HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 37: Slouching Towards the Endgame, Pt. 1
27 April 1993
Team Protector Meeting
Marcus Flint had been justifiably proud of his first attempt at the Patronus Charm. The glowing sphere of silvery light he'd created was the best of anyone in the group ... until Neville Longbottom had blown him out of the water.
"And the worst thing of all was – he didn't even gloat!" thought Flint to himself ruefully. Truthfully, Neville was humble, conscientious, and dedicated, and Flint wondered how the hell he'd gotten into Gryffindor. Obviously, Longbottom would never have been Slytherin material, but Flint wished that he'd ended up in Hufflepuff instead of with the Lions. They might well have become friends.
The Slytherin prefect shook his head and turned his attention away from the other side of the DADA classroom, where Longbottom was once again wowing everyone with his giant silvery fog bank. However, the boy was still unable to take the next step and form a true corporeal Patronus. Since that first night, Marcus had been practicing the Charm like mad and was bent on completely mastering it before the precocious Gryffindor.
"Keep your grades up and after you've passed your NEWTs come see me," Rufus Scrimgeour had said at Harry's birthday. "Your great-grandfather – Caractacus Flint, Old Ironside we used to call him – was a great mentor to me when I was just starting out. I should be honored to return the favor to his descendant."
That (so far) was the single happiest memory of Marcus Flint's young life. It was the moment he realized that everything Harry had told him about his great-grandfather was true ... and also the moment when he first truly believed in the possibility of a future for himself beyond following his father's footsteps into drunkenness, thuggery, and most likely an early grave. He focused his mind on what Scrimgeour had said and on what the Chief Auror's words might mean for him. The Auror Academy. An honorable and well-respected position in the Ministry. A chance to make Great-Grandpa Ironside, in whatever afterlife he might have found, feel proud of his family name again. All of these things Marcus Flint focused on as he pointed his wand at the floor.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A silvery fog flowed out of Flint's wand to cover an area only slightly smaller than Neville's. But Marcus wasn't satisfied. Instead, he pushed more and more of himself into the spell and focused harder on his memory of Scrimgeour's words. Beads of sweat popped on his forehead, and there was a soft crack as he grit his teeth hard enough to hurt. The fog expanded more and more before abruptly collapsing in on itself. And suddenly, to Marcus's amazement, there was a glowing silvery animal in front of him. Specifically, there was a medium-sized boar standing almost three-feet-tall at the shoulder and displaying sizeable tusks. Immediately, the others stopped what they were doing and stared in awe until Harry and Neville finally started clapping and whistling. The others quickly joined in.
"Congratulations, Mr. Flint!" exclaimed Lockhart who was nearly bursting with pride. "And a boar, I see. Quite interesting. A symbol of courage and fierceness in battle, you know. They say boars pulled the chariots of the Norse gods Freyr and Freya, while in Greek myth, they were terrible monsters sent by the gods against champions like Hercules and Atalanta and allow them to prove their bravery. The Muggle King Richard III had a boar as his standard," Lockhart stopped and thought, "although perhaps he's not the best example to follow, ha-Ha!"
"Uh-huh," Flint said absently while he continued to stare at the Patronus as if afraid it would disappear.
"Have you thought of a name for it?" Lockhart asked.
The young man blinked. "A name, sir?"
"It's something of a tradition among those of us who can cast the complete spell. If you successfully produce a corporeal Patronus, you give it a name. One that speaks to the emotions that allowed you to summon it into existence."
Marcus studied the boar which looked as though it was studying him right back. The look it gave seemed to suggest that the boar was judging him for his act of summoning it into existence. While the final verdict wasn't in yet, it conditionally approved.
"Ironside," he said confidently. "His name is Ironside." With that pronouncement, Marcus suddenly noticed that he's knees were shaking, and as they started to buckle, Lockhart reached out to catch him. As Marcus lost focus, Ironside shimmered out of existence.
"Quite alright, Mr. Flint. That's to be expected." He turned to the rest of the group. "The Patronus Charm, like all esoteric spells, is in many ways like a muscle. It is not enough merely to learn the spell and perform it properly to achieve mastery. You must constantly work to maintain the proper mindset so that you can sustain the Patronus for longer and longer intervals before recasting. According to my research, no one has ever produced a Patronus under documented circumstances for longer than two minutes on a single casting, though there are tales of wizards and witches maintaining a Patronus for longer periods of time while in extreme danger such as when confronted by multiple Dementors or lethifolds."
Then, the man turned back towards Marcus, who was mopping sweat off is forehead. "And of course, summoning the Patronus is only the first step. There's also learning how to effectively send it into battle and how to use it to convey messages. So rest up for a few minutes, Mr. Flint, and then get back to work stretching those muscles! ha-Ha!"
Lockhart clapped Marcus on the shoulder. Marcus nodded and smiled, simultaneously exhausted and delirious at the thought of being one step closer to his future.
29 April 1993
Jim Potter sat alone (as usual, these days) at a table on the second floor of the Library as he reviewed his Potions notes for the next day's class. Lavender had stopped running tutoring sessions for him, supposedly because she was too busy with her work for Lockhart. Jim suspected, however, she just didn't want to associate with him now that his dark secret was out. He had known from the start that she was only interested in him because of the possibility that he'd provide a beneficial marriage prospect, something that was obviously was no longer the case. In retrospect, though, Jim realized that he'd been using her as well, offering her the role of Girlfriend-of-The-Boy-Who-Lived in exchange for her dropping out of Harry's study group and all simply as a way to annoy his brother. It was amazing now to think how petty he'd been as a firstie and no longer at all surprising to see karma coming back once again to bite him.
There was a soft cough from nearby, and Jim turned to see Cassius Warrington walking up. Jim pasted on a sincere-looking smile. Something about Warrington rubbed Jim the wrong way, but he had resolved to try being more open-minded towards the Snakes, and thus far Warrington had been nothing but civil to him.
"Good afternoon, Potter," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that our little dueling group is meeting tonight in the old ballroom on the third floor. We'd be delighted if you could join us."
"Thank you, Warrington, it's really kind of you to invite me. It's just ... well to be honest, with all this Heir of Slytherin business going on, I don't think it's wise to be seen with a group of upper year Slytherins studying advanced combat spells. I think it would probably just make people more suspicious of me. And likely more suspicious of your group as well."
"I understand," Warrington said with apparent sadness. "In times like these, a wise wizard keeps to his own counsel." Then, he nodded significantly.
Jim nodded back hesitantly as he did not, in fact, know what message Warrington's nod was meant to convey. Then, he had a sudden epiphany that both amazed and horrified him. "Does Warrington think I'm the Heir of Slytherin?! And if so, is that why he and his buddies have been acting so ... nice to me?!"
"So, um," he said aloud and with some trepidation. "If you don't mind me asking ... who do the Slytherins think the Heir really is?"
The other boy laughed softly and then sat down next to Jim. "We have a diversity of opinions," he said pompously. "Some people think it's you. Others think it's your brother, and he's just trying to frame you. Still others think it's Draco Malfoy and that his current ... association with that Mu ... Muggleborn from Hufflepuff is meant to serve as both a distraction and an alibi."
Ignoring the slur that Warrington had narrowly avoided making, Jim turned and looked across the Library to the table where Draco Malfoy was sitting with Justin Finch-Fletchley. The Hufflepuff was pointing out things to Malfoy in what appeared to be a Muggle newspaper called The Financial Times. Draco looked up and made eye contact with him before frowning disdainfully and then turning his attention back to the paper.
"Why Malfoy?" Jim asked out of curiosity.
"There is, shall we say, some suspicion that his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, might have been the original Heir of Slytherin. Granted, there's no known connection between the House of Malfoy and the Founder's line, but some people think he found the Chamber of Secrets and simply called himself the Heir of Slytherin for philosophical reasons or perhaps simply as a diversion for some more subtle scheme. Certainly, Old Abraxas was a more likely Heir than the groundskeeper."
Jim did a double-take. "The ... groundskeeper?!"
"Oh, you didn't know?" Warrington said with a smile. "Well, let me fill you in on the whole story ... or at least as much of it as I've heard."
Warrington and the Boy-Who-Lived talked for quite some time about the Heir of Slytherin, as well as other matters. And before they were done, Jim finally decided that he might just join the Slytherin dueling group after all.
2 May 1993
"Oh come on, Lavender, help a guy out!" Jim pleaded.
"For the last time, Jim. NO, I WILL NOT HELP YOU!" Lavender shouted in Jim's face loud enough for the whole Common Room to hear. As a dozen or more Gryffindors turned to stare at them, Jim started to blush.
"Fine, Lavender, forget I asked," he said irritably before heading up the stairs to his dorm room. Lavender looked after him as he departed, her anger fading into the rather sad expression she'd been wearing for weeks now. Among the Gryffindors, only Parvati knew that it was because her family's matriarch had written to her and forbade her from having any further dealings with "that damnable Parselmouth." And only Luna Lovegood knew how truly upset Lavender was over the matter and how much she'd come to genuinely care for Jim as a friend rather than as both a national icon and a profitable marriage prospect. Or at least that's what the older girl's nargles had indicated. Lavender sighed and walked across the room to drop down onto a couch next to Parvati and Hermione.
"What was that all about?" Parvati asked.
Lavender exhaled loudly. "Jim's just being ... stupid. Again."
"How so?" Hermione inquired.
"Well, he says he's been talking to Hagrid and 'some other people' – though he won't say who – and he's now convinced that Draco Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin. He says Draco's grandfather must have been the Heir who attacked all those Muggleborns back in 1943, and now Draco is just following in grandpa's footsteps."
"That's ridiculous," Hermione said dismissively. "The Malfoys aren't descended from Salazar Slytherin."
"I know, Hermione. I did say that Jim was being stupid!"
"Be that as it may," said Parvati, "what sort of help does he want from you because of it?"
Lavender looked around the room, but no one else was nearby except for Ron Weasley, who seemed engrossed in his reading. She gestured for the other two girls to lean in so she could whisper. "Well, you know that I've been working on Team Chameleon for Lockhart all year, right? Do either of you know what it is?"
"Something to do with potions, right?" Parvati responded. "I mean, you're on it, so it must be potions-related. And also chameleon-related, I suppose."
Lavender made a face at her friend's poor joke. "You could say that, I guess. He has us researching ways to identify someone under the effects of Polyjuice Potion. Well, by us, I mean the NEWT-level Potions students. The rest of us are spending all our time brewing the potion so that the upper years can have plenty of samples to experiment with."
"Polyjuice Potion!" exclaimed Hermione. "But that's a restricted potion!"
"SHHH!" hissed Lavender. She looked around the room, but no one seemed to notice, not even Ron who never looked up from his notebook. "He says he has Ministry approval, and anyway he keeps whatever we brew under lock and key."
"Still," said Hermione, "it's an incredibly difficult potion, isn't it? I can hardly imagine a Second Year even being able to brew it."
Lavender sniffed. "I'll have you know, Hermione, that Lockhart has said that my Polyjuice Potions are the best of anyone Fifth Year or below." At that, Hermione was suitably impressed with her fellow Gryffindor's skill.
"I'm sure that's totally wicked, Lav," Parvati jumped in, "but what does it have to do with Jim?"
Lavender sighed again. "He wants me to get him a vial or two of Polyjuice Potion so he can disguise himself as a Slytherin, slip into their Common Room, and get evidence that Draco Malfoy is the one who's been petrifying people."
The other two girls gaped. "That is stupid!" Parvati exclaimed.
"Yes, Parvati. That's why I said that. Twice."
With that, the three girls rose and left the Common Room for the supper. Behind them, only Ron remained in that corner of the room, still reading from his black notebook. After a few minutes, he began to rub his temples as if he were suffering from a migraine. Finally, he put the notebook away and headed upstairs.
Later that night ...
Ron had just finished brushing his teeth when things went odd. He was alone in the dormitory bathroom already in his pajamas and robe and almost ready for bed. The boy leaned over the sink to spit and then straightened up ... and gasped. The reflection that looked back out at him from inside the mirror wasn't his. Granted, it looked like Ron's reflection, but the eyes were sharper and craftier and far more intense. And that smile. So much more charming and likeable than Ron's own smile, and yet something about it made the boy want to recoil from the sight of his own face. He stepped back ... and then froze as thoughts which were not his thoughts slithered effortlessly through his mind.
***Be calm. You are not afraid but curious. You trust me.***
Immediately, Ron's face relaxed and he waited to see what the face in the mirror would do. In the corridors and alleyways of his mind, those foreign thoughts sought out memories of Jim Potter and of Slytherins, and whenever it found one, feelings of paranoia and dislike blossomed around them like a black rose. The Mirror-Ron studied his counterpart and then shook his head as if disappointed.
"I don't know why you're fighting me on this, Ron. You know what's at stake. You know Jim is the Heir of Slytherin. If you do this and pull it off, he'll be gone. Expelled from Hogwarts. He won't be able to hurt anyone again. And you will be the hero that saved everyone from him! What are you waiting for?"
Ron waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to bat away an insect that was harrying him. "I know he's the Heir ... probably. But ... this? I might get caught and get into real trouble. And even if it works and Jim gets expelled... What if he's innocent?"
"How could you possible think that the way he lied to us, Ron?"
***You feel betrayed. You feel jealous. You feel alone and unloved... except by me.***
Mirror-Ron paused and studied his counterpart silently for a few seconds. There was ... an obstacle, one that was interfering with the ongoing refinement of the boy's emotional connections. Then, a memory rose to the forefront of Ron's mind, and Mirror-Ron suddenly grew angry.
"Really, Ronald?!" the reflection said angrily. "He gave you a present on your birthday and now you've gone all weak?! This is a future Dark Lord we're talking about! Perhaps Voldemort himself reborn!"
Ron didn't respond. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to look away from his own reflection. Mirror-Ron calmed down and studied the boy speculatively.
"No, it wasn't just the present, was it? But it did make you remember something else. Show me!"
The boy shook his head furiously and kept his eyes shut. Then, he felt it. The cold sensation of a snake slithering around inside his brain. The sudden nausea as his thoughts and emotions were poisoned and violated by psychic venom. The terrible obscene hissing that echoed down the corridors of his memories.
***Show. Me.***
A second older memory surface. "Oh, yes," said Mirror-Ron contemptuously. "I see it now. It was last summer when you first went to Jim's house. When he praised you for being so brave and loyal and what a wonderful little Gryffindor your were! When you, a mere boy, actually promised to help Jim Potter kill Voldemort!" Mirror-Ron laughed cruelly and then grew serious. "Look at me, Ronald," he commanded in a harsh voice that didn't sound at all like Ron's own.
Ron shook his head and squeezed his eyes harder shut. The mind-snake hissed again.
***Look. At. Me.***
Instantly and uncontrollably, Ron's eyes popped open. He gasped in terror. His reflection was no longer smiling but was instead a mask of hatred with eyes the color of fire. "No," Ron thought. "The color of blood!"
Mirror-Ron smiled again, but there was not even a pretense of warmth in it, just sheer malice. "So, you've finally gained a measure of resistance, have you, Ronald? No matter. I have my own ways of doing things now, little boy, and your assistance is no longer required. Now, forget about all this. It's only a bad dream. Forget it, and go back to sleep."
"No ... you're ... what are you?!" Ron gasped in disgust.
Mirror-Ron's face hardened, and the snake hissed again.
***Sleep.***
The boy's eyes fluttered, and his knees buckled and gave way causing him to fall backwards towards the bathroom floor.
3 May 1993
Just before dawn...
Ron's eyes jerked open suddenly. His heart was racing, and he realized he must have been having a nightmare, though he couldn't really remember what it was about. Something to do with a mirror perhaps? "Probably that stupid Mirror of Erised, I bet. That was pretty scary." Then, he looked down and saw to his surprise that he was lying on top of the covers of his bed, still with his robe and slippers on. "Huh. I must have been more tired than I thought last night." He glanced over saw that the first glimmer of sunrise was creeping in through the window. He sighed, kicked his slippers off, and crawled back under his covers.
"Weird," he thought sleepily, "to have slept the whole night through and still feel so tired."
Later at breakfast...
Jim had just bitten into a sausage when the Head Boy came to inform him that his presence was required in the Headmaster's Office. "Merlin, what now?!" he thought to himself. Upon arrival, he saw that Dumbledore, McGongall, Snape, and Lockhart were waiting for him with grim expressions. Idly, he wondered why his mother had not been invited. Perhaps he was finally in so much trouble for something that not even they could help him.
"Please have a seat, Jim," said Dumbledore in a tired voice.
"Of course, he's tired," thought Jim miserably. "It's got to be exhausting having to put up with all my screw-ups for a whole year."
"I'll get right to the point, Jim. Can you account for yourself between the hours of midnight and four a.m. this morning?"
He blinked in confusion and shook his head. "I only have one person who shares a room with me, sir, and Neville's a pretty heavy sleeper. Sir, what's this about...?" He froze and his eyes widened. "Was someone else petrified?!" he asked in a fearful voice.
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "No, Jim. While serious, the matter is not as dire as that. Do you recall a conversation you had yesterday afternoon with Miss Lavender Brown? One held in front of several witnesses and during which you asked her to steal one or more vials of Polyjuice Potion from Professor Lockhart's classroom?"
Jim felt his stomach clench. He knew Lavender had been indignant about his request, but for her to have ratted him out?! "Well, I hadn't actually thought we were in front of witnesses..." he said lamely.
"Potter!" exclaimed Professor McGongall "This is serious!" Beside her Snape snorted contemptuously. Jim thought about the Headmaster's previous question.
"Sir? Was ... was some of the Polyjuice stolen from Team Chameleon's lab?" he asked nervously.
"Several vials, Potter," Snape said harshly. "Luckily, I suspect the culprit will be quickly found since we have a prime suspect with motive, opportunity, and a past history of thievery!"
Jim quailed at the reminder of the dark magic book he'd "stolen" from Borgin & Burkes the previous summer. Or more accurately, the fake memory of stealing the book his godfather had implanted with his consent the previous November. All that trouble, and no one had ever even bothered to check his memories after he'd simply presented a confession! And naturally, Snape was ready and willing to use that confession to brand him a thief now.
"I didn't take any of the Polyjuice, Professor Snape!"
"Of course you did," the Potions Master spat. "That's exactly the sort of chicanery I'd expect from a Potter."
"Oh come now, Severus," interjected Lockhart in a cheerful voice. "You'd hardly expect this sort of thing from the Slytherin Potter, would you?"
"He doesn't count!" Snape growled, and Lockhart laughed in response.
"Severus," Dumbledore said in a chiding voice. "You are here for your potions expertise, not to antagonize the boy because of his parentage. Please proceed."
"Proceed?" Jim practically squeaked. "Proceed with what?"
"There is a very simple spell, Potter," said Snape, "one that any competent potioneer would know. It will allow me to detect any trace elements of residual potions ingredients on you for up to twelve hours." Snape grinned evilly. "Now, show me your hands!"
Jim gulped and looked towards McGonagall, but there was no support to be found there. Slowly, he pulled out his hands and held them out. Snape pulled out his wands and waved them over the boy's hands in a complex pattern, and in response, Jim's hands lit up with a kaleidoscope of multi-colored lights. Snape studied the lights eagerly but then frowned.
"Well, Severus?" McGonagall asked tartly.
"There ... are no signs of any of the most important components of the Polyjuice Potion," he said with obvious disappointment. Then, he whirled around to face Dumbledore. "But that is not conclusive. After all, he may not have handled the potion directly yet, and if it had been bottled properly, there would have been no chance for contamination. I recommend another search of his quarters, Headmaster."
Lockhart sighed loudly in obvious annoyance. "Or we could just get it over with here and now. Show me your wand, Potter,"
Surprised, Jim did as ordered, while Lockhart pulled out his own wand before touching the two tips together. "PRIOR INCANTATO." There was a flash of light accompanied by what sounded like someone far away casting a Jelly-Legs Jinx followed by a succession of additional lights and the sounds of other curses and hexes and jinxes being cast. A few of them were upper-level and potentially dangerous spells, and Lockhart frowned in response while Jim licked his lips nervously. More spells followed out of Jim's wand, but none of them were nearly as troubling as those first few dozen. Finally, after nearly a minute, the display ended.
"Well, Headmaster," said the DADA instructor somewhat grimly. "While Mr. Potter seems to have been unusually aggressive last night, I am confident he was not involved in the theft. Or at least, not personally involved."
McGonagall looked relieved. "What was that spell, Gilderoy?" she asked curiously.
"Prior Incantato, Minerva," Dumbledore answered. "The Reverse-Spell Charm. It was added to the auror training program several years after you left Ministry service. It can usually force a wand to reveal what spells have been cast with it within the last hour. It is quite impressive, Gilderoy, that you were able to use it to reveal what spells Jim had cast within the last day."
Lockhart smiled almost bashfully. "You flatter me, Headmaster. Just a little something I picked up in my travels."
"I should like to hear the story of how you did so, my boy," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, "since I was given to understand that the improved version of the spell is only taught to aurors."
"Well, Headmaster," Lockhart replied with a mischievous smile, "I actually did learn it from an auror, a Romanian auror to be precise. Lovely lass. I helped her out with a case, and in exchange, she taught me that spell ... and a few other skills that have been of use to me over the years." At that, the DADA professor stared off into the distance with an odd but fond expression on his face. Snape and McGonagall both looked mildly disgusted for reasons that Jim couldn't fathom on account of him only being twelve and not yet fully aware of the virtues of the opposite sex.
"If we could return to the matter at hand, Gilderoy," said Snape with obvious contempt, "what exactly was that display meant to prove?!"
"Merely that the boy could not possibly have been the one to abscond with the potions early this morning. I've been quite conscientious about Team Chameleon's output. Whoever stole the potions had to get through Colloportus Locking Charms placed on the door to the DADA classroom, the door to the side room where Team Chameleon was doing its potions work, and the doors to the cabinet where the potions were stored. Except for myself, anyone who tried to reach those potions would have needed either an extremely high level lock-picking Charm which only a curse-breaker would likely know or an overpowered Alohomora. Now I suppose Jim could have done the last one – he's probably powerful enough despite his youth – but he could not have done so without whatever spell he used showing up under the Reverse-Spell Charm. Ergo, Jim Potter was not the one who stole the potions."
Jim relaxed at that ... until Lockhart turned back to him with a more pointed look. "And so, with that out of the way, we can turn to the unrelated but equally provocative question of what exactly Mr. Potter was doing last night that required the use of so many combat-related spells, at least three of which are so dangerous that they would be presumed dark magic in a court of law."
"Jim Potter!" McGonagall, who had finally started to relax for the first time since Jim had entered, practically shrieked in response to Lockhart's announcement. Snape looked predatory once again. Dumbledore merely gazed at the boy with a mild expression and his usual twinkling eyes.
Jim looked back and forth at the four teachers before he took a deep breath. "I wasn't fighting with anyone. Last night I was ... getting some dueling lessons."
"With spells like that, Potter?" spat Snape. "Who in this school would be so reckless as to teach a Second Year those?!"
The corner of Jim's mouth twitched. "It was mostly some of the upper year Slytherins, sir." Snape's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "They were concerned that I might need to be able to defend myself if attacked and offered me some extra coaching. They were all very helpful, Professor Snape. I'm quite grateful for the concern and assistance your House has shown to me."
And while Jim was still only a novice Occlumens, he was very relieved that what little skill he had was enough to keep him from smirking at the look on Severus Snape's face.
That afternoon after Fourth Year DADA...
"Mr. Weasley, a word?" Lockhart called out. As the other students filed out, George Weasley made his way to the instructor's desk. "Your wand, please?"
Nonplussed, George pulled out his wand, and Lockhart cast Prior Incantato on it, revealing all the spells the boy had cast within the last day, none of which were at all surprising or controversial.
"Sir?" he asked out of concern.
"As you might have heard, someone stole several vials of Polyjuice Potion last night. I was merely confirming that you have not cast any of the spells that could have been used to facilitate the theft.
George's eyes flashed angrily. "You thought it was me, sir?!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Weasley. I was supremely confident in your innocence. But I cannot look back farther than one day with Prior Incantato, so if I wished to serve as your alibi, I needed to cast it upon your wand as soon as possible." Lockhart put his wand away. "So now that we've established your shining innocence, tell me - how is Ancient Runes treating you?" he asked, changing the topic. George hesitated.
"It's ... frustrating. Professor Babbling insists that I stick to 'acceptable standards of runic arrays' which are, well, boring. I don't understand why I'm stuck using traditional arrays when the ones I've been using work better."
"Hmm. Ask me that again after you've graduated, Mr. Weasley. The answer might surprise you. Anyway, the goal now is to learn what you can from Professor Babbling and get good grades. Runic magic doesn't set off the Trace, so you can always experiment during the summer." Lockhart chuckled softly. "Right, ha-ha! As if you weren't going to do that anyway!" He turned more serious. "How is your brother Fred doing?"
"We owl each other regularly. He's still a bit down but working hard on his studies. He's hoping that he can pass his exams with self-study so he won't be held back a year."
"Well, send him my best regards. Now, before you go, I have something for you." Lockhart handed George a rolled up scroll. "This rune sequence is outside of the area you've been working on for the last few months – excellent work so far, by the way – but it might be something you can incorporate into it and so improve the effectiveness of your own ward-piercing scheme. Take a look and tell me what you think. Please be careful not to activate it as it's potentially," Lockhart coughed, "explosive."
George's eyes widened in surprise at the level of trust Lockhart was placing in him. "I'll be careful, sir. And thanks ... for everything."
"Don't mention it, Mr. Weasley," he replied before looking down at the exploding runes he'd just handed off to a notorious prankster. "Please don't mention it."
4 May 1993
Just after lunch...
As the Second Years left the Great Hall, Jim happened to walk out into the corridor alongside Justin Finch-Fletchley who did a double-take and swallowed hard. Almost immediately, Susan Bones, who was from an old Pureblooded family, moved in between the two as if to shield the Muggle-born. Jim noticed and shook his head.
"For Merlin's sake, guys, I'm not the Heir and I'm not going to petrify Justin or do anything else to him or anyone else."
"I know you won't, Jim," said Susan with a serious expression. "Because we Hufflepuffs look out for one another."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Bones. Besides I thought Justin had Malfoy to watch out for him. He's more likely to be the Heir than I am."
"That's slander, Potter," Draco drawled from behind them. "Be careful. My family's lawyers are better than yours."
The group stopped in front of a painting of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland. "Typical, Malfoy. Always hiding behind your family's riches," Jim said.
Draco laughed. "I wasn't aware the Potters had been toiling away in poverty all these years. How many bedrooms does your manor house have again?"
"Say Potter," Susan interrupted. "You say you're not the Heir of Slytherin despite the fact that you are a Parselmouth. Why don't you use your Parseltongue to find out who is the Heir?"
Jim folded his arms. "And how am I supposed to do that, Bones?"
"Well, there are snakes in paintings all over this school, Potter. Why don't you talk with them and ask them what they know about the topic?" Next to Susan, Draco's eyes widened slightly. From Potter's reaction, it appeared that he'd never even tried talking to any artificial snakes, any one of which could have informed him that Harry was also a Parselmouth.
"Really, Miss Bones," Draco said with a deceptively easy laugh, "just because Potty here can talk to snakes doesn't mean that he can communicate with a picture of a snake! That would be ludicrous!"
"Yeah, Bones," Jim said. "I highly doubt that every single thing that looks like a snake can carry on a conversation in Parseltongue."
"Well," Susan replied defensively, "you'll never know if you don't even try."
"Fine, fine!" said Jim. He pushed his way past the other students to face the nearby painting. In the back of the group, an anxious Draco looked around for Harry or anyone else who might aid in causing a distraction. As Jim studied the painting, it seemed that most of the snakes depicted were too small and far away to focus on, but there was a large adder hanging from a tree near Saint Patrick's head. Jim studied the snake for a few seconds before looking around at the crowd that had gathered. Suddenly, he felt oddly exposed as so many classmates who had been fearful of him for months now regarded him with curiosity.
The boy took a deep breath and focused his attention on the adder. Then, he hissed. Instantly, most of the students around him took a reflexive step away. The adder, however, was not impressed and did not respond or even move. Jim turned back towards the crowd.
"There. Satisfied?" Jim said irritably. He turned and headed on to class. As he left, Draco watched after him with an intense expression.
"I'll catch you up, Justin," said Draco. "I left something in my dorm room." With that, Draco turned and quickly left the scene, nearly bumping into Ron Weasley as he passed.
Just a few minutes later, Draco found Harry Potter in another corridor. "A word, Potter?" he whispered urgently to the surprised boy who followed him into a nearby boys' toilet.
"So, what's so important, Drake?" Harry said amiably.
Draco wrinkled his nose at the nickname. He was still ambivalent if not actively offended by it, but "Drake" had taken hold among the other Slytherin Quidditch players, and he feared he was stuck with it for the foreseeable future. Before responding, Draco set up privacy wards with a shaky hand.
"Harry," he said. "I just watched Jim Potter try to talk with that snake in the painting of the Muggle saint hanging in the main corridor near the east wing."
Harry was visibly concerned. "What, Proinsias?" he asked relating the Irish snake's proper name.
"If you say so," Draco replied irritably. "What's more important than the wretched thing's name is that it wouldn't respond. Harry, is there some ... trick to getting painting-snakes to respond to you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, they react just like living snakes once you begin paying proper attention to them." Then, his eyes widened in shock.
"What?" Draco asked in response to his reaction.
"There's nothing wrong with me," Harry said in wonderment. "My Parseltongue works fine. The problem is with the snakes of Hogwarts! Something is preventing them from responding!"
"But what could do that?!"
Harry drew a long shaky breath before responding. "Only one person I could think of," he said. "The Heir of Slytherin!"
"What?!" Draco exclaimed.
Harry shook his head. "We don't have time to explore this now. Get word to the others. We'll meet up in the Lair tonight and start brainstorming. The Heir of Slytherin now has my undivided attention!"
Draco nodded and headed for the door before Harry called out to him.
"Drake! Thanks for ... well, for letting me know about this so fast. I owe you."
Draco sniffed. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure I'll find some way for you to pay me back."
Unfortunately, when that night's meeting of Harry's Slytherin entourage was called to order, Draco was not there. Nor was Missy Bulstrode at first, and when she finally arrived, she was pale and visibly upset.
"Potter," she said in a breathless voice. "I'm afraid Malfoy won't be joining us."
Draco Malfoy's petrified form lay on the ground, just a few feet away from that of Justin Finch-Fletchley. On the wall behind them was another message from the Heir.
MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS ALIKE
SHALL FEEL THE HEIR'S TERRIBLE VENGEANCE
Nearby, several teachers were taking in the scene with horrified expressions, and McGonagall was consoling a weeping Pomona Sprout. Dumbledore, Lockhart and Snape were examining the petrified bodies together.
"Well," Lockhart said brightly, "on the bright side, I guess now we can eliminate Mr. Malfoy as a suspect."
Snape was not amused.
The next chapter will be posted sometime between Monday, March 28, 2016 and Wednesday, March 30, 2016. Draco is petrified... and Lucius is pissed. This update was both late and fairly short, for which I apologize, but real life intruded. I'm pleased to get it in at all within my self-imposed deadline.
AN 1: The dialogue between Lavender and Hermione was just a small joke. In this continuity, Hermione considers Jim to be a casual friend and housemate instead of someone she's devoted to. At the same time, Hermione is less suspicious of Slytherins in general and Draco in particular. Accordingly, she never even once considered brewing Polyjuice in a disused lavatory in order to investigate the Slytherin Common Room, let alone going so far as to acquire the recipe and the ingredients through larcenous means. Lacking any reason to brew the potion herself, she concludes that the formula is way too hard for a Second Year.
AN 2: I always thought that CoS and the canon-series in general really did Ginny a disservice by not showing any meaningful parts of her possession or any meaningful aftereffects so that we'd have an opportunity to see her as something other than a "silly little girl." Being possessed should be horrifying for the character and the reader alike.
AN 3:This chapter was updated on 3/24/2016 (a) to remove the word "memetic" which, to my great surprise, did not actually exist in 1993 (hat tip to "SomeGuyFawkes" for that correction) and (b) to strike the previous AN 3 in which I thoughtlessly maligned the noble and beloved otter thereby incurring the wrath of a surprisingly large number of otter fans. UPDATED AGAIN on 3/29/2016 to modify the diary's mental assault on Ron to make it seem less like a computer voice. Let me know in reviews if you like the improvements.