Well, back again.

So, why's this update so late? Easy — I've been working more on my original stuff, particularly my drawing. You see, my goal has always been to be able to earn a living doing art, and I've got to the stage where it looks like I might actually be able to do that. But, sadly, when you do several creative things the thing you don't make any money on and don't have a deadline for tend to take a backseat when it comes to priorities.

That said, I'm not abandoning Weasley Girl. The end of Secrets of the Past is near; the big climactic battle of the year is over and all that's left is to wrap up some of the loose ends and set things up for what comes next. Which means that this story clocks in at a respectable twenty chapters plus epilogue — true, it's hardly the longest HP fanfic on this site, but still the longest story I've ever written.

So, what does he future hold for this AU? Well, there'll be a couple of short stories set in the same universe, and of course there'll be the third and final novel in the trilogy… which I've finally settled on a name for.

It's going to be called Weasley Girl: War of the Prophecy.

WEASLEY GIRL: SECRETS OF THE PAST

Based on the Harry Potter stories by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER NINETEEN
I Can Listen

"Scabbers was really an Animagus."

"Yes."

"Scabbers was really an Animagus."

"For the fifth time, Ginny, yes."

They were all walking down the stairs towards the first floor, Fawkes perched comfortably on Ronnie's shoulder.

They probably looked quite a sight; dirty and dishevelled after their trip down to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry and Ronnie's robes still torn and bloody — but all in all, for a group of students that had just faced a basilisk they were remarkably all in one piece, not a single one of them dead or Petrified.

The climb up from the chamber would have been hard if they hadn't had Fawkes with them. But the phoenix was still surprising them with her new abilities — he'd simply made Ronnie hold on to his leg, and then with everyone else holding on to each other (and Hermione holding Crookshanks) he had flown them up the pipe and back into the Room of Requirement, as easily as if they weighed nothing.

Since they didn't know if Dumbledore was back yet, Percy of course insisted on going to Professor McGonagall with the diary immediately, and nobody had contradicted him. So here they were, on their way to the Deputy Headmistress's office.

If Ronnie was to look on the bright side, at least the revelation about Scabbers had her Prefect brother off-balance to such a degree that he'd barely even lectured her about how foolish she'd been changing down to the Chamber of Secrets on her own. For the moment, after the initial moment of disbelief, he was much busier berating himself for being an idiot.

"I should have known," he said. "No normal rat lives to be more than eleven years old! I suppose I just didn't want to question… Nobody wants their pet to die, after all…" He looked at Ronnie and Ginny with concern, with a particular anxious look at Ginny. "You realise he stayed in your room for over a year?! Who knows what he could have got up to?!"

"Oh, thanks, Percy," said Ginny with a mortified look. "I was just trying not to think about that."

"I can't believe we used to view the name 'Wormtail' as one of the greatest in wizarding history," said Fred hotly. "If we ever see that rat again, I say we feed him to the cat."

"Speaking of which," said George, "where is the cat?"

They all looked around. Crookshanks, who had been walking alongside them, bottle-brush tail held high, was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

"Damn," said Ronnie. "Bet you anything he's gone after Wormtail."

"Well, you're not going after him," said Percy, giving her a look that was a perfect mix of sternness, annoyance and concern. "You're coming with us to Professor McGonagall's office."

"All right, all right!" Ronnie suddenly felt too tired to argue. The last few hours had been an emotional hurricane of gigantic proportions, and at the moment all she wanted to do was to go to bed and sleep for a week.

But, she thought, if she was feeling exhausted, that couldn't possibly compare to how Harry must be feeling: In less than a day, he'd learned about the betrayal of his parents, got kidnapped, got bit by a basilisk, found his Uncle, lost his Aunt, been outed as a Parselmouth… and a teenage You-Know-Who had promised to come after him when he least expected it.

She looked over at her best friend, who had been silent ever since they had left the Chamber of Secrets.

"Fawkes," she said to the phoenix on her shoulder. "Would you mind sitting on Harry's shoulder for a bit? I think he needs you more than I do right now."

Harry turned his head to look at her. For a moment, the corners of his mouth turned upwards; it wasn't a big smile but it was still heartening to see. "It's all right," he said. "I don't think he has quite the same effect on me as he does on you."

"Oh."

"It's all right. I just — I don't even know what I'm going to tell Uncle Vernon or Dudley."

She suppressed the wince. The image of Petunia Dursley dissolving was still vivid in her mind, and she suspected she'd just discovered what her nightmares for the next ten years would be about. "Want me to be with you when you do?" she offered, not sure if she hoped whether he would answer yes or no.

"I could come," said Hermione. "I'm Muggle-born, I… I know how to talk to Muggles."

"Me too!" said Colin. The Animaloqui had been lifted off him, and he was speaking normally again.

"I could too," said Neville softly. "I don't know much about Muggles, but I know a bit about what it's like to lose someone…"

"Scabbers was mine," said Ginny. "It should be me. I know your Uncle and I didn't hit it off very well, but…"

"Actually," said Percy, clearing his throat in that special pompous way that he always used whenever he was about to make a suggestion he didn't really want to make. "I am a Prefect, and as such it's my job to help other students, so — Harry, if you need me to break the news to your Uncle, I will. I'm certain I can break it to him gently."

"No offense, Perce," said Fred, "but remember when Uncle Bilius died and you tried to break the news gently to Ginny?"

"Yeah," said George, "far as I remember, you spent half an hour talking about Cheering Charms before you got around to mentioning that he was dead."

Ronnie had a brief, but horrifying mental image of Percy standing by Vernon's bed in the hospital wing and delivering an hour-long rambling speech in which nothing was said about Petunia until the last ten seconds. She chose not to share it with the others.

Harry took a deep breath. "Thanks for the offers," he said, looking at them all. "But I think I should do this myself. Let's just get this diary to Professor McGonagall."

They heard Lucius Malfoy long before they saw him.

"— Dumbledore's disdain for the Board of Governors is well-documented," he was saying, apparently in the middle of an angry rant. "But I would have thought he would at least be interested enough in his job to make certain he is at least present on school grounds when he knows the Chairman is coming to call! I am going to take this up with the Board first thing in the morning."

As they approached McGonagall's office, they could see Mr. Malfoy standing outside it, elegantly dressed in his travel cloak and clearly on his way out — but from the annoyed look of McGonagall, who was standing in the office doorway, it was clear that he had been 'on his way out' for several minutes.

"I assure you that everyone here at Hogwarts, including the Headmaster, has exactly as much respect and reverence for the Board of Governors as it deserves," came the dry voice of Professor McGonagall. "Nevertheless, I shall make certain to inform him of everything you said the moment he returns. Please, do not let me trespass any further on your valuable time, Mister Malfoy — what in Merlin's name?"

The last exclamation came when she spotted Potter's Gang and friends. Even Mr. Malfoy stopped his angry ranting and looked as the group with clear surprise.

"What are you lot doing wandering around the corridors?" she demanded. "And look at the state you're in! Filthy and dishevelled — Mister Weasley, I expected better of you, you should know that your Prefect rounds are not an occasion for family gatherings — Merlin's beard!" she interrupted herself, surprise mixing with shock as her eyes fell on Harry and Ronnie; dirty, scraped-up and with torn, blood-soaked robes. "Mister Potter, Miss Weasley — what on Earth happened to you two?"

Percy stepped forth. "Professor McGonagall," he said in his customary pompous way. "I'm fully aware we're out past curfew, but I must claim extraordinary circumstances. I believe this should begin to answer some of the questions."

He held out Riddle's diary; old and battered and with covers still stained with Ronnie's blood, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

McGonagall looked at it. "Mister Weasley!" she said, her voice suddenly very quiet. "Is this what I think it is?"

Lucius Malfoy, however, eyed the book with disdain. "Students arrive to give the Deputy Headmistress an old and blood-stained diary," he sneered. "I would say I was shocked at the behaviour of Hogwarts students these days, but as I already have had ample time to discover, Weasleys have no concept of proper behaviour. If you will excuse me, Professor McGonagall, I will take my leave now."

"Feel free, Mister Malfoy," said McGonagall, who was never taken aback for very long. "It appears I will be busy talking to my students anyway. You may use the Floo in the Caretaker's office."

"I will find my own way out, thank you very much," said Mr. Malfoy. Then, he raised his voice, and barked, in a loud, sharp voice. "Dobby! Come here at once!"

"Dob—" Ronnie began, but managed to stop herself just in the nick of time.

Because all of a sudden, with a loud CRACK, a very familiar house-elf appeared out of thin air.

If it was possible, Dobby looked even more worn and haggard than he had when Ronnie saw him last. Instead of the old pillowcase he'd worn then, he was now dressed in an old rag that looked even more tattered and torn, and he seemed to have acquired a few more bandages as well.

"Master calls —" he began, and then stopped. For a brief moment, his eyes went to the diary in Percy's hand. He turned his head, meeting Ronnie's eyes, looking more afraid than ever.

Mr. Malfoy seemed to be too busy fuming to notice. "Yes," he said. "I'm leaving this miserable school, and I want you to — is something wrong with your eye?" he suddenly snapped.

"No, Master!" squeaked Dobby, trying to pretend he hadn't been winking at Ronnie and Harry. "Dobby is sorry! Dobby will immediately punish himself when we gets home!"

"See that you do," said Mr. Malfoy, in a tone that suggested that he was showing the poor house-elf a great mercy by not taking it further. And then, he ignored them all and turned back to McGonagall: "Since I have no intention of wasting my time any further —"

Behind him, Dobby shot desperate glances at Harry and Ronnie. He motioned to the diary, and then pretended to strangle himself.

And Ronnie suddenly got it. Time seemed to slow down as the last puzzle piece fell in place in her head. Of course. That was what had happened. She hadn't really taken much notice of the words at the time, but that was what Crookshanks had meant when he talked about 'that 'orrid man.'

"Mister Malfoy," she said, and it was as if she heard her own voice coming from far away. "Before you go, could I ask you something?"

Her friends looked at her in astonishment, and even McGonagall was raising a brow — but Mr. Malfoy just presented her with the same expression he'd worn back at Knockturn Alley; as if he had just spotted a nasty insect he would rather just crush as soon as possible. "What?" he snapped.

"I was just wondering," said Ronnie. "How did you know that book was a diary? Doesn't say so on the cover."

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. "Well, what else could it be?" he said. "It's clearly not a schoolbook, so it's not exactly a difficult guess."

"I don't think you guessed," said Ronnie, and her voice was getting stronger in her own ears. "I think you knew. I think you've seen that diary before."

"Ridiculous," Mr. Malfoy scoffed. "A filthy Muggle diary? Where would I have seen something like that?"

"And how did you know it was a Muggle diary?"

"Only a Muggle diary would be that sorry-looking!" Mr. Malfoy shot back without missing a beat. "This is ludicrous. I refuse to stand here and let a foolish little girl waste my time with inane questions!"

"Mister Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall suddenly snapped. The expression on her face was one she usually reserved for particularly obnoxious or misbehaving students; apparently, she had reached the end of her patience. "I will thank you not to use that tone of voice when you are speaking to one of my students!" Her voice softened somewhat. "I, for one, am quite interested in what Miss Weasley has to say."

"She is clearly trying to besmirch my good name!" Mr. Malfoy hissed.

"I was not aware," said McGonagall, "that the good name of Malfoy was so frail that it could be toppled by a Muggle diary. Miss Weasley, please go on."

Ronnie looked at her, and then at Mr. Malfoy. "I think," she said, "that you've seen that diary because you were the one who gave it to me. Back at Flourish & Blotts this Summer."

"When Scabbers escaped!" said Ginny, getting it.

Hermione gasped. "Of course!" she said. "I can't believe I didn't think of that! Ronnie shoved her books at me, and I dropped them on the floor —"

"— and then everyone else got distracted by Scabbers escaping," Harry finished. "Mr. Malfoy could easily have slipped the diary into one of Ronnie's books!"

Fred looked murderous. "You were the one who gave our sister that diary?!" he growled at Mr. Malfoy.

"Absurd!" said Mr. Malfoy. "I have never given any of you Weasleys anything, much less a Muggle diary. If that thing ended up inside one of the books that you bought, blame the incompetents at Flourish & Blotts, not me!"

"Oh, really?" said Ronnie. "What if I tell you that my cat saw you with that diary!"

"Then I would strongly suggest that you get your foolish little head examined," said Mr. Malfoy icily. "Your cat saw me with the diary. Honestly. I suppose it told you that? I refuse to stay here and listen to this. When the Headmaster returns, inform him that the Board of Governors would like a word with him!"

"That won't be necessary," came a sudden familiar voice from further down the corridor. "I am right here and quite ready to hear whatever the Board of Governors has to say."

And there, further up the corridor, the Headmaster came walking towards them, smiling calmly, his blue eyes twinkling characteristically behind half-moon glasses. With a musical trill, Fawkes flapped his wings and took off from Ronnie's shoulder, to settle on Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore gently stroked the phoenix's feathers with a long, bony finger. "My apologies, Lucius," he said. "I had a pressing appointment in Yorkshire, but as you can see, I am back now."

Fawkes affectionately nipped Dumbledore's ear with his beak and let out a series of musical trills.

Dumbledore cocked his head and looked at the bird, eyebrows raising. "Really?" he said. "My word. I have only been away from the school for an hour's time, but it seems like quite a lot might happen in one hour."

Mr. Malfoy had stopped dead in his tracks. It was clear that he didn't like how this situation was developing. And yet, he managed to insert quite a bit of his normal contempt in his voice when he spoke again: "Weasley talks to cats, and the Headmaster talks to birds? I would say this school was going to the dogs, but clearly that is too weak an expression!"

Dumbledore just smiled genially. "Oh, while there are many wizards who can talk to animals, I will make no claim to that ability," he said. "But it appears these students have found an object that the faculty have been searching for… oh, for quite some time now. May I see it, Mister Weasley?"

"Of course, Headmaster." Percy handed to book to him.

"Thank you." Dumbledore turned the book around in his hands, opened it and briefly thumbed through the pages before looking back up at them. "My word," he repeated. "This is interesting. Minerva, may we perhaps borrow your office for a bit? I believe there are some things I would like Lucius to explain."

"I believe so too," said McGonagall, looking at Mr. Malfoy.

For the first time, Mr. Malfoy looked a little taken aback. "I do not have the time —" he began.

"Really? I was under the impression that you were only leaving because I had not shown up yet," said Dumbledore. "Well, here I am. And I will be most interested to hear what the Chairman of the Board of Governors has to say."

Mr. Malfoy didn't seem very eager to hear anything that Dumbledore had to say — but to his credit he didn't flinch or try to make excuses. He just pulled himself up to his full height and let his gaze swipe over everyone present. It was a gaze that promised that he would remember this day, and he would remember that they were all there. Then, he focused on Dumbledore again and said, calm as you please: "This is pointless. I have done nothing wrong. You can't prove otherwise. And you know as well as I do that animals can't testify in any court."

"Oh, I'm certain nobody has spoken of taking this to court," said Dumbledore. He turned to look at Potter's Gang. "Would you be so kind as to wait for me here? It shouldn't take long, and I do think we have much to discuss."

"I think we do, sir," said Harry.

"Then I shall be back with you in a few minutes. Now, do come along, Lucius — did you know that Yorkshire has the oldest still-running Muggle sweet shop in the world? They do have some rather excellent Dutch honey liquorice which I still have some pieces of, and you are quite welcome to partake —" Dumbledore's voice was friendly and polite as always, but just like with McGonagall earlier on there was a certain edge to his voice that suggested that trying anything foolish right now would be… well, extremely foolish.

The three adults entered McGonagall's office, Fawkes perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. The door closed behind them, leaving the students out in the corridor.

They all looked at one another. Fred was still red in the face, but had managed to refrain from doing anything worse than glare at Mr. Malfoy.

"Wouldn't like to be Lucius Malfoy right now," said George. "Well, I wouldn't have liked to be him at any time, that goes without saying. But being on the wrong side of both Dumbledore and McGonagall? Don't fancy his chances in there."

Hermione, however, had turned to Dobby. The house-elf was standing a few feet away, nervously fiddling with the old rag he was wearing, and looking utterly lost and forlorn.

"Dobby," she said, in a gentle voice. "Are you all right?"

Dobby gave her a mournful look. Then, just like his master had done, he let his gaze swipe over everyone present —but where Lucius Malfoy's eyes had promised vengeance, Dobby's held nothing but regret. "Dobby is sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" Neville repeated, speaking for the first time since he'd offered to talk to Harry's Uncle. "You haven't done anything wrong!"

"Dobby hasn't done anything right either," Dobby murmured.

"That's not true!" said Ronnie. "Your talk with Crookshanks saved Harry's life! If I hadn't found out from him about the Chamber of Secrets —"

Dobby shook his head. "Miss Shirley Holes is too kind to a poor house-elf," he said. "But, 'tis a poor service to one so great as Harry Potter. Would that things were different, Dobby could have been of more help. As it is," he sighed, "Dobby has to punish himself severely when he gets home, for — for almost working against his family." This last part came as a hushed whisper, as if he was speaking some huge taboo.

"Why d'you stay with them, anyway?" said Harry, who seemed to feel bad for the miserable elf. "Why don't you just, I don't know, leave?"

"Leave Dobby's family?" Dobby squeaked, covering his mouth with his large hands. "Not even in jest, Harry Potter, not even in jest!"

"House-elves are magically bound to their families, Harry," said Percy — though his normal pompous tone of voice was absent. "The only way they can be freed from that bond is if they are presented with clothes. That's why they never wear actual clothes, you understand; any article of clothing is a symbol that their service is over."

Harry, Hermione and Colin all looked surprised at this. Of course – they had all grown up in the Muggle world and didn't know much about house-elves.

"That's…" Harry blinked.

"That's not right!" said Hermione hotly. "That's slavery!"

"I was going to say, 'that's ridiculous,' but we can go for your definition if you like, Hermione," said Harry. "Because I'm guessing the job as a house-elf doesn't pay very well?"

"Pay?" said Dobby, as if he had never heard the word before.

"Yeah, you know, wages!" said Colin, always eager to add his voice to the conversation. "Money!"

"Wages..." Dobby got an almost dreamy look on his face. "Dobby would love wages. They would mean Dobby wasn't owned. Dobby would be... his own master." Once again, he spoke the last words in a hushed whisper, as if he was talking about things he really shouldn't be talking about.

"Slavery," Hermione repeated, now in a low growl.

"But you can be set free with clothes?" said Harry, looking thoughtful. "What if I just give you one of my socks, Dobby? Would that do it?"

Dobby shook his head. "The clothes has to be passed to Dobby from his master's hand, sir," he said. "Harry Potter is great and kind and wonderful, but even he can't work against the enslavement of the house-elves." He gave them all a long, mournful look. "You is good children. Dobby is happy he met you all. But forget Dobby, he isn't worth the trouble."

Hermione looked pained. "Isn't there anything we can do for you?"

"Dobby doesn't think so, Miss. But," he added, sounding a little more cheerful. "If Dobby in some small way aided the great Harry Potter, then Dobby will punish himself with a light heart."

Ronnie took a deep breath and stepped closer to the elf. "Dobby," she said. "If we can't do anything else, we can at least give you a warning."

"A warning, Miss Shirley Holes?" Dobby looked at her with big eyes.

"Riddle's spirit escaped from the diary. He's out there somewhere." When Dobby neither started to shriek in fright nor ask her what she was talking about, Ronnie went on: "And, er, I might have pretended to be Draco Malfoy while writing to him. I'm not sure if it means anything, but, you know, in case he comes to seek out the Malfoys…"

Dobby nodded solemnly. "Dobby will have been warned. Thank you, Miss Shirley Holes."

"One thing, Dobby," said Harry. "When I met you this Summer, and you warned me about the terrible things that were about to happen, you swore that they didn't involve Vol—" He stopped in the middle of the name as Dobby tensed. "You said it had nothing to do with He Who Must Not Be Named."

For the first time, Dobby smiled. It was a small, sad smile, but in some weird way smiling suited him. "It was a clue, sir," he said. "Dobby was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named. You see?"

"Er — right," said Harry weakly, exchanging glances with Ronnie. From his expression, she knew what he was thinking: What a clue. Not even the real Shirley Holes could have figured that one out.

"But now, Dobby shall have to leave, else he will never have time to finish polishing his family's silver before punishing himself," said Dobby. "Dobby's Mistress was very clear that she wanted all the silver to sparkle. Good-bye, children."

And with another loud CRACK, he was gone, leaving behind a corridor that seemed all the darker and more silent for his absence.

"Poor bugger," Ronnie finally said. "Bit of a nutter, mind, but…"

"He did stop my letters all Summer, got me in trouble with the Dursleys, and tried to block my way to Hogwarts," said Harry. "Not to mention that mad Bludger. Yeah, I'd say he was a bit of a nutter. But not a bad person."

"He doesn't deserve the Malfoys," said Neville with a sigh. "But he was right. We can't go against his enchantment."

"D'you suppose we could, perhaps, buy him off the Malfoys?" said Colin. "Then we could give him a sock and set him free. How much does a house-elf cost, anyway? If we all chipped in—"

Ginny shook her head. "They'd never sell," she said. "Especially not to us. Or more likely they'd demand a price we'd never be able to pay. Even Harry isn't that rich."

"Oh." Colin looked crestfallen, but then brightened again. "Then maybe we could trick Mister Malfoy into handing him a sock or something!"

"Don't be ridiculous —" Hermione began.

"All right!" Fred suddenly said. "Challenge accepted!"

Everyone turned to look at him, and Ronnie wasn't too surprised to see the gleam of mischief in his eyes, the one that always showed up when he was plotting something really big.

"What d'you reckon, George?" he said, turning to his twin with a diabolical smile. "Up for a really difficult prank?"

George's momentary confusion almost immediately gave way to an equally diabolical smile. "You know, I really liked that elf," he said. "Smarter than he looks, too. Notice how he left old Lucius stranded here under the pretence of having to polish silver? That was brilliant."

"And it's our duty to help a fellow prankster."

"Absolutely."

"Hold it!" said Percy. "You two can't start plotting against Lucius Malfoy! Yes, I agree that his house-elf deserves better, but — honestly, do you have any idea what that man could do to our family if you gave him cause?"

"I don't know, Perce," said Fred, and for once there was no humour in his voice. "Would it be better or worse than giving our sister a diary possessed by You-Know-Who? A diary that could have ended up killing her?"

An uncomfortable silence sank over them all.

Then, Percy spoke again. "All right. Count me in."

Fred and George looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. "Count you in?" they chorused.

"Of course," Percy nodded. He looked over at Harry and Ronnie, his jaw tightening as he turned back to the twins. "I obviously can't stop you from plotting against Lucius Malfoy, so the least I can do is make certain you hit him where it hurts."

For the first, and probably only time in their lives, Fred and George were completely dumbstruck.

It was about an hour later —

— after an angry departure by Lucius Malfoy, after a trip down to the hospital wing to wake Madam Pomfrey from her nap, after a lengthy explanation from Potter's Gang, after McGonagall had been asked to escort the rest of the students back to the Gryffindor common room —

— that Harry and Ronnie once more found themselves in Dumbledore's office. They were both healed up to the best of Dumbledore's abilities (which, it must be said, were better than Percy's), and even their robes had been quickly cleaned and mended by the Headmaster's expert wand. While they didn't look quite like new, at least now they wouldn't shock anyone with their appearance.

Now, Dumbledore was sitting behind his large desk, with Riddle's diary in front of him, and looked at Harry and Ronnie over his half-moon spectacles.

"Well," he said. "It seems like you have had quite the experience. I am starting to wonder whether I should forbid myself from leaving school grounds for the future — or at least without making absolute certain I know the two of you aren't going to stumble onto yet another situation while I am gone."

Ronnie felt herself go pink. "We didn't mean to —" she began.

"Peace, Ronnie." Dumbledore smiled briefly. "Of course I do not blame either of you. In fact — thanks to the two of you, today several mysteries from the past have finally been cleared up. That, in and of itself would be cause for great celebration…"

"But Riddle is free," said Harry with a heavy sigh. "And Aunt Petunia… Aunt Petunia is dead."

Ronnie swallowed. Again, the unwelcome image of Petunia's hateful glare as her life gave out and her body crumbled to dust played for her inner eye. I think I just got a new thing to have nightmares about…

"Yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "If I had but known that your relatives would be targeted like this, I would have made certain they were better protected. I know you and your Aunt never saw eye to eye, Harry, but…"

"I didn't want her to die," said Harry, repeating his earlier statement. "I suppose I just thought she'd go on living in the Muggle world. She'd be rid of me, and I'd be rid of her, and we'd both be happier for it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Your uncle and cousin need to be informed. If you would rather not do it, then I can take on the responsibility."

Harry shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but… you'll be busy, won't you? Riddle's out there, and then there's the basilisk…"

"Ah yes — Slytherin's infamous monster," said Dumbledore. "One of the most elusive mysteries in wizarding history. Whether it actually existed, where it could possibly be hiding, not to mention what sort of monster it was. But the basilisk is the least of our problems, Harry. Now that we know what sort of creature it is, and where it is hiding, we will be able to deal with it. I think I can guarantee that Slytherin's monster will never harm another human being again."

"That's something, at least," said Harry, smiling briefly.

"It is," said Dumbledore. "Of course, as I said, that is the lesser problem. Much more alarming is the fact that Tom Riddle is out there in the world."

"But it's only Riddle the way he was when he was sixteen, right?" said Ronnie hopefully. "He hasn't become You-Know-Who yet, right? The real You-Know-Who is still that bloody spectre thing we met last Christmas…"

"From what my sources have been able to piece together, " said Dumbledore, "that Voldemort is currently hiding out in Albania. No doubt Tom Riddle will attempt to seek him out. If they should meet…!" He trailed off, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then, whatever thought had struck him, he seemed to brush it aside. "Luckily, I have a lot of favours I can call in. If I can convince the Ministry to act, perhaps Riddle can be stopped before such a meeting takes place."

Harry stroked back his fringe, trailing a finger over his scar. "There is one thing I wanted to ask," he said. "It might be nothing, but it seemed like it might be important."

"Please ask, Harry," said Dumbledore. "If I can answer, I will."

"When the basilisk venom didn't kill Ronnie and me," said Harry, "Riddle… well, he said something about… he couldn't believe we could have made… Horcruxes?"

Dumbledore looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Did he, now."

"Please, sir, what are Horcruxes?" said Harry.

There was a long pause. Then, Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I had better tell you." He reached out and gingerly picked up Riddle's diary. "Nicolas and I have been discussing whether or not I should tell you this. I was hoping against hope not to have to tell you yet… not for a few more years, at least. But Riddle himself is rather forcing my hand, it seems."

"Tell me what?" said Harry.

"Horcruxes, Harry," said Dumbledore, "are in fact the answer to another elusive mystery: Why Voldemort never died."

"So…" said Ronnie. "Horcruxes, whatever they are, stop you from dying?"

"Essentially, yes," said Dumbledore. "A Horcrux is among the Darkest artefacts a wizard can create. You will not learn about them here at Hogwarts, and I shall not go into all the gruesome details of what exactly is needed to create one. If you want to see one, however…" He held out the little black diary. "This is a Horcrux — or at least it used to be one."

Harry and Ronnie both stared at the little book. It looked so harmless and innocent — and yet, apparently both Crookshanks and Scabbers had been able to tell that something was off about it. Animals really had marvellous instincts.

"I actually started suspecting that the diary might be a Horcrux shortly after Ronnie told me about it," said Dumbledore. "It seemed like such a peculiar thing for Voldemort to have done; enchant a Muggle diary into talking back. But, now that we know its real nature, it makes sense — this book contained more than just Voldemort's memories."

"…like what, sir?" Ronnie heard herself say. The more she found out about this diary, the worse it seemed.

"Ronnie," said Dumbledore. "You know Beedle the Bard. Do you remember the tale of the Warlock's Hairy Heart?"

"Er, what?" Ronnie blinked, a little uncertain what this had to do with anything. "Well, yeah, of course. Fred and George used to love it 'cos it was so gory. I just thought it was stupid."

"So you remember what the titular warlock did with his heart."

"Yeah," Ronnie repeated. "He was an absolute lunatic, and he didn't want to risk falling in love, so he removed his own heart and stored it in a crystal casket… wait, hang on!" She looked down at the diary. "Are you saying You-Know-Who put his heart in that bloody thing?"

"Not his heart," said Dumbledore. "A piece of his soul. If a Dark wizard does not want to die, he might split his soul and put a piece in it inside a container. For as long as that container is intact, the wizard cannot die."

"I went around with a piece of You-Know-Who's soul in my pocket?!"

"But the soul is gone from the diary now, right?" said Harry. "It drained my Aunt… and then it left…"

"Harry!" Ronnie gasped. "D'you see what this means?"

"That my Aunt is dead because Voldemort wanted to live forever."

"Yes, but — oh, I didn't mean that!" Ronnie shifted and wrapped her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. "I am sorry about your Aunt. I wish we could have saved her. I wish I hadn't had to watch her —" she had to cut herself off for a moment and take a deep breath before she could continue. "But don't you see? If that diary kept You-Know-Who from dying because part of his soul was in there, and now that part of his soul isn't there anymore… He's bloody mortal, isn't he! He can die!"

"Alas, I fear it's not quite as simple as that," said Dumbledore.

"But —"

"I'm almost certain the diary was not Voldemort's only Horcrux," said Dumbledore. "No doubt it was his first, given how it was created when he was but a teenager. But — I believe he must have created more than one. Just how many, I have no way of knowing just yet. But I am absolutely positive about one thing: If the diary had been Voldemort's only Horcrux, he would have hidden it in a place no-one could find it. He never would have left it with Lucius Malfoy."

"So that's how the Malfoys had the diary!" said Ronnie, letting go of Harry. "You-Know-Who gave it to them, when they were in his inner circle!"

"But why did he give the diary to Ronnie?" said Harry. "Did he know that… he couldn't have known that it was a Horcrux, right? If he had, he'd have used it to call Voldemort back years ago, wouldn't he?"

"You're quite right, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Of course Lucius Malfoy had no idea what the diary was. He knew it was a powerful Dark artefact, and he knew it was connected to the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's monster. He was hoping that by planting it on someone it could… shall we say, cause enough problems that a certain Headmaster's competence would be called into question."

"Did he tell you that?" Ronnie was impressed. Getting Lucius Malfoy to confess to anything had to be near-impossible.

"Not willingly," said Dumbledore. He placed the diary down and looked at her. "If you remember, earlier today, you asked me if I was going to look into your head."

"Er — yes."

"Of course, I would not do that to a student — but it does not mean I can't do it. It's called Legilimency — not a very exact branch of magic, but it can occasionally be used to gleam the surface thoughts of one whose mental defences are not strong enough. And Lucius Malfoy's defences are not quite as strong as he thinks they are."

"So…you read his mind?" said Harry.

"I do not like to. A person's mind is their last refuge. If we cannot have our thoughts to ourselves, then what is left?" Dumbledore sighed. "But occasionally, needs must. I was able to work out, in broad strokes, what Lucius Malfoy had done, and why he did it. I believe he had several motivations, but two of them were especially clear in his mind: He wanted to discredit me, since I did not adhere to his demands of how I should run the school. And… he wanted revenge."

"Revenge?" said Ronnie. "On who?"

"On you."

Ronnie blinked. "On me?"

"Alas, yes. As I understood it, young Draco has been carrying a grudge towards you ever since your first-year flying lesson."

"Oh. That." Ronnie remembered. Back then she had slammed into Malfoy on purpose and tried to knock him off his broom, because... she couldn't actually remember why. Probably he had been his normal unbearable self at the time. Of course he would have gone blabbing to his father about 'that awful Weasley girl.'

"There is also the fact that you… did not show Lucius the respect he felt he was owed, when you met in Diagon Alley this Summer. I believe that when you brought up his past as a Death Eater, that was what made him decide to target you."

Ronnie felt herself turn pink. "Oh…"

"But we can't let him get away with that!" said Harry, suddenly looking angry. "Professor — if he hadn't given Ronnie that diary, my Aunt wouldn't have died! And Ronnie and Ginny, they could have — they could have…"

Dumbledore sighed. "The problem is, Harry, that thoughts are not proof. Legilimency is a notoriously unreliable branch of magic, and a court of law would never accept it as evidence."

"So," said Harry, looking sombre, "we can't do anything?"

"I did not say that," said Dumbledore. "Lucius Malfoy's day will come. Among other things, I rather suspect he will not be on the Board of Governors for much longer, not after the meeting Minerva and I had with him. And of course, I would not dream of robbing the Weasley brothers of their chance to, shall we say, teach him a lesson."

Ronnie gaped. "How did you know they'd-"

"I was an older brother myself, once," said Dumbledore quietly. For a moment, there was a strange look of sorrow in his brilliant blue eyes. But then he was back to normal, and Ronnie wasn't certain if that look had been there at all. "Nevertheless, I hope you will understand that there are too many other pressing matters right now that I can focus on punishing Lucius Malfoy for his crimes. Right now, I need to focus on other things... one of them being Tom Riddle. Speaking of which," he added, straightening his glasses and looking at Harry. "There is one thing I need to know."

"Er — yes, sir?"

"Did Tom ever actually touch you, physically, down in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry looked about as surprised by this question as Ronnie felt, but he did give it a moment's thought. "No," he said. "He didn't really have much opportunity to. At first he was non-corporeal and couldn't touch anything. He had Wormtail tie me up and take my wand, but he didn't come near me himself. And after he got his body, he just sent the basilisk after us."

"So he never got close to you."

"No," Harry repeated. "Is that important?"

"It might be," said Dumbledore. "I am working from a theory that he can't touch you. If you remember your confrontation with Voldemort last year, I briefly spoke of how you had a protection against him…."

"Oh yes…" said Harry. "Because my mother sacrificed herself for me?"

"In essence, yes. I believe her sacrifice protected you against Voldemort. And unless I am much mistaken, you still have that protection in some form. It may be that he will find it difficult to touch you."

"But he doesn't have to touch Harry in order to kill him," said Ronnie. "He can just hit him with a curse or sic a basilisk on him! How much use is that protection?"

"Perhaps none at all," said Dumbledore. "Then again, perhaps a great deal. You must understand that there has never been a case such as Harry's before."

Ronnie's jaw dropped. "What?" she said, in a tone of voice that would no doubt have made Hermione scowl at her. "You mean nobody's Mum ever sacrificed herself for her children before?! That's bollocks! With all due respect," she added as she realised that this was really not an acceptable way of talking to your Headmaster.

But Dumbledore just smiled. "Out of the mouths of babes," he said calmly. "You're quite right, of course — countless mothers, and fathers, have sacrificed themselves for their children, even against Voldemort. But none did so under those specific circumstances. I cannot, at the moment, reveal all that happened that night… partly because I don't know all the details and partly because it's not quite time for Harry to know them yet."

"Not quite time —" Harry's face looked like a big question mark.

"I am sorry," said Dumbledore. "Once again, I must ask for your patience. There are secrets that are not ready to be told just yet. I assure you, when you need to know, you will know."

"And I don't need to know why my mother's sacrifice saved my life?" said Harry, frowning slightly.

"For the moment," said Dumbledore, "it's probably more prudent to focus on the fact that her sacrifice saved your life, not dwell on the details why. Suffice to say, that whatever transpired between you and Voldemort that night, it not only left a protection on you, but it also created a certain connection between you. That, I believe, is why your scar hurts whenever he is too close."

"Is that — is that why I understand Parseltongue too?" said Harry.

"Very likely," said Dumbledore. "Tom Riddle was a natural Parselmouth. I doubt it was his intent to give you the ability… but, I believe I once said something about intent and outcome rarely being coincident. That would apply to this case as well."

"So that stupid book was right?!" Ronnie exclaimed. "Talking to snakes is Dark!"

"The ability in and of itself isn't," said Dumbledore. "It has, perhaps, got a somewhat undeserved reputation for being so, because so many Dark wizards and witches have used it. But, as with so many other abilities, whether it is Dark or not wholly depends on what one uses it for. I trust, Harry, that you are not planning on commanding snakes to go out and kill people?"

"What?" Harry looked mortified. "Of course not!"

"Then I don't think there's anything to worry about." Dumbledore smiled again. "Well — there is much to be done, and I'm certain your friends are getting worried, so I'll need to chase you two back to your common room in a minute. I have a lot of fire-calls to make.

"But first, to finish this off on a lighter note…" He fished a small bottle of a silvery-white liquid out of his robe pocket. "I have your memory, Ronnie. I might need to show it to a few more people, but I wanted to make certain I had your consent first."

"Errrr… I suppose," said Ronnie. She'd almost forgotten the entire memory — which made sense, she supposed, given how it wasn't in her head anymore. "Did you show it to Mr. Lupin?"

"I did," said Dumbledore. "He agreed that it was indeed Peter Pettigrew you saw. After a bit of hesitation, he also confirmed that Pettigrew was, as Hermione had suspected, an illegal Animagus. And that his animal form was that of…"

"…a rat," Ronnie groaned.

"Precisely."

"I hope Crookshanks finds him," said Ronnie. "I'd like to kick that — man — right in the — head." (The substitute words did make her statement a little less passionate, but she could just imagine what Percy, or Hermione, or Mum, would say if they found out she'd been swearing in the Headmaster's office.)

"If anyone can find him, it'll be Crookshanks," said Harry. "I think buying that cat for you was the smartest thing I ever did."

Ronnie felt herself turning pink. "I think accepting him was the smartest thing I ever did." She wanted to hug Harry again, but decided to wait.

Dumbledore slid the memory back down into his pocket. "Your admirable cat certainly does seem to have a talent for being exactly where he is needed," he said. "Lucky the witch — or wizard — who has a loyal pet. Am I right, Fawkes?"

Fawkes trilled from his perch, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Er… Professor," said Ronnie. "Just one thing. Dunno if I need to know it or not, but…"

Dumbledore smiled, despite the fact that he must have heard the sarcasm in her voice. "What did you want to ask, Ronnie?"

"Are you a Zoolingualist?"

"You mean, can I talk to birds?" said Dumbledore. "No. I was completely honest when I told Lucius Malfoy that I lacked that ability." He raised himself from his chair. "What I can do is, I think, a lot harder."

"What's that?"

"I can listen." Dumbledore walked around the desk. "But — I hope you will forgive me for throwing you out, but I have a very important fire-call to make to Cornelius Fudge. I hope it is all right that I show him your memory, Ronnie?"

"You want to show my memory to the Minister for Magic?!"

"I may have to," said Dumbledore. "I predict I shall have problems enough getting him to listen to me about the return of Voldemort… he never quite believed me when I told him about last year's happenings. But I shall have to try — and that means that he may not be too eager to hear when I call for the immediate release of Sirius Black from Azkaban. But it can't be helped. I cannot, and will not, let an innocent man suffer that place for a day longer!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Notes: Home stretch, people! There'll be one more chapter, plus an epilogue. Most of the mystery is solved, many secrets out in the open, though there are still some loose threads to gather. Will Crookshanks find Wormtail? Will Fudge release Sirius from Azkaban? What repercussions will Petunia's death have? And will Luna make another appearance before the fic is over? And what about Dobby?

I know it's not a common opinion among fans, but Chamber of Secrets might be my favourite Harry Potter book — at least, it was the book that actually made me a fan of the series.

Philosopher's Stone, once it had slogged through the rather insufferable opening chapters, had been a pleasant read overall and a decent start to the series, but it was with Chamber of Secrets that Rowling really found the right tone for her books; here she hit on the perfect mix between whimsical, creepy and magical. But what really hooked me, I think, was that Chamber of Secrets is one of the best murder mysteries I've ever read.

I know it's "G-rated" murder at that; after all, the Petrified victims are all revived and nobody actually dies, but for all intents and purposes the story is about trying to find out who the serial killer is, and the solution to the mystery is presented extremely skilfully, with all the clues making sense in hindsight.

It was a bit of a disappointment, really, that the series moved away from the "mystery" format in the second half, in favour of more of a traditional coming-of-age, good-versus-evil story. Now, I won't claim to be as good a mystery writer as Rowling, but hopefully I managed to keep you guessing for at least some of this story.