"…let me kill you…"

"What?" Harry stood up and looked around. It was late Saturday night, which was the night he worked for Filch. Harry was currently cleaning the second floor girl's bathroom. There was a ghost haunting one of the toilets, and she took pleasure in flooding the whole bathroom occasionally, which meant that Harry had to come in and clean it all up while the taps dripped and she sobbed and moaned in the far corner.

Couple that with the voice he'd just heard, and the whole situation became very creepy.

"…let me rip…tear…kill…"

There it was again. "Who's there!" he asked worriedly.

"No one's ever there!" Moaning Myrtle screeched, and Harry jumped a mile and hurried out of the bathroom.

Maybe he would just go to bed and finish in the morning.

"And countless Ravenclaws have been searching for it for centuries, it's almost a tradition now…"

"That's really interesting, Anthony. What would you do if you starting hearing voices?"

Anthony gave him a look. "I'd look around to see who was speaking, of course."

Harry shook his head. "And what if no one was there?"

Anthony frowned. "There could be several reasons for that. It could be a ghost playing a trick on you. Peeves, probably. It could be someone in another room. The acoustics in some parts of the castle are very strange, did you know?" He thought some more. "It could even just be that you haven't looked hard enough for the person who is speaking to you."

"What if…" Harry swallowed. "What if no one else can hear the voices?"

Anthony considered him for a moment. "Voice, or voices?"

Harry thought about it. "It's happened a few times, but I think it's only one voice."

"There are several explanations possible in that case as well." Anthony said, nodding. "It could be someone speaking to you inside your head. There are ways of doing that, you know. They could be using a charm to only let you hear them. For all you know, it could just be a language that the people with you didn't understand. For a person who didn't understand Mermish, for example, someone speaking it sounds like they're shrieking. But if you do understand it, then it's just another voice to you."

Harry sighed. He wasn't going crazy after all.

"Or," Anthony said, opening the book he'd been holding when Harry approached him earlier. "You could just have a mild case of schizophrenia."

Harry thanked Anthony and went back to Hermione's table.

"Hermione, if I have schizophrenia, what does that mean?"

She looked up at him, amused. "In short, it means you're crazy."

Harry's mouth dropped open, and he shot an incredulous look over at Anthony, who was now immersed in his book and ignoring Harry's glare.

"Well that certainly made me feel better," he grumbled.

Hermione grinned at him. "Did Anthony tell you that you have schizophrenia, Harry?"

Harry scowled. "He said it was a possibility."

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of personality disorders, I've discovered something about Dudley's writing. Watch him for a moment, see if you can spot it."

Harry looked over at Dudley, who was, as usual, scribbling away in that book. He didn't see anything particularly special.

"Just wait for him to turn the page," Hermione said, and Harry waited.

And waited.

"He's not doing it at all!" Harry whispered, fascinated. "In fact, he's not even moving down the page!"

"Exactly," Hermione said smugly. "Which means that's definitely a magical book. I've been watching since school started, and he has never used a different page. He writes, it disappears, reappears, then disappears again, and then he writes some more."

Harry blinked, a conclusion forming in his mind almost immediately. "He's writing to someone."

Hermione nodded. "I can't get close enough to see anything though. I can make him put it down for homework, classes and food with little fuss, but he always puts it in his bag. If I ask to see it, he snaps at me."

Harry voiced the question they were both thinking. "Who could it be?"

Neither of them had a clue.

"Oy, what're you two whispering about over there?" Ron Weasley had joined their study group after the first week of school, although he spent most of his time with them being shushed by the librarian and complaining about the homework. He drove Hermione batty, who said she thought she'd been done with that sort of thing once Dudley had gotten over it in first year.

"We're just worried about Dudley, that's all," Harry said. Ron had seemed uncertain about studying with a Slytherin at first, but Harry had been nothing but polite to him, so he had no grounds to object. Harry personally thought Ron was slightly spoiled, but a nice enough sort of guy as long as Harry didn't pretend that his favourite Quidditch team was whichever was opposing Ron's, like he did with Draco.

"Yeah, what's his problem, anyway?" Ron asked, glancing at the boy in question. "All he ever does is write. And he gets all nasty when you ask what about."

"My aunt moved out this summer," Harry said in a low voice. "She doesn't like magic at all. Dudley thinks it's his fault."

Ron's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, surprised. "Poor bloke. But still, what's with the writing? Never saw him write a thing last year, and now it's all he does."

"We aren't sure," Hermione explained. Her eyes brightened suddenly, and she smiled at Ron. "You're in his dorm with him, aren't you? Neville's already keeping an eye on him for me, but could you, too? Make sure he sleeps and try to distract him from that book sometimes? You're right, he shouldn't be writing all the time."

Ron scratched his head and smiled back uncertainly. "Sure, I'll try…but if he yells at me again, don't expect much."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said sincerely. "We're really worried about him. You'd be doing us a huge favour."

Ron turned a bit red. "No problem," he said with a pleased grin. "Happy to help."

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware."

"Merlin, look at the cat!"

"Is it dead?"

"Who's the Heir?"

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?"

"That poor kitty!"

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Filch shoved through the crowd, and when he saw Mrs. Norris hanging from the torch bracket, he fell back in horror, clutching his face.

Harry stood in the crowd, nearly as upset as Filch. He'd quite liked Mrs. Norris. "My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" Filch turned on the crowd, glaring into it fiercely. "Which of you did it!? I'll kill whoever did this! I'll kill 'em!"

"Argus!" Dumbledore swept into view along with several of the teachers and detached Mrs. Norris from her bracket. Filch looked at him in a bit of a panic.

"Dumbledore, someone's killed my cat!"

Dumbledore regarded him sympathetically. "Come with me, Argus. The rest of you, back to your Houses."

"My office is nearest, headmaster…"

"I heard it again, Blaise," Harry said worriedly.

"Heard…?"

"That voice I told you about before," Harry reminded him. "The one that talked about killing things? When we were on our way down to the common room."

"That's why you wanted to go back upstairs?" Blaise's eyes were wide. "And you led us right to Mrs. Norris…"

"I know!" Harry felt frantic. "That means the voice can't just be in my head. It did that to Mrs. Norris!"

He and Blaise were sitting in a corner in the common room. Pansy had gone up to bed, and Draco was talking to some of the upper years. He appeared to be saying something very entertaining. Harry couldn't think of anything he could be saying that would be funny right now.

"What's Draco doing?" he asked Blaise, who immediately shifted so that Harry couldn't see Draco anymore.

"Nothing, he's just talking," Blaise said nonchalantly. "Probably trying to find out what's happening."

Harry frowned, leaning around Blaise. "But they're laughing. Why would they be laughing?"

"Oh, you know…" Blaise said vaguely. "Draco can be very funny sometimes."

"I want to ask him what he thinks about this," Harry said, standing. Blaise protested and tried to pull Harry back into his seat, but Harry's scowl was enough to make him let go.

"Draco is such an idiot," Blaise muttered as Harry walked away.

As Harry neared the group, he began catching snatches of what they were saying. His eyes narrowed.

"…mudbloods! I heard one died last time…"

"We're better off without them…"

"…Hogwarts will be mudblood-free within the month!"

A spattering of laughter. Harry stopped. That had been Draco. He turned around to look at Blaise, who was watching him with a look that said he knew exactly what Harry had just overheard.

Harry was furious. At both of them. Draco, for saying such horrible things when he'd promised he wouldn't, and Blaise for trying to cover for him. He sneered in Blaise's direction, who immediately looked affronted, and glared at the back of Draco's head. Then he marched over to the fireplace and dropped down in one of the empty chairs. He wasn't going to sulk over this. He simply wasn't speaking to either of them anymore.

"Harry." It was Blaise. He actually had the gall to come over here and try to talk to Harry. Harry ignored him, and stared at the low table in front of him instead.

"Harry, I just didn't want you two to fight," Blaise took a deep breath and let it all out at once. "Draco is an arse, we both know that. But I didn't…don't get mad at me too."

Harry glared instead at the mantle, and the portrait over the fireplace snickered at him again. It was always doing that.

"Shut up, you," he hissed. It just laughed more.

He looked over at Blaise, who was now staring at him with his mouth slightly open.

"What?" Harry asked irritably. "He was laughing at me."

"He…was?" Blaise asked weakly, sitting down across from Harry and staring at him. Harry nodded, nonplussed, and Blaise just kept staring at him.

Harry suddenly remembered that he was angry at Blaise and snapped, "What's your problem, Blaise?"

Blaise waved his hand at the portrait, then at Harry. "You talked to it."

"Yes…"

"That's a snake up there, Harry."

Harry frowned, feeling more and more irritated by the moment. "So I'd noticed. Make your point already."

"My point is that you're a Parselmouth!" Blaise said in frustration. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"A Parselmouth?" Harry asked, confused. Blaise's expression cleared slightly.

"Of course. You had no idea, did you?" He sounded almost fond. Harry glared again.

"Just tell me what a Parselmouth is," he said.

Blaise grinned. "You can speak to snakes," he explained. "You speak Parseltongue."

"Oh," Harry said, surprised. "Yeah, that snake in the portrait is always making little comments at me. I didn't know it was anything important. I assumed he just spoke English and you all ignored him."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if that snake was talking to us, the last thing we'd do is ignore him." He looked at Harry hopefully. "Say something in Parseltongue, would you?"

Harry thought for a moment and said, "Blaise is a prat who shouldn't try to cover for people when they're being a bigot."

Blaise smirked at him. "That was in English, Harry."

Harry grinned and reddened slightly. "It's true, anyway."

"Yeah, probably," Blaise admitted. "Now say something in Parseltongue already."

Harry frowned and glanced up at the snake. "I don't know how to make it work," he said uncertainly.

"Wicked," Blaise grinned. "What did you say?"

Harry was bemused. "I said 'I don't know how to make it work'."

"Try and say something else, then."

"This is weird."

"What did you say?"

"I said you're annoying."

"No you didn't," the snake in the portrait hissed. "Why did you lie?"

"Harry? Is the snake talking too? What are you saying?"

"Am I still speaking in Parseltongue?" Harry asked, alarmed. "How do I stop?"

"Harry! Speak English!"

"I don't know how!" Harry said, glaring at Blaise.

Blaise grinned. "You just did."

Harry scowled. "I think I have to be looking at the snake," he said.

"That sounds right," Blaise agreed. "Draco's coming, by the way."

Harry looked around. Draco was coming toward them, and by the look on his face, he had no idea that Harry had heard him before.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, sitting down on the couch.

Harry immediately remembered how angry he was and glared at him. "What do you care, Malfoy?" he asked coldly. "I'll be gone in a month, anyway." He turned to Blaise. "Don't tell him about it." Then he stood up and went up to the dorm. As he left, he heard Blaise start in on Draco about what an arse he was, and felt a bit better. Not that he was going to be talking to Draco any time soon, but it felt good to know that Draco was going to suffer a bit.

Harry dove on his broom, feeling better than he had in a month. Last year's Seeker hadn't failed to graduate like everyone had expected, so the spot was Harry's without a doubt. When Blaise and Draco had found out back in September, they had convinced Harry to buy himself the latest model broom, a Nimbus 2001, in celebration. Flint had had them practicing three times a week in response to the Gryffindor team's almost fanatical practice schedule, which had them practicing every day, at all hours.

"Just the fact that they're practicing so hard should say how terrible whatever new Seeker they've got is," Flint told them confidently. "Our team doesn't have to worry about that. Everyone here has had at least a year." He looked at Harry when he said this. "So if we lose Sunday…" The look on his face very clearly told them that to lose Sunday would be to die, slowly and painfully. Then he grinned ferally and shoved them all out the door for another gruelling practice.

Now here they were, Sunday. It was muggy, and Harry thought it might rain soon. Hopefully the match would be over by then. He rose high in the air again, searching for the Snitch. His opponent was a black boy in Dudley's dorm, Harry thought his name might be Thomas, although he wasn't sure.

Harry watched from above as one of the Gryffindor chasers scored another point. It looked like all that practicing had paid off; they really were quite good. Which meant it was up to him more than ever to find the Snitch first. He did a loop to work off some of his nerves and flew off toward the opposite side of the pitch, Thomas close behind him. Harry wondered if the other Seeker thought he'd spotted something. Harry glanced back at him and saw that this was, in fact, the case. He darted one more glance around to make sure the Snitch wasn't anywhere nearby, and went suddenly into a spectacular dive, Thomas scrambling after him.

Harry heard the commentator yell something about the Seekers, and grinned as he pulled suddenly out of the dive halfway through and carried on roaming the field as though nothing had happened.

"Who me?" he thought in amusement. "Spot the Snitch? Don't know what you're talking about…"

Then the thunder split open the sky, and he was very suddenly being pelted with sheets of rain, which dampened his amusement somewhat. He passed by the Slytherin stands, where Pansy and Blaise were cheering for him underneath a giant umbrella. He saw Draco with them, and pretended he hadn't. He hadn't been on good terms with Draco for about a month now. Draco had said he was sorry, and Harry had ostensibly forgiven him, but Harry still wasn't happy. Draco had claimed to be sorry last time, too, but that hadn't stopped him from making a repeat performance. Harry was nothing if not stubborn, and he didn't think he could be friends with someone who thought his other friends and, indeed, his mother, were lower life forms. So he spoke to Draco when necessary, but it was stilted, and more often than not, Blaise acted as a go-between when they had to interact. Harry knew it upset all his friends (in Slytherin, anyway; Hermione thoroughly agreed with Harry), but maybe this way, Draco would understand just how horrible his thinking was, and maybe change his views.

Harry pulled his attention back to the game, having been distracted for too long, and there it was, a glint of gold, down near the grass. He dove.