will give me any chance against one of the darkest and most feared wizards of the last three centuries," I spit, daring him to argue.

"You've got to be kidding me," he breathes, eyes wide. "I know he's got his sights set on you, but you don't need to learn stuff like that Helene. You don't need to stoop to his level. Bone breakers work fine, cutting curses, simple spells can be just as effective."

"No," I argue, waving him away. "Not yet at least. Look, I'm not saying I'm the next Dark Lady in training, but there are fields that I'm starting to believe I have to learn… magics I have to become proficient in. Shit, I've got to learn how to fight, not duel, but really fight if I want to live past fourteen."

"The graveyard?"

"Yes, the graveyard. That's my chance to take the son of a bitch out once and for all, and I'm not going to miss that chance no matter what anyone says."

Letting my head fall back, I look up, studying the crystal chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. I'm quiet for a moment as I ponder what to do, what to say. The steady light streams in from the windows, shimmering as it passes through faux gems suspended above me. I focus on the pearlescent flicker of refraction, a soft rainbow caught in the facets and edges. Such a pure thing, light. It's a shame that I'm dark. I wonder if Sirius would hate me if he knew what I was? If he knew the things I'm teaching myself.

"I…"

Closing my eyes, I exhale softly through my nose. Is this something that I really want to tell anyone? I flick my gaze over to Sirius, trying to decipher the look he's giving me. Fear. Confusion. Love.

Fuck it.

"I- I'm… I'm apparently made to practice the more… grim aspects of magic," I blurt, the words tumbling out over my tongue in a mad escape. "Death told me. Encouraged me to practice certain... specific types of magic that aren't too fondly looked upon. Fucking Death told me to. Who am I to say no to what is essentially a God?"

Sirius gapes at me, saying the only word that comes to mind. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"That's… that's got to be some really dark stuff you're getting into there Helene. Fuck, if it's Death it's pretty much the darkest there is." Cursing under his breath, Sirius flops backwards onto my bed, taking his turn at studying the chandelier as he tries to wrap his head around what I've just told him. "Have you- you know, done anything with it? Whatever it is?"

"A bit," I admit, wondering if I should continue.

We sit there in silence for a moment, neither of us eager to continue the conversation, the underlying tension palpable.

"Do you want to know what it is? What I'm learning and practicing?" I ask hesitantly, my mouth dry.

Sirius stays where he is, legs dangling over the side of the bed and his arms thrown back behind him, one hand tugging lightly at his hair. "No. I really don't. I'm sure… I'm sure one day I'll want to know, and you'll want to tell me," he quietly reasons. "I don't think now is the time, although I'm not quite sure when the time ever will be. I just know it's not know."

I flop down beside him, tucking my knees up and pointing them at the ceiling.

"I agree," I whisper. "Just reminding you, you're not getting away with almost murdering Severus and you will apologize to him soon. Properly."

"Damnit. Do I have to?"

I sigh dramatically, turning to look at Sirius. "Both of you were in the wrong, I will admit that. But you tried to kill him, for what? For spending time with my Mum? For learning dark magic? Being dark doesn't mean you're evil. Shit, I mean, look at me for example," I say, pointing towards myself. "I'm a fucking parseltongue, a trait apparently only found in dark wizards and witches, although I sincerely doubt that. Does that make me evil? No. It just means I can have conversations with snakes, who, by the way, are shit conversationalists."

Sirius laughs at that, a smile breaking out on his face. "I still can't believe you're a parseltongue," he marvels, shaking his head. "Speaking of snakes, there's no problems with the basilisk over at Hogwarts, yeah?"

"No. Not a peep. Helps that we have Voldemort's diary under lock and key."

"True, true," Sirius says, nodding his head. He frowns slightly, a serious look on his face. "I… I'll go and talk to Sni- Severus some time soon." He gives me a playful glare. "But I swear to God, if that bastard doesn't accept my apology I'm going to be incredibly pissed off."

"He'll accept it," I assert, remembering how hurt Severus looked reminiscing over his years at Hogwarts. "Trust me, he'll accept it."

-::-

The instant I set foot back in Hogwarts I muscle my way through the crowd of students, making a bee-line towards the Room of Requirement. I can feel my ankles ache slightly after my rush up seven exceedingly grand flights of stairs. Entering the room, I quietly shut the door tightly behind me and watch to make sure it disappears into the wall.

I quickly flick my eyes across a bookshelf, snatching the copy of Et Necromantium before setting myself down on a large love seat the Room has apparently decided to bequeath me.

Scrolling through the pages, I hunker down and start to pore over the book in the hopes that I can find spells that will help me in the off-chance that I piss off a thousand-year-old basilisk in the near future. One can never be too careful.

An hour passes by, and I'm bored to death. No matter how interesting the contents of the book are, it's still a spell book. Not exactly conducive to interesting reading, well, unless you're Hermione. I absentmindedly wish that I could at least have a bit of music to listen to.

I jump in fright as the Room of Requirement does just that and provides me music to listen to. Evidently, it knows exactly how I'm feeling, and the excited timber of big band jazz begins to float about the room. Fast, but not too fast. Perfect for studying.

Smiling, I shuffle back into my spot. I note some useful spells as I go along, a few of them cropping up here and there.

By useful, I mean incredibly alarming.

The most distressing spell being one that apparently opens a portal to the underworld. What makes that spell immediately unimpressive is that the only thing that actually comes out of said portal is a cluster of angry undead arms lashing out at everything around them.

Yes. A portal to the goddamn underworld instead of simply transfiguring a group of angry disembodied limbs. I mean, if I'm going for shock and awe, that's definitely the spell to cast, but I don't see how it could be remotely useful.

To be honest though, I am curious to find what all the fuss is about.

I climb off of the sofa, transfiguring a conveniently placed stone in front of me into a pig. It snorts, and squeals loudly, scraping its hooves across the floor. Thankfully, it doesn't run off. I glance back at the book, having already forgotten what the incantation is. Mortuus manibus. Dead grasp? What an oddly succinct spell.

I point my wand at the pig, loudly incanting, "Mortuus manibus." A sharp jab of my wand later, and I immediately begin to understand the difference between Necromancy and transfiguration.

The air in the room shudders, turning frigid. I rear back in fright, the cold wash of what is unmistakably death floods over me. An empty blackness appears underneath the pig, seemingly swallowing up all the ground around it.

Suddenly, greedy rotting hands burst out of the void and latch onto the animal. I choke on my throat as the pig is rapidly torn to pieces, the hands gripping onto limbs and flesh, ripping it apart bit by bit. I gawk as chunks of muscle and bone fly about unceremoniously, the skeletal fingers picking and prying at the now terrified construct. My nose wrinkles as I register the stench of rot and sulfur emanating from the inky darkness, lingering after the hole of nothing blinks shut, leaving the gory mess of not-pig heaped in its place.

…

Fuck.

Now I get why people don't like Necromancy one bit.

-::-

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office when he felt another intense wave of magic burst from within the school. He drew himself up to his full height, a hint of fear tickling at the back of his mind. He didn't recognize the feeling of that magic, but he did know that it felt wrong. He grimaced, drawing up the ward scheme of the school yet again, disgusted with how insidious, how sickly the magic felt as it crashed upon the shore of the school's wards.

"Oh my," he whispered, shocked to the core.

He saw it. It was faint, but it was there.

Black.

That meant that someone was experimenting with the Dark Arts.

Dumbledore was curious when looking over the Headmasters manual, unsure of how a light could be black. Even with magic the idea of it seemed near impossible, something that should be, for lack of a better word, impossible. He recognized the fact that nothing in magic was truly impossible, but he could not picture a colour that doesn't exist, just as much as any other person couldn't. He found that irritating, as he believed a pair of neon robes would be quite lovely.

But, plain as day, there was a black light shining out at him from the wards. Shining wasn't necessarily the best word, per se, but it was quite apt for the way it somehow, someway, carried brightness. A physical oxymoron, if there could be such a thing.

Dumbledore gasped in horror, covering his mouth with his hand as he spied a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye, hovering over the Defence Against the Dark Arts office.

Brown.

"Gilderoy… poor poor, Gilderoy," he lamented, a tear coming to his eye. Gilderoy didn't leave on an adventure, he realized. No, he died. Someone killed him.

But how? Who? Who in the school could have possibly gotten the upper hand against a warlock like Gilderoy Lockhart? Apart from Dumbledore, of course, he believed that no one in the school could have possibly snuck up on the man. It would be an impossible to do such a thing against a wizard who could slay a wendigo with only a well-placed banishing charm and an ashwinder egg.

Dumbledore remembered checking the mans office after he had disappeared and found nothing amiss. There was no sign of a struggle, nor any magical residue that one would find after a duel. It was absolutely spotless.

Albus narrowed his eyes, deciding to investigate the disturbance himself.

With a quick nod to Fawkes, he was down the stairs and out past the gargoyle guarding his office. A hop, skip, and a jump and he found himself digging a furrow into the stone floor as he paced in front of the painting of Barnabus the Barmy.

He could feel it, the hall was awash in dark magic. No, not dark magic, he thought. Nothing so simple. Black magic… Necromancy to be specific, something to be extremely concerned about.

"Curious."

He was aware that the magic was coming from behind the wall in front of him, but there was no door in sight. He wondered if this was not where he happened across a room full of chamber pots so many years ago. Dumbledore chuckled at the idea of a much-forgotten waste removal apparatus being so awash in black magic. Brown magic, perhaps?

He removed the Deathstick from his robes, casting a series of scans and sensory charms to try and find away to get behind the wall without destroying it. Sighing in frustration, Dumbledore decided he would continue his investigations another night, as it was getting to be quite late and the perpetrator was evidently long gone.

He shuffled tiredly back to his quarters, silently lamenting the fact that he was not as young as he once was.

-::-

The few weeks after my return to Hogwarts stretch me to my limit as I study the intricacies of Necromancy. Compared to the corpse arms, as I'm beginning to call the spell, most of the curses and hexes are downright flowery, and I'm beginning to become quite proficient in the casting of a few staple spells of the trade. Many of the spells I've become familiar with are darker variations on common combat spells. This seems to be the focus of many necromantic spells. Take something that's deadly, make it even deadlier and hope it also scars any observers for life.

Example being: A bastardized version of the bone breaking hex causes the bones to splinter and form barbs, as opposed to snap, sending jagged shrapnel flying from within the victim's own body. It's sort of like a grenade going off, but inside the person.

Incredibly messy, if I do say so myself.

Another variation on a common spell would be the entrail-expelling curse. Well, the entrail-expelling curse isn't exactly common per se, but it is one of the more well known Dark Arts curses. The necromantic version causes the organs to rot as they're, er- spit up. Because if literally puking your own guts out wasn't bad to begin with, I might as well dash away any possibility of that person recovering by wasting away their viscera as it happens.

I'm going to avoid any spells that are even remotely similar to corpse arms, because apparently that's still in the middle of the spectrum when it comes to this stuff. How could it get worse, I asked? How could it possibly get worse? Famous last words.

The worst, most vile and generally horrible thing I've come across is an augmented fiendfyre. Yes. Augmented fiendfyre. How is it augmented, one may ask? How could one change flames purported to be drawn from Hell itself? By actually drawing them from hell itself. Apparently regular fiendfyre, which is thought of as being drawn from Hell is not actually drawn from hell.

Felfyre on the other hand actually is.

Yeah.

I'm definitely not trying that one out any time soon. Actually, I think I'm never going to try that. Ever…

Never ever.

Apart from my completely and totally tasteful in-depth studies of death and the damned, I've made absolutely zero progress in destroying Tom's diary. Honestly, this thing is damn near impenetrable and nothing that I've done to it has even so much as nicked it. I suppose I could cast felfyre on it, but I'm not going to unless I feel like killing every single inhabitant of Hogwarts when I understandably lose control of the spell.

I've been tearing my hair out over this fucking thing though, and I've checked over the bloody book for wards of every kind and get nothing back. Not a peep. The only thing that I have learned about it is that it's apparently alive. Yeah, the fucking thing is alive. After casting a frustrated homenum revelio the bloody thing lit up like a tonne of fireworks.

So, apparently this book is alive in some form or another, indestructible to everything but basilisk venom (to the best of my knowledge), and I have no idea what to do with it until I can go downstairs and talk to a great big bloody snake. I don't imagine I can just stroll in and say, 'Hey! Fancy taking a bite out of this here diary? It's full of dietary fibre and other necessary nutrients that fulfill a proper serpents diet!'

Knowing my luck, it'd probably work and then the thing would still manage to impale me on one of its fangs and apologize profusely as I slowly die in front if it.

I stare at the book, poking it with repeatedly with one finger. Might as well be worth a shot?

Shrugging mentally, I throw on my cloak and sneak off to the second-floor girls bathroom, doing my best to avoid Myrtle as I hiss at the sink. The grind of stone on stone hurts my ears, and I cast a quick silencing charm. I hesitate, stopping myself from immediately jumping down the pipes.

Sliding down this is actually really scary when I'm not pumped full of cortisol.

"I wonder if?" I whisper aloud, talking to myself. "No, that couldn't possibly work… could it?"

:Stairs: I hiss, staring angrily at the pipe as steps fan out of it like someone fanning out a deck of cards.

"Oh, fuck off."

Horribly embarrassed for my twelve-year-old self's stupidity, I walk down the stairs towards the Chamber, hissing back at the sinks above to close them behind me. Wouldn't do to have someone accidentally come across the famous Chamber of Secrets and find me down there. Dumbledore has managed to ignore me for most of this year, and I don't want to give him an excuse to come after me with some benign worry or another that I'm succumbing to the dark side. I should get a Vader costume just to scare the old man.

Shaking myself out of my angsty teenage musings, I hiss at the final door to the Chamber, double checking to make sure I have my pocket rooster.

I planned ahead this time! What's the saying? Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong? That's why I've brought along a rooster that I've transfigured into a wooden cube. Just in case. I really should come up with a different name. Pocket rooster sounds a little too close to- well. Anatomy. Not a good name for what is my only lifeline at the moment.

Nervously striding towards the massive, and quite ugly, statue of Salazar Slytherin, I roll my shoulders, wincing as my neck cracks loudly. I finger the handle of my wand, holding it at the ready as I prepare myself for what is either going to be a hell of a conversation or a hell of a fight.

With pinched lips, I command the statue, :Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four:

The shuddering squeal of grinding stone emits through the Chamber, the maw of Slytherin slowly opening.

Shutting my eyes tight, just in case, I speak out again, :Greetings, oh great Basilisk of Slytherin. I wish you no harm and wish to speak with you:

I can hear a low growl as the serpent slips through the open mouth of Slytherin, the rasp of it's scales rubbing against loose stone and gravel.

:Who there?:

What?

:Er- I am Helene Potter, a Speaker. I have come to you with a request:

:Whats you want?:

I frown in confusion, biting my top lip. You know, I thought a thousand-year-old serpent would be a touch more… eloquent in it's speech.

:Before I ask, could you please look away so that I do not fall dead under your gaze? I'd like to open my eyes if possible:

:Gaze? What is… gaze?:

:Your eyes… where you look? I'll die if you look at me:

:Oh! You are speaker! I not hurt you!:

The excitement in the basilisk's voice is slightly unnerving, although the thing sort of sounds like, well- A puppy. Yeah. If I could imagine how a puppy would talk, this would probably be the best example I could ever think of.

I slowly open one eye to see the basilisk staring into my eyes. Panicking for a moment, I relax when I realize that I'm not struck dead. Parselmouths must be immune to the gaze of a basilisk I guess. It would make sense, all things considered, as the only people who would be likely to create a basilisk would be a parselmouth.

I bow my head. :Thank you. Do you have a name that I can refer to you by?:

The basilisk cocks its head slightly towards the ceiling in thought. A couple of minutes go by with it doing nothing apart from waving its head around and murmuring quietly. :My name be's Miss Snakey: it comments after an agonizing amount of time, regally nodding its head.

"Fuck," I groan, palming my face in exasperation. My god. The poor thing. It's… it's stupid. This is the terror of Hogwarts? Salazar's Monster? Merlin, I'd be able to have a better conversation with a common adder! No wonder I only heard it speak in monosyllabic when it petrified everyone.

:Nice to meet you: I say hesitantly. There's no chance I'm going to call her Miss Snakey. :Would it be alright if I called you Magna? A mighty name for such a mighty serpent:

She squints, as much as a creature without eyelids can squint. After a few moments she tentatively inclines its head in agreement. I sigh in relief, deeply thankful that I don't have to call a thousand-year-old basilisk Miss Snakey for the rest of the conversation.

:I've got a request for you, if that's alright. You see, I've got this book that I want to get rid of and for the life of me I can't do anything to destroy it. Fire, acid, a paper shredder, nothing can touch it. Since you've got such strong venom, I was wondering if you could maybe take a bite out of it?:

:Hmm… what in it for Magna?:

Of course the bloody thing wants to barter.

:I could… find you a tasty… uh:

I pause. What the hell would she eat? I'm not about to go out and capture an acromantula, which is the only thing that I really know of that is part of a basilisks regular diet. Hogwarts must have livestock somewhere, right? :A tasty cow to eat?:

Again, the basi- Magna tilts her head in thought, pondering whether the trade of a cow for the destruction of a book is worth it. :Magna prefer horse. Horse tastier: she replies matter-of-factly, as if it's common knowledge that horse is highly superior to beef. Personally, I haven't tried horse, so I can't compare, but I do love a good burger as much as the next girl.

:I can get you a horse instead?: I say, wondering where I'm going to find a horse of all things. A cow? Sure, I find it incredibly likely that the elves have cows on hand somewhere, as the meat always tastes quite fresh. But a horse?

:Horse sound good!: Magna chitters excitedly, her tongue flicking out of her mouth. She freezes in confusion. : …where is horse?:

:Sorry?:

:I like horse. Where is horse?:

What the hell is she- :Oh! I don't have it right now, I can go get one if you bite the book though:

Magna shakes her head and snorts loudly. :No horse no bites:

Oh, fuck right off. Well, that plan is out the window. :If I come back with a horse, then will you bite the book?:

Magna wags her head excitedly, preening at the prospect of sinking her frighteningly large fangs into a horse. I jump backwards in fright as she flashes her teeth, calming down as I realize she's smiling. Basilisks can smile too? That's absolutely horrifying. Forget what I said about goblins, a basilisk smile is the worst thing I've seen in my entire life.

:Alright uh, Magna. I'll be back soon. Just stay right there, okay?: I promise, wagging my finger at her in a passable impression of McGonagall.

Magna agrees readily, :I stays if I gets horse!:

:Excellent!: I hiss, already stealthily exiting the Chamber. :See you soon!:

I shake my head to clear the cobwebs brought about by absolute and total confusion. I find myself slightly shell-shocked by the incredibly absurd experience of having a conversation with a millennia old magical creature with the IQ of a particularly stunted basset hound. I march back up the stairs into Myrtle's bathroom wondering, once again, where the hell do I find a horse?

Pulling my cloak on, I wander towards the kitchen, thinking furiously.

How am I going to get this thing from the kitchens and back into the chamber?

Wait.

Dobby?

"Fuck!" I curse, startling a nearby portrait, who shrieks in fright and scampers off into her neighbour's frame.

I completely forgot about Dobby! The poor guy is probably still living with the Malfoys, getting the shit kicked out of him every day. I remember how upon the first time meeting him he announced that he would stick his ears in the oven for warning me about the chamber and grimace. He's not just getting the shit kicked out of him, he's probably performing self-flagellation every day.

I continue on my course and meander over to the basement, tickling the portrait of the pear and ignoring its coy giggle as I look for a house elf to interrogate. I push the thoughts of Dobby out of my mind, making a mental note to find a way to free him some time soon.

Thankfully, upon entering the room a horde of elves rush up to me with food already in hand, eager to help in any way they can. Looking around, I try to find the most important looking elf, if there's even such a thing.

I sweep my gaze over the teeming mass of gray-green flesh, noticing one elf that towers over the rest of them. By towers, I mean he's roughly four inches taller than the three feet of the average elf, but it is quite a difference compared to his compatriots.

"Hello! I was wondering where I would be able to find a horse," I announce, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for a second-year student to barge into Hogwarts kitchens in the middle of the night and inquire about a hundred and ten stone animal.

"Horse? You hungry enough to eats a horse?" The taller elf asks, one eye squinted tightly as he peers up at me. I take a closer look at the elf, who's done up in a gray suit and vest, albeit a raggedy one.

"Well, not me, but a friend of mine."

Tapping his foot aggressively, the elf squints his eye even tighter, nearly winking at me as he thinks on my request. "Why your friend needs horse?" He demands, arms waving wildly. "Horses be expensive! You thinks horses grow on trees?"

I rear back, wondering how to convince the head elf of my need for a horse. "Woah, woah," I shoot back, putting my hands up defensively. "It's for a really big snake, and she's very hungry. You see, she's been sleeping for fifty years and would like a horse to eat, and I'd prefer she eat a horse instead of one of the students." I cross my fingers behind my back, praying that I've managed to bullshit my way through this. I know that if Magna attempted to go out and eat a student I'd immediately put her down, but I'd really like to see if I can avoid that. Ignoring her lack of intelligence, she's still a basilisk, and that's definitely a strong ally to have on my side.

The elf thinks deeply, cocking his jaw and causing it to crack loudly. "How big is the snake?" He asks, glaring at me over his floppy nose.

I hold out my hands as if to measure Magna. "Uh, about… fifty? No- sixty feet?"

The head elf furrows his brow, chewing on his cheek as he continues to glare at me. "We gets you horse for snake, but only once!" He cries, pointing angrily.

I clap excitedly. "Thank you! You're the best!"

"I knows," he shoots back arrogantly, shouting orders out across the kitchen for the other elves to go and fetch aforementioned horse.

A snap and a flash of light announces the arrival of said horse, landing bound and confused in the middle of the kitchen. Instantly, the horse starts screaming in fear.

Flinching at the terrible noise, I snap off a silencio and put the animal on mute.

Okay, so… time to figure out how to get this back to the Chamber.

I sit for a few minutes, ignoring the cacophony of the elves completing their late-night prep work. Hundreds of knives chop and dice vegetables around me, pots filled with broths and gravies bubble and spit as they're taken on or off the flame.

I stick my fingers in my ears childishly pushing the sounds out of my head. The only way to get the horse over to the chamber that I can readily think of would be to simply levitate it. Would a mobilicorpus work on a horse though? Only one way to find out.

I wave my wand, cursing loudly when nothing happens. "Son of a bitch!" I cry, grabbing fistfuls of my hair in frustration. It would have probably been easier to just kill the fucking basilisk.

Wondering where the hell my life went wrong, I levitate the horse and begin my trek back to Myrtle's bathroom. I struggle with the unwieldly load. I don't lack the power to carry it, by any means, I just don't have an incredible degree of control over it, like trying to carry a very wide, but light object. One has the tendency to bump into everything along the way.

I finally make it to the second floor, my slow-going travels interrupted by a demanding, nasally voice.

"Excuse me, what… what the hell are you doing?"

Glancing over my shoulder I spy Percy Weasley looking absolutely and completely dumbfounded.

I freeze up. What do I say? Seriously, what do I say? I could stun him I guess. I've never particularly liked Percy, especially after he sold his family out so readily in fifth-year. Could I maybe just make a ridiculous excuse and hope that it works?

Cross my fingers mentally, I reply with the horrible, horrible answer of, "Charms homework." I begin to walk off confidently. I just have to pretend like what I'm doing is completely and totally normal and nobody will question me… I hope.

Of course, this doesn't work.

Percy grabs a hold of my arm, twisting me around and causing me to lose concentration on my spell, slamming the horse into the wall before dropping it loudly on the ground. "Look what you made me do!" I cry angrily, gesturing towards the terrified horse that is now lying on the ground, nostrils flared and legs bucking wildly as it struggles against the ropes. "I finally learned how to levitate something over half a ton and you had to go and make me drop it!"

Befuddled, Percy looks at me, then to the horse, then back to me. "Wait… were you not lying when you said you were doing charms homework?" He asks incredulously, a look of confused horror on his face as he stares at the panicking equine.

I smile, deeply happy that he's taken the bait. "No, I wasn't lying. Professor Flitwick has been tutoring me ahead of the class schedule and this was his idea of a joke," I swear, gesturing angrily towards the frantic horse that is still trying to right itself and failing miserably, hooves scuffing loudly against the floor.

"But… but why are you out after curfew?"

I shrug. "Like I said, his idea of a joke. He thought it would put more stress on me to levitate it under pressure."

Either I'm fantastic at lying, or Percy is the most gullible person I've met in my entire life.

Percy rubs his nose, still staring at the horse. He turns to me, squaring his shoulders and trying to regain some semblance of authority. "Er, well. Good luck with your homework… and don't let me catch you out after curfew again young lady!" Percy admonishes, wagging his finger as he wanders off to go question his life, most likely very proud that he got the last word in.

I know I'm going to question where my life is going when this is all finally over with.

Ignoring the terrified horses muted screams, I levitate it again, finding it a little bit easier this time. I continue on my quest to feed Magna, and fortunately, I'm not interrupted again apart from Myrtle crooning excitedly over the now catatonic horse.

It really does make sense that she was a horse girl.

A bit of clever maneuvering, and I squeeze the horse through the doorway to the Chamber. :I'm back!: I announce excitedly, dropping the animal in front of her. With terrifying speed, she lunges towards the horse, fangs ripping through its hide like it was paper mâché.

I turn away from the grisly sight, instead preferring to study one of the many statues lining the main walkway of the Chamber, admiring the intricate detail of the carved viper.

After a few noisy minutes, I ask Magna, :So, would you be able to bite that book now?:

She tilts her head towards me and nods tiredly, her first meal in five decades having taken its toll on her. :Too sleepy, no bite. I open my mouths for you?: She drawls, her voice dragging in exhaustion.

Resigned to the insanity that is my life, I accept her proposition and walk towards her. She opens her mouth wide, and I swiftly impale the diary on one of her lower fangs, taking great care not to nick myself on any of the wickedly sharp teeth. As the diary is driven over her fang, a screaming cloud of black smoke erupts from the newly torn hole in the leather.

I jump backwards in fright, stumbling awkwardly on my hands and feet. Embarrassed, I dust myself off as I stand back up, wondering why that didn't happen last time. I guess the memory didn't have a chance to get out this time round, and since it was still mostly trapped within the diary, it went out with a bit of a bang?

Too tired to even question the differences in diary deaths, I thank Magna for her help and trudge back to the Ravenclaw common room, dead on my feet by the time I reach my bed.

I think my dreams will bring me a bit closer to reality than this day has. Thank God I didn't need my pocket rooster.

Big snake talk like snek. Also, yes, felfyre is going to be green, a la Destruction Warlocks from WoW. What can I say? It is my main class.

Rewritten, 05/06/18.