A/N: An early update for you, since I probably won't have time or an internet connection for a few days. Enjoy!

Chapter 9: The Duelling Club

The week and a half since the attack on Mrs Norris was uneventful as far as the school as a whole was concerned. Whoever the Heir of Slytherin was, they were keeping quiet. This had led to several areas of speculation. Some people seemed to think that the fact there had been no follow-up attack meant that Halloween had simply been a joke, albeit one in poor taste. Others believed that since Dumbledore had been alerted so soon, the Heir was simply too scared to carry on. Still others – and this was, sadly, the most popular theory as far as Harry could see – thought that since Harry had been under such intense scrutiny since Halloween that he had been unable to sneak away to unleash the monster, whatever it was.

Harry was treated with suspicion wherever he went by the majority of the school though. Few people had actually said anything to him directly, choosing instead to glare at him and pass comment behind his back, just loud enough for him to hear, as if that would cause him to give himself away. It was true, for the first couple of days Harry had found this behaviour intensely annoying, but then he had begun to find it amusing. Those few who had said anything had been unable to back up their claims with anything other than wild speculation when he responded, and now no-one seemed to want to try it again.

Of course, the belief that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin had probably been helped along by Fred and George's attempts to make light of the situation; amusing as Harry found them 'escorting' him to hypothetical meetings in the Chamber, he had to admit that it didn't make him look very good.

Harry himself believed that the Heir was merely keeping quiet for awhile, trying to avoid suspicion until the fuss had died down somewhat. This was largely due to his second experience with the voice he had heard on Halloween.

Walking back from a potions class the day after Halloween, when Snape had been uncharacteristically quiet, and had spent the lesson staring at Harry intently, Harry had been walking along in silence with his friends when he had heard the voice again. He hadn't been able to make out what it was saying – it seemed to be coming from a distance, and he could only hear the echo – but the sound of the voice was unmistakeable. This was worrying in itself, but what was worse was the fact that the other three Gryffindors were unable to hear it. Therefore, on their advice, Harry had restrained his impulse to go to Dumbledore and tell him about the voice he had heard – as Ron said, hearing voices was a bad thing, even in the Wizarding world.

At this particular point, Harry was sat by the Lake, watching the squid play with some mer-people. He was reading a letter from Remus, which had arrived at breakfast that morning.

Dear Harry,

No luck with anything about the Chamber of Secrets I'm afraid. Peter had never heard of it, and Sirius refused to talk about it; all I could get out of him was that his parents had spoken of it being opened once, and spoken of it with great joy – therefore not something he cares to remember. I know that might seem selfish Harry, given your current situation, but try and understand how he feels.

There wasn't anything useful in any of the books I consulted either. The Chamber is just a footnote in Hogwarts: A History, and even most books about magical legends barely give it more than a footnote, and nothing you don't already know. I'm sorry I can't be if more use; I know what it's like to be treated with suspicion and dislike Harry. But don't despair, it'll work out for the best in the end. Just carry on being the boy we all know and love and it'll soon blow over, nobody could believe that you're setting a monster on people for long, I'm sure of it.

On a happier topic, how's your conjuring going? I still say that it's astonishing that you've taken to it with such ease. And I'm glad Quidditch is going well; it was a positive delight to picture Draco's face after you beat him.

Let me know if you find out anything more, and good luck. And Harry? Do try and stay cheerful. You've got some great friends at Hogwarts, and never mind about those stupid enough to believe the worst of you.

With love,

Remus

Harry had a rare smile on his face as he finished reading the letter. Even when he didn't have anything important to say, Remus always managed to cheer him up.

When Harry returned to the common room, many of the Gryffindors were clustered around the notice board, in a state of great excitement. Harry wandered over, and stood by Ron, who looked conflicted about something.

"What's going on?"

"There's going to be a duelling club – but it's going to be run by Lockhart."

Harry winced. He had a suspicion that would be a recipe for disaster. On the other hand, it was better than nothing. He'd been begging the Marauders to let him train with them for ages, but they'd always insisted that they would only start during his fourth year at the very earliest. He loved watching them mock-duel each other, especially when they abandoned the rules of formal duelling and simply fought. Remus had a fondness for double casting, sending a non-verbal spell at his opponent immediately after a more obvious spell, which could often catch those who didn't know his tactic unawares. Peter went for spells that would simply break straight through a shield and cause significant damage, while Sirius tended to just wade in with a deceptively simplistic style; he would often fool Remus and Peter into thinking him an easy challenge before revealing he'd spun an elaborate trap with time-delayed spells. The chance to duel for himself, even if it was against someone like Lockhart, was not to be missed.

As Harry walked down to breakfast with his friends the next day, there was more bad news. Walking through the main doors, Hagrid had a grim expression on his face, and several dead roosters in his hand. The friends stopped to say hello to him, but clearly all was not well. Harry looked at the roosters quickly. They were covered in blood.

"I'm guessing those aren't for us to eat then Hagrid?"

"No they ruddy well aren't! Someone's bin killin' em, woke up this morning and there was corpses everywhere. Dunno who it was or how they didn' wake me up – but there was another of them messages. You know, like the one left with Mrs Norris."

"What? What did it say Hagrid?"

"Summat about him still being around, that he hadn't gone away. Loada codswallop if you ask me; I know that the Heir o' Slytherin ain't around here."

Hermione looked at him strangely.

"How do you know that Hagrid?"

The enormous man flushed deeply, before hastily saying his goodbyes. Ron and Neville attempted to set off for breakfast once more, but Harry set off at a run towards Hagrid's hut, and they all followed him.

It was a misty morning, giving the grounds an eerie quality. Harry shivered as he approached the chicken pen by Hagrid's hut; he was not dressed for the cold. He froze as the mist parted, and Hermione shrieked as she saw what had happened.

There were feathers everywhere. Someone had walked into the pen and fired off curses left, right and centre. There wasn't a single bird left alive, and the fence was covered in blood. One chicken had been cut completely in half, and several had had their heads caved in somehow. On the far fence was another message, blazing brightly in the dim morning light:

Did you think me gone? The Heir of Slytherin shall not be beaten, cannot be beaten. The preparations have been completed; the cleansing shall be swift and merciless. I will never die, I will never leave, and the Mudbloods will curse the day they ever heard of me.

Hermione stared at it, open-mouthed, until Ron and Neville forcibly moved her away. Harry stood there a few moments longer, his anger at the senseless slaughter giving him a new warmth. Then he turned away, and strode back to the castle with his friends.

By lunch, the news had spread over the entire castle. The stares had been renewed, more hostile than before. The fact that Harry had never uttered the work 'Mudblood' in his life, and had spent most of his childhood in the Muggle world did not appear to be something worth noting to most of the students. By the end of the day, the other houses, if they weren't actually his friends, seemed to be totally united in their belief that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had another restless nights sleep, and woke up at dawn more irritable than he had been before he went to bed.

The incident at breakfast only made things worse.

He received some post. He had been expecting some – he had sent Hedwig away with a letter for Remus the previous day – but the anticipated reply did not arrive. Instead, a school owl landed in front of him, bearing a package. Harry opened it carefully, and nearly threw it away in disgust. Someone had sent him a rubber chicken, and a note, saying "If you were hungry, you should have gone to the kitchens". He would have taken it to Dumbledore, but all of a sudden, the box and the note caught fire, and the air was filled with the stench of burning rubber. Startled by his loss of control, Harry swiftly left the Hall, acutely conscious of the eyes on his back.

There were more whispers throughout the day, always from groups, so that Harry couldn't retaliate without dragging his friends into the fight, something he was reluctant to do. As a result, he was in a foul mood by the end of the day, and was tempted to give the duelling club a miss. However, Ron 'persuaded' him to go – meaning that he practically dragged him there.

The Great Hall had been set up for a formal duel, with a large platform in place of the staff table and several much smaller platforms scattered around the hall. Lockhart was standing on the larger one, a dazzling smile on his face, and dressed in finely tailored duelling armour, which seemed to be designed more to show off his figure than actually protect him. They all stood in a small group, carefully ignoring the people staring at Harry, and talked amongst themselves – although Hermione did occasionally stop to stare at Lockhart, as did most of the girls in the hall. After a few moments, Lockhart was joined by Snape, still in his everyday black robes. That caused Harry a moment's amusement. Snape clearly felt that he was in no danger from Lockhart, who he would presumably be duelling against in demonstration.

As Harry looked at the two teachers, he felt something poke him in the back. He turned round, and was greeted with the unpleasant sight of Theodore Nott, sneering at him contemptuously. Over Nott's shoulder, Harry could see Draco heading towards them, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, an angry expression on his face. Then Nott spoke.

"So, Potter. The Heir of Slytherin. Doesn't really seem to go with being the Boy-Who-Lived very well does it? Still, it's an achievement, something you can truly call your own. I mean, it isn't as if you've got much else to be proud of have you? And old-fashioned and prejudiced as Muggle hatred is, at least it's something to say about yourself, other than 'I've got a weird scar'. Your parents would be so proud of you."

Harry's eyes darkened, and he started to raise his wand to retaliate, but Snape, apparently sensing trouble, appeared at his side and looked at them both intently. Nott smirked and walked off; unusually, Snape did nothing else, and just walked off. Harry stood there, anger boiling, ignoring Neville's attempts to calm him down.

Up on stage, Lockhart was waffling on about Disarming an opponent, and showing them an incredibly complex wand movement that seemed to bear no resemblance to the diagrams Harry had seen in his textbooks. Sure enough, when Lockhart attempted to disarm Snape, he not only failed to disarm him, he actually dropped his wand, which raised a few chuckles around the room. Then he called for a volunteer from the student body. There was utter silence. Lockhart scanned the room quickly, and his eyes lit up as he saw Harry.

"Ah, Harry, just the lad I was looking for. Step up here if you would."

"Me sir?"

"Yes of course Harry, don't be scared – you'll come to no harm on my watch I assure you!"

Harry stood still for a second, and then someone began to imitate a chicken. His eyes narrowed, and he walked quickly up onto the stage. Lockhart took him through the wand action for a Shield spell (which Harry already knew how to cast) and then they both took their places at either end of the platform. Lockhart gave an elaborate bow, while Harry bent forward very slightly. Then Lockhart cast a spell. Harry's wand snapped up, and he barked out the incantation. A wall of magic formed in front of him, rippling in the air as Lockhart's spell flew towards him. It rebounded straight back by fortunate chance, hitting Lockhart in the chest and sending him staggering back. Lockhart wheezed for a bit as he regained his breath, before beginning to explain about the sometimes erratic rebound when the shield charm was used. Harry didn't pay much attention; he was more interested in Snape, who was looking at him with something that could, in a dim light and if you squinted, be called an attempt at a small smile.

Then Lockhart told Harry to try and disarm him.

Harry smiled slightly, and resumed his position. Lockhart assumed his elaborate en guarde position, and gestured for Harry to begin. Harry quickly moved his wand through the movement for a Disarm, crying out the incantation as he did so. The spell, given extra power by the anger Harry was keeping hidden, slammed straight through Lockhart's admittedly poor attempt at a shield charm and sent the professor flying. He landed in a heap several feet from where he had been standing, his hair mussed and a tear in his armour. Harry grinned as his friends cheered (although Hermione was a little less enthusiastic than the others). There was a ripple of laughter through the rest of the audience as well; clearly, Harry was not the only one to dislike Lockhart. The professor staggered to his feet.

"Well, that was very good Harry, you're clearly not bad at this kind of thing… You did rather telegraph your movement though; it would be obvious to anyone what you were about to do, and of course, most opponents wouldn't be letting you get past their shield as I was. Why don't you try again?"

Harry's eyes darkened once more. How dare that fraud try and pretend he had let Harry beat him so easily! Resuming his en guard position, he snapped off another spell, muttering the incantation rather than shouting it this time. Again, it tore through Lockhart's shield, and hit the professor in the chest… But instead of knocking him flat on his back, Lockhart began to shimmer. Then there was a quiet pop, and Lockhart vanished.

Harry had turned him into a bird. Specifically, a peacock.

There was an uproar from the crowd. Even accepting that Lockhart was useless, there was no way Harry should have been able to do that! Even his friends were staring at him in shock. Snape was the only one who seemed unperturbed; he walked over to the cooing peacock and pointed his wand at it. Nothing happened. He tried again. The peacock spread its tailfeathers. Harry, watching carefully, saw Snape's lips twitch minutely as he conjured a cage around the bird. Picking it up, the Potions Master turned to the students, dismissing them carelessly.

Harry stood there, frozen, unable to believe his own eyes. The spell had not been supposed to do that! He had lost control of his magic once again, and it would seem as if Lockhart was going to be stuck like that for awhile. As the reality began to sink in, he started to snigger quietly to himself.

Snape wandered into the staffroom at a leisurely pace, a small smirk on his face. Walking over to his habitual seat, he sat back, his legs crossed, and allowed the smirk to broaden into a full fledged smile. McGonagall looked at him curiously.

"You're back early Severus. I thought the duelling club was running until 8, and I certainly didn't expect to see you looking so happy."

"I wasn't either Minerva, but there were some… compensations, shall we say?"

"And those were?"

"Another chance to see Potter demonstrate his power first hand." Snape said this a little louder than he had been speaking previously, drawing attention from all over the staffroom.

"Potter was called up to demonstrate the Shield and Disarming spells against Lockhart. I have no doubt he already knows them, but of course Lockhart would want to make himself look good by associating with the Boy-Who-Lived… Anyway, Lockhart didn't even manage to make Potter's shield quiver, and when Potter attacked Lockhart, well, it was really rather amusing."

"What happened? Is Lockhart ok?"

"Well – first, Potter sent Lockhart flying flat on his back. He can put a fair amount of power behind his spells; I suspect with a little training he'd give you a run for your money in the duelling stakes Filius. Then came the true masterpiece. Lockhart told him to go again… So Potter turned him into a peacock."

There was a stunned silence, then the staffroom rang with laughter. McGonagall wiped away tears of laughter, attempting to resume her serious countenance once more, and asked Snape

"Where do you think he learnt to do that?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I assumed you had taught him Minerva. I know you were giving him extra lessons last year."

"Yes, but nothing that complex Severus. It's incredibly tricky magic – if he didn't manage it correctly Gilderoy may never totally recover."

"Which would be a great loss… Poppy assures me that he will make a full recovery, mores the pity. Her exact words, I do hope he couldn't understand her. But amusement aside, it does worry me that the boy is so powerful. Merlin only knows what would happen if his magic truly ran wild, it was worryingly close to happening today; I could feel his magic again. I think someone had been making him angry."

"Well, lets hope we never find out."

"I somehow doubt we will be that lucky Minerva. Potter seems to attract trouble. This Heir of Slytherin business for example. Does anyone really believe it's him? I don't much like him, but he doesn't seem the type."

McGonagall shrugged, a bitter expression on her face.

"Harry is unusual, so he gets the blame for everything. I'm sure you remember that kind of behaviour Severus."

"Oh yes indeed Minerva; how could I forget?"

And let us hope that Potter doesn't become as unpleasant as I did in the face of such provocation.

A/N Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.