Chapter 4: Turning Tides

Hogwarts, 1992

There was no time to mourn for his injuries, Draco found. Not too many days after the Quidditch match, in fact, just a day later, Colin Creevey was found petrified with his fried machinery in hand. Of course, this only intensified the rumours regarding the heir of Slytherin and his discovery of the Chamber of Secrets or whatever, and as the unofficial Slytherin prince, Draco was attracting a lot of, for once, unwanted attention. Fellow students of Hogwarts were busy either trading amulets and talismans for protection or avoiding Draco and any of his mates. And Draco's "mates" included Edmund Pevensie. In less than 30 hours, two of the most adored boys of Hogwarts (at least, by their looks) became the most plagued existence instead.

"It's quite ridiculous." Draco complained, as he once again laid his head on Edmund's lap. It was becoming a habit of his. Whether Edmund approved of it, Draco wasn't sure as the boy never did say anything on the matter. Draco did notice that the first time he ventured to lay his head on the boy's lap Edmund's face was as closest it could get to a form of shock. In truth, Draco himself wasn't sure what came over him to behave such way, but once done, there was no undoing it. So, he went with it, one of the traditional Malfoy tactics, pretending there was nothing abnormal, saving face as he was taught to by his parents.

"Fear can do that." Replied Edmund calmly, per usual, reading a book and not minding Draco's head on his thighs at all, or appearing to not mind. "It's rather flattering, actually," he added, "for them to think we, mere second years, could perform such high level of dark magic. We could probably wriggle our fingers at them, and they'll run like a headless cock."

That had made Draco snort. Edmund rarely spoke in so many words, and even then, he was never a man of vulgar words. To hear the word 'cock' from Edmund's mouth raised all kinds of funny and unfamiliar sensations in Draco. Shaking out them, however, Draco smirked. "Well, I'm not exactly against the idea of me being the heir of Slytherin."

Edmund hummed in a flat dulcet tone. Draco couldn't tell whether the boy was agreeing or disagreeing with the sentiment, but he liked the sound of it either way. It was comforting, he secretly admitted. He turned his head to face Edmund.

"Are you staying here?" He asked.

A questioning look of 'Why do you ask?' (or it could also have been 'Why do you care?') appeared on Edmund's face, but the boy answered Draco nonetheless. "Yes." A bit of bitterness or sadness surfaced as Edmund added, "always."

Draco wished to ask why that was, but he felt the dungeon air becoming even colder than usual and immediately shut up. His housemate, Draco learned overtime, had some unusual ability or affiliation with climate. Whenever Edmund was in a bad mood, the air surrounding him would turn frigid, and at its worst, frost would start to form on the objects near him. So, instead of asking why, Draco simply nodded and commented. "I think I'm staying, too. Have to catch up with Charms, and I can't concentrate at home."

Edmund stayed silent, but the cold had dissipated. Draco smiled at his small victory as he spotted a small smile appear on Edmund's lips.

About a week before the end of the term, the two Slytherin boys sat together at the back of the room as their potions professor, as usual, prowled through the room and made waspish remarks at the Gryffindor students. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley were whispering among themselves in the most suspicious way, and it was certain that they were plotting for some more misadventures that would somehow ultimately win them house points.

"Crabbe says he's seen the three of them going in and out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." Draco whispered, his face nearing Edmund's.

Edmund crinkled his face just a bit, between his brows, as he fell into his thoughts. Draco returned to his original position and went on with his potion brewing. He knew Edmund often needed quiet time for himself to come up with an answer to a difficult question. Still, he couldn't help but give a sideway glance toward the boy, curious and growing impatient to know what Edmund thought of the situations. He found the other boy intensely staring at the Potter's table. Harry Potter was ducking low, doing something in concealment, until there were sparks. Draco watched as Potter flicked the sparks toward Goyle's cauldron, seconds of the moment seemingly slowing down and lengthening to hours. Goyle's attempt at the Swelling Solution immediately exploded, splashing on everyone within close proximity of the cauldron. If it were not for Edmund's swift action, covering them both with his robe, Draco was sure he would have gotten the solution on his face, and that would not have been a pretty sight. Under the shield of his cloak, Edmund whispered, "it's a distraction."

He pulled down his robe, which was smoking a little from its contact with the solution bits, and looked round the room. His eyes were trained on the Granger girl. "There," Edmund whispered, "the front of her robe is bulging."

And it was, indeed, Draco found. "What's she got there, you think?" He asked.

"What else is there to steal here? Those are probably Snape's private collections." Edmund commented, unamused.

"You mean they stole potion supplies from Snape's office? What for?" Remarked Draco, in near admiration of the Gryffindors' recklessness.

Edmund exhaled sharply. "They're trying to make a potion is what. We may have to check with Snape to see what they're trying to brew." He said as he glanced at their professor who was now knowingly glaring at Potter. "Snape could likely tell what ingredients they took and what those things can make."

However, the two of them never really had the chance to talk to their professor, as they couldn't see him for another week when they spotted him as a "demonstrative" assistant to Gilderoy Lockhart's duelling club. And they missed the opportunity to talk to him that night as well, the two were too occupied by the newly revealed fact that Harry Potter is a Parselmouth. Unbeknownst to Draco was another fact revealed that Edmund was apparently able to understand Parseltongue as well. He wasn't sure he could speak it, but he understood Potter's words to the serpent. He was slightly startled to find out that Draco couldn't understand what was said and that everyone else thought Potter was egging it on to attack Justin Fitch-Fletchley. Edmund couldn't be sure what this meant, but if everyone around him were so afraid of a Parselmouth, it couldn't be too good, he concluded. He decided to keep his own ability a secret.

Draco had become incredibly sour about the whole growing accusation about Harry Potter being the Slytherin Heir. He couldn't believe the possibility of Potter taking the title, once again. And it all became far worse when the said Fitch-Fletchley boy was found petrified with the ghost Nearly Headless Nick. To all, Harry Potter was unofficially the Heir using his fanged servant to attack the muggle-borns in the school. Edmund could tell that Potter himself was not thrilled about the situation, but without any more chances to clear himself, the end of term approached, leaving only a handful of students at Hogwarts to celebrate Christmas at the castle.

"I can't believe they think he is the Heir to Slytherin!" Said Draco for what felt as the hundredth time. Having heard it so many times, Edmund did not bother to respond.

Not so differently from their other leisure times, Draco was lying on Edmund's lap as Edmund read a book, this time Snape's potion book. It wasn't exactly Catch-22, but it was worth the read. Also, Edmund was hoping to figure out just what kind of potion the Gryffindor trio could be brewing in the recent turn of events. Ah, hope, that was a funny word to use for him, Edmund thought.

…

At that moment, the three Gryffindors in Edmund's mind were discussing their plan to infiltrate the dungeon and get a confession out of Draco Malfoy. "We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him. I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

"Hermione, I don't think -"

"That could go seriously wrong -"

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had. "The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"What about Pevensie? I'd say he's Malfoy's best friend." Harry suggested.

Ron, nodding, agreed. "Yeah, sometimes it looks like it's Malfoy who's sticking by Pevensie, you know?"

They were both thinking that they would rather become a Pevensie than either of the trolly pure blood Slytherins. But Hermione shook her head. "He's too clever. We won't be able to trick him on time."

So begrudgingly, they followed her order and carried out the assignment. Soon, they were exiting Myrtle's bathroom, somehow without Hermione, as Crabbe and Goyle.

…

Not shortly after, Harry-Goyle and Ronald-Crabbe found Draco Malfoy and Edmund Pevensie walking toward the dungeon from the Great Hall. They just had an encounter with Percy Weasley, the prefect and Ron's brother, and was looking to escape him. Seeing Malfoy strolling toward them with Pevensie in his tow with his head buried in a book, not quite unlike Hermione, Harry, for the first time perhaps, was pleased by the boy's existence.

"There you are," the Slytherin boy drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny."

Then Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy. "And what are you doing down here, Weasley?" He sneered.

Pevensie took his eyes off of the book he was reading, which had been their potions coursebook, and glanced at Percy. Their prefect grew outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

Malfoy simply sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in time. He and Ron hurried after Pevensie and Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, "That Peter Weasley -"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy as he carelessly walked on, but Pevensie paused a second glancing backward. Harry could hear Ron gulping nervously. To their relief, Pevensie continued to walk, following closely behind Malfoy as the boy kept talking. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."

Malfoy gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron quickly exchanged excited looks.

The Slytherin boys stopped by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"What's the new password again?" Malfoy said to Harry.

"Er -" said Harry.

"Oh, yeah - pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, Pevensie behind him, and Harry and Ron followed them. Pevensie gave them another glance, which was quickly unnerving them both. Whatever Hermione was saying about Pevensie not being an evil person could be a huge miscalculation on her part, thought Harry.

As they entered the Slytherin common room, which was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains, Malfoy motioned them all, Pevensie, Harry and Ron, to sit on a empty chairs set back from the fire crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece. "Wait here," he said, "I'll go and get it; my father's just sent it to me -"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron sat down, doing their best to look at home. Pevensie was watching their every move, eyeing them part curiously and part suspiciously. Thankfully, Malfoy came back a minute or so later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose. "That'll give you a laugh." He said.

Harry heard Pevensie sighing from the side as he saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry. It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, an article about how Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, was fined for crashing an enchanted car. It included Lucius Malfoy's derogatory comment on the whole event, calling for Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," said Harry bleakly.

Pevensie was shaking his head behind them all. He folded the corner of the page he was reading and shut his book, looking up to face Malfoy. "You should really try not to be so vile, Draco."

That caught Harry and Ron's attention, as Malfoy seemed to cringe at Pevensie's comment. He said in a manner near to muttering, "That's why I'm showing it to Crabbe and Goyle, not you. I've got to let off some steam once in a while." He turned to face Harry and Ron and said scornfully, "Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them. You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."

Ron's - or rather, Crabbe's - face was contorted with fury.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy. Pevensie was laying his eyes on Ron as well, his face unreadable and frightening all the more.

"Stomachache," Ron managed to grunt out.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing then. You look as if you're about to have an aneurysm, but then, I guess you wouldn't want to what with it being filled with them." Said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully, " I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place." Then Malfoy stopped himself from continuing, glancing at Pevensie behind him, who only returned the gaze with a brow raised. He pressed his lips together at Pevensie's face and sighing, plopped down on the empty chair beside Pevensie. "I'm just tired of it, is all." He continued, his manner less provoking than before, more tamed. Ron and Harry shared a glance.

"Saint Potter," Malfoy scoffed, his tone clearly mocking. "And now they think he's Slytherin's heir!"

Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely second away from telling them it was him - but then before the boy could say anything else, Pevensie grabbed his arm, stopping him with his mouth open midway.

"I'm quite done in tonight. Draco?" Pevensie spoke, his voice but a gentle breath as he said Malfoy's name.

To Harry and Ron's absolute amazement (and admittedly, horror), Malfoy's eyes softened as he looked toward Pevensie and nodded compliantly. "Alright, I'll stop."

Pevensie smiled a little at that, but as the two of them gathered themselves and stood to leave, he landed a piercing glare on Harry and Ron. He laid his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "You go ahead. I think I can help Crabbe here feel better."

The near benevolent tone he used to address Malfoy while he continued to glared at them was completely jarring for Harry. It was terrifying, and he found himself wishing Malfoy would stay there with them just to make sure Pevensie wouldn't murder the both of them then and there in the dungeon.

"I'm pretty sure he'll feel better on his own after a trip or two to the loo." Muttered Malfoy, almost like a child.

"I've got to practice charms. Who's better to practice on than Crabbe or Goyle?" Said Pevensie with the slightest, smallest smirk creeping up the corner of his lips.

While both Harry and Ron internally shook their heads in horror, Malfoy chuckled and nodded. "Alright, but don't play with them for too long." Then he walked toward one of the corridors assumably leading to bed chambers.

"So…" Pevensie began as he pulled out his wand, a white supposedly wooden thing with what looked like crystal bits embedded on it. Harry hadn't seen a wand like that before. He hadn't known Pevensie's wand looked like it, either, as he never paid attention to him too much. "What shall I do with you? Mr. Weasley…" he glanced at Ron and then Harry, "and Mr. Potter."

"Ho!" said Ron, shuddering.

Pevensie looked at him, as did Harry. Ron's hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening - their hour was up, Ron was returning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too.

"Well, it looks like I didn't need my wand after all." Said Pevensie, even as he carefully aimed the wand at the two of them. He nodded as he said, "It was Polyjuice."

Harry and Ron slowly raised their hands in surrender. One thing they knew in common about Edmund Pevensie was that they should never cross him. He was as clever as Hermione (perhaps even more, though they would never tell Hermione that) and as cunning as Malfoy, or so they believed from their short encounters with him, especially the one that ended with Ron vomiting slugs.

"What do you want?" Pevensie asked coldly.

Mustering his Gryffindor courage, Harry ventured to open his mouth. "Who's the heir?" He said in a stronger voice than he intended, and he was slightly satisfied.

Pevensie seemed to pause at that. He hesitated only a moment before he remarked. "Not Draco."

Ron, forgetting how compromising the current situation was for them, heatedly argued. "'Course you'll say that. How can we believe you?"

"Silencio," said Pevensie as he waved his wand at Ron. He began to immediately protest, but Harry could not hear his voice.

Pevensie turned to Harry. "If it's information you need to take care of the situation, here's some. I hope you're more reasonable than him," he nodded toward Ron's way who had turned red on the face with anger. "Draco's not the heir. Though he wants to help whoever it is. I can tell you what I heard about the Chamber from his father's letter. It was opened once, fifty years ago, before Lucius's time. Things had been kept quiet, not much to say about it really, but there had been one death, a Muggle-born."

"Do you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?" Harry asked.

"He was expelled," answered Pevensie, quite faithfully, before he added, "supposedly." Then, looking around, he flicked his wand toward the exit of the common room. "You should leave now. Take your friend - he's not going to stay quiet forever - and leave."

Harry grimly nodded as he roughly ushered Ron, who was still protesting, toward the door. Before he stepped out, however, he turned around to face Pevensie once more. "Why are you doing this?" He asked.

Pevensie raised his brow in question. "Do what?"

"Helping Malfoy. You know he's not a good person." Harry spat out harshly.

"He's not a good boy. Doesn't mean he'll grow to be the same kind of man." In a deadly calm voice Pevensie answered.

"You think he'll change?" challenged Harry.

"You all change, whether you like it or not, Mr. Potter. You'll need to learn to judge others as you do yourself before then." Pevensie turned around and walked away into the darkness of the corridor.

Harry stood there with puzzled Ron, as he mulled over the words in his head. He walked out of the dungeon with mind swirling with so many different thoughts, concerning the Chamber of Secrets, the Slytherin's heir, Draco Malfoy, and Edmund Pevensie. It was only after a long while that he realised that the boy had said "you" instead of "we."