Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER EIGHTEEN –

Vaulted Chambers

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione at breakfast next morning so they could quietly go over last-minute plans. While both of his friends had no trouble eating their way through a hefty breakfast, Harry found his appetite completely diminished, partly by the reality of what faced him starting to hit home, and partly by the sight of McGonagall deep in conversation with Hagrid up at the teacher's table. And then, as they were about to leave, Harry's worst fears were confirmed.

'Potter, I'd like a word with you, please, in my office. Move along there, Weasley.'

Ron threw Harry an uncertain look before being dragged away by Hermione.

'What took you so long?' asked Ron when Harry finally made it to Myrtle's bathroom. The instant Harry walked in he jumped up from where he and Hermione had been sitting under the sink which marked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione had several books spread open in front of her and Harry suspected she had been going over Ron's homework with him. It would certainly explain Ron's eagerness to put distance between the two of them.

'I only just got away from McGonagall. She found out I didn't really visit Hagrid last night and went nuts again because I won't tell her what I'm really up to.' He blew his breath out in a disgruntled huff as he slumped back against the door, then frowned as he noticed someone missing. 'Where's Ginny?'

'Staying as far away from here as she possibly can.' Hermione finally looked up from the book she had been almost wiping her nose on. 'You didn't really expect her to be anywhere near either the Chamber or a Basilisk, did you? So, are you ready?' she rushed on before Harry could say anything.

He tried to make his nod as firm as he could as he struggled to bring his nerves under control.

'Then let's do it.' All business, Hermione rolled her sleeves up and began removing items from her bag while Ron fetched the Firebolt from the end cubicle. Harry made sure his wand and Sirius's mirror were securely tucked away inside his robes. He gazed down at the jumble of items surrounding Hermione.

'Er …'

She glanced up.

'You might want to clear that stuff away. The entrance to the Chamber covers half of where you are, remember?'

More minutes were wasted as the mess was shifted to the far end of the bathroom, then Harry peered at the scratched snake ('Open up!'), once again forcing the sink to lower into the floor. He then curled all the fingers of his left hand into a tight fist and slowly straightened his little finger.

Hermione consulted her books one more time. Reaching for a silver flask, she dipped a tiny metal scoop into it and splashed several drops of liquid over Harry's finger.

The skin started to grow warm, puckering in small blisters before their eyes. Harry bit his lip hard.

Hermione then held her wand three inches above Harry's hand and traced a complicated pattern through the air … once, twice, three times.

The pain increased. Harry pressed his lips tightly together but it still didn't stop his throat crying out, even if it was muffled.

Hermione then began to sing, repeating the ancient Welsh words Snape had taught her. Her voice was actually quite good, but Harry was a little preoccupied to really give it much thought.

Just as Hermione sang the last notes, Harry's attempts to mute his cries failed completely and he screamed, his finger feeling like someone had just ripped it from the joint connecting it to his hand.

Unfortunately, he attracted Myrtle.

'What are you lot getting up to this time?' She looked from Ron's anxious face to Harry's pain-wracked one to the blood-covered bone Hermione was holding.

'MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!'

Even though it was Sunday morning (a time traditionally devoted to sleeping in), numerous footsteps were still to be heard rapidly beating a loud advance in their direction.

'Nice one, Myrtle!' Ron tried to bar the door.

'You'd better go, Harry.' Hermione quickly forced the broom, bone and a wriggling sack into Harry's arms and pushed him towards the dark hole where the sink had stood.

'Go! Just go!'

Harry got one last brief glimpse of both Ron and Hermione's anxious faces, then the floor rushed up past his head.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Harry bumped swiftly down the pipe, unsure just where he would encounter the Basilisk and silently praying that the rooster still struggling to get out of the sack wouldn't get its neck broken before he got there. The pain in his little finger throbbed intensely each time he banged against the pipe's slimy walls. Struggling to keep his wits about him, he finally slid out the end of the pipe and landed with a crunch on a pile of rat bones.

Panting heavily, Harry just lay there for several minutes, trying to catch his breath. The rooster continued to flap against his chest and a small wave of relief rippled through him that the bird was still alive. Keeping his eyes closed, he stretched his ears for any sound which might indicate that the Basilisk was close by, but all he could hear were the muffled sounds of the rooster's struggles and his own heartbeat.

Cautiously, he opened one eye a tiny crack. Nothing appeared to be moving in his line of sight and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened that there was still a chance the Basilisk could sneak up on him. Rolling painfully onto his front (and suppressing yet another scream), he tried to push aside the skeletons digging into his flesh …

He stopped and snatched up one of them. It wasn't dry and brittle like most of the other bones; it was still slightly moist and held together by thin strips of sinew. This rat had only recently been eaten.

Glancing around, Harry could see a trail of similarly freshly-eaten carcasses stretching away from him and knew not only had the Basilisk managed to make it this far, but it had begun to explore its new environment, appeasing its appetite along the way.

Getting shakily to his feet, he made sure he had everything, slung the rooster's bag around his neck, picked up his broom and very slowly started to crunch his way through the trail of recently-deceased rodents.

'Where are you, little one? Have you got your eyes shut?' Harry listened carefully for a reply, but the only thing to be heard was his own hissing echoing through the empty tunnels. Each bend he came to brought a rush of tense anxiety as he repeated his questions, anxiety which did not diminish as he still received no reply.

By the time he came to the last bend before the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, Harry's panic had reached fever-pitch. Had the Basilisk imitated the Chamber's former tenant and slithered into the plumbing branching out through the rest of the school? Peering very carefully around the corner, he froze. While there was still no sign of the Basilisk, he had something slightly more worrying to concentrate on.

The Chamber of Secrets was open.

Harry gaped at the empty space before him. How had the walls come to be parted? Had the Basilisk managed to tell them to open? Cold shivers competed with his throbbing finger as he gazed through the opening to the green-glowing room beyond. Nothing seemed to be moving. Still fighting against his mounting fears, he crept forwards into Hogwarts' darkest hall.

Trying to notice a live snake amongst all the stone ones was made difficult by the odd light; every snake entwined around the massive pillars seemed to be moving. Harry's blurring vision wasn't helping either. As soon as he had crossed the threshold into the Chamber of Secrets, the pain in Harry's finger had burst up his arm, almost making him faint.

'Where are you, little one? Come out, come out, wherever you are.' Harry felt silly acting like he was playing hide-and-seek, especially when it was becoming harder to concentrate which each passing second. He didn't have time to keep an eye on the shadows while also trying to keep his eyes squinted so narrow he could only just see. All he wanted was to get the Horcrux and get out of here so Madam Pomfrey could start to regrow the bone in his finger and make the pain stop. Where was that snake?

It was slow, painful going but he finally reached the far end of the chamber and gazed up at the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin, looking comical with Hermione's rope ladder still hanging off its nose. Harry bit his lip. Was the Basilisk really necessary? If the bone did its job with the curse, why shouldn't the Summoning Charm work? And even if it didn't, he was forewarned; he could easily duck. He steadied himself against another wave of pain.

'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'

Slowly, the stone mouth opened, wider and wider, the gaping black hole hungry for an offering.

And Harry certainly had something to offer.

Awkwardly clambering up the ladder one-handed, Harry dug the bloodied bone out of his robes and, crossing the fingers of his right hand, threw it down Slytherin's throat. There was a bright flash of light and Harry screamed. All of the bones were being ripped from his fingers, covering him in blood as he fell from the ladder and crashed into the stone floor, hard.

'Mother?'

Harry tried to remember where he was and why he was there. There had to be a reason. There was certainly a reason why the voice which just said 'Mother' was familiar. He screwed his eyes shut against another wave of excruciating pain.

'Mother?' The voice was more desperate this time, as if its mother was in peril. But the only person who seemed to be having problems was himself. Why would the voice call him 'Mother'?

The pain eased fractionally, the initial fire burning down to a steady glow. Harry blinked back tears he hadn't realised he'd shed and noticed movement to his right. A gigantic snake was slithering towards him.

'Are you hurt?'

Harry frowned. The snake just spoke to him.

'Are you hurt?'

Why would a snake ask if he was hurt? Couldn't it tell just by looking at him? Didn't it have eyes in its head?

Eyes … snake eyes.

Quickly, Harry squeezed his own eyes shut. 'No, no; I'm fine,' he tried to reassure the Basilisk.

'You don't look fine.'

'Don't look at me!' Harry struggled not to scream; it would only alarm the serpent.

'But –'

'I said DON'T LOOK AT ME!' Harry could almost feel the Basilisk brushing against him, it was so close. He tried to take a few steadying breaths. 'If you want to help me, you can crawl into the hole in the face on the wall.'

'The face on the wall?' The Basilisk seemed to be quivering just in front of his head. Harry risked opening an eye a fraction; the Basilisk had raised its head a few feet and was gazing up at Slytherin, swaying slightly. 'Why do you –?'

'DON'T LOOK AT ME!' Harry swiftly buried his face in his arms as the serpent glanced back down at him. 'I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell. I just need you to do exactly as I say.' He was finding it hard to remember that the massive snake was a day-old baby.

'What do you want me to do?'

'Crawl into the hole in the wall. At the bottom of the hole, there's a cup. I need you to get the cup and bring it out here.'

'What's a cup?'

'Just bring me the thing inside that hole.' Harry found it difficult trying to make the Basilisk understand; maybe they should have waited until it was older.

He felt the serpent move past him and risked another peek. To his amazement and elation, the Basilisk was doing as requested. He opened both eyes just as the tail disappeared over the edge of the stone lip. Slytherin's mouth started to close.

'Don't panic,' Harry cried as the Basilisk did just that, its scream echoing around the chamber. 'I'll get it open again. Just get that cup.'

Harry glared up at the ugly monkey-like features. 'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'

The Basilisk's cries echoed from within the statue again as the mouth reopened. 'Why? Why did you do that? I was frightened; I thought I would never see you again.

'I'm sorry.' Harry watched the mouth for signs of movement. 'I didn't do that, the statue did, but it's OK now. You won't get hurt again; I promise.' Harry felt a twinge of guilt as he fumbled with the cord tying the rooster's bag. 'Did you get the thing I asked for?'

'Yes.' The reply was very muffled and Harry realised the snake probably had the cup in its mouth. Taking out Sirius's mirror, Harry placed it on the ground and pressed his wand against it.

'When you get to the opening,' Harry instructed the serpent, 'drop the cup down here. You'll find it easier to move then.' It would also let Harry know when the cup was no longer inside Slytherin's mouth without having to look up and risk catching the Basilisk's eye. He folded the sack down, exposing the rooster's head just as something metal crashed to the floor. The rooster started.

'I'm sorry,' whispered Harry as a soft light glowed from the mirror, growing brighter with each word of the Sunrise spell.

'COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOO!' The rooster greeted the dawn, proudly declaring to the chamber that a new day had begun.

Angrily, Harry pulled the bag back up over its head and twisted the cord around the top as the rooster continued to struggle against its captor. 'Oh, shut up!' he snapped at it as he picked up Helga Hufflepuff's cup, a new wave of pain washing over him.

But the pain from the missing bone and numerous bruises was nothing compared to the heart-wrenching agony of the sight of the Basilisk's dead body hanging out of Slytherin's mouth like a great tongue. Blinking back more tears, Harry mounted the Firebolt and kicked off.

Go ... just a little bit further … almost there. Harry egged his broom onwards, every second taking him further from Slytherin's chamber. A small light appeared high above him. Almost there. With a glorious warm rush of relief which dulled the pain for a moment, Harry burst from the pipe under the sink and collapsed onto the cold tiles, still clutching his Firebolt tightly.

'Harry!'

Ron and Hermione rushed forwards to help him to his feet. Hermione prised the cup from his grasp and quickly hid it in her robes but Harry didn't care that he didn't have it anymore. Leaning heavily on Ron's shoulder, he panted as he tried to bring his heartbeat down to a more normal speed.

'Would you please explain yourself, Potter?'

Harry cracked his eyes open a fraction and saw a pair of shiny shoes. He forced his head up.

Professor McGonagall's eyes were narrow slits, her lips the thinnest Harry had ever seen and her nostrils flaring with each angry breath. Beside her, Fulstrum had his wand pointed at Harry, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Behind them, Harry could see Ginny and Neville looking frightened and Myrtle was crying disappointedly in the end cubicle, though it was punctuated by occasional giggles of delight.

'Why do you have to keep coming back alive? I'm lonely; I want a friend. (Very loud sniff). 'You're always coming out of there alive. I want a friend!' (More overdone tears.)

'Be quiet, Miss – er …'

Harry felt a dull twinge of satisfaction at Fulstrum's inability to address Myrtle like a proper gentleman.

'It doesn't hurt to be killed by a Basilisk, you know.' Myrtle giggled.

'SHUT UP!' roared Fulstrum. 'Now, Potter, are … to answer the headmistress's question or …'

Something was wrong with Harry's ears. Fulstrum's voice kept fading in and out. Could severe pain affect your hearing?

'… arrest for …'

Something hit Harry's shoulder hard and he clenched his teeth together against the increased pain.

'Longbottom, where on earth did you learn …'

Harry tried to focus on McGonagall's voice but the next wave of pain was too much. He had a feeling he might have screamed but he sank into blissful cool darkness before he could ask anyone.

x

Harry was back in the Chamber of Secrets. No, that wasn't right; this chamber was different. Even though the Chamber of Secrets was extremely vast, this place was even bigger, helped along by the bright light which filled every part of the immense space. He tried to see the ceiling, but it was too high up, lost in a glow so bright, it was like looking into the sun at close range.

Blinking against its blinding strength, Harry waited for the white spots to dissolve from his vision, then inspected the rest of the room.

For the most part, it seemed to be empty. In the distance Harry could see walls of dark grey stone similar to that which made up Hogwarts' sturdy structure, but he had never seen this room – either at school or on the Marauders' Map. Arches were carved into the walls, too many to count, so that it looked a little like the Coliseum. The thought did cross his mind that he might be in the Room of Requirement, but since that room only adopted the form required by its user (and Harry couldn't imagine conjuring up a room like this even in his wildest dreams), this possibility didn't seem very likely. The floor was solid marble which, despite the chamber's vastness, seemed to absorb the sound of Harry's footsteps rather than make it echo noisily around him.

To each side and in front of him were three tombs with massive statues stretched along their lengths like sleeping guardians. Wandering over to the nearest, Harry gazed at it curiously.

A young woman of extraordinary beauty lay before him, stone hands folded upon her breast. Even though there was no carved lettering anywhere on the tomb to identify either who she was or when she had died, the style of the robes and headdress suggested that she had been here for close to a thousand years, even though there wasn't any dust. Something about her finely chiseled brow told Harry she had been quite intelligent when she had been alive and the slight quirk to her lips implied that, even in death, there were still things she knew which nobody else did.

Harry reached out a hand to assure himself that it really was a statue; the detail of her face, especially, made her appear as though she was merely resting, her eyes ready to flutter open any moment. The stone was warm beneath his fingers. His surprise turned to puzzlement as he felt what seemed to be scratches on her shoulder. On closer inspection, he discovered rough notches carved into the hard surface, as if by bird claws. Perhaps she had once owned an owl.

The second tomb detailed a middle-aged woman who certainly didn't approach the first for looks. Plain and quite well rounded, there was a roughness about her which reminded Harry of Professor Sprout. She even had calloused hands, suggesting a life spent dealing with hard tasks and Harry felt that, whoever she was, she had been able to handle anything which life had thrown at her. The girdle carved around her plump waist resembled a chatelaine, for it was hung with several gardening tools, a small dagger and a large spoon, as well as a small hook, almost as though something was missing. Like her companion, there was no clue to her identity.

The last statue reminded Harry of Dumbledore. An ancient wizard with waist-length hair and beard, deep wrinkles carved into his face and hands and an unmistakable air of authority, Harry knew (though he didn't know how) that this man had once been the chief figure in the region, the one to whom others had turned for advice, assurance and protection. This statue also seemed to have something missing; there was a space between his clasped hands which suggested he had once been holding something. There was, however, something upon the statue's person which shouldn't have been there: a tiny scrap of soft, dark, frayed fabric caught behind one of the stone ears.

Beyond this tomb, three marble steps led up to a small platform upon which stood a single chair of gold, carved with ancient runes and upholstered in rich deep scarlet velvet. It looked like a throne and Harry wondered if the wizard lying at its feet had perhaps been a king. There was certainly a nobility about the lines of his stone face.

But none of this was getting Harry any closer to solving the mystery of where he was or why he was here. He turned his attention to the doors. From what he could see, they seemed to be the only way in or out; the arches certainly didn't lead anywhere. Two massive doors, even larger than the ones leading into Hogwarts, stretched towards the ceiling. Ornate carving also decorated their surface, depicting numerous magical beasts: dragons, griffins and phoenixes, as well as, mystifyingly, a single badger peeping up from the lower edge. Harry pressed an ear against the wood and knocked; as well as being solid timber, it also seemed to be quite thick, ruling out the possibility of kicking it down.

He examined the lock. It was extremely small, far too small to hold such gigantic doors even closed, let alone locked. But locked they were. Without the key, there was no getting through them.

Not that someone hadn't tried, judging by the three holes which had been drilled around the keyhole in a triangular pattern. Peering closely at the holes, Harry saw that somebody had scratched a tiny letter next to each one: G, H and R. He frowned. Did this place have something to do with –'

A deep voice, which made the floor vibrate with its resonance, echoed across the chamber, causing Harry to almost jump out of his skin.

Spinning around, he saw that all three statues had woken and were sitting up on their tombs, looking at him. He was pretty sure it was the wizard who had spoken. For several minutes, Harry stared at them and they stared back, tension sparking the silent air around them. Then the wizard spoke again.

Harry didn't understand a word.

'Er … I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Do any of you speak English?

The plump witch addressed him next. She also was speaking in a language which Harry didn't know, but he thought a couple of words sounded like 'hollow ground.' More confused than ever, he backed up against the doors as each of the statues stood and started to approach him. All three were almost shouting now. Harry couldn't understand more than one word in ten but, whatever it was they were trying to tell him, they certainly seemed very passionate about it.

They had almost reached him when the wizard slapped himself over the head, sending stone chips flying everywhere. He then thrust his hand forwards at Harry, who ducked, thinking the statue was going to punch him in the face. When he opened his eyes he saw that the male statue was offering him a ragged bundle of dark cloth.

It was the Sorting Hat.

Harry gazed uncertainly up at the statues. Anxiety, almost pleading, was carved into each face. Nervously, he reached for the hat then, as the beautiful witch nodded encouragement, he slowly put it on his head, though not all the way down; he still didn't trust this bunch enough not to keep an eye on them.

'Canst thou comprehendeth that which I speaketh now, lad?'

It was like watching a badly-dubbed foreign film. In front of him, Harry could see each of the statues' mouths moving, but they weren't quite in sync with the Sorting Hat's voice beside his ear.

'Good, now harken with care,' the wizard instructed. 'Thou needst fetch the key.'

'What key?'

'What ist thy meaning, "what key"? Why, my good man, the key which dost open that door.' The plump witch pointed behind Harry.

'Yeah, I know; I can't get out,' said Harry. 'So where's the key?'

Both witches blinked with surprise, as though Harry had said something he shouldn't. The tubby one turned to the wizard.

'Didst I hear aright? Is this lad not thy –'

'It ist most plain that which I didst speak was truth; he wouldst not be here, else!' the wizard snapped impatiently. The witch bristled.

'There ist no need –'

'Wilt thou not cease thy battle? Thou art like a pair of crups. There art matters of import to convey.' The other witch glared at both of them disapprovingly.

'We art not engaged in battle!' Both combatants rounded on her.

'Thou art for cert not indulging in debates of intellect,' she muttered, 'As well, thou art filling the boy with terror.'

Neither of them seemed to know how to reply to that. They just stood glaring at each other, the tension in the air building like distant thunder.

'Oh, this is ridiculous. Just tell them to get on with what we came for!'

'Art thou daring to give commands to thy betters?' The wizard was now glaring at Harry.

'That wasn't me,' cried Harry defensively. It was true; the Hat had said it. As well as acting as interpreter, it was apparently still capable of independent thought and was muttering instructions in his ears, though how the wizard heard, Harry didn't know. But the Hat did have a point.

'So where's the key so I can get out of here?' It wasn't easy keeping his voice steady in the face of such powerful-looking visages.

'What canst thou meaneth by thy words?' The wizard frowned. 'Thou doth needst draw evil within this hall.'

'Evil?'

'The evil which dost brew beyond those doors.' The wizard pointed at the door. 'Thou needst to imprison it within these walls.'

'For surety, canst thou not feel its approach?' The slim witch gazed at Harry with those intelligent eyes.

'Yeah, but –' How did this lot, who had been hiding here for who knew how long, know about Voldemort?

'That dost settle the matter.' The plump witch gave a nod of satisfaction. 'The lad shalt recover the key and restore it to its housing.' Turning, she led the others back to the tombs where they all lay down once more as if settling for the night.

Harry felt like he had been trampled beneath their stone feet. They still hadn't told him how he was supposed to get out of here. Snatching the Sorting Hat from his head, he threw it angrily to the ground.

'WHERE'S THE KEY?'

x

'For naught shalt guard against the broken –'

Harry tried to open his eyes. Bright light stabbed through to his brain, making him moan as pain pounded his head. The voice which had been speaking in a rhythmic manner, broke off suddenly.

'Harry?'

There it was again, only now it sounded uncertain. Harry tried to focus. He knew that voice; he was sure it sounded familiar. Female, so it definitely wasn't the Sorting Hat. It also sounded much younger than the statues who had just been shouting at him. Was there someone else in here with them? Was it the danger? And what was the broken thing which 'naught' would guard against?

Feeling more confused than he had been since he first arrived in this chamber, Harry tried again to open his eyes.

This time the light didn't stab quite so sharply at his brain. He tried to focus, but everything was blurry; his glasses must have fallen off when he fell down.

Harry thought about that a moment. He was lying flat on his back, on something soft, and he wasn't wearing his glasses anymore … so he must have fallen. He just didn't have any memory of it.

Groping around for his glasses, he felt someone press them into his hand. Harry's heartbeat thumped even faster. Who was in here with him?

'Well, go on; put them on.'

Male, this time. Harry felt he knew that voice too. Determined to solve this mystery (and trying to ignore the ache in his head), he put his glasses on and the hospital wing came into focus.

Harry glanced uncertainly from Hermione, who had a large ancient book resting on her lap, to Ron, who was helping himself to a chocolate frog from what looked like half the contents of Honeydukes piled on the end of Harry's bed.

'How did I get here?'

'You collapsed in Myrtle's bathroom.' Hermione closed her book.

'How did I get there?'

Ron and Hermione exchanged anxious glances.

'Don't you remember going down to the Chamber of Secrets?' Ron asked around a mouthful of chocolate.

Harry screwed his eyes shut in concentration. 'No … it wasn't the Chamber of Secrets. It was definitely a different chamber. It –'

He tried to push himself up into a sitting position and noticed that the little finger of his left hand felt strange. Bringing it up level with his face, he saw that it looked like a finger from a rubber glove and wouldn't move when he flexed the other fingers, almost as if –

'Madam Pomfrey couldn't give you Skelegro while you were unconscious, but now you're awake, you'll be able to grow those bones back again.' Hermione sounded apologetic.

Harry barely noticed though. He squeezed his eyes tight shut against the flood of images exploding from his memory – Hermione de-boning his finger, the Basilisk wanting to look at him, Slytherin's gaping mouth, crowing rooster, Fulstrum –

'Did I get the –'

'It's fine!' hissed Hermione, making Harry jump as she suddenly clamped her hand over his mouth. Ron glanced anxiously towards Madam Pomfrey's office. 'Our old friend has got it. It's safe, OK?' Hermione waited for Harry to nod his understanding before removing her hand.

Able to breathe again without hindrance, Harry glanced longingly towards the food Ron had been hoeing into. Stomach rumbling loudly, he realised he was starving. He also noticed, from the rays shining through the hospital windows, that it was sunset.

'Have I been out for a whole day?'

Ron made a sound somewhere between surprise and smugness.

'You've been out for nearly two weeks, Harry.' Hermione's expression was fully of pity.

'What?'

'Shhh!' Hermione tried to settle Harry back down onto his pillows.

'Two weeks?' gasped Harry, trying to struggle upright. 'I can't have been asleep for that long … I'd have known,' he argued ridiculously.

Hermione's expression changed again – this time to dubious disbelief. 'And how, exactly, would you have managed that?' Her hands were on her hips. 'You were unconscious!'

'But I see you're not unconscious anymore.'

Harry felt a jolt of surprise as he gazed at the newcomer striding along the row of beds towards them. 'What are you doing here?' He grinned for the first time in, well, nearly two weeks.

'Filling in for you.' Lupin leant against the bed next to Harry's.

Harry felt his grin start to fade as more confusion washed over him. 'Er … didn't Umbridge get Fudge to pass a law a few years ago banning people from hiring …?'

'Werewolves,' Lupin finished for him. 'You can say it, it's not a swear word.' He smiled slightly as Harry's face grew hot. 'Yes, the Ministry passed anti-werewolf legislation banning us getting jobs but, firstly, McGonagall isn't paying me and, secondly, it's not a job. It's a favour.' He glanced up as Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office with a bottle of Skelegro. 'Anyway, I've got a date with a pile of third-year essays. You take care, all right.' With a nod, he pushed off from the bed, forestalling anything Madam Pomfrey might have said to him.

'We'd better get going too, Harry,' said Hermione as Ron started stuffing his pockets from the sweet stack.

'Why?' Ron looked taken aback by this suggestion.

'Those essays for Potions, Charms and Transfigurations.' Hermione glared at him over the diminishing pile.

'Do you have to go?' Harry felt like he was being deserted.

'You have bones to regrow, Mr Potter.' Madam Pomfrey brandished her bottle.

'Can't I have dinner first?' Harry eyed the bottle nervously. 'I haven't eaten for nearly two weeks. I'm starving.' His gaze drifted hopefully to the end of the bed.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look pleased at the prospect of having her nursing schedule interrupted. She fumed silently by the bed for several moments before finally relenting.

'Fine. But you'll have something a lot healthier than that lot.' She waved her wand and the sweets vanished (Ron groaned softly), replaced by a bed tray and a large plate of lamb's fry, steamed broccoli, carrots and pumpkin.

Disappointment coursing through him at the sudden change of fare, Harry pulled the tray closer.

'Don't worry, mate.' Ron leaned close so Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear him as she went around the ward, closing curtains and lighting candles. 'I've still got this lot.' And he opened his pockets, allowing Harry to see the stash of sweets he'd managed to rescue. Feeling a lot better knowing there would be a reward at the end of all of this, Harry started attacking the plate of liver.

'So, what's been happening since … you know?' he asked, chewing between words.

'Gryffindor lost three hundred points,' said Ron flatly. 'Fulstrum was real –'

'Ron, I think Harry means slightly more important matters than House points,' interrupted Hermione. Harry almost choked on his dinner; he'd never heard Hermione say something was more important than winning points.

'What –? Oh … right … that.' Ron seemed very interested in the railing at the foot of the bed.

'What?' Harry didn't like the pall which seemed to have suddenly descended upon them. His feeling of trepidation increased as Hermione glanced up at him but refused to meet his eyes.

'Professor Trelawney is dead.' Hermione spoke so quietly, Harry took a moment to realise what she had said.

Harry's fork clattered as it fell from his slackened grip. 'How?'

'She was found behind the Hog's Head Inn, so the Ministry think she was drunk, fell and hit her head, but … other people … think she was tortured to death. Someone said Voldemort had kidnapped her and was trying to get information out of her,' Hermione glanced around nervously to check if Madam Pomfrey could hear, 'but … someone else … said not to stop him or it would look suspicious.'

Ron was staring at her. 'You know, I know what you're talking about and I'm confused by what you just said. How's Harry meant to understand it?'

'It's OK, Ron.' Harry gazed at Hermione. 'Are you saying he ordered him not to help her?'

Hermione nodded.

'Did Voldemort get what he was after?'

Hermione shrugged. 'We don't know. We don't think so or he'd be a lot happier, but we don't know for sure.'

Harry thought about how he felt about this news as he resumed chewing. He wasn't sure if he was being slightly mean or not when he decided he wasn't overly unhappy about Professor Trelawney being dead. As a teacher, she'd been both a disaster and a joke and Harry hadn't learnt a thing from her. Then there was her prowess (or lack of) as a seer. For the most part she had been an old fraud. But she did accurately predict the 'lightning-struck tower' and Wormtail's escape. And there was the prophecy she made about Harry. It was for this reason that Harry couldn't feel mournful. If Professor Trelawney hadn't told Dumbledore that prophecy, Snape wouldn't have had anything to tell his master and Voldemort wouldn't have come after Harry, killing his parents and dooming him to sixteen years at the Dursleys. No, Harry couldn't feel any sorrow at Sybill Trelawney's passing.

The only thing which did concern him, ever so slightly, was Dumbledore not trying to help her somehow. Did this mean that his condition had deteriorated sufficiently that Snape was now controlling him, perhaps on Voldemort's orders?

'We really should get going, Harry.' Hermione's apologetic tone broke into Harry's musings. (Ron emptied his pockets into the top drawer of the bedside cabinet 'For later.') 'You rest and get your strength back.'

'And my bones.' Harry grinned half-heartedly at her.

She returned the grin. 'And your bones. Professor Lupin can still cover for you for a bit longer – the full moon was last week – then you can catch up with anyone you need to catch up with.' She glanced at Madam Pomfrey waiting impatiently by her office door as she gathered up her book. 'Come on, Ron.'

'I won't say "Goodnight" because I know it won't be.' Ron's face screwed up at the prospect of what Harry was facing.

'I only hope Dobby doesn't pay me a visit like he did last time.' Harry tried to sound braver than he felt as Madam Pomfrey descended upon them angrily.

'Now am I to be allowed to treat my patient?'

Harry felt it wise to accept his medicine gracefully, though it took all his strength not to spray it back in her face. He'd forgotten how disgusting that stuff tasted.

It was only after he had settled back into his pillows, his finger starting to prickle painfully, that he realised he hadn't asked Hermione what the 'broken' thing had been.

Next morning, after a quick examination of his finger by a very stern Madam Pomfrey, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, telling Ron and Hermione he was going to spend the day catching up on the sleep he had missed last night. (Lupin was still filling in for him.) Once safely behind his locked door, he grabbed his Cloak and headed for the lake.

x

A quick glance around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place told Harry that nobody was there; the drawing room was likewise empty. Not until he reached the master bedroom did he find the object of his search.

But Professor Dumbledore was asleep, the silver moustache fluttering slightly with each breath. Loathe to wake him, Harry turned to go.

'Leaving so soon, Harry?' The voice sounded as frail as its owner looked.

'I didn't mean to disturb you, sir.'

'I am always most delighted to be disturbed, especially by someone who has been occupying my thoughts and dreams so much. It is good to see you restored to full health.'

'I take it Hermione told you what happened?' Harry sat down on the chair beside the bed.

Dumbledore nodded. 'According to Miss Granger, your rest was also disturbed by dreams, most unpleasant ones.' He leaned back into his pillows and waited.

'I was in a large chamber,' Harry began, 'not the Chamber of Secrets, though, and I couldn't get out. It was really echoey, but that could have just been the voices echoing in my head. There were three giant statues – one man, two women. I thought they might have been Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw but they didn't speak English, not properly anyway … I could only understand a few words … one of them said something about hollow ground at one point. They were shouting at me like they were mad or something. Then the Sorting Hat was on my head and I could understand them.

'They told me I had to get a key. There was danger in the school and I had to lock the danger in with the statues but I needed the key. Except I couldn't get out to get the key.' Harry struggled to calm his breathing as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He shrugged apologetically. 'I'm sorry, sir. It was just a dream.'

Dumbledore fixed him with a penetrating gaze. 'I think we both know it was more than a dream, Harry. And the words you understood wouldn't have been hollow ground, but holy or hallowed ground. Unless I am much mistaken, what you saw was the Hallows.'

Harry frowned. 'What's that?'

'It is the room created by Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw to counteract Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.'

'I thought Slytherin kept the Chamber of Secrets, well, secret from the other three founders.'

'And so he did,' Dumbledore replied. 'The others never knew for certain what Slytherin had done, but Gryffindor knew him extremely well and suspected he would do all within his power to endanger those whom he considered to be less than pure.'

'Then the statues were Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.' Harry shook his head, confused. ''So how come I couldn't understand them? I thought they were English.'

'They were Saxons, yes,' Dumbledore nodded. 'But their accent of a thousand years ago would be so different from ours today, I'm surprised you could understand even a few words. Also, the English we speak today is actually a mixture of Saxon (or ancient English), and Norman, which is ancient French. The Saxon words which you didn't understand have since been substituted by Norman ones.'

'Oh.' Harry tried to regather his thoughts. 'So where is the Hallows, sir?'

'It is at Hogwarts, though you will find no mention of it in any book or map. It is even more secret than the Chamber of Secrets and only appears when the school is in gravest peril.'

'What's inside it, sir?' Harry wasn't certain he really wanted to know the answer; if the Hallows contained something powerful enough to defeat Slytherin's evil …

'Nothing.' Dumbledore's moustache twitched slightly at the disbelief on Harry's face. 'Unlike the Chamber of Secrets, which contained a Basilisk which could be released to roam through Hogwarts, purging it of Muggle-borns and half-bloods, the Hallows was created to draw threats to the school into itself, where they could be contained, hidden safely from those who might otherwise have suffered harm.'

Before Harry had a chance to reflect very much upon this, Dumbledore said, 'Describe the chamber for me please, Harry.'

'Like I said, it was big and echoey. It had stone walls like Hogwarts, two large, heavy doors and no windows, only dozens of arches all around it, like the Coliseum.'

'So it was dark?'

'No,' Harry's brow creased again. 'It was really light, like a bright summer's day. But I'm not sure how it was light; I didn't see any candles or lamps, and the walls weren't glowing or anything. It was just … light.' He shrugged, confused again.

'And the doors?' Dumbledore prompted.

'From what I could see, they were the only way in or out – the arches certainly didn't lead anywhere – really big and really heavy looking. With a strange keyhole. Even though the doors were huge, the keyhole was tiny. I wouldn't have thought it would be enough to hold the doors closed. There were also three small holes around the keyhole, like someone had tried to drill through the lock or something.'

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. 'Three small holes?' he questioned. Harry nodded. Dumbledore thought a moment. 'Small enough to poke a finger into?'

Harry pointed his finger and considered it. 'Mmm, yeah, could be.' He gazed at Dumbledore expectantly.

'Thank you for sharing this information with me, Harry. It tells us that, in order to defeat him, we shall need to lure Lord Voldemort into the Hallows.'

'Except we have to find the key first,' said Harry bitterly. Would these quests never end?

Dumbledore's eyes regained some of the twinkle which had been missing for so long. 'There will be no need to hunt high and low, Harry,' he said. 'The key is where it has always been: with its keeper.'

'But who's the key's keep-?' Harry broke off. Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. 'Hagrid?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Every holder of that post has had access to a small leaden key known as the Founders' Key, but only when it has been requested by the serving headmaster or headmistress.'

Harry tensed. 'So you could have gotten the key from Hagrid any time and locked Voldemort in the Hallows? Why didn't you? Why didn't you destroy him years ago when he first showed his true colours?' Harry was almost shouting. 'My mum and dad needn't have died, or Sirius, or Cedric –'

'Quiet Harry.' Dumbledore's voice was little more than a whisper but it echoed through the suddenly-silent room.

Harry felt like he had been slapped across the face. Surprised to find himself on his feet he mumbled, 'Sorry,' as he sat down.

Dumbledore nodded his acceptance of the apology. 'Locking Voldemort inside the Hallows all those years ago would not have destroyed him; his Horcruxes would have ensured that. And while he would have been separated from wizards and Muggles alike, enabling them to once more live in safety, the time may have one day come when the Hall was once again opened with the intention of luring some future threat inside, only to unwittingly release the very-much-still-alive evil contained within.

'As much as I would have loved nothing better than to have taken care of Lord Voldemort years ago, it has been obvious for some time that the moment of his defeat is only now approaching.' He smiled sadly.

Harry felt ashamed of his outburst. He made an effort to get the conversation back on track.

'So we'll have to bring Hagrid and Professor McGonagall in on our secret?'

'Minerva, at least, but not until we are ready to open the Hallows.'

'And once we've got the key from Hagrid and opened it, what then?'

'Oh, the Founders' Key alone won't open that chamber,' said Dumbledore. 'We shall need the whole key for that. In other words, the descendants of Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw.'

Harry's face must have shown his frustration at the idea of even more research, for Dumbledore's moustache twitched again.

'Don't worry Harry; you won't need to spend hours in the library pouring over dusty old books. All three descendants are within easy reach.'

'They are?' asked Harry excitedly. 'Where are they? I mean, where's the other one?'

Dumbledore frowned. 'Other one?'

'Zacharius Smith is related to Hepzibah Smith, isn't he?'

Dumbledore gazed at Harry a moment. 'It is true that Mr Smith is descended from Helga Hufflepuff, but he is not her closest living relative. Miss Susan Bones is.'

Now Harry was really confused. 'How is Susan more closely related than Zacharius? I mean, a thousand years is a thousand years; and Zacharius's family had the cup.'

'Yes, but what makes one descendant more closely related to an ancestor than another is not the amount of time between the two, but the closeness to the direct male line. You are Gryffindor's heir because you only have to go back to Primula Potter to find a Gryffindor; the next descendant needs to go back to the eighteenth century.'

Harry blinked. 'I have relatives besides Aunt Petunia?'

'Yes,' answered Dumbledore, cautiously in Harry's opinion, 'but they are very distant.'

'Who?'

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a moment. 'Not now, Harry. Let us get you safely through the ordeal facing you first, then you will have the rest of your hopefully long and safe life to get to know your very distant relations.

'Mr Zacharius Smith,' Dumbledore firmly directed the discussion from Harry's mystery relatives, 'needs to trace back to the Middle Ages to find a Hufflepuff, but Miss Bones only needs to go back to 1817.'

'But what if Susan doesn't want to help?'

'I don't see that being a problem. Miss Smith was in my "army", so she has certainly demonstrated a desire to do something about fighting against evil. And she has lost several family members to Lord Voldemort's forces, most recently, her father. I think we can quite confidently rely upon her co-operation.'

'And Ravenclaw?'

'Again, not now. Unlike the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff lines, the Ravenclaw heir is the only descendant remaining. There is no second to take their place so, for their protection, I would prefer to keep their identity secret. But then, that was the legacy of the Ravenclaw line: too busy falling in love with books and extending their knowledge to realise that what they should have been doing was simply falling in love and extending Rowena's family. When the time is right, they shall be revealed.

'And now, Harry, it is time I returned to my rest, or Professor Snape shall be most severe with me when he arrives, and we can't have that, can we?'

'No, sir.' Harry grinned as he took his leave.

'No indeed,' murmured Dumbledore as he closed his eyes. 'Not at all good for his blood pressure.