Chapter Four - The Chase.

Polyjuice potion was perhaps one of the great wonders of the Magical World. Difficult and lengthy to brew and requiring a couple of ingredients that were either rare or restricted by the ministry, those potioners willing to sell it were few and charged a small fortune.

The reason Hogwarts students were forbidden to brew it however was not due ti its rarity, complexity or borderline illegality. It didn't have any narcotic properties and only a complete imbecile would drink it for the flavour. Unlike the majority of the potions students were banned from making, acquiring or distributing, Polyjuice potion was actually in demand for its intended purpose, rather than a desirous and usually pleasurable side effect.

Polyjuice potion was, simply put, a shape changing potion. The addition of a hair or fingernail from the intended target and it allowed a person to completely take on their appearance. A little observation of a target's mannerisms, speech patterns and routines and Polyjuice potion would actually enable the drinker to completely become someone else.

Unfortunately, it wasn't without its draw backs. Aside from the obvious disadvantages of being difficult to get hold of, nausea inducing and the taste, consistency and colour of goose dropping milkshake, it was also completely indiscriminate. As Hermione Granger had only recently discovered.

Brewing the potion hadn't been a problem for the young witch; her reputation as one of the most capable students to come through the school in recent years was well founded. She'd even found the perfect spot in which to make the potion; a disused girl's toilet. Well, disused if you didn't count its resident ghost – the rather aggrieved spectre of bespectacled sixth year known as Moaning Myrtle.

Perfect brewer, perfect location, the correct ingredients. Nothing should have gone wrong. And for two of the three who had consumed the potion nothing had gone wrong. Unfortunately for Hermione, her own self assurance had been her come-uppance. The mistake was easy to make, but the results were disastrous.

In her defence, she hadn't actually known that Millicent Bulstrode had a cat.

Lying in the bed she had been given in the Hogwarts hospital wing, Hermine stared at the ceiling feeling frustrated, humiliated and itchy. At least she could now lie on her back; she'd spent most of the afternoon on her front until the tail had receded.

It had been for a good cause she supposed. They'd needed to find out who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Students were being petrified, there was a monster loose in the castle, and possibly worst of all, the other students were blaming Harry. Alright, so she hadn't known he was a paselmouth and when he'd been talking to the snake Draco Malfoy had conjured in duelling club she'd had a moment like everyone else where she'd doubted, where she'd believed Harry had been egging the snake on. But it was only a moment.

Harry wouldn't. He just wouldn't. He could be a bit odd at times, but there was no way it was him. And there was no way he was petrifying people with just a look as some of the rumours were suggesting.

Actually she'd been pretty convinced by Ron's Draco Malfoy theory. Not that he could petrify someone with a look – no one could do that – but that he was the heir of Slytherin. He certainly fit the profile. His family had been in slytherin likely since the times of Salazar Slytherin himself. He loathed anyone not of pure magical blood and wasn't backwards in coming forwards about it. And his father was rumoured to have been a follower of You Know Who. At the time, Hermione had been sure Ron was right; either Draco was the heir, or he knew who it was.

Unfortunately their little polyjuice adventure had only managed to prove them wrong. Ron and Harry, disguised as Draco's two dim-witted lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, had prodded Draco for information and only been able to learn that Draco knew about as much as they did. Alright, so that wasn't entirely true, Draco had known the Chamber had been opened once before, fifty years ago, which they hadn't known, but other than that the whole exercise had come out as a bit pointless.

Maybe if they'd been able to find out something useful or actually caught the person behind the attacks, growing a fine glossy coat and four extra nipples might have been worthwhile.

Maybe.

Well as her mother always said, no use crying over spilt milk. There were more important things to worry about right now than hairballs and the irrational urge to chase the bright dot that appeared on the wall every time Madame Pomfry's watch caught the light. They still had to find out who it was that was attacking the Muggle-borns and stop them before someone got really hurt. As it was, those poor students who had been petrified already were going to be missing so much school before Professor Sprout's mandrakes were mature enough to harvest for the curative potion.

The mere thought of all those missed lessons made Hermione shudder.

"Ow. Watch your elbow."

"shhh."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at crack in the ceiling. It was late. At least, it was certainly past second year curfew, and that voice had a distinctly familiar edge to it. Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, she sat up in bed.

"Being invisible doesn't exactly mean much when people can hear you, you know." She pointed out condescendingly. Her tone was far sharper than she planned, but if she were honest she was still smarting from the lecture she'd received earlier from Professor McGonagall. Twice now she'd found herself in the unfavourable position of being on the receiving end of the Deputy Headmistress' acerbic tongue, and while the first time she'd been able shield herself with indignant fury (She hadn't lied!) this time she really had had no one but herself to blame.

Hence why she hadn't dropped Harry and Ron in it when the Professor had pushed her to name her accomplices; earning her another tongue lashing for theft as well as brewing a restricted potion. She couldn't exactly grass them up when she'd been the one to push for the plan in the first place. Thankfully the professor had decided that the results of her attempt to make polyjuice potion were fitting punishment for her crime and she'd been saved the indignity of detention, or the shame of having a letter written home to her parents.

Hearing the familiar muted rumpled sound of a certain invisibility cloak belonging to a certain Harry Potter being discarded she sat up; her expression turning into a warning look when both Harry and Ron emerged from under the folds. "You two will surely get in trouble if you're caught in here. You heard what Madame Pomfry said. No Visitors after six."

"Which is why we used the cloak." Harry pointed out. "Besides. We think we've found something."

"Well actually, Myrtle found it, but since she fancies Harry she let him have it." Ron practically sniggered, ignoring the look on the smaller boy's face.

"She does not fancy me." Harry growled back.

"Yes she does."

"She does not!"

Before the conversation could deteriorate further, Hermione coughed. "So you found something. In Moaning Myrtle's toilet?"

"Literally." Ron threw in, looking a little disturbed.

Rolling his eyes, Harry fished something out from under his robes and handed it to Hermione who grimaced and let it fall to the bed rather than actually hold it. It was a book. And it was sopping wet. With a shrug, Harry explained. "Someone apparently tried to flush it. Myrtle took offense and flooded the bathroom." Seeing Hermione's still rather ill expression, Harry tried for reassuring. "I don't think it's well... you know... it's only a little wet."

"We'd have dried it. But with my wand umm yeah, and the last time Harry tried a drying charm he almost set fire to the dorm room so we thought maybe..." Ron trailed off helplessly.

"Honestly" Hermione huffed. Grabbing her wand from the nightstand, she pointed it at the book. "Sicco!"

With a puff of steam, the book on the blanket dried out before their eyes, leaving the pages slightly wrinkled and the leather cover a little warped. Picking it up, Hermione turned it around in her hands, her eyes catching the faded gold lettering at the bottom of the back cover. "It looks like a Diary... and I think there's a name on it. Tom... Marvolo?... Riddle?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Ron practically yelped, snatching the book out of Hermione's hands and staring down at the words. "Hey, I know that name..." He frowned, confused, the ghost of a memory itching the back of his brain. "Why do I know that name?"

Above his head, Hermione and Harry shared a bemused glance. Unless Tom Marvolo Riddle was a professional Quiddich player, they couldn't think why or where Ron would know it either. The sum of Ronald Weasley's acquired knowledge could be described as being in microscopic detail when it came to Quiddich, and just microscopic when it came to everything else.

"Detention." Ron suddenly announced, smiling a little proudly. "The other night, when I had detention. My Job was polishing the silver in the trophy room." His smile slipped and he grimaced. "I remember the name, because I kept burping up slugs over his trophy."

Now it was Harry and Hermione's turn to grimace. The image of Ron burping up slugs was one that wouldn't leave either of them for some time. But it wasn't one Hermione minded all that much in the grand scheme of things. After all, Ron had wound up hexing himself in an ill-advised attempt to defend her honour. That had meant a lot to her. That Ron - who was a pureblood although apparently considered the 'wrong sort' of pureblood by the likes of Draco Malfoy – had instantly jumped to her defence when Malfoy had called her a Mudblood was both reassuring, and really rather sweet. In a disturbing kind of way.

"What was the trophy for?" Harry said, pulling Hermione back to the here and now.

Ron's incredibly expressive face twisted with effort of recalling the details, but in the end he shrugged, turning the book over in his hands once more before passing it over to Harry, "He won an award, fifty years ago... special services to the school or something."

The number rang so many bells in Hermione's head she was amazed someone didn't come rushing in thinking there was a fire. "Fifty years ago? Are you sure?"

Looking somewhat affronted at having his memory challenged, Ron scowled at the bedridden girl. "Yeah. Why?"

"Don't you see?" Hermione exclaimed impatiently. "Don't you remember what Malfoy told you... 'the last time the chamber was opened was'..."

"Fifty years ago." Harry butted in, nodding, catching on. "That means..."

"Tom Riddle was here! At Hogwarts when it happened!" Hermione reclaimed the conversation, her tone growing excited. "What if he wrote about what he saw? It's possible he knew where the chamber was, how to open it, even what sort of creature lives in it... If so, whoever's behind these attacks, they wouldn't want this diary lying around, would they?"

"It's a brilliant theory Hermione, but there's one flaw," Harry sighed, looking up from where he'd been thumbing through the book's pages. When Hermione gave him a confused and slightly hurt look, he held the book open for her to see. "There's nothing written in this Diary."

~HpɸqH~

Peter Pettrigrew shuffled nervously along the lamp lit hallway, nodding as pleasantly as he could to the students that he passed. He had to hurry, curfew would come soon, and he was no fool. He would not be caught anywhere completely alone. Sirius Black knew this castle better than anyone alive. Knew all its secret tunnels and passages. He could be anywhere. He could be watching him right now just waiting for those students to disappear around the corner and leave him on his own. Just waiting for his opportunity to strike.

He didn't even have a wand. His was lost, gone. He couldn't recall what had happened to it. No one had thought to give him a new one. Why would he need one? Sirius couldn't get inside the castle they said, and Peter wasn't allowed to leave. No need for a wand. He could get himself a new one once Sirius was recaptured and he was free to go.

Did Sirius have a wand? Didn't they break a Wizard's wand when they were sent to Azkaban? A symbolic gesture of course, a wizard could just buy a new one. Wands got broken all the time. But still. Had Sirius found a new wand?

The mere thought of it sent his eyes skittering for the shadows. He couldn't remember all the passageways, not now, not after so long. He'd barely been able to remember them all at the time; back when he, James, Sirius and Remus had used them to get up to all manner of mischief. He looked and looked though. Was that nook familiar? Did it go somewhere? Could something come out?

Curse Dumbledore for making him stay here. But of course he could hardly refuse the man's oh so generous offer of protection could he? How would that look? If he were only allowed to leave the castle he would have a chance. He could find friends, or at least allies who would aid him, protect him. He could at least transform and get lost amongst the billions of other rats that spread the length and breadth of Britain.

But who said he had to stay in Britain? He could stow away on a ship. Head for exotic parts.

Curse that Weasley boy for messing up such a simple spell and curse McGonagall for using that natural state spell. He'd been doing alright until then. Waiting yes. Watching and waiting. Foolish boy, always ready to read him the news. Rat eyes weren't good for reading, tiny paws couldn't turn pages. And Oh, young Harry, always so close to the action, dragging his friends along. So much had happened. Yes. He was coming back. The Dark Lord. He would come back. He could feel it.

He needed to make sure he was safe before then. What if he blamed him? No, that was bad. Very bad. He had to make sure they all believed his story here. Had to get Harry on side. That way they'd keep protecting him. And Sirius, they had to recapture Sirius. Sirius knew. He was the only one. He could destroy it all.

But they wouldn't believe Sirius. Such a cunning plan of his, so dreadfully it backfired. Perfect, it had been so perfect. The Dark Lord had been so happy. He said he'd be rewarded. Maybe he would still be? When the Dark Lord returned? When he realised Peter hadn't known what would happen?

First he had to get to his room. Yes. His room. His room was very safe. In the east tower. No tunnels or passages here. Peter remembered that at least. The sooner he got there the better. Just a little further.

~HpɸqH~

The walls of the castle were incredibly thick. Not just the outside walls, but the inside ones as well. Solid stone, twice as thick as a man was wide. Or so most people thought. But this castle was old. Older still than the school itself, at least a large part of it. It had seen wars and rebellions. It had held prisoners, and hidden fugitives. It had lived a hundred different lives and been moulded and shaped to each new purpose. Oh yes its walls were thick.

But they hid another world entirely. Priest holes and servants passages, spy runs and forgotten chambers. One of the castle's previous occupants, long before the founding of the school, had been ingenious in his paranoia. He had foreseen the means of his own downfall and sought to turn the tables.

Let my enemies take my castle, he'd thought, and let them fall into a trap in doing so.

He'd tunnelled out those thick walls, propped them with pillars and closed them back up with boards and panelling, plaster and glass. He'd shrunk rooms to put passages between them. Anyone so foolish to take the castle would soon lament their victory when the forces hiding within the very walls would ambush and destroy the would-be conquerors a few at a time.

Alas for those who would now benefit from this knowledge, the castle was never taken, the passages never used, and the their architect died in his sleep, at a ripe old age, having never used, nor told a soul of his rather masterful creation.

It was down one of these very passageways, shards of flickering lamplight striking through the fractional gaps between the deceptive panels, that a large dog walked. Separated from the prey he hunted by bare inches of wood and plaster, he stalked. Waiting, listening.

Alone. He needed his prey alone. Cruel was not the mind of this hunter. Struck through with desperation bordering on madness yes, but not cruel. He would not leave some child with a memory it would never shake.

He would not risk being caught.

On he followed, tensed and ready should his moment come. Any one of these panels would simply break to pieces should he hit it with enough force. And then he would have him. Finally, eleven long years in the waiting he would have him. And he would pay. He would pay so dearly for what he had done.

Oh yes he would pay.

A corner turned and the great dog growled quietly. At last!

Picking up his pace, he moved to strike.

~HpɸqH~

Severus Snape strode down the corridor with his usual forceful gate, black robes billowing behind him like the shroud of death itself. He was a man on a mission. A purpose and destination. There was something he needed to know.

For over a month now he'd been watching, searching. He had hoped to have been done by now. It wasn't to be. What he sought had evaded him. Foreseeable but unavoidable events had delayed him. He'd had to change his tactics, take bigger risks.

Striding along the hall, he sneered openly at the students he past, all but the Slytherins. To them gave stern faced nods. They knew not to delay him when he moved with such determination. All the students cleared his path.

The school was a maze, but at last he caught up with at least one of those he sought to find.

"Pettigrew!" Snape barked, halting the hunched and quivering man in his step. Rapidly reaching the wretched figure he towered over him, loomed.

~HpɸqH~

In the wall the dog skidded to a halt, biting down on a frustrated growl lest he be heard.

Through the gaps in the panel, he watched and waited.

Damn you Snivelus.

~HpɸqH~

"I thought you were warned about wondering alone?" Snape sneered down at the man before him. His dark eyes glinting in the flickering light of the torches.

"I-I-I- I was just on m-m-my way to m-my room n-now S-serverus." Peter replied, his words whined and stuttered around his snorting rapid breathing. The sharp rapid breaths of a rodent.

"Never let it be said that I do not follow the headmaster's wishes." Snape growled. "and as he wishes you, for some unknown reason, to remain unharmed, I will escort you to your rooms."

"There's r-really n-no need. S-s-Serverus... I-I can make my..."Peter protested, cowering in the face of the tall dark figure before him.

"Oh do be quiet you snivelling fool." Snape snapped, cutting him off. "Go, before I do Black's work for him."

With a frightened Squeak, Peter turned and shuffled hurriedly on, Snape following with a disgusted shake of his head.

~HpɸqH~

In the wall. The dog felt like howling. His breaths came in heavy angry pants.

Turning in the confined space of the tunnel, he ran. Sprinted as fast as he legs would carry him in the dusty airless passageways.

If the students still in hallways happened to hear the gallop of paws on stone they shrugged it off and put it down to the ghosts, or possibly Peeves the resident poltergeist, trying to spook them.

Still the dog ran. Burning off the energy of a hunt denied and the fury that burned at the very core of his soul.

He would have kept running until he ran out of energy to do so, but through the clouds in his mind he heard the scream. The panicked frightened scream.

For a moment the dog thought he'd been spotted, but then with a shake of his head he realised that the scream had been loud, but not very close.

He sniffed. There was that scent again. A scent he'd smelt often in the tunnels. A cloying unwelcome scent of death, decay, old water and age.

He'd smelt it before, in the service pipes that night he'd been following Harry. Just following, watching, his heart bleeding for the boy at the nasty whispers that had been swirling through the school. That had been the night Harry had found one his fellow students petrified. The night the murmurs and whispers had increased.

Heir of Slytherin, his furry tail.

Besides the Chamber of Secrets was a children's story. Something told to little ones to warn them of the consequences of befriending mudbloods, and to encourage them to be good little witches and wizards and stay true to their roots. Be good, the story promised, and you might turn out to be Slytherin's true heir.

Oh yes he knew the tale.

Snuffling the ground, the dog picked up the scent and followed it, noting he was headed towards the source of the scream. He followed until he realised he could hear voices just beyond the edges of the tunnel. Approaching a gap in the intricate stone work, the dog peered through.

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sprout. Two seventh year prefects and a sobbing Hufflepuff girl who had to be in fifth or sixth year.

There was another girl on the floor. Stiff, unmoving. Petrified.

"I told her not to go. I told her! Sh-sh-she said she wanted to get her scarf!" The girl, the one still standing, was sobbing. "Sh-she left it in the courtyard. I told her it wasn't safe! That's why I went looking!"

As the Dog watched, Sprout took the weeping girl into her arms and began to lead her away as McGonagall directed the prefects to lift her poor petrified friend and carry her away.

Another one. Whoever was doing this was damned good.

A sound. Like sand running through a metal pipe. Like scales across stone. The dog's attention was drawn and he sniffed again, almost overwhelmed by the scent that he'd followed before.

He was still wound up, still furious and frustrated. If whoever was doing this was in the tunnels then they were going to get a little surprise. He needed something to get his teeth into.

Leaving the scene, the dog sprinted off in the direction of the sound, blood risen once more. He could practically taste his quarry. He could hear its heartbeat. He could see...

Skidding to a halt, the fearsomely large black dog practically rolled itself into a ball on the floor in its efforts to turn around, slipping and sliding on the wet stone under foot as it desperately sought to retreat to the nearest possible hiding place. Finding one a few feet back up the tunnel, a tall narrow recess, the dog squeezed itself in, stood on its hind legs facing the wall...

And slid gracefully into the form of a painfully thin rag swathed man, straggles of beard on his chin matching the limp greasy strands of his shoulder length hair and filth covering every exposed inch of skin. Nose pressed against the stonework the man screwed his eyes shut and tried to hold his breath. Tried to calm his heart so he could hear. Hear that slither of scales on stone vanish into the distance.

Because he knew what he'd seen. That huge serpent's tail he'd glimpsed in the tunnel ahead. Oh yes he knew what he'd just seen. Children's stories for good little pure-bloods and a lover once who read far more than was likely sane.

Oh yes. He knew.

He was Sirius Black and he knew a Basilisk when he saw one.

Oddly however, the prevailing thought in his mind, other than to keep his eyes closed at all costs, was that for once he'd actually found something his mother had been right about.

~HpɸqH~

"R-really S-s-Serverus... I c-can manage from h-here."

Serverus Snape glared down at Peter Pettigrew making the small man twitch down and bring his hands closer towards his face. Flicking his wand at the lock on the door, he opened it, glanced around the well appointed room which had been given to the former rat, a sneer of distaste on his lips. Turning back to Pettigrew he sneered. "It all seems to be in order, although you could treat the generosity of your hosts with a little more respect and pick up after yourself. Although I suppose given your unfortunate circumstance you have become accustomed to filth."

Peter just giggled nervously.

"Well?" Snape huffed impatiently. "What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

Another nervous giggle and Peter literally scurried inside, his eyes widening with alarm when instead of leaving, Snape followed him, closing and locking the door behind him.

"S-s-Severus?"

"Really Wormtail so nervous." Snape chuckled darkly. "Whatever would Prongs have thought of you cowering before nasty, greasy old Snivellous? And you call yourself a Marauder."

For a moment Peter could only stare at the Potions Master in utter astonishment. The voice was right, but the words and... and the smirk were... he knew that smirk…

"Remus?" Peter's voice seemed to have climbed into castrato registers.

Snape laughed. But this was not the dark laugh of Serverus Snape, but something a lot kinder. And combined with way his eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth twitched there could be no mistake.

"Remus! My old friend!" Peter practically squealed, throwing himself at the man who looked like Severus Snape but clearly was not. "You came! You came!"

"I came as soon as I could Wormtail. I assure you." Remus offered quietly, accepting the embrace of an old friend willingly. The voice was now his own. It had actually been a trick the other marauders had thoroughly enjoyed when they were at school, his uncanny knack of being able to mimic the voices certain people. Serverus Snape being a particular favourite, although his Professor Slughorn and Berty Moonstrung (the afternoon and evening news-reader on the Wizarding Wireless Network) had also been oft requested. He couldn't do many, but the ones he did, he did well.

Soon enough, he disentangled himself and held Peter him at arm's length. Taking a moment to study the smaller man up close, Remus frowned. The sad, concerned look in those eyes was so incongruous with the face that held them. "How are you Peter?"

"Good! Well, getting b-better! G-getting better all the time!" Peter babbled. "Remus. Moony... It's so good to see you... Oh Remus. I tried you know! I tried to s-stop him!"

"I know." Remus hushed him, guiding them both to a nearby couch. "I know you did Peter, and bloody brave thing it was to do. Brave, and foolish. You're lucky to be alive. But you and I both know that transfiguration story is a pile of dragon dung so what actually happened Peter? Why didn't you come back?"

"I- I..." Peter suddenly stumbled and fidgeted. "I w-wanted to! Remus Please believe m-me! I wanted to! But I couldn't! I couldn't change back! I saw what he was going to and I tried to change to escape b-but th-then it all went black and and and wh-when I woke up I couldn't I... I... I must have lost my wand... I don't know... I..."

"When the explosion hit." Remus sighed sadly. "You can't have been fully transformed..." Remus shook his head. Unlike werewolves who had a nasty habit of shredding anything they happened to be wearing or holding when they transformed, with an animagus everything they were touching at the time of transformation seemed to become part of them, wands included. And if that wand had been knocked out of his hand before he completed the change then... then he would have been stuck.

"Remus!"

Remus blinked, and realised he must have spaced for a moment, because that was clearly not the first time his name had been called. "What?"

"Sirius... he... he..."

"I know." Remus growled a now familiar heat forming in his chest. An icy heat if that was even possible. That's what it felt like. "He's here." Suddenly his face became very firm. "Peter listen to me. No one can know I'm here. No-one. I won't let him near you but you have to promise me you won't tell a soul I'm here. Promise me Peter!"

"Wha... Why?" Pettigrew blurted.

"Peter." Remus practically growled. He needed Peter to do as he said in this. He knew himself too well. He knew what would happen if Dumbledore or McGonagall were to find out he was here. They would try and talk him out of what he planned. Try and convince him of other paths. And they would succeed. But there could be no other path. He could not falter here. He had to do this. "Pro-Miss-Me"

"I p-promise. I p-promise Remus. Not a word. To Anyone." Overly large teeth bit into a split and chapped lower lip. "Wh-what a-are you going t-to do?"

"I'm going to kill him." Remus replied bluntly. "He's here, in the castle somewhere. I've been close but I haven't managed to catch him yet, but when I do. I'm going to kill him Peter. For you, for Harry, for Lily and James. He'll pay Peter. He will."

Peter nodded like a puppet. He'd never seen Remus so cold. Ever. Not since... Not since Sirius had tricked Snape into going down the path under the whomping willow, and James had had to rescue him before Remus' wolf killed him. He'd never been scared of Remus before.

He was scared of him now.

"I-I didn't know you kn-know. When I t-told you... wh-when I... a-about those n-nights wh-when... I'm s-sorry."

Shame and hurt and betrayal welled up in Remus so strongly he thought he might actually throw up there and then. "You couldn't have known. You saw more than any of us did. I didn't even see enough to assume he was having an affair until you told me... How sick is it that I wish he'd really been having an affair Peter?"

Peter heard the bitterness, the resentment in Remus' words with no small about of satisfaction. But was it enough? Was it enough to keep him safe? Enough to make sure Remus did what he had just promised to do and get of rid of the last threat to Peter's continued freedom?

"D-don't l-let him h-hurt Harry." Peter whimpered imploringly.

He knew his words had had the desired effect when for a moment Peter thought he saw the wolf flicker in Snape's dark eyes.

"I won't."