Here you have it, another chapter of Heir of Dracula! In this chapter, we start and finish second year! I hope you'll like it. If you don't... well, that kinda sucks...
–
Harold Dracula sat in his castle, upon his throne, with the Philosopher's Stone in his hand. He didn't know what to do with it. He already had eternal life, and more gold than he knew what to do with... So, what to do with this?
"What's on your mind, Master?" came Eleesia's voice as the quadruplet made her way into the throne room. She stuck to English, as Harold had commanded that they were to speak it from now on, so that Harold's English wouldn't get rusty.
"I don't know what I wish to do with this Philosopher's Stone," Harold said, holding up the Stone.
"Why not hide it away in the treasury?" Eleesia suggested, raising an eyebrow. Harold sighed.
"I thought of that, but it seems such a waste, to leave it in the treasury to gather dust.
"Well, you cannot very well give it away, can you, Master?"
"Can't I?" Harold asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. Then, he sighed again. "No, I suppose I cannot..."
There was a crack like a gunshot, and all of a sudden, a little creature appeared in front of Harold's throne. It had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. A house-elf, in Castle Dracula?
"Harry Potter!" the creature squeaked I a high-pitched voice. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honor it is."
Eleesia immediately flinched, and Harold snarled loudly, shooting to his feet, which made the house-elf flinch at well.
"Do not call be by that name!" Harold snarled, and the house-elf immediately sank into a bow.
"Dobby is sorry, sir! Dobby forgets that Harry Potter goes by the name Harold Dracula. Dobby will not forget again."
"Dobby..." Harold muttered, sinking back down into his throne. "Are you, perchance, Draco's house-elf?"
Dobby flinched, and then gave a quivering nod.
"Does Draco send me a message, I wonder?" Harold asked, and Dobby shook his head.
"No, sir... Dobby is here of his own volition... Dobby will have to punish himself grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir..."
"Then why are you here, Dobby?" Harold asked, not in the mood for games.
Dobby leaned toward Harold, his eyes wide as headlights.
"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harold Dracula met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago... that Harold Dracula escaped yet again."
"I defeated him, if memory serves," Harold said in boredom. "The coward fled."
Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.
"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harold Dracula is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harold Dracula, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the over door later... Harold Dracula must not go back to Hogwarts."
There was a sudden silence. Harold and Eleesia both stared at the house-elf, who was nervously fidgeting on the spot.
"What is this rubbish?" Harold asked suddenly. "Of course I will return."
"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked so hard his ears flapped. "Harold Dracula must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harold Dracula goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."
"Why?" Harold asked, his eyebrow rising again.
"There is a plot, Harold Dracula. A plot to make the most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," Dobby whispered, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harold Dracula must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"
"I don't doubt that Mr. Malfoy or one of his friends is behind this plotting, but personally, I welcome a bit of mortal danger. If someone finds a way to kill me, I welcome them to," Harold said simply, and Dobby shook his head again.
"Please, Harold Dracula, sir, give Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"
"No," Harold said. "Now, Dobby, you should leave rather urgently. I am expecting visitors."
"Dobby cannot leave, sir, not until Harold Dracula says he will not go back to Hogwarts."
"Then I'll just kill you, and rob Draco of a servant."
Dobby's mouth curved into a small smile.
"Dobby is used to death threats, sir."
"But I will go through with it," Harold spoke, not a hint of humor in his voice, and Dobby flinched.
Suddenly, the door to the throne room opened, revealing Verona, who stepped inside, followed by a couple and a boy. The pale, pointed face of the man, along with the long blond hair immediately identified him as Draco's father, and Draco's mother, who was tall and blond, and quite beautiful, in all honesty. Following them was Draco.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," Harold said pleasantly, making Dobby squeak in fright as he spun around to look at his owners. Mr. Malfoy froze when he saw Dobby, and Harold gestured for the house-elf. "Your house-elf here has been keeping me company, trying to prevent me from going back to Hogwarts this year. Any idea why?"
"None," Mr. Malfoy said silkily, his cold eyes glaring at Dobby, who fidgeted. "Go home, Dobby, and don't bother Count Dracula anymore. I shall deal with you when I get home."
Without a word, Dobby disappeared with a crack.
"Now that that is over with," Harold said, rising from his throne and walking over to the Malfoys, holding out a hand for Mr. Malfoy to shake, "I am pleased to have you as my honored guests in this castle of mine."
"It is a rather different sight from Hogwarts, I must admit," Mr. Malfoy said, shaking Harold's hand. "For the better, of course. For the better."
"Of course," Harold said, moving over to Mrs. Malfoy, taking her hand and planting a kiss on her knuckles. "I am honored to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son has been a very good friend of mine."
"I am delighted to hear it, Count Dracula," Mrs. Malfoy said, smiling.
"Draco," Harold greeted Draco with a nod, and the boy nodded back.
"Harold."
"Please, allow me to show you around," Harold said, leading the way out of the throne room. "And I am afraid I must ask you to stay close to me. This castle is old, and has many bad memories. The quadruplets in particular can be rather vicious."
"Can you not control your servants?" Mr. Malfoy inquired, only to get a smirk from Harold.
"I can, but I like to keep them on a loose leash. It makes for a much more amusing time."
–
SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2
by Miranda Goshawk
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart
Harold hummed as he stood in Diagon Alley with Draco, who had just returned from Knockturn Alley with his father, who stood behind the two boys.
"I have never heard of this... Gilderoy Lockhart before," he spoke curiously. "I don't have any of his books in my library."
"Don't dirty your library with his books, Harold," Mr. Malfoy spoke as they walked off, toward Flourish and Blotts. "The man is a fraud. I went to school with him, and he was abysmal at magic. I doubt he could have done the things he writes about."
"I see," Harold said, approaching the bookstore.
There was a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for ths was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows.
GILDEROY LOCKHART
will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME
today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.
The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of middle-aged witches. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies... Don't push, there... mind the books, now..."
Harold, Draco, and Mr. Malfoy squeezed inside, Mr. Malfoy looking disdainful whenever he touched someone from the crowd.
"Go and get your books, boys," Mr. Malfoy said, stopping in a somewhat open area where he wouldn't have to touch anyone. "I shall wait here for you."
"Yes, Father," Draco said and nudged Harold, and together they made their way through the crowd.
Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes. His pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.
"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Harold, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Proph-"
The man stopped as Harold grabbed his collar and pulled him down to eye level, his blood red eyes glaring into the man's brown ones.
"See this?" he asked, gesturing for his right riding boot, where there was a dusty footprint on the toe. "This is Italian leather... It costs more than an entire month's salary for you..." Harold gave a great pull, and the man was forced to his knees before Harold, who glared down at him. "Wipe off your dirt, you peon..."
The man gulped, and immediately started wiping Harold's boot with his sleeve. When he was done, he shot to his feet, muttered an apology, and disappeared into the crowd.
"That... was brilliant," Draco said with a smirk.
"I really like these boots."
"You never did tell me where you got them."
"Parkinson bought them for me," Harold said, a curious look on his face. "I suspect that she likes me."
"Yeah, suspect," Draco said slowly, nodding. "That's why she spent over fifty Galleons on a pair of boots for you."
Harold laughed.
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up, and saw Harold. He stared. Then, he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't be Harry Potter?"
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Lockhart dived forward, seized Harold's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause, but that immediately stopped, to be replaced by gasps when Harold gripped Lockhart's wrist and squeezed.
Lockhart gave a yelp, and dropped to his knees from the pain, and Harold glared down at him.
"My name is Harold Dracula," he spoke loudly, to make sure the entire store could hear it. "Don't ever forget it. Do you understand?"
"I understand!" Lockhart practically screamed, and Harold was disgusted to see tears in the man's eyes. Harold let him go, and Lockhart shot to his feet, clearing his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, expertly hiding his pain and fear of Harold as he threw an arm around the young Dracula's shoulders. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!
"When young Harold here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography... which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge..." The crowd applauded again, the memory of Lockhart's humiliating treatment at Harold's hands seemingly forgotten. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harold a little shake, "that he would be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in face, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harold found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Shaking his head to himself, he made his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Draco stood. But he wasn't alone.
"See that, Weasley? He got the books for free. Bet you would have loved that," Draco drawled with a sneer as he spoke to Ronald Weasley who stood in the store with a young redheaded girl, who he had to admit looked kind of cute with that out-of-place look on her face. "Then you could have bought yourself some new robes."
"Oh, it's you," Weasley said, looking at Draco as though he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe.
"Hello, Weasley," Harold said as he approached them. "Had a good summer?"
"You..." Weasley muttered, giving Harold the same look. Harold ignored him, however, and instead focused on the girl. He extended his hand.
"Hello there, I am Harold Dracula."
The girl went scarlet and shakily reached out her hand, taking his and shaking it, saying, "G-Ginny W-Weasley..."
She looked like she was going to pass out when Harold turned her hand over and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.
"Charmed."
"Get away from my sister, Dracula!" Weasley hissed.
"I cannot merely 'get away' from such a charming young woman," Harold said, staring deeply into Ginny's eyes, a hint of a smirk on his face. Then, he tipped his books into the second-hand cauldron in her hand. "Here you are, my dear. I don't need them."
"We don't need your sympathy!" Weasley growled. "Ginny, give the books back."
"What?" Ginny asked, turning to glare at Weasley. "No, can't you see they were a gift?" she said, then gave Harold a bow of her head. "T-Thank you, Count Dracula."
"What are you doing with the Weasley girl?" Draco hissed in Harold's ear. Harold turned away from the Weasleys to hide his smirk and threw an arm around Draco's shoulders.
"What better way to harm Weasley than to turn his own sister against him, eh?"
Draco's eyes widened. Then, he smirked as well, and they both turned back to the Weasleys, where Draco extended a hand to Ginny as well.
"I'm Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."
Ginny, quivering, reached out and shook his hand as well.
"Ron!" came the voice of a tall, balding, redheaded man with glasses as he made his way over with the Weasley twins. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."
"Well, well, well... Arthur Weasley."
It was Mr. Malfoy. He had made his way over and put his hands on Harold and Draco's shoulders, sneering in just the same way as Draco.
"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said, nodding coldly.
"Bust time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"
He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"
Mr. Weasley flushed darker than Ginny did.
"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said.
"Clearly," Mr. Malfoy said, his eyes glinting. He thrust the old Transfiguration book at Ginny. "Here, girl, take your book... it's the best your father can give you... Come, boys."
"Hope to see you in Slytherin, Ginny," Harold said with a charming smile. "That's our House."
With that, they left the bookstore.
"Care to tell me why a noble Slytherin would associate with Weasley trash?" Mr. Malfoy inquired of Harold, who opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.
"Harold has a master plan, Father," he said, a wide smirk on his face. "We'll appear to be the complete opposite of what the rumors say about Slytherin by befriending the mudblood Granger, and at the same time, we're turning the Weasley girl against her own family. It would be the ultimate insult, wouldn't it, Father, if the youngest Weasley ended up in Slytherin?"
"Very true," Mr. Malfoy said carefully. "But I think it would be best if you boys kept your distance from all Weasleys this year."
Harold gave Mr. Malfoy an inquisitive look. Could this have something to do with that extra something he put in Ginny's cauldron? Oh yes, Harold's sharp vampire eyes had seen it. It was a small book. But what all could a little book do that would warrant such caution regarding the Weasley girl?
–
When Harold sat down at the Slytherin table on September the first, he was greeted happily by everyone who was within arm's length of him. Good, no one seemed to have forgotten who was in charge.
"Hi, Harold," came a shy voice as someone sat down next to him. It was Pansy Parkinson, who blushed when Harold looked at her. "Had a good summer?"
"Exceedingly good," Harold said with a smile. "I never did thank you for the boots, did I, Pansy?"
"N-No, you didn't," Pansy said, and Harold took her hand, kissing her knuckles.
"Thank you."
"You're... You're welcome, Harold..." Pansy said shyly. Draco leaned to the side to whisper in Harold's ear.
"I like Pansy like this. Usually when she and her father comes to visit, she never shuts up. She's much more docile now."
Harold gave a chuckle as the Sorting Hat finished its song, which Harold had completely missed, and the hall burst into applause.
Then, the Sorting began. Harold and Draco kept themselves entertained by making their knives float and start fencing. They dropped the knives to the table again, however, when "Weasley, Ginny!" was called.
The young girl stumbled forward, and the Hat was placed on her head.
There was about a minute of silence. Then, the Hat opened its 'mouth,' and proclaimed, "SLYTHERIN!"
Just like with Harold's Sorting, the entire Slytherin table was quiet as a scarlet Ginny took the Hat off her head. Then, Harold started applauding, quickly followed by Draco and the rest of the Slytherin students, probably afraid of punishment should they have avoided applauding.
"Good to have you here, Ginny," Harold said as Ginny took her seat across from him and Draco. "Welcome to Slytherin."
"Thank you... Count Dracula..." Ginny almost whispered, blushing scarlet still.
"Please, call me Harold," Harold said with a charming smile.
The next day, at breakfast, something happened that completely made Harold and Draco's day.
Over at the Gryffindor table, the mail arrived, and a scarlet envelope was dropped in Ronald Weasley's lap. Harold and Draco immediately recognized it as a Howler, so they both smirked at each other, then watched the show as Weasley opened the envelope. A split second after Weasley had slit the envelope open, a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
"RONALD WEASLEY! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISGUSTED BY YOUR BEHAVIOR!" came a shriek from the envelope. "DON'T YOU DARE BULLY YOUR SISTER JUST BECAUSE SHE WAS SORTED INTO SLYTHERIN! WE DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BE A PREJUDICED BOY! IF I HEAR THAT YOU HAVE SO MUCH AS SAID A SCATHING WORD TO GINNY, WE'LL BE BRINGING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Weasley's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. Harold brought his hands together, slowly clapping. Draco followed, then the rest of the Slytherins burst into applause as well, and Weasley sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.
"Ah, that was good," Harold said as the applause died down. He looked to Ginny, who looked a bit red herself. "So, Ginny, what's your first class?"
Ginny looked at her recently received schedule and read through it.
"Potions with the Gryffindors."
"Oh, good. You'll find Snape's lessons pleasurable as long as you're a Slytherin," Draco said with a wink.
–
"Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you..."
Harold, sitting deep in thought in the Slytherin common room, in front of the fire, perked up when the voice reached his ears.
"Did you hear that?" he asked Draco, who looked up from where he lay on one of the leather couches, looking through his Transfiguration book in boredom.
"Hear what?"
"That voice," Harold clarified, blinking as he looked around at the other students in the common room. None of them seemed to have heard anything.
"What voice, Harold?" Draco asked, sitting up and looking curiously at Harold. "I didn't hear anything."
Harold narrowed his eyes as he looked into the fire, deep in thought. "Nothing... I guess it's nothing. Go back to reading your book, Draco."
Draco stared at Harold for a few seconds, then shrugged and lay back down, going back to reading his Transfiguration book.
Harold hummed to himself. That cold, murderous voice... What could it possibly have been? It sure wasn't Harold's imagination, he knew that much... And it sounded so... familiar for some reason...
The days passed, and Harold put the thoughts of the voice in the back of his head as he focused on his school work, which was starting to get very boring, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he had decided not to even try in.
Halloween came, and Harold enjoyed an excellent Halloween feast.
He didn't necessarily need to eat, but he had to admit that it was a welcome change from the bloodpops.
After the feast, they found themselves wandering the halls, ready to head down to the common room, with Harold in the lead, when Harold suddenly stopped in one of the dark corridors.
"Look," he said suddenly, pointing down the corridor.
Something was shining on the wall ahead. Everyone approached it slowly, squinting through the darkness, but Harold could see everything. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN
OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware?" Draco read out loud as a large group of students had come from the other end of the corridor as well. "What's that thing?" he asked, pointing at something underneath the text.
"It's Mrs. Norris," Harold said, loud enough for everyone to hear it.
True enough, Mrs. Norris was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
–
"That's the second attack in less than two weeks," Harold said as he sat in the Slytherin common room, opening a small, wrapped box to find a velvety box inside. He opened it, to see a silver signet ring, which looked much like his family ring, only it was blank and didn't have his family crest on it. He put it onto his left ring finger, since his right already had his family ring on it.
"I don't see why you're so worried," Draco said, shrugging as he sat in a chair next to Harold's. "I mean, a few peasants attacked doesn't really matter."
"You seem to forget that our best friend is Muggle-born," Harold said, giving Draco a look.
"Oh, right... I'm still not used to, you know, being friends with Mugge-borns," Draco said with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry."
"We need to find out what is causing this. It might have something to do with that book your father gave Ginny."
"What does a book have to do with anything?"
"That's the thing... I don't know..."
The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by now. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
Ginny, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was for some reason distraught, just as she had been when Mrs. Norris was Petrified...
When Harold sat down and thought about it, Ginny had been acting very oddly ever since they started school.
It wasn't until February, long after the third attack, in which the victims were Justin Finch-Fletchely, and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.
Harold, Draco, and Hermione were making their way toward the library when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.
"That's Filch," Harold said as they made their way up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening intently.
"Has someone else been attacked?" Hermione wondered nervously.
They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.
"...even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore..."
His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor, and they heard a distant door slam.
They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of a nearby bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear wailing echoing off the bathroom walls.
"Who on earth is that?" Harold wanted to know, and Hermione sighed.
"That's Moaning Myrtle," she whispered. "Everyone avoids her bathroom."
Harold hummed and tapped his boots with his wand, making them impervious to water, and then walked forward through the water to the bathroom, ignoring the Out Of Order sign and entering.
It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harold had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched, and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Moaning Myrtle was crying very loudly. She seemed to be hiding in one of the toilets. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.
"Pardon me, madam?" Harold spoke.
"Who's that? Myrtle glugged miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"
Harold waded over to the stall that the voice was coming from and gently asked, "Why would I throw something at you?"
"Don't ask me!" Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."
"I'm sorry, Miss Myrtle," Harold said sympathetically. "Do you know who threw it at you?"
"I don't know... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," Myrtle said, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out..."
Harold, Draco, and Hermione looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby, black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harold stepped forward, picking it up.
He saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him that it was fifty years old. He opened it, and on the first page he could just make out the name 'T. M. Riddle' in smudged ink. He peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them.
"That's odd," Harold said, narrowing his eyes at the diary. "If no one has written in it, why would anyone want to flush it away?"
–
When Harold and Draco returned to their dorm the day before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, Harold was in for a nasty surprise. He found Theodore Nott in the dormitory, and the boy spun around to look at Harold with wide, panicking eyes.
"H-Harold, I swear, I didn't do this!"
Watching Harold fearfully, he gestured for Harold's bed.
The contents of Harold's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.
"Theodore," Harold spoke calmly as he walked over to his bed, treading on a few loose pages of his Transfiguration book. The boy in question jumped to attention, and Harold glanced at him. "You know who did this?"
"N-No, Harold... I j-just came in, and it was like this..."
"I see..." Harold said slowly, reaching down and picking up his ancestor's cloak. His eyes drifted shut, and he took a deep breath. "I want the culprit found... and I want them punished... Gather everyone..."
"Yes, Harold," Draco said, leaving the room.
Harold looked around, and found something missing: Riddle's diary. So, there was a thief on the loose, then? He took out his wand, and with a sweep of it, all the contents of his trunk were put back into place, the items on the bed were put back in the drawer that soared into his bedside cabinet again, and his cloak was repaired. He put it on, then made his way out of the dormitory, followed by Nott.
There was a tension in the air as Harold entered the common room, where almost all the Slytherin students were gathered. Harold climbed onto one of the tables so that he could look over everyone.
"Someone has stolen from me," he spoke coldly, and he could see some people shivering at his tone of voice. "I am not one to be trifled with. Therefore, privileges will be revoked, freedoms will be withdrawn, and punishments will be much stricter. Unless, of course, the culprit wishes to step forward to spare their Housemates my wrath..."
There was no movement. A few people gulped. Harold's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"So be it..."
Slytherin wasn't allowed to go watch the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff game. Harold was so furious with the fact that someone had dared to steal from him that he revoked their Quidditch privileges. Marcus Flint had begged him not to force them not to play Quidditch, but Harold had just said that he'd see.
So, on the day of the Quidditch match, the Slytherins were all in the common room, studying or playing around, instead of watching the match, which had Flint fidgeting like crazy, as he was dying to see Gryffindor's tactics.
Just then, the wall bled away, and Snape stepped into the common room, holding a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand.
"There has been another double attack," he spoke coldly as he looked over his students, who all started listening intently to him. "Miss Penelope Clearwater and Miss Hermione Granger are lying Petrified in the hospital wing right now."
Harold and Draco went wide-eyed, looking at each other in silence, while Snape unrolled the parchment and started reading from it.
"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the common room after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."
The Slytherins packed inside the common room listened to Snape in silence. He rolled up the parchment and said, "It is very likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught..." he spoke quietly, his eyes locking with Harold's. Harold, however, only raised an eyebrow. Finally, Snape looked away. "I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about these attacks to come forward."
With that said, he left the common room, and the Slytherins began whispering immediately, most of them sending Harold concerned looks.
Meanwhile, Harold sat in his chair, slowly turning to look at Draco, who looked shocked.
"This was just made very personal," Harold said, rising from his chair.
"Where are you going?" Draco asked.
"To see Hermione. Then, I'm going to find whoever is doing this, and I'm going to tear their throat out."
"Sounds good," Draco said, shooting to his feet. "I'm coming with you."
"Good man," Harold said, and together, they left the common room, despite what Snape had said.
–
HER SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.
"Huh..."
Harold stared at the message that had been left right underneath the previous message.
"Whose skeleton do you reckon they're talking about?" Draco asked as Harold pushed the door to Myrtle's bathroom open.
"Only one way to find out, don't you think?" he asked.
The bathroom was dimly lit now, not at all as dark as it had been the last time they were in there.
"Miss Myrtle?" Harold spoke politely, pushing open the stall to the end toilet, where Myrtle was sitting on the tank.
"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harold. "What do you want?"
"Miss Myrtle, how did you die?"
Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question. Meanwhile, Draco leaned closer, confused.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Just a theory," Harold said, then looked back to Myrtle.
"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got to me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toiled, and then..." Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "...I died."
"How?"
"No idea," Myrtle said in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body seized up, and then I was floating away..." Se looked dreamily at Harold. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."
"Where did you see these eyes, Miss Myrtle?"
"Somewhere there," Myrtle said, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.
Harold and Draco moved over to it.
It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harold saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.
"That tap's never worked," Myrtle said brightly as Harold tried to turn it.
"Maybe... Maybe it's because the Heir of Slytherin..." Draco mumbled, putting a hand on his chin. "Maybe you need to be a Parselmouth to get through?"
"Well, lucky for us, then," Harold said, getting a strange look from Draco. He clarified, "I am a Parselmouth."
"You're a...?"
"There isn't a language in this world that I do not speak," Harold said, taking a step back. "Open up," he hissed in Parseltongue, and at once, the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move. The sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.
"I'm going down there," Harold said, making up his mind. Draco nodded.
"I'll just stay here, shall I?"
"If you wish," Harold said, lowering himself into the pipe, then letting go.
It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as his, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.
Then, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.
Harold grunted as he waved his wand over himself, vanishing all the dirt and grime on his clothes and cloak. Then, he started walking, his footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.
His eyes took in everything in the darkness, following the long stone tunnel, which was quiet as the grave. The floor was littered with small animal bones. He walked around a bend in the tunnel, coming up on something huge and curved. It was a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long, at least.
"Basilisk..." Harold whispered, suddenly realizing what the monster was. It was all too obvious. The groundskeeper Hagrid's roosters had been killed, the castle was unusually devoid of spiders, and the victims had all been Petrified because they saw it only in a reflection. Creevey saw it through that infernal camera of his, Finch-Fletchley saw it through Sir Nicholas, and Hermione saw it through a mirror...
The tunnel turned and turned again. Harold couldn't help but feel very at home in this place. The dark and dank reminded him so much of Castle Dracula. Then, at last, he rounded another bend and saw a solid was ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.
"Open," Harold said in a low, faint hiss.
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sigh, and Harold walked inside.
He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.
Harold moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once he thought he saw one stir.
Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.
Harold had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.
"Ginny?" Harold asked as he walked over to the girl and knelt next to her. He grabbed Ginny's shoulders and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and just as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But she had a pulse, albeit a weak one, so she was still alive.
"She won't wake," a soft voice said. Harold stood up and spun around.
A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harold was looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.
"Tom Riddle?"
Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harold's face.
"She won't wake?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. "She's still alive."
"Only just," Riddle said.
Harold stared a him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.
"You're not a ghost, I know that much," Harold said, and for the first time in his life, he sounded uncertain.
"I am a memory," Riddle said quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."
He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harold had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"So, Ginny was the thief, then?" Harold asked, and Riddle nodded. "And I take it you are the Heir of Slytherin? Possession, then?"
"You are not as naïve as your writing would suggest, Harry Potter."
"My name is Harold Dracula," Harold growled, and Riddle gave a soft chuckle.
"Yes, of course. I, of all people, should understand the importance of forgetting one's birth name."
"And what does that mean?"
"Don't you realize, Dracula?" Riddle asked, his eyes shining. "I disclosed my full name in that memory I showed you when I captured that oaf Hagrid. Didn't it at all feel familiar?"
"It did," Harold said. "Kind of like a childhood friend I had almost forgotten. But then, I never had any friends growing up."
Riddle smiled maliciously. Then, he raised a wand that Harold recognized as Ginny's. He began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
"I see," Harold said, understanding dawning on his face. "It's no wonder why it felt so familiar. After all, we have such history, you and I."
"And that's why I have been wanting to speak with you, Harold," Riddle whispered. "Twice, in your past, my future, have I failed to kill you... I want to know how... How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk, the longer you stay alive..."
Harold chuckled. The chuckle slowly turned into a laugh, and Harold threw his head back, laughing loudly and coldly, a laugh so cold that it shocked even Riddle, whose eyes widened considerably. He laughed so hard that the dark Chamber rang with it, as though ten Harolds were laughing at once.
"Is it not obvious, Lord Voldemort?" Harold asked, using Riddle's chosen name, a sign of respect. "Has the possibility not entered your arrogant mind?"
"And what, pray tell, is that possibility?"
"That I... am stronger than you..." Harold whispered. The smile had disappeared from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.
"You... stronger than the greatest sorcerer alive?" Riddle hissed, and Harold chuckled.
"Don't you think it's possible? Twice we have met, once when I was no more than a baby, and yet here I stand, strong and whole, while you are a wreck, barely alive. You're in hiding, ugly, and foul-"
"Enough!" Riddle yelled, his face contorted. Then, he forced it into an awful smile.
"Very well, Harold... I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harold Dracula, Heir of Vlad Tepes..."
Riddle walked away, and Harold watched him stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed, but Harold understood what he was saying.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Harold saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge, black hole. And something was stirring inside he statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.
An enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak, fell out of the mouth and hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Riddle smirked at Harold.
"Kill him."
Harold immediately threw his hand out, giving a sweep of his cloak. A swarm of blood red bats flew out of the shadows of his cloak, swarming the basilisk, which started drunkenly weaving its head through the air, snapping at the bats, which started attacking its eyes. There were two great spurts of dark blood, and the basilisk hissed in pain.
"NO!" Riddle screamed. "FORGET THE BATS! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM! KILL HIM!"
The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly.
Suddenly, Harold exploded into a black mist that charged at the basilisk, entering its scaly nose and mouth. The basilisk started flailing wildly, giving choked hisses. It thrashed something fierce, and then, giving one last, hissing breath, it fell to the ground with a large thud, not moving.
"WHAT?" Riddle screamed in rage as the black mist slowly poured out of the basilisk's nose, to form into Harold again. Harold brushed his bangs out of his face and smirked at Riddle.
"Is that the best you've got, Riddle?"
"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle roared, firing an eerily green curse at Harold, who merely leaned to the side, avoiding it. He then looked down at the diary, which had to be the source of Riddle's powers, and whipped out his wand, pointing at it.
"Accio diary," he said, and the diary came soaring into his hand. Riddle's eyes widened, and Harold grinned, exposing his fangs, before biting down on the diary.
A black, viscous liquid poured into Harold's mouth, tasting a lot like ink, but Harold didn't care. He knew it wasn't ink. He could taste the life-force in the liquid, so he greedily drank it all up.
There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then...
He was gone. Ginny's wand fell to the floor with a clatter. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink-like substance still oozing from the diary.
Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harold hurried over to her, she sat up. Her bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harold, with his ink-covered mouth, then to the diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.
"Harold... oh, Harold... I tried to tell you, but I c-couldn't say it... it was me, Harold... but I... I s-swear I d-didn't mean to... R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over... and... how did you kill that.. that thing? W-Where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary..."
"Riddle's gone," Harold said, holding up the diary, which had dropped dripping in. He took out a handkerchief and started wiping his mouth. "He and the basilisk. Now, come on, we have to get out of here.
"I'm going to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harold helped her to her feet. "I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came, and n-now I'll have to leave and... w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"
"You won't be expelled. I can guarantee it," Harold said simply, awkwardly patting Ginny on the shoulder as they walked.
–
For a moment, there was silence as Harold and Ginny stood in the doorway of McGonagall's office, Ginny covered in muck and slime. Then there was a scream.
"Ginny!"
It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.
Harold looked past them. Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to McGonagall, who was taking deep, steadying breaths, clutching her heart. Then, Harold found himself being swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace.
"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"
"I think we'd all like to know that," McGonagall said weakly.
Mrs. Weasley let go of Harold, who took a deep breath.
"It was easy. I, being a Parselmouth, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Myrtle's bathroom and went down there. Well there, I made my way to the Chamber where I found none other than Lord Voldemort down there. He had taken possession of Ginny using this," he said, holding up the diary. "He had a basilisk, but I killed it."
Dumbledore took the diary from Harold and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its soggy pages.
"W-What's that?" Mr. Weasley asked in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? Possess Ginny? But Ginny's not... Ginny hasn't been... has she?"
"Brilliant," Dumbledore said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.
"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... traveled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."
"But, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said. "What's our Ginny got to do with... with... him?"
"His d-diary!" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year-"
"Ginny!" Mr. Weasley said, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic..."
"I d-didn't know," Ginny sobbed. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it..."
"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice... I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."
"Then, Hermione will be okay?" Harold asked, and Dumbledore nodded, smiling at Ginny.
"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," he said.
Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.
"You know, Minerva," Dumbledore said thoughtfully to McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"
"Right," McGonagall said crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Dracula, shall I?"
"Certainly," Dumbledore said.
"Am I to be punished?" Harold asked as McGonagall left.
"Not at all, Harold," Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. "I think I shall give you a Special Award for Services to the School, and... let me see... yes, I think two hundred points for Slytherin."
–
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