As we get ready for bed on Saturday night, a neatly folded letter appears in the muggle lunchbox I keep on my nightstand. This was my real summer project; with Father's help, I charmed the box so that I can exchange letters and small objects with him instantaneously. Owls are so last century. Don't these wizards know that even muggles use 'e-mail' nowadays?

Harry,

As unfortunate as it is, your position in Gryffindor might prove beneficial to us. Dumbledore will have less cause to suspect your true allegiance this way. Had you asked the Hat not to place you in Slytherin for these reasons, I would have commended your sensibility. Regardless, if the opportunity presents itself, feel free to gather intelligence from your Light housemates and their family members.

We will discuss your holiday arrangements later. You will be present for important social events, and that is not up for negotiation. I am well aware of your being "mad at me", but I am ready to talk about your identity and history as Harry Potter whenever you find yourself in the state of the mind to do so. In the meantime, take care of yourself.

Your father.

P.S: The Chamber is not for the unworthy to enter, and by finding it on your own, you prove your worthiness as the Heir of Slytherin. It only took me five years. Good luck, brat.

"Oh blast it!" I cast a quick flaming spell at the letter. Father would probably expect me to burn it for security's sake anyway, but I'm free to make the parchment burn extra crispy. If my dorm mates are alarmed by the inordinately large fireball in the centre of our room, they don't make a beep. Seriously – it 'only' took him five years and he wishes me good luck? What is that?

Sunday morning finds me in the Slytherin dungeons before daybreak, standing over a deeply sleeping blond-haired boy.

"Draco, wake up. I need to find the Chamber of Secrets."

"Um? Good for you …" Draco turns over with his eyes still closed, stubbornly refusing to leave the land of dreams.

"No, not good for me. I don't know where it is and you're locating it with me."

No response.

"Draco, I'll turn your bed into a kiddie pool if you don't get. Up, Now."

The Malfoy heir groans but manages to crack open an eye. Smart boy; he knows I'll gladly make good of my threat.

"How did you even get in here?"

"Heir of Slytherin, remember?" The Snakes think their dungeons impenetrable, but it's nothing a good disillusionment spell and a parselmouth cannot handle.

"Drat." Draco reaches for his wand, but gives up on the Tempus spell after three failed attempts. "What time is it?"

"Five-thirty, give or take." I figure since I need to prove my worthiness in less than five years, I better start now. And I'm very much looking forward to meeting a basilisk.

"Merlin … And why do you need to find the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Heir of Slytherin, Draco! How dense are you?"

Draco's eyes suddenly light up. "Oi, are you going to let out the monster and kill all the mudbloods at school?"

"What? No!" I gawk at him, quite scandalized. "Why would I - that's not what old Salazar made the Chamber for!"

"But that's what happened the last time the Chamber was opened." Draco explains. "The Heir brought revenge upon those tainting the school. It was 1943, I do believe."

"1943? Are you quite sure?"

"… Yes? Why?"

"I'm ninety percent certain that Father was the last one to open the Chamber." I reply quietly. We're missing something here, but I don't know what.

"Your father? It can't be! Then he'd be, like, sixty years old!" Draco protests. "And he doesn't look a day older than maybe thirty-five, tops!"

I hum in agreement. As far as we know, magic can only preserve one's youth this much – there's no way to stop someone from aging. You can glamour it, sure – Merlin knows how many of the pureblooded trophy wives do it – but my father certainly hasn't been using a glamour to conceal his age. But of course, there can be aspects of the Dark Arts that can help in this aspect that we aren't familiar with … but then why would Father even bother?

And if that's the case, it brings us to another question. A tougher question.

"The basilisk killed a student, you say?" Finding the Chamber suddenly doesn't seem as fun any more.

"Yes. But it's a mudblood." Draco says rather dismissively. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Draco has strong opinions on blood purity; I don't. I know where my father and his followers stand on this issue, but as a rule, Dad doesn't like to bring his brand of politics into our private home. No "mudblood" has caused me any personal injury before. I don't know many muggleborns, sure, but from what I've seen, Hermione Granger is one fine specimen of the female sex compared to the likes of Pansy and Milly.

"But the public wouldn't think so, would they? Someone died at the school, and they ought to have written all about it in the papers!" I counter, sensing a lead. "Come on, Draco! We are going to the library." Draco groans, utterly miserable.

What better way to spend one's Sunday than reading 50-year-old Daily Prophets? I physically drag my blond haired best friend out of bed.

We don't find anything useful on the Chamber of Secrets in the library. The unrestricted part, at any rate.

The newspaper lead is a dud.

"Ah, but all newspapers between 1938 and 1945 are in the Headmaster's office – a special collection on the years of the Grindelwald Wars." Madam Pince explains to us good-naturedly. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be more than happy to let you lads have a look."

Like hell he would. I want to curse something.

"We'll definitely ask him, Madam Pince." Draco and I smile politely. I whisper in urgency as soon as we're out of earshot.

"Restricted Section. Now."

"What – Harry, wait! What if we get caught?"

I shrug. "Nothing too bad, surely?" I'm usually the one that comes up with those Bright Ideas that land us in serious trouble, but now I can blame it on the Something Gryffindor in my blood. Both of my birth parents were Lions anyway – who'd have thunk?

"It's the only way." I head towards the back of the library as inconspicuously as I can. "Draco, come on. There's no one there, see?"

We sneak past the iron gates, quiet as mice. Quite remarkably, we make it to the second shelf before a Grim Reaper-costumed Snape catches us. It's as if he knew we were going to break the rules right here, right now. He gives us – even Draco from his own House! - detention for two weeks without batting an eye.

Monday after class, the moment I've been waiting for finally comes – with a twist. I'm called into the Headmaster's office, not for having a dark lord as a father, not for keeping a very deadly Indian Cobra under my bed, but for bringing my Nimbus 2000 to school in my first year. Just my kind of luck.

The stone gargoyles open up before I can knock, and I'm greeted by the sight of the only wizard Father has ever feared … sucking on a stick candy.

"Oh, hello, Harry. Take a seat, please." He doesn't make it sound like I'm in trouble, but I know better. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, sir." What does he take me for? Those darn candies are obviously laced with something! Veritaserum? I wonder if the air is laced with Veritaserum – that's what I would do.

"All right." The Headmaster vanishes the stick candy and leans forward in his seat. His intense blue gaze falls upon me as I stubbornly stare at a spot on his wrinkly forehead. "Let's get to it, then. Broom racing on a fine Saturday morning, Harry?"

"But it wasn't broom racing, sir! Draco and I were having a one-on-one Seeker's match." I flash him a rather silly smile.

"Ah, Seeker's match? Exciting, I'm sure. But first years aren't allowed their own brooms at Hogwarts, are you and Mr. Malfoy aware of that?"

"Yes, sir." I admit demurely, before going out on a limb. "But with all due respect, sir, this is not a very sensible rule. Draco and I knew perfectly well what we were doing since we've been flying for years. To us, Quidditch is not just a sport, it's – it's a part of our life at home, and we just want it to be a part of our life at Hogwarts."

"School rules are school rules, my boy. But I do understand your sentiment; I myself was quite partial to the sport in my youth." Dumbledore says merrily. I find myself trying and failing to imagine the old codger flying around on an ancient broom. What position he would possibly play? Cheerleading, perhaps?

"That being said, I'm afraid I'll have to give you two lads some form of punishment. Helping out with Mr. Filch for a night or two, perhaps?"

"I would expect nothing less, sir." Inwardly I grumble. Great, another two nights with the lovely Mr. Squib! It's not like Snape hasn't assigned us two whole weeks with that child-eating cripple already.

Dumbledore, however, seems almost mischievous. "On the other hand, Harry, Madam Hooch saw your flying performance on Saturday, and she admits to being quite impressed by how you and Mr. Malfoy handled yourselves on a broom. In fact, she suggested an exception to be made for you lads to be included in the House team tryouts next week. Would that be of interest to you?"

"Yes!" I nearly jump out of my seat, incredible at the turn of events. Detention with Filch is nothing compared to the chance to play my favourite sport. "I mean, I'd love to try out for the team, sir."

"Then I'll surely add your names." The Headmasters smiles at my outburst indulgently. "As well as any first year who proves to be capable with a broom, I think."

"Thank you so much, sir. I'm so excited!" I still can't believe it; I really am lucky sometimes.

"Great! Now that order of business is settled, how are you doing here at Hogwarts, my dear boy?"

"Really good, sir." I answer immediately, quite happy that Father isn't here to shame me on for using 'good' instead of 'well'. The right way just sounds so stuck up. "The classes are interesting and I've made friends in different houses."

"Good, good, I'm glad to hear it. I see that you and young Draco are very close."

"Naturally, sir. We're practically brothers." No need to lie on this part.

"Ah, the wonders of young friendships." The old man turns pensive for a second, almost in reminiscence. "I've also noticed that Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, is listed on Ministry records as your legal guardian?"

That certainly takes me by surprise. I had no idea Uncle Lucius is my guardian, although the arrangement definitely makes sense – it's not like Father can up and file for an adoption under the name "Lord Voldemort". I almost snicker at that thought – the horror on their faces!

"Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa have always been like family to me." I remark naturally.

"And you live with them before you came to school?"

I decide to paly along. "Yes, most of the time, sir. They are very kind people, and they've taught me everything about the magical world." If Dumbledore knows the first part is a blatant lie, he doesn't let on.

"I'm sure they are, Harry. But if I'm not mistaken, you were first living with your mother's relatives…?"

I feel a blush creeping up on my face. Just as well. "I – I ran away from home, sir. My mother's relatives weren't exactly, uh, kind to me. Not at the time, at least … And that's when Uncle Lucius took me in."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, my boy. Sometimes blood isn't what … Alas, I'm glad you've found a family in the Malfoys; upstanding citizens of the wizarding world, I'm sure." Seriously? How dense does he think I am? "Of course, if you ever need a change in scenery, or a different place to stay …"

Oh yes, this is the start of a 'come to the light side' speech, I'm certain. They have lemon drops! "Thank you for the offer, sir, but I'm perfectly happy with my life with the Malfoy family. I'm really looking forward to the Christmas celebrations at the Manor."

"I'm sure it'll be spectacular."

"It always is, sir. I can't wait." I lie. I'm really getting good at this.

I'm saved from a long winded brainwashing session by Minister Fudge, out of all people, sticking his fat head out of the fireplace calling for Dumbledore. Fudge, I do believe, is a dear "friend" of Uncle Lucius'. The Headmaster certainly wouldn't discuss his opinion on the Malfoy family in front of the Minister. I mutter a thanks to my hero, and run back to Gryffindor Tower at full speed.

I can't wait to tell Ron, and then Draco – we get to play freaking Quidditch!