Disclaimer: I own a word processor. And right now, a nice cup of tea

AN: 1. Thank you for reading, and thank you for the reviews - you know how much I appreciate them!
2. Quick note: things concerning the chamber of secrets are going to be happening sooner than they did in the book...maybe by a month? Something like that...
Anyway, that being said, this chapter mainly finishes the transition into the whole mess that's approaching...

Chapter 27: Of Valentine's Day and Volatile Experiments

"One, two, three –"

BANG!

Both Harry and Hermione were sent staggering backward as the battery exploded, sending flashes of indigo and violet sizzling through the thick air of the girls' bathroom.

Meanwhile, above, Myrtle was cackling gleefully, her shrill voice poking fun at the failed experiment.

"Failure number seven," Harry muttered, inching cautiously toward the debris.

Christmas holidays had ended over a month ago – the first thing Hermione had done upon arriving back at the castle was ask Harry about the curious necklace and cryptic note he had sent her over the holidays. Initially, she panicked when he told her he had constructed an unregistered portkey linked with one he had made for himself – using paired runestones that would tie them together over an indefinite distance. All either of them needed was to say the designated password – Hermes – and they would find each other side by side. Though, even after he explained how it was the only useful thing he could think of to get her, she remained uneasy about the whole thing, she appreciated the gesture – and Harry appreciated that she seemed to understand the thought behind it; which left them with a duffle bag full of batteries and voltmeters, a vague hypothesis, and a list of ideas for experiments.

By mid January, Hermione found a place where they could perform their experiments in solitude – a girls' bathroom, abandoned for the most part because it was haunted by a particularly pouty ghost named Moaning Myrtle.

"If the explosion kills you next time, Harry, you're welcome to share my toilet with me," she crooned, leering at him.

Harry sighed. "Thanks Myrtle."

In the meantime, Hermione had stood up, beginning to pace. "I don't understand! The result's the same every time! The material we make the wires out of, the number of series we construct, the voltage of the batteries – it doesn't even seem to matter!"

Harry nodded, a frown on his face. "I think…I think what we need to do is identify the residue," he pointed to the aurora-like wisps floating above the burn marks on the bathroom floor, "And then…subtler charm work, maybe?"

"But what would that even mean?"

"I dunno – I don't know enough about charm theory to just make a guess, either."

Hermione brushed her uniform off. "More research?"

"More research."

Muttering a few quick cleaning spells and thanking Myrtle profusely for her discretion (after some pleading on their part, the ghost had agreed to keep their presence in her bathroom a secret), the two of them, after taking down the meager secrecy ward they had constructed about the door, left the bathroom quietly. Dawn was barely was a barely shimmering scarlet lighting the corridors; it was a Sunday morning, Saint Valentine's day, and no one was yet awake. As quiet as the Hogwarts corridors were, however, the library was quieter – Madame Pince was the only other human being present, flitting amidst the stacks, shelving tomes.

"We should split up," Hermione immediately said, eyes flickering down the stacks, "I'm the faster reader, so I'll research specific charms – you can look up the charm theory."

Harry mock-saluted. "Yes ma'am."

She scowled playfully, marching into the imposing, sheer cliffs of books.

Harry, however, did not proceed into the spell-theory section – the temptation was too great to veer elsewhere. Another student had been petrified in January, and that was when everything had clicked, or sort of clicked, anyway – the water on the floor in October, Colin's camera in November, Nearly-Headless Nick in December, and the windows that the muggleborn Gryffindor girl had been found leaning against in January. All four cases involved some substance that filters a person's sight, either by refracting or reflecting; whatever was happening to the students to petrify them, it was entirely possible that it was directly related to what they saw – everyone attacked was looking into something that would have indirectly revealed the perpetrator. As obscure as the commonality was, could it really be just a coincident? Harry didn't think so - since learning about magic, it had become apparent to him that anything relating to it was never coincidental.

And then there was the fact that it was supposedly 'Slytherin's beast' that carried out the attacks – what sort of beast would Salazar Slytherin employ to carry out his ambitions? If the attacks were truly legitimate (and considering pureblood blood-supremacist Slytherin Lucius Malfoy most likely had something to do with them, he suspected they were), then the 'perpetrator' was most likely a long-lived snake of some sort…which quite possibly affected its victim's sight somehow; even if it was only an appearance so hideous it struck terror into its victim. It was a long shot, but he could not help but wonder whether or not it was possible to deduce what exactly was committing these crimes.

Harry knew next to nothing about cryptozoology, and he didn't really care about the subject. But there was something about this that was chewing, viciously gnawing at the back of his mind – whatever was attacking the students…sometimes he would hear its voice in the corridors and the stairwells. And sometimes, he thought, he heard its whispers in his sleep.

Haphazardly, he flipped through a fifth year Care of Magical Creatures text with a raised eyebrow, finding nothing useful. When he reached the end, he nudged it to the side, scanning the shelves for something to look through next – Slippery Serpents and their Surroundings caught his eye.

"Harry?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry resisted cringing when he saw Hermione's puzzled expression.

"What are you reading?"

Harry opened his mouth, several explanations vying for dominance on his tongue.

"Don't lie to me," Hermione suddenly said, "I know you're going to."

Harry blinked. "How?"

Hermione sat down. "It took me a while, but I finally figured it out – you're far calmer when you lie."

Harry sighed, sliding the book toward her. "Figures. I…I was researching Slytherin's beast. I…there were just so many clues that could be…needed to be put together…it was bothering me…"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, "If you've got an idea of what could be doing this, then you have to talk to one of the teachers!"

"No!" he said immediately.

"Well then I will –"

As she made to rise from her seat, he grabbed her wrist. "No, Hermione – wait. You can't tell anyone."

"But why?"

"Hermione…I…I've got an idea of what it is, but if I tell a teacher – I'll have to explain too much."

She frowned, utterly confused. "Explain what!"

"Explain, you know… how I know..."

"Well, why can't you just say you can't explain it? But how do you even know? Oh…is it to do with…" she looked at him pointedly, "Well, you know…"

"Yeah, sort of," Harry said.

Hermione wrung her hands fretfully. "Look, I understand why you're reluctant…but people are getting hurt, Harry –"

"I don't see what that has to do with it..."

"It has everything to do with it - our friends classmates are in danger!"

"And that's not my fault," Harry muttered.

"I know that, Harry – but you care, don't you? About our classmates – who knows who could be next?"

"And it's not like I do, either."

"Harry, if you know something, then you have a responsibility to –"

"Responsibility?" Harry said incredulously.

An odd, upset frown was growing on Hermione's face. "Yes, Harry, something you seem to take pleasure in ignoring…"

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean...that's not the issue right now -"

Harry frowned. "If you brought it up, it's an issue."

Hermione huffed. "It simply means that I don't understand, Harry, why you can't seem to understand that right and responsibility go hand in hand; taking responsibility for your actions is important! And you don't – disrespecting teachers, ignoring rules, cursing students you don't like, and now this…I don't understand what you think gives you the right!"

"The right? No one needs the right to do anything, Hermione – they just do it. No one's entitled to anything, and no one's obligated to act in a certain way," Harry retorted firmly. "And they don't. Nobody needs a right – just a reason."

"But…I mean, even if it's bullies like Marcus Flint and troublemakers like Zacharias Smith – don't you feel…just a little bit guilty?"

Harry choked out a laugh. "Guilty? Why? They deserve it."

"So you say..."

"Yeah, which is why I don't feel bad about it. Why would I?"

"Well," she said uneasily, "For, you know, hurting people…"

Harry scowled, staring at her piercingly. "Did you know…did you know that people can be made to feel guilty for anything? For being alive? Guilt is the easiest way to manipulate, control, and hurt someone – and people who let that happen to themselves are stupid and weak. Did you know that?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "No…I suppose I didn't know that."

Harry shrugged. "Well. Then there you go."

Neither of them spoke, his emerald green eyes focused into her chocolate coloured ones, which drilled into his in tun.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence. "Everything aside, Harry - by looking into this and not asking for help...you could be putting yourself in undue danger."

"I'm fine, Hermione - it's not like there's some vast conspiracy going on...I don't think so, anyway."

She sighed. "Just...I won't tell anyone...so long as you just leave it, please..."

"Just let me finish what I've been looking up...it's nothing dangerous, I promise. Trust me?"

She took a deep breath. "I…I'll trust your judgement – turns out you're usually right anyway," she grumbled.

Harry smirked. "Like about Lockhart?"

Hermione scowled at him. "Yeah."

"I couldn't believe it when I heard about your tantrum," Harry said, full-on grinning now. "Accidental magic? At thirteen?"

Her scowl grew even darker. "I…I just cannot believe the gall of that man! Insulting Miranda Miguel – a brilliant Potions Mistress – by saying his skills outweigh hers! She's amazing, spectacular – a role model for all muggleborn witches -"

"So you threw a tantrum."

"It wasn't a tantrum!" she shouted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "You're such a bad influence on me."

"I'm not a bad influence – Lockhart deserved purple hair and boils, he really did….as I've been telling you for months."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes; you were right – and I shouldn't be so stuck up all the time."

"Hey, not your fault you have a teacher fetish."

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

Harry was sitting quietly on one of the blue velvet couches in the common room, scanning over a book on charm theory. No one ever bothered him when he read – there was an unwritten rule in Ravenclaw House that no one was to be interrupted while reading…especially Harry. That was why Harry was so surprised when the book was ripped out of his hands. Looking up, he frowned when he saw Luna holding it upside down between two fingers, staring at it with round, inquisitive eyes.

"…What are you doing?" Harry asked slowly.

Luna blinked, looking at him with wide, blue grey eyes. "Why, Harry the Horrible, I'm looking for a diary."

"A diary? Like, a journal?"

She nodded. "Yes, something like that."

"Why would I have one of those?"

She shrugged.

"Well, why don't you order one, from Flourish and Blotts, maybe?"

She shook her head, stray dishwater blonde strands flinging from side to side. "No, it's a very special, secret diary I'm looking for."

"Uh…is it yours?"

"No, I don't have a diary."

"Right then. Er, well then, why do you want it?"

She held a finger up to her lips. "Shhh. It's a secret."

Harry nodded. "Right. My lips are sealed. I'm great with secrets."

"Oh, I know. I suppose I should look for it in others' houses too…tell me if you find it."

"A very special, secret diary? I'll let you know."

She smiled at him brightly, making to turn away.

"Luna?"

"Yes?"

"My book?"

She blinked, glancing on the tome dangling from between her fingers. "Oh, this isn't it."

"Yeah, so I figured." He took it from her slowly, offering a tentative smile.

"Well, have a nice afternoon, Harry."

Harry nodded and sighed, looking over to the pile of envelopes beside him – he had received even more valentines this year than last year. Grimacing, he stuffed them in his pocket, standing up and heading up to his dorm room.

Having never received a valentine before, last year he had been sorely tempted to look through them all carefully, but in the end, he decided against it; the whole thing was just…strange. Sending anonymous love notes? What was the point? And who would even like someone too cowardly to sign their name on a card? He simply could not understand it – and that bothered him. But it was nothing a quick incendio couldn't fix.

Collapsing onto his bed, he didn't mind Laini as she slithered over to him; his attention was fixed on his notebook. He and Hermione had been able to acquire a set of connected notebooks; whatever one wrote, the other received. It turned out to be a very handy tool for planning their experiments. Wearily, he scanned the notes on possible charms she had found that they could cast on the copper wires they were transfiguring, and then began to jot down relevant points from the book he had been reading.

He smirked when he read the immediate response – Hermione asking if he could clarify his ambiguous terminology. Rolling his eyes, he jotted a few more lines down, mostly definitions, blinking as he found an odd sleepiness sting his eyes. He sighed when his quill dropped from his fingers, and slowly rolled over onto his side.

:Laini, don't let anyone near my notebook.:

And hearing the snake hiss her agreement, he drifted into an irresistible slumber.

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry jumped into a state of awareness, blinking rapidly as tendrils of pain gripped his head relentlessly. "Urgh…"

"You alright, mate?"

He squinted, barely able to make out the form of his friend through his crooked glasses. "T-Terry?"

"Yeah – Harry, it's past seven…I've been trying to wake you for a half hour now."

"Seriously?" Harry groaned.

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, seriously. You know, you look really pale – you feeling alright?"

"It…it's just a bit of a headache…"

Terry grimaced. "Just a bit, eh? You need to go to the infirmary?"

Harry shook his head. "No – it's nothing like that…"

"Bad dream?" Terry tried.

Harry opened his mouth to say "nothing," but froze when he realized – that it was the truth. "I…can't seem to remember."

"Oh…well, you hungry?"

Harry ran his fingers through hair, cringing as another wave of pain shot through his head. "N-no." He certainly was not hungry – he wasn't thirsty, tired, restless, hot, or cold; he just wanted the headache to go away.

But the headaches didn't stop. Days passed, and then weeks, and soon months – and the headaches only grew worse. And Harry was starting to get worried.

After a week he had squelched his pride and gone to the infirmary for a check up - according to Madame Pomfrey, there was nothing physically wrong with him. Even so, the woman was kind enough to supply him with some potions to take the edge off the pain. Harry had never felt so thankful for something that tasted so bad - until another two weeks passed, and they stopped working. He made a second trip to the infirmary; apparently, he had built up a tolerance for the potion, and so he was left with the headaches.

Usually he would be able to make it through all his classes, but he had taken to eating meals in the kitchen to avoid the noise of the Great Hall; he very rarely attended study group, and he had been forced to ask Fred and George to postpone all the appointments they had made. The whole thing was grating on his nerves - sometimes he couldn't even think straight - and he could help but feel anxious about what was happening to him.

The only time the pain would subside completely was when he was deeply engrossed in a book, or high on the magical exhilaration of his and Hermione's experiments (which had not yet proven successful) – or when he was asleep…but then the nightmares came. They would whirl through his mind – he knew that much, because when he woke his head was a tempestuous sea of hazy blankness – but at the moment his consciousness slowly pieced everything together upon waking, something would rip the memories away, tearing them into incoherent fragments.

Something strange was definitely afoot. He kept telling himself that if some higher power was messing with him again, they'd barely live to regret it - but in truth, he had no idea what to do.

"You've really got to get more sleep."

It was Hermione's voice, high and tense with concern.

Meanwhile, Harry started lethargically. "Huh?"

"See?" she said, crossing her arms, "You can't function like this – you've even been falling asleep in class."

"Can you blame me?" Harry groaned, "I've read all the text books already…no point in even going…"

"Harry!" she scolded, "Everyone's worried, you know – "

"Everyone?" he said, frowning. "You mean the small amount of people who don't think I should keel over and die? I can't believe they still think I'm the Heir of Slytherin...point is, I hardly think anyone but you cares that much..."

"Lots of people care," Hermione snapped.

"Yeah, like who?"

"Well, you know, for example…they asked me to talk to you – your housemates. They've noticed that..."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're not sleeping."

"I am."

"Not well."

Harry sighed wearily. "There's nothing to be done about it…"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I know it's not stress, unless…you're not still trying to find out who's behind the petrifications, are you?"

"Hermione, I just –"

"Harry," she interrupted, "You said you stopped! I agreed not to tell any teachers…but only if you stopped looking. Whoever or whatever's behind this is dangerous! And if you won't accept any help –"

"I can't stop, Hermione – there's just…something. I don't know…but I just can't not think about it…like I'm being tugged toward the answer."

She wrung her hands nervously. "Do you think it's one of your…" she lowered her voice, "Seer things?"

He croaked out a laugh. "Honestly? I've no idea. All I know is I've got to find out what's happening, it's got something to do with me, and…well, I don't know."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"I know that! But…you know, I might get this over with a lot faster if…you know, you…helped…me? I mean, I already know it's a snake –" he began rapidly, "I suspect a rare species, called a basilisk; but they're enormous – no idea how it's getting around, but if I found out –"

"Help you? Help you? Help you get it into another mess, like you did last year? You almost died!"

"I didn't –"

"Don't lie, I know exactly what happened – the magical strain your core endured was enough to obliterate it! Your living past a few hours was an anomaly!"

"Wait, how did you know –"

"Because I sneaked into the infirmary and read Madame Pomfrey's records!"

Harry blinked blearily, trying to process the revelation. That he had not expected.

"And now you want me to help you get into a ridiculously dangerous situation, again! I can't believe you!"

Red faced, she turned away. "I've got a charms essay to finish."

And with that, she marched out of the library, head ducked, frizzy curls hiding her face.

"…wow…"

Harry spun around, finding Terry strolling into the library with a slightly disturbed face.

"Maybe I shouldn't have done that…"

"Done what?" Harry asked, expression still set in an uneasy frown.

"Yeah, um, sorry? I asked Hermione to talk to you…"

"You did what?"

"Well, I was worried! And I had no idea she'd get so upset…"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Hermione's a classic Type A personality, with introverted tendencies – she expresses worry and care through exerting personal control over objects of interest or affection, and a lack of control would induce panic –"

"Yeah, no idea what you're talking about. Summary?"

"Summary?" Harry echoed, "You're an idiot. Of course she'd get that upset."

Terry cringed. "I don't have to…talk to her about it, do I?"

"I believe that at the moment, that would not be in the best interest of your health."

Terry nodded. "Sage advice. You know, we should...hey, Michael! Over here!"

The dark-haired boy across the room whirled about, and seeing the two, immediately began to make his way over.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Terry only shrugged, whilst Harry's frown deepened. "I…can't seem to remember."

Michael snorted. "No surprise there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, mate," Terry interjected, "That you haven't exactly been very sharp lately."

Harry's frown deepened even further in thought. "I'm always sharp..."

"Not on four hours of sleep," Michael drawled.

"What you need," Terry said, "Is some rest. I know! We should all take a vacation in the kitchens-"

"You do that," Michael interrupted, "But, if all you two'll do is laze about, then I'm going to study for our charms assignment."

"Ooh, that's due in a few days!" Terry exclaimed. "I'll come!"

"Me too," Harry muttered.

"There we go, just like old times!" Terry said, grinning.

"Old times?" Harry queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, like last year, researching together in the library – "

"Except," Michael put in, "There's no one to exorcise this year."

"We could try to get Peeves…"

Harry shook his head. "In all the research I did, I didn't find anything on exorcising a poltergeist. Not even anything about it being possible..."

Terry deflated slightly. "Oh."

Even Michael looked quite disappointed.

"Besides," Harry said, "I like Peeves."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Of course you do – you should just make friends with him and form your own little merry band of madness."

"Merry band of madness?" Harry asked contemplatively.

"Yeah!" Terry said, "If the prospect wasn't so frightening, I'd join too…but I bet Luna'd join you."

At that, the frown made its way back onto his face. "I haven't seen her around much lately…"

"Nobody has," Michael said, "I saw her a few times, huddled in a corner, writing something…it's strange she's not her usual…chipper self."

Harry bit his lip. "I should talk to her…see what's wrong…"

Terry grimaced. "I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

"Why not?"

"Well think about it! If Hermione's scary when she's in a mood, what'll Luna be?"

"My money's on psychotic," Michael deadpanned.

Harry cringed. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

Harry smiled lazily as the potion below him didn't blow up when he added the newt's eyes. Since Hermione had revealed to him the existence of the secluded girls' bathroom that Moaning Myrtle haunted, he had taken to not only meeting Hermione there for their experiments (which since her blow-up in the library a few days earlier, had come to a halt), but also stowing a cauldron there under a disillusionment charm. After his excessive number of detentions with Professor Snape, he felt himself ready to try and brew his personally modified mutation of the veritaserum potion on his own.

Turns out, he had only been half right about being ready - he was on his fifth try. And there was only so much money he could spend on potions ingredients before his trust fund ran dry.

Sighing, he covered the cauldron, and looked up at Myrtle, who was hovering deep within his personal space, head resting on his shoulder. "Make sure no one touches this, Myrtle? It's at a very delicate stage right now..."

"Oh, of course Harry - anything for you," she replied, giggling coyly.

Harry blinked, feeling the onset of another headache. "Thanks Myrtle, you're a doll."

"Oh, I know Harry, I know," she crooned with a seductive smile.

Resisting a shiver, Harry rose to his feet laboriously, trudging out of the bathroom and down the corridor at the quickest pace he could manage. Halfway to the stairwell, he decided on going to the library in favour of returning to the common room, and so he immediately veered left.

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry spun around as the voice broke through the quiet of the Hogwarts stairways at dawn. "Neville? What're you doing up already?"

The Gryffindor, panting slightly as he ran up to Harry, scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, a while ago Hermione mentioned that the two of you had been going to the library before breakfast every morning…I was wondering if you've seen her?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't talked to her in days."

Neville sighed. "You two fighting again?"

Harry made a face. "…maybe."

Neville only shook his head in exasperation.

"Haven't you seen her? I mean, you're in the same house…"

Neville bit his lip worriedly. "No, I haven't seen her since yesterday…"

Harry frowned. "But…she wouldn't stay in the library all night…"

"I know! I waited up for her, but she never came back."

Harry paused. "Come on, maybe she fell asleep somewhere."

Neville nodded, following him down a few flights of stairwells, and down the corridor that led to the library. The air was cool and wet and still – the hall was void of any movement and noise aside from their own. As the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's footsteps clattered over their stone path, their eyes darted from side to side, searching for any indication of company.

"Harry!"

Upon hearing Neville's excited voice, Harry's eyes darted down the corridor – and immediately captured the form that Neville's quivering finger was pointed to.

"You were right! She did fall asleep..." the chubby boy's voice faltered as he strode forward, "...on...the floor..."

"Wait, Neville, stop!"

Neville turned around, looking at Harry in puzzlement.

Harry hesitated - his voice didn't quite want to form the words. "She looks...too rigid, to be asleep...doesn't she?"

Neville paled instantly, eyes inching back toward Hermione's frozen frame. "Oh, Merlin, no..."

Taking a deep breath, Harry brushed past him and marched up to Hermione determinedly, kneeling beside her and taking in her terrified, unmoving face. Tearing his gaze away, he observed the mirror in her one hand and something fisted tightly in the other.

"H-Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered, "It got her..."

"Oh...oh no, no, no..."

Ignoring the sounds of Neville's choked panic and distress, Harry shakily reached down to Hermione's fist, carefully pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from her vice-like grip. The writing was messy, rushed, and emphatic – but the effect it had on Harry was anything but briefly passing.

"Pipes."

It felt sort of disjointed, I know...my brain's currently having continuity issues. Oh well.

Let me know what you think!