Chapter 12: Damnable Questions

"This…this really isn't what it looks like!"

Not the first time I'd protested my innocence in such a fashion – I'd had a run in with one of the village girls while I was at Smeltings, and been caught by the Housemaster. I believe the story still did the rounds at the school, which I must admit filled me with no small amount of satisfaction. Hopefully though, Ginny Weasley would be a more trusting (or gullible) individual. There was certainly plenty of familial evidence to support my theory, as Ron has amply demonstrated even thus far.

Happily, my instincts proved to be well honed. She acquired an expression of wide eyed disbelief that made her appear to be far more innocent than I had previously believed her to be. "Well of course it isn't! You were about to do a Healing charm, weren't you?"

"Well yes, absolutely…" I looked down at Filch's body, and nudged it with my boot. He shifted, then rolled back. I pursed my lips. "Not sure how much I can do for him, I'm afraid. If only I'd been here sooner!"

She hurried over and wrapped her arms around me, her breasts pressing against my chest in a very pleasing fashion. "You can't save everyone, Harry. Even the best heroes lose sometimes."

"Really?" I was genuinely curious. I've never taken much interest in literature, and I obviously had little knowledge of real life heroics. "I thought the whole point of a hero was that they saved the day?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "A hero keeps on doing what they believe is right, despite overwhelming evidence that they're completely wasting their time."

I stared at her. I would never have believed that a relative of Ron's would be so astute. The cynical little madam was a girl right after my own heart, such as it was (and indeed is), and I felt an unexpected stab of fellow feeling.

"Ginny, we really need to get out of here."

"I know," she nodded, "We need to find Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

"What? Oh, I mean, yes. Of course." I looked longingly in the direction of the main doors, and freedom, but there seemed to be little choice but to go with it. Ducking out and hiding now would look distinctly dodgy.

Before we could move, however, the doors to the Great Hall opened up, and a mighty throng of students came out, a happy buzz of conversation hanging over them. It soon vanished as they saw the spectacle: the great Harry Potter, standing over the body of the caretaker, and a deeply unsettling message adding colour to proceedings. I suppose I ought to be grateful for small mercies; there appeared to be no sign of that berk Colin Creevey. I'd still be living that photo down if he had been there. Uncertain what else I could do, I flashed them my most dazzling grin. It failed to have them cooing over me as it might ordinarily have done. Amazing how fickle people can be in difficult circumstances, isn't it?

"Make way, make way!" There was a minor scuffle in the midst of the crowd, and the Head Boy, Percy Weasley revealed himself. My heart sank. To this day he is the one member of the Weasley family I have never managed to charm or pal around with. Mind you, once he started making a career out of critiquing cauldron bottoms I gave him up as a lost cause, and gladly. Have you ever heard of a job so utterly mindless? He stared at the scene, taking in Filch's body in silent shock.

"I'd just like to make it clear that he was like this when I got here," I said, getting my side of the story in there as quickly as possible. Percy glowered at me.

"We'll see about that, won't we? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will be very interested in what you have to say for yourself!"

I admit it, I winced, and in public too. I was sure he would be as well, and so soon after the aftermath of the whole flying car debacle. I looked back at Filch. Chances are Dumbledore wouldn't be quite so lenient this time. While I didn't give a fig for his good opinion, particularly, I was very aware that most of Wizarding Britain valued it very highly.

And then the man himself arrived, flanked by the twin gargoyles of Snape and McGongall. Percy tried to stick his oar in to blacken my name, but – gratifyingly – Dumbledore ignored him, bending over Filch and waving his wand over him. He muttered some form of goobledegook (by which I mean I wasn't familiar with the spells, not that he was talking Goblin), and Filch started glowing. For a moment, he looked like he'd eaten one of the Weasley twins' sweets, and I had to restrain a nervous giggle. That really wouldn't have looked good!

Snape was examining the floating crystals, distaste practically carved onto his face. He caught me watching him, and clenched his fist meaningfully. Naturally, I looked away hurriedly. It had got me thinking though: what on earth was the Chamber of Secrets? I vaguely recalled hearing the term before, as part of some cheesy – not to mention crude – pick up line (it didn't work. Obviously) but I had no idea what it actually referred to.

"Harry?" Dumbledore was looking at me, and I hastily acquired my best impression of keenness and willingness to help. "I know that you did not do this. The magic involved is quite beyond you." There was a meaningful beat. "Or any student within this castle, of course. However, for the sake of the official record," – by which he meant the Hogwarts rumour mill, which would practically have orgasmed over this little episode, given half the chance – "perhaps you could account for your movements this evening?"

I must confess, dear reader, that it was an effort to keep the glee I was feeling from my face. This couldn't have happened at a better time! Or to a more deserving person, but that's a separate issue. The first time I needed an alibi, and I'd just finished setting Lockhart up as, not to put too fine a point on it, my bitch, for the foreseeable future at least. I schooled my expression into concerned consideration though.

"Tonight sir? Well, I've really only been talking to Professor Lockhart. We've got so much in common, you know. Fascinating chap. I came straight here afterwards, which was when I found…well, this."

Dumbledore's eyebrow had been raised sceptically at my enthusiasm for Lockhart, and I was suddenly struck by the notion that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one who thought Lockhart was a fraudulent git. Which was satisfying, but did beg the question of why he had been hired…maybe (and isn't this a revolting notion) Dumbledore was one of Lockhart's legion of admirers.

"Is that correct, Gilderoy?"

I hadn't realised he had arrived. Every eye in the hall turned to him, and he gulped. This time, I couldn't repress a small grin. It was probably the first time in his life that he hadn't been happy to be the centre of attention. He ran his finger round his collar, and put on a shaky smile. "Yes. Yes, indeed. Just a little 'getting to know you' chinwag, you know."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, that all seems clear enough. Harry, did you do anything when you got here?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. Then I realised my error. "Well, what I mean is, I was about to try and heal him. Couldn't just let the poor chap lie there, you know."

"Of course," Dumbledore remarked. "Very commendable of you."

"Albus, are you seriously going to leave it at that?" Snape hissed, waving his hand at me. "This is the second time in a week that Potter has been involved in something shady! And this is far more serious than a breach of the Statute – we are talking about assault!"

"Severus," Dumbledore said with a hint of reproach, "You know as well as I do that Harry could not be responsible for this. Remember your history."

Now that was an intriguing little titbit. Had something like this happened before? And then I gave myself a quick mental slap on the wrist. I did not want to get involved in this, not if the opening gambit had been to put Filch in a coma or worse. For a moment, Snape looked like he was going to say something else, but he seemed to remember that this time, we had an audience. He stood up straight, folded his arms, and concentrated on looming. It was possibly too late; whispers were rustling through the crowd at an incredible speed. I sensed my stock regaining proper balance once more, and breathed a sigh of relief.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Naturally, if disappointingly, I did not receive my usual cheerful welcome for the next few days. Few people actually believed I had done that to Filch, not after Dumbledore's words and Lockhart's testimony, but I still had an unsettling air about me. I drowned it out by getting stinking drunk as often as possible. This wasn't a coping mechanism, you understand. It was just a typical night with the lads from the Quidditch set. I did worry about it all, of course, because I hardly wanted to become a social pariah, but I couldn't let people see it getting to me. I was desperately hoping for another attack to occur that I would clearly have had nothing to do with, so that my name could be cleared.

My chums in Gryffindor stood by me, of course. Ron because he didn't have the brains to think I might be lying about it (and, I suppose, because his sister was vigorously declaring my innocence to anyone who would listen, bless her). Neville because it didn't occur to him that a fellow Gryff might be anything less than totally noble and heroic. Hermione because she knew I was too…hands off, shall we say, to do something like that. Cormac, sterling fellow that he was, spent much of his time – when not engaged in boisterous challenges, Quidditch, boozing or shagging (which didn't leave him much time for anything else, as I'm sure you can imagine) – vigorously proclaiming the sheer idiocy of believing that I was anything other than a gentleman, hero, and all round decent chap, and that he would duel anyone who said otherwise.

Not many people disagreed with him to his face, at least.

After a while though, in which time no further attacks had taken place, people began to talk of other things. Well, most people – Hermione was still wittering on about the Chamber of Secrets to anyone who would listen, having read all about it in 'Hogwarts: a History'. Merlin, the number of times she read through that book…I never bothered myself, of course, but from what I know of Hermione I'm half convinced that she read it once, memorised it verbatim, then replaced the pages with the finest Quidditch erotica she could lay her hands on (so to speak…). She really loved that book. She'll probably ask to be buried with it.

But I digress.

As I was saying, my stock levelled out, if it didn't actually rise, over the next few weeks. It helped that Lockhart was enthusiastically palling up to me at every opportunity, as I'd threatened him with exposure in a very real sense if he didn't try and boost my standing. That little boot-licker Creevey had managed to get a snap of the two of us together, and it was doing the rounds faster than he could print extra copies (you'll surely know the photo I mean; I had it written about in the 'official' version of my time at Hogwarts. In reality though, Lockhart was the uncomfortable one.) I'd been unbelievably irate about this little scheme when I first heard about it, but I'd soon realised that there was no reason I couldn't get a cut of the proceedings myself. I know, I know, you'll think me a bully – and you'd usually be right – but Creevey didn't care, so long as he had money for inks and papers. He went on to become a professional photographer, I believe. 'Art', if you know what I mean.

Sadly, this was all before my first encounter with those lovely, sensitive types who went on to become professional thugs: the Aurors.

I freely admit, I have little tolerance for the nitty-gritty of duelling and associated activities, and while I can always find a use for those who excel at it, and can be discreet about their employment, it will probably come as little shock to you to find out that I loathed the Aurors, to a man. Well, ok, I didn't actually loathe the infamous Nymphadora Tonks, but she hadn't had the fun drilled out of her, and it still wouldn't be quite fair to say I considered her a bosom friend. And I suppose Wcyliffe had a couple of admirable qualities…but really, we're talking about the crack squad of elite wizards who eventually employed Ron. I mean, for God's sake.

Obviously, one did not often encounter Aurors in the day to day events at Hogwarts. Apparently, a grotty little cleaner being attacked was grounds for official investigation though. And so, one fine afternoon, I was called away from my studies to discuss matters with two Aurors.

They immediately struck me as Aurors for which the term 'Good Cop Bad Cop' could have been coined. One – older, broader, burlier, and clearly struggling with an anger management problem – cracked his knuckles as I walked into Dumbledore's office, practically growling at me. I ignored him as best I could, examining his companion, a blond man with a sly smile. Dumbledore beamed at me as I sat down.

"Harry, good afternoon. A pleasure to see you, as always."

"Good afternoon, sir!" I said, matching his smile. I thought it probably worth my while to suggest to the Aurors that Dumbledore and I were great pals. They would be considerably less likely to go hard on me, if they thought I had influential friends. "It's been too long. What can I do for you today?"

"I told you he was a good lad, didn't I, Samuel?" Dumbledore said to the younger Auror. "Always so eager to help."

"Yes, very admirable…" this Samuel replied, looking dubiously at me. "Afternoon, Mr Potter. My name's Tyler. Samuel Tyler, of the Aurors."

"Hunt," barked the other Auror, now standing behind me. I jumped in my seat, before turning to face him. He leered down at me, his face racked with the pockmarks that spoke of a hard life. Or, maybe, a gloriously debauched life. Or possibly, a combination of the two. Probably both, I decided.

"I beg your pardon?" I enquired politely. He glared at me once more.

"Hunt. Dean Hunt. Auror, and former owner of a highly valuable, stylish, and well designed Ford Anglia."

I gulped. I couldn't help it. That explained his sour expression, at least. "Ah. That was yours?"

"Oh yes!"

"He's very protective of his transport," Tyler murmured behind me. I turned to look at me, and Hunt barked in my ear.

"That was Ministry property! Who gave you the right to lay your hands on it?"

"It was an emergency!" I protested feebly. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Well, since you ask…" Hunt grasped my shoulder in a vice like grasp, and I was suddenly intensely, profoundly grateful for Dumbledore's presence. I had a suspicion that Hunt might have been even more physical if we had been alone. I looked in trepidation at Dumbledore's fine old oak desk, and shuddered. In the meantime, Hunt began to real off a long, long list of alternative courses of action. Dumbledore and Tyler occasionally nodded sagely.

"…and you could have hopped on the scaly bitch and ridden her all the way to Scotland!" Hunt finished with a bellow. I leant back, staring. The man had a talent, no doubt about it. I was almost tempted to applaud.

"Are you quite finished?" Tyler snapped at his companion. Hunt growled, turning away and cracking his knuckles again. Tyler sighed and looked at me, plastering an utterly pathetic attempt at a friendly grin on his face. I met his gaze with a false smile of my own, and I like to think that I was rather better at it.

"Professor Dumbledore has already told us what happened, of course, but we're interested in hearing your own account. Just for the records, of course," Tyler explained.

Bollocks it was for the records. I was no fool: they wanted to see if they could solve a tricky case without any work – a frame up. While I respected the sentiment, there was no way they were doing it to me! I knew what I wanted to say, and I was sticking to it. They'd have to get up far earlier in the morning to pull the flying carpet out from under my feet. I parroted the story that I'd fed everyone else, insinuating that I had been mere moments away from being a damn hero, and bluffed my way through all their questions. Tyler looked more and more disgruntled as the questions went on, while Hunt barely commented, interjecting only with barbed remarks about my character. I couldn't really blame him (although I resolved to take extensive revenge against him nevertheless, of course.) After a while, Tyler simply sat back, throwing his quill down with a disgruntled look at me. I smiled smugly.

"Is there anything else, gentlemen?" Dumbledore asked, his voice positively oozing faux-sincerity. Hunt's lips curled into an ugly expression, and he leant over, peering at me intently.

"We'll be keeping a close eye on you, sonny-jim. Understand? You have my complete attention."

I certainly did. I cursed my bad luck in stealing an official car. I'd anticipated maybe having to fork out for repairs and so forth, maybe pay the owner a visit and flash the Potter Smile at him, but unless these Aurors were rather more corrupt than they seemed to be, I was going to have them breathing over my shoulder for most of my life.

Well, I was hardly going to let that happen, was I?