A/N: Again, i revised this chapter. Guess that happens with a WIP.

Later on, between two *s means that it contains text taken directly from the book, but full credit goes to J.K. Rowling.

Harry's POV

The morning after Raven and I'd…connected…we told Ron and Hermione about it. They were slightly creeped out, and I couldn't blame then, but they realized that this might prove useful.

The next few days were strange. Lockhart couldn't keep his flashy mouth shut and by the next evening, the entire school knew about Raven's father. Whenever we walked through the corridors, Raven would trail behind Ron, Hermione, and me, well aware of the whispering and pointing students around her. I'd look behind me, seeing her with her hood up and staring at the floor as she walked to avoid receiving the weird looks from the kids who knew of Greek mythology. Students kept an even wider berth around her, as if afraid her tough could bring death.

The only friends she'd gained from this experience was Fred and George Weasley. They've seem to have taken her under their wing, and every now and then they'd steal her off on a little mini-adventure over the weekends. I've even seen her trying to teach them how to write in Ancient Greek. I wouldn't be surprised if they have been secretly plotting to blow the school up.

On the way to History of Magic class one day, Raven stopped us. She handed us each a small slip of parchment, telling us to have it out during class.

While Professor Binns droned on about something that happened over 700 years ago, I fidgeted with my slip of parchment to keep from falling asleep. I stopped when words appeared on it. I moved it in front of me on the desk. It read: Hello, Harry, Hermione, Ron. It is I, your friend the demigod. The words stayed on the page for a few moments, then faded and disappeared.

I picked up my quill and wrote: Raven? How'd you do this?

What the bloody hell? It read next.

Fred and George lent me a book on trick spells, um…wait, which of you is which?

Ron

Harry I wrote.

Ok, let's put our initials after we write. RN

Wait, how can we understand you? I thought you can't read English. RW

Translation charm. Also from the twins' book. Yours are in English and mine are in Ancient Greek. RN

Brilliant! HP

We should use this in other classes! RW

You know, maybe you should be paying attention. HG

Aww, don't be such a buzzkill, Hermione. RW

Well, don't you want to pass this class? HG

How about this: We need information—well, Hermione wants information—that everyone wants, and that might be crucial to the safety of this school. So, why don't you make yourself useful and ask Binns about the Chamber of Secrets or something, Hermione. RN

That's actually a good idea, Hermione. Binns should know about it. HP

Yeah. RW

Why me? Why not Raven? You're the one who's used to talking to ghosts. No offence. HG

None taken. And come on. Since when do I ask questions in class? You're more likely. RN

Good point. RW

Good point. HP

Good point. HG

No one wrote anything for a few seconds.

Fine. HG

Binns was interrupted in the middle of his speech by Hermione's raised hand.

*"Miss—er-?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

I looked around the room and noticed Raven pulling out another piece of parchment, as if ready to take notes if needed. She, along with the rest of the class, looked intently up at the professor.

"My subject is History of Magic. I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers—"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in amazement. I was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "Yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he'd never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale—"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. I could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…"

I glanced back at Raven, who raised her black quill. I looked back at Binns.

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago—the precise date is uncertain—by the four greatest witched and wizards of the age. The four Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."

The room had been so motionless that the movement of Raven's quill as she copied down these names on her page caught my eye.

"They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people. And witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others, Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Another pause.

"Reliable sources tell us this much," he said, "but these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

There was a silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns' classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's had was back in the air.

"Sir—what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous glances.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, then no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters haven't found the thing—"

"But Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't—" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"*

I turned back to the slip of four-way parchment. I wrote: Raven, what did you write down? HP

I'll show you in the Common Room later. For now, I'll say that I might have a lead on this Chamber business. RN

Great. Well, I'm falling asleep. Wake me if I sleep through the bell. RW

Maybe. RN

Good idea, Ron. HP

Yeah. Following your lead. RN

Wait, guys. HG

…Guys? HG

Great, all three of you are asleep. HG

oOo

Raven's POV

The bell jolted me awake, and I quickly folded the parchment on which I wrote the names of the founders and slipped it in my jeans pocket. I shouldered my bag and headed out the door. I grabbed my sword from a broom cupboard just outside the classroom, strapped it to my belt, and joined my friends.

Professor Binns makes me remove my sword before entering his class. Ghosts hate the presence of Stygian Iron.

Anyway, I met up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and together we tried to get through the crowds. We were heading back to drop our bags off before dinner.

I pushed my way up to Harry. Since our connection, I felt closer to him as a friend.

I groaned inwardly as the squirrely kid, Colin, went past.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," he said automatically. Colin caught sight of me as well.

"Raven—Harry—some kids in my class have been saying you might be—"

Colin Creevy is a tiny kid, and there was no way he could've possibly fought against the flow of the people walking on.

"See you, Harry!" and he was gone.

"What've people been saying about you two?" Hermione wondered.

"That I'm the heir of Slytherin, I expect," said Harry.

"Probably the same with me," I added. "I bet people think that because he's evil, Slytherin was a son of Hades." I mostly said this to make Harry feel better, but it was actually my opinion. All the way down the corridor, I'd hear whispers of "Slytherin" and "Hades" and "heir".

"People here'll believe anything." Ron said.

I inhaled deeply as the crowd thinned and I could breathe again. We could now easily climb the staircase.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" asked Ron to Hermione.

"I don't know. Neither Dumbledore nor Raven could cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be—well—human."

"Sounds like you're thinking monsters. I'm familiar with monsters," I said as we turned the corner. We found ourselves in the same corridor from that night. Aside from the cat no longer hanging from a torch and the chair under the writing on the wall, it was the same. It smelled even worse now that the smell of stale blood was mixed with the smell of cleanser. I scrunched my nose , bringing my hand to my face to filter the air of the smell. I glanced at Harry. He didn't show any sign of detecting the smell.

Damn, he's lucky I thought.

"That's where filch has been keeping guard," said Ron, indicating the chair under the writing.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around." Harry dropped his bag and got down on his hands and knees.

I pulled up my hood, crouching down on one knee and placing a hand on the floor. I honed my senses and listened for the slightest sign of anything living. The sound of the others' voices blurred, and I heard a soft clicking noise, like many bony insect legs. I concentrated on it, and it got louder. I opened my eyes, straightened, and turned to the source of the noise, seeing a rather unusual sight. The noise faded and stopped.

"Guys…look at this." Harry got up and Hermione walked over with great interest.

No more than two dozen spiders were practically fighting their way through a crack near the window. They seemed to be afraid of something, so much so that they needed to get away immediately.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Hermione asked.

I shook my head.

"No," harry said, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

I looked. Ron was back farther in the corridor, looking ready to run. My gut tugged as I sensed the fear coming off him.

"You okay, man?" I asked.

"I—don't—like—spiders."

Hermione was surprised. "I never knew that. You've used spiders loads of times—"

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, his eyes wandering everywhere—anywhere—but the window. "I just don't like the way they move…" This made Hermione laugh.

"It's not funny!"

"It really isn't. Fear is natural, and arachnophobia is completely rational, especially after what happened." Ron's eyes widened and his hand shot to his forehead. "Fred told me," I added hastily, "I didn't read your mind or anything." He relaxed.

There was an awkward silence, which Harry broke.

"Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was in that area," Ron gestured to the area next to Filch's chair.

I knelt on one knee again, this time examining the floor.

"Here. If you look closely, filth that was left behind from the puddles soaked into the stone, leaving a circle of dirt in its place. There's a trail that leads…" Still crouching, I followed the row of puddle outlines. I straightened at the foot of a door that bore the sign 'Out of Order'. "…to the girls' bathroom."

For a moment, I thought I'd caught the smell of death, of which I was familiar with. I reached for the knob.

"Wait!" Ron cried. I jerked my hand back and turned my head quickly to him. "What?"

"We can't go in there!" he exclaimed. "That's a girls' lavatory."

"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione scoffed. "No one ever goes in there. That's Moaning Myrtle's place."

"Moaning Myrtle?" I asked.

"A ghost. She haunts this bathroom, and no one dares bother her," said Hermione.

"That explains the smell," I said, taking the sword off my belt.

"Do demigods have a smell for everything?" Ron asked.

"I'm the daughter of Hades. My senses are fine-tuned for things in this field." I set my sword down next to the door.

"Why'd you take your sword off?" Harry asked.

"It's Stygian Iron, and ghosts hate the stuff. Don't want to make out possible witness crazy."

"Crazi-er," Ron muttered.

"At least try to be nice. She's very sensitive, and we don't want to make her upset." Hermione stepped forward and opened the door. We followed her.

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was damp, gloomy, and depressing. It reminded me of home.

"Not bad," I said.

"Who's there?" demanded a harsh, miserable voice. Hermione led the way to the stall on the end.

"Hello, Myrtle, how are you?" I, followed by Harry and Ron, went over to look. The ghost of a girl, who looked like a student, was floating above the toilet. She had a glum bespectacled face, draped with dark hair, which was put up in long pigtails that hung from either side of her head.

Myrtle eyed Ron and Harry suspiciously. "This is a girls' bathroom. They're not girls."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her. "No, they're not," I agreed. "We were just showing them how great you keep the place." I shoved my hands in my pockets, my eyes wandering approvingly round the room.

Myrtle huffed. "The daughter of Lord Hades would be appreciative."

"We also wanted to ask you about the other night. I'm sure you've heard of the cat that was attacked just outside your lavatory," I said casually. "Did you hear anything or see anyone that night?"

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention." Myrtle's voice rose slightly. "Peeves had been making fun of me and had upset me so much that I came back here to kill myself. Then I remembered that I'm—that I'm…"

"Already dead," Ron supplied. My eyes widened; I'd had her almost perfectly calm, and for her type, a simple phrase like that could cause serious problems.

Myrtle uttered a rather horrible, shrill whine, rising in the air and diving headfirst into the toilet, splashing water everywhere. I reacted the quickest, using the shadows around me to form what I like to call 'Dark Energy', which I bent into a solid shape that shielded me from the toilet water. Unfortunately, the others weren't spared.

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, that was the cheeriest I'd ever seen Myrtle."

"How did you calm her like that?" Harry asked me as we headed for the bathroom exit.

"I know her type. She's what we Underworld-dwellers call a Class 8 sulking lingerer. Dad sends me out to visit known ones all the time and try to coax them to the Underworld. I have to sit in on after-death therapy session for hours on end. Gods, I remember the time when—"

I was interrupted by a loud voice as we exited the bathroom that even made me jump.

"RON!"

It was none other than Percy Weasley (or, as the twins referred to him behind his back, 'Perfect Prefect Percy') and he didn't seem very happy that his brother was coming out of a girls' bathroom.

I tuned out their argument, figuring it was a family moment.

oOo

That night, I sat in the Common Room with Harry, Ron, and Hermione while they did their homework.

I'd already finished mine; I did all my homework at night and used Ambrosia to keep me awake; this way, I had more free time.

I was reading a book on Quidditch when Ron suddenly snapped his book shut, followed by Hermione. I looked up at them.

"Who could it be, though?" Hermione said in a low voice. "Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron sarcastically. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course! You heard him—'You'll be next, Mudbloods'!"

"I know what he said. But Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?"

You both make sense." I said, putting down my book. "He does hate Muggle-borns, but then again, look at him. How could it be him?"

"But look at his family," said Harry, also closing his books. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin for centuries; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries, handing it down, father to son," Ron put in.

"Well, that rules out the 'total impossibility' factor," I said, looking at Hermione. Reluctantly, she agreed with me.

Hermione brought up a way to find out: the Polyjuice Potion. She explained it to the best of her memory. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions, and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

"So, how are we gonna get it?" I asked. "We'd need a form signed. By a teacher. You know, authority that could get us in trouble for even thinking about making the potion."

"I think if we make it sound as though we're just interested in the theory, then maybe—"

"Oh, come on. No teacher's gonna fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick."

"I raised my hand as if we were in class. "I got it."

oOo

I disliked suggesting Lockhart, especially after he spread my secret to everyone; he'd even started saying ridiculous things, telling ludicrous stories of times he "beheaded a hydra", "burnt a Cyclopes to a crisp", and even "drowned a naiad"("Okay, this guy's a total fake," I'd said). But he was by far the thickest teacher out of all, and the perfect one to fool.

After a class of drawing and writing notes to Ron and Hermione—Harry'd gotten called up to reenact one of Lockhart's 'adventures'…again—Lockhart assigned a poem to the class as homework. As I packed my bag, I tried to think of one right away, but I couldn't make up a good one that didn't start off with "there once was a douche from Nantucket."

After waiting for everyone to leave, we finally approached Lockhart. Hermione stammered through the whole thing, but finally got to the point and Lockhart signed the slip without even looking at the book title.

"So, Harry," he said, "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if you ever feel the need for private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players—"

Seeing—and feeling—that Harry was greatly disconcerted, I stepped in.

"Yeah, maybe some other time, Professor," I said, steering Harry toward the door where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

"Ah, Raven! I'd also be glad to oblige if you need any lessons on swordplay—"

"Let's go," I said through my teeth, practically pushing the three through the door.

We got the book from the library and went to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. No one ever went in there, and all Myrtle did was sulk silently or cry noisily in her stall.

Hermione read off the ingredients, none of which I was even remotely familiar with.

"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione?" said Ron. "We're going to have to break into Snape's personal stores or something."

Hermione snapped the book shut, but before she could start on him, I said, "Oh, that's easy. I can get in there."

"You sure?" asked Hermione.

"Sure. Stealth's my middle name. I'll need a diversion, though.

"How long will it take to make anyway?" Harry asked.

"A month."

"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could've attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" Seeing Hermione's expression, he added, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."

I woke up the following morning, feeling Harry's nervousness. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. Hermione woke me up at 10:00 so we could head down to the Quidditch Pitch. After looking outside and seeing the gray, rain-promising clouds, I conjured up an umbrella using my Umbramancy.

We walked down to the Pitch, took our seats, and the game began. I squinted up at Harry, who had flown higher than any of them. Looking at the rest of the game, I was dismayed to see that the Slytherin's brooms were indeed faster than Gryffindors.

Damn. Why didn't I try out? They could use my Firebolt about now.

I gasped softly as my heart rate accelerated for a moment. I looked back at Harry; Fred and George were hovering around him, protecting him from a Bludger that kept coming back.

"What the hell…I'm not the only one seeing this, am I?"

No one heard me.

Wood called a time out as rain began to fall. I opened my umbrella, sitting down to make binoculars from the shadows. The game resumes, and Hermione held the umbrella to cover the three of us while I kept an eye on Harry, as it seemed he decided to go without the team's beaters aiding him.

I began to lose track of him as he swerved and banked to get out of the Bludger's path. He stopped for a second and the Bludger rocketed after him.

I was about to shout "Look out" or something, but the Bludger connected with Harry's elbow and a fiery pain filled my arm.

"Holy shit!" I shouted, clutching my arm and falling to the floor of the stands.

"Raven! Raven are you okay?" Hermione asked frantically, ignoring my blatant swearing.

"I'm fine! It's Harry! The Bludger—urgh!—I think his arm's broken!"

Hermione helped me up as Harry caught the Snitch and in the process fell to the ground.

I felt a slight pain in my back as Harry landed in the mud.

"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch!" announced Lee Jordan. "Gryffindor wins!"

"Let's go," I said darkly, still clutching my arm.

What is this lead on the Chamber of Secrets that Raven wrote down? Review to guess, and you will be rewarded with money.

OK, not really, but do it anyway.

New chapter coming soon (: