There's a place and means for every man alive. -All's Well that Ends Well IV.3
"There's no point in waiting," Tyr announced bluntly. "We should go on Monday night."
Pollux stiffened. "So soon?"
The werewolf nodded. "We've planned enough. Nothing we come up with now can change our plans. Besides, the full moon comes on Wednesday. I'd like to have everyone in the CC cured by then."
"Why Monday?" asked Sirius. "Why not tomorrow?"
Tyr smirked. "Monday is the first day of the work week. Security will be even more lenient than usual."
"That's possible?" the Animagus sneered.
"It probably isn't," Tyr grumbled, "but I'm not willing to take that chance."
"Sisith wants to remind everyone that he didn't see anyone while he was in the Department of Mysteries," Pollux translated. The serpent hissed some more. "He also wants us to remember that our Portkeys can get us out at a moment's notice, so we probably shouldn't worry about humans catching us. It's the enchantments we need to look out for."
"Smart snake," muttered Tyr. "Saysa, are you sure you couldn't see anything on the cup?"
The serpent-woman shook her head. Two days ago, she had borrowed the goblins' Pensieve again and looked at Sisith's memories with her serpent sight. She had discovered that a surprising percentage of the items sequestered away were completely useless- mundane objects without any enchantments whatsoever. Other items blazed, forcing her to avert her eyes or go blind. The Chalice of the Moon was one of those.
She had been searching for protective wards, for anything that might give them away. She hadn't seen any on the cup, but that didn't mean anything. Its own magic was powerful enough to disguise any other spells.
The group was willing to bet that none of the items were warded. Saysa hadn't seen anything on several of the objects, the ones without magic. The others, which had power of their own, glowed with only their own innate magic. She couldn't detect any additional enchantments on them, so they assumed that the Chalice was also unwarded.
The lack of protective magic fit with everything they knew about the Ministry's lax security, but no one dared to believe their good fortune. There was no such thing as a free lunch; even the best-laid plans of mice and men (and werewolves and snakes) went wrong. It was too convenient, and that made Harry-as-Pollux even warier than normal.
"Perhaps we should send Sisith to scout it out again," Hermione suggested, feet shuffling nervously. She had been spooked for days, ever since Daphne revealed that Dumbledore wanted to kill her. No one blamed her- if the headmaster had been after them, they would have reacted the same way.
And it certainly didn't help that exams were almost upon them.
Daphne shook her head. "Tyr is right," she declared. "The longer you wait, the more frightened everyone will become. Best to get it over with. I for one have no desire to drag this out until summer's end." She nodded toward Blaise, acknowledging his prophetic promise to the representatives of the races.
The Smoking Mirror nodded. "Even the centaurs think this stands a chance, and you know how gloomy they are."
Sirius shuddered. He'd heard the centaurs' recommendations from Saysa and thought that their accuracy was downright creepy.
The others nodded their assent. Pallas grimaced, sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right, I know you are. I shouldn't be so paranoid."
"You're not paranoid when they're really after you," Pollux reminded her. Her lips twitched as she nodded in acknowledgment. Then, when he turned away, her smiled faded.
Having Dumbledore after her blood was nothing to smile about.
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The Gray Lady, who long ago was known as Helena Ravenclaw, faded into visibility. The boy who had been seeking her jumped. Even after almost two years in the magical world, he still wasn't accustomed to ghosts appearing from nowhere.
Normally, the spirit ignored those who sought her out. She doubted that her mother's diadem was still in Albania, but that didn't mean she would give its location to anyone who asked. But this boy was special. If he wanted her to guide him to the diadem's final resting place, she would.
"You wish to speak with me, Mark Potter?"
The Boy-Who-Lived gulped. He forced a grin. "Yeah. I heard from Nearly-Headless- I mean, Sir Nicholas that you know a lot about the castle."
"I do," she acquiesced. She had heard this script hundreds of times. Any second now he would open his mouth and ask-
"Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?"
She pulled up short. "I'm sorry?"
"The Chamber of Secrets," Mark repeated. "Have you ever heard of it?"
"Mother," began the much younger Helena, "why are these people telling such ridiculous tales about Uncle Salazar?" Her mama could answer that easily. Her mama knew everything.
Rowena's lips pursed. "The students tell many tales about all of us. Which story are you referring to?"
"The one about the Chamber of Secrets," her daughter replied.
Rowena's shoulders stiffened. Her jaw clenched. "I see," she said coldly. "You mustn't listen to those rumors, Helena. They were created by people who know nothing about your uncle. They're just jealous and delusional, that's all. Now be a good girl and go to bed." Her tone allowed for no argument.
Sulking, the child curled up in her little cot. She tried to fall asleep, she really did, but her mind was too active to let her fall into slumber. Why was her mama so unhappy about the Chamber of Secrets?
Maybe, she thought, there really is something like that, she doubted that it was scare away all the Muggle-borns- Uncle Salazar was Muggle-born himself- but why would they keep it secret? Maybe it was an enormous library filled with hundreds and hundreds of books! Or maybe it was filled with lots and lots of treasure. Whatever it was, she wanted to see it. Then she could tell all the stupid people who had insulted Uncle Salazar that they were wrong and she was right, so HA!
She waited in bed, growing steadily more excited. Finally her mother crept out of the room. Helena followed.
Rowena knocked on the door to Uncle Salazar's chamber. No answer. She knocked again, more loudly this time. "Coming, coming," grumbled a voice within the room. Salazar opened the door. His hair and beard were disheveled, and he looked quite annoyed at being awakened. "What is it?"
"Helena was asking about the Chamber," Rowena announced.
Her fellow Founder was not impressed. "Laugh it off. She's what, six? Unless you overreacted, she'll forget about it by morning."
Helena could not see her mother, but she knew that Rowena's cheeks had pinked. "It isn't just Helena. The students have been gossiping about our Chamber for days. How did they find out?"
"They probably overheard two of us talking," Slytherin replied.
The eavesdropper's eyes widened. How many people were involved with this mysterious Chamber of Secrets? If Uncle Salazar and her mama were part of it, then so were Aunt Helga and Uncle Godric. Who else? Could some of the Founders' other children be involved? Maybe some of the students had a hand? That strange girl in green who had followed Uncle Salazar around for a single day before vanishing? The local Muggle lord, could he have had a part?
"Just ignore them, Rowena," Slytherin continued. They'll move on within the fortnight."
"And if they search for it? I know my daughter, Salazar. She will seek it out."
"She's six," he repeated patiently. "Do you honestly think that a six-year-old is going to find it?"
"And what of the students?" Ravenclaw wasn't going to give up quite so easily.
Her fellow Founder snorted. "Do you honestly think they can find it? And if they do, we can just feed the little snoop to Godric's kraken."
"Salazar!"
…The Giant Squid was a kraken?
"You're overreacting," the Parselmouth repeated. "They'll forget about it in a few days. If we ignore them, it will turn into nothing more than one of those tales older students use to frighten first years."
"Hello?"
Mark Potter's voice startled the Gray Lady out of her reverie. Blushing silver, she returned to the present. "My apologies, young one," she murmured. "I was simply remembering."
The Boy-Who-Had-Defeated-Death was thrilled. "So you know where it is, then?"
"No," the ghost sighed, "I do not. All I know is that it must be in one of the most ancient portions of the castle."
"Could you help me find it?" the young Gryffindor demanded. "Because I need to find it. Hagrid told me that whatever's in it has killed people."
Only one person, Helena knew, but that was more than enough.
But her mother had been in on the secret. Surely Rowena wouldn't condone anything that would hurt one of her students? She hadn't been quite as motherly as Helga (who had also known the truth about the mysterious chamber), but she would never have let anything dangerous near her school.
But things changed over time. Perhaps whatever they had hidden away had been benign once, but it had still killed an innocent girl. Perhaps the march of years had driven it mad- Merlin knew that even she, daughter of Ravenclaw the Wise, had felt the creeping fingers of insanity assault her own mind.
Yes. Whatever beast or being the chamber hid had to die.
"I don't know where the Chamber of Secrets is," she murmured, "but perhaps I can still be of assistance. Have you heard of Moaning Myrtle?"
The child who had brought Death itself to heel shook his head. Helena hadn't expected him to know her; the castle's youngest ghost tended to keep to herself. And the fact that she haunted a girls' lavatory didn't help.
"Moaning Myrtle is the ghost of a student who died when the chamber was last opened," Helena explained. "Perhaps she could lend you a hand. However, Myrtle is… temperamental. Don't be surprised if she refuses to aid you."
"She'll help me," Mark proclaimed confidently.
The Gray Lady led the Boy-Who-Lived to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. His eyes widened when he saw where they were going. "That's a girls' loo."
"It is indeed," Helena sighed. "Myrtle died here. She haunts one of the toilets."
"…Okay." He seemed to be having second thoughts. "She's not… crazy, is she?"
The ghost didn't answer, which was answer enough. She floated through the door. "Myrtle? Are you home?"
Sniffles sounded from one of the stalls. Wonderful. It seemed that the girl ghost was in one of her moods. "What do you want?" she whined.
"I would like you to meet a friend of mine," the elder spirit replied.
"You brought someone to laugh at me?" Myrtle stuck her head through the stall. "Yes, let's all laugh at Myrtle. Ugly Myrtle, stupid Myrtle-"
"Of course not," Helena protested. "Have I ever done anything like that to you, Myrtle? Mark Potter is very enthusiastic about meeting you."
She hadn't expected her words to have any effect. But it did. The younger ghost's crying stopped. Her eyes grew very wide. "Potter? Potter, you say?"
Helena fought back a laugh. Well, well. It seemed that even Moaning Myrtle had heard of the Boy-Who-Lived, who had saved them all from the wrath of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"That's right." Mark swaggered forward, grinning. "Mark Potter, vanquisher of Dark Lords extraordinaire, at your service." He bowed slightly.
"You're Harry's brother!" she squealed.
Harry? Who in the world was Harry? Helena had never heard of him, nor had she known that the defeater of Death had any siblings. And how in the world had this Harry managed to make Myrtle smile? He must be a worker of miracles, just like the other Potter. In fact, making Myrtle this happy might be even more of an accomplishment than surviving the Killing Curse.
Mark's smile had frozen. "Ah, yes, I do have a brother."
"How's he doing?" Myrtle demanded. "I haven't seen him for weeks- he's been too busy to come and visit."
The Gryffindor didn't quite know how to react to that. He settled on, "Well, it is almost time for exams."
"Yes," Myrtle agreed, still unnaturally chipper, "but Harry's so smart, and so generous and sweet. He must be helping other people. Is he helping you?"
The Gray Lady fought back a most unladylike giggle. It was quite rude to laugh at the Boy-Who-Lived- but that face!
"Er, yes," the nonplussed student replied. "He has that better than Binns thing and all. But I was wondering, do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Myrtle's abnormally happy expression fell. "Yes, I know about the Chamber of Secrets."
Mark waited, but the ghost girl remained silent. His jaw clenched. She blinked at him. Helena interceded before things could get ugly. "Could you tell us about it, then, please?"
"I could." But that was all she said.
"Then why don't you?" snapped Mark.
"Why do you want to know about the Chamber?" the ghost demanded.
"So I can kill the monster inside it, that's why," the young Gryffindor proclaimed. Then, very quickly, "You know, so I can avenge your death, and all."
The ghost's face lit up. "You'd do that for me? Oh, you're just as wonderful as Harry!"
The boy's expression froze, but neither spirit noticed. Myrtle was too intent on relaying the tale of her death, and Helena was too busy listening. How, she wondered, would Salazar react if he knew what his beast had done?
"I had had an awful day," the girl began, "so I came in here to cry. Olive Hornby- she was an awful, awful girl- she had been making fun of my glasses, and the other girls were all laughing at me. So there I was, lamenting in this very stall, when I heard a voice speaking in some strange language. But," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "it was a boy's voice."
Mark nodded impatiently. "What happened next?"
The ghost girl's lips pursed; she evidently had expected more of a reaction. "I was going to go out and confront him, because boys don't belong in the girls' bathroom, but when I opened the door…." She trailed off into what was supposed to be a dramatic pause but was really only filled with the force of Mark's rising irritation.
"Then what?" he demanded.
Myrtle glared. "I'm telling you the story of my death!" she cried. "The most personal story of my entire existence! Don't you care about the psychological trauma this is causing me?" Tears filled her eyes. The dam was about to burst. Once it did, no force on Earth could make the spirit tell Mark the rest of the story.
Helena hurried to intervene. "He's just very eager to avenge your death, that's all. You know how heroes are."
"What she said," the Gryffindor agreed. "But I need to know what kind of creature is down there so I can figure out how to stop it. Then I'll bring its head up here and show you."
Myrtle tilted her head, considering.
"And I'll make sure," the boy continued, "that everyone knows I've done this to avenge the beautiful Myrtle!"
Helena blanched. There was no way that Myrtle would fall for that. Mark Potter might be a miracle worker, but he was definitely not a good liar. Myrtle would think that he was being sarcastic, not that he was trying too hard to wheedle the information out of her. Then she would be inconsolable for days, and once she recovered, she would probably dedicate her afterlife to petty revenge against the Boy-Who-Lived and the Gray Lady.
But she simply smiled and blushed. The tears halted. "Really?"
"Yeah." Mark was nodding far too quickly, but Myrtle didn't seem to notice. Perhaps it was because she hadn't had much human contact for a long, long time. Perhaps it was because she trusted the other Potter implicitly. Or perhaps it was due to something else that Helena didn't know about.
Whatever the reason, the spirit went right on with her narrative. "I saw a pair of big, yellow eyes, and then there was this sort of floating feeling…. And I died."
"Yellow eyes?" Mark parroted. "Were they slit down the center like a snake's?"
But that was more than enough to set Myrtle off. "You don't care at all, do you!" she shrieked. "You just want your own glory! You are nothing like Harry!" She fled into her toilet.
"Hey!" Mark jerked open the door of the stall. "You need to tell me where it came from!"
"NO!" the girl shrieked. Her toilet had already begun to overflow. It probably wouldn't dry up for days. "GO AWAY!"
Helena tried to reason with her. "Myrtle, he simply wants to avenge you. That's all. That's why he wants to know- he needs to learn about the creature's appearance so he knows how to combat it. That is his only desire."
"Is not," the other ghost protested. "He's just a jerk who wants his own glory! He doesn't care about me, he doesn't care about my death, he- he- he-" But here she became incoherent.
Mark scowled at the ghost girl's stall. The expression emphasized the thickness of his cheeks, the redness of his complexion. His face was very good at smiling and dazzling, but when it darkened, his entire demeanor changed- and not for the better.
The boy stalked out of the bathroom, trailed by Helena Ravenclaw. He ignored his companion, muttering under his breath about stupid ghosts.
Helena faded into invisibility- Mark obviously had no interest in speaking with her now, but perhaps he would once he had calmed down.
Yellow eyes made her think of the strange girl in green, the one she had seen only a few times but who had been amazingly close to the Founders, especially Salazar. What was her name again? Sarah? No, it was something different, something exotic and strange.
She shook her head, chasing away the old ugly thoughts. What did the girl's name matter? She was dead; she must have been dead for nine hundred years or more.
The Boy-Who-Lived stalked into the Gryffindor Common Room, up the steps to the boys' dormitory, and into a homey red bedroom. Three other boys were waiting there, idling on their beds. Helena inspected their faces, wondering if one of these was Mark's brother.
The first, a dark-skinned youth, looked up from his sketchpad and asked, "How'd it go?"
"The Gray Lady didn't know anything," his friend groaned, collapsing onto his bed. "She brought me to some barmy ghost girl named Moaning Myrtle. She haunts a toilet, for Merlin's sake."
"A toilet?" echoed a gangly boy with red hair.
"A toilet," Mark confirmed.
"So why'd the Gray Lady bring you to her?" asked a sandy-haired youth. "She's supposed to be smarter than that."
Helena scowled.
"The thing in the Chamber killed her," Mark explained. "Myrtle, I mean, not the Gray Lady. I think it's a basilisk- sure sounded like one."
A basilisk? Why in Merlin's name had Salazar hidden a basilisk in the school? And why had her mother and the other Founders gone along with it? It didn't make any sense!
But Rowena Ravenclaw always made sense. Always. She had been a meticulous planner, the kind of person who would jot down every last detail before actually doing anything. There was no way she had put a giant poisonous snake with eyes that killed people beneath a building full of schoolchildren without a very, very good reason.
What that reason might be, though, her daughter had no idea.
"Why's it have to be a basilisk?" the Boy-Who-Lived whined, snapping Helena out of her reverie. "I hate snakes. Not that I won't kill it or anything," he hastened to add, "but I really don't like them. They're like little legless mutants."
His friends chorused their agreement. "The two-legged ones are even worse," the redhead muttered.
Helena winced. She had grown used to the rivalry of the Houses, but here and now, with memories of her life so fresh in her mind, she didn't want to think about it. How would Salazar and Godric react to this unrelenting hate?
"Did Myrtle know where the Chamber of Secrets was?" asked the blond.
"No," Mark grumbled, "because that'd be too convenient." He related the story Myrtle had told him and Helena in a high-pitched, rather squeaky voice.
"So the Chamber of Secrets is in the bathroom?" exclaimed the black boy.
"What?" Mark didn't understand. "I never said that."
"No." The black boy shook his head. "What I mean is, her death seems like an accident. Why would the Heir of Slytherin go into a girls' loo if the bathroom didn't have something to do with the Chamber? Seems kind of stupid, doesn't it?"
"You're right!" the Boy-Who-Lived yelled, jerking upright on his bed. He beamed. "We know where the Chamber is and what kind of monster I'll be facing. Watch out, snakey, cause here I come!"
Yes, next chapter is the break-in scene.
There's a poll up on my profile about what Blaise's Animagus form should be. I'm also accepting suggestions for it in the form of PMs.
-Antares