A Study in Magic
by Books of Change
Warning/Notes: This is a BBC Sherlock and Harry Potter crossover AU. The HP timeline and BBC Sherlock's timeline has been shifted forwards and backwards to match up. One major BBC Sherlock character's gender has changed for the sake of the plot. The story was planned and written before season 2 (but incorporating elements of thereof as much as possible). Readers beware!
Chapter Twenty Eight: Secrets, Silence and Slytherin
John regarded Lockhart, who'd been aiming his wand at John with a manic glint in his eye since he appeared from the fireplace.
"Don't do anything stupid," said John in a calm voice, whilst taking a step forward.
"My dear man," said Lockhart. "Do use your common sense. I'm a wizard and you're a Muggle. There's really no contest here. Don't worry—just one little spell and you'll forget everything. It won't even hurt."
"Rather not get mind-raped, thanks," John said. "I like all my memories."
It wasn't easy, fighting wizards, John thought. Without a gun, John had only two advantages: magic people tended to not take non-magic people seriously and they invariably stretched their arm towards their target before casting a spell. The latter gave John a convenient handle to grab onto before committing some serious acts of brutality. John hadn't lost a fight yet, but the consequences of losing were too costly to contemplate, so John tried to avoid them as much as possible.
"Putting a memory charm on me isn't going to solve your problems, Lockhart," said John steadily, both palms up and taking another step forward. "Attacking a hapless Muggle like me isn't going to improve things, trust me."
"You don't understand at all," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, "Muggles are memory charmed to forget things every day. I'm perfectly within my rights to obliviate you for knowing too much. I mean, come on; none of this would've happened if you minded your own business like a good Muggle and stayed away from our world."
"A bit difficult when your son is a wizard. And did you honestly think you'd get away with making stuff up and publishing it as if it were real?"
"Dr. Watson," said Lockhart, frowning at John. "Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think those things can be done and have been done — by me."
"What did you do then?"
"I found people who have done something against the Dark Arts and dark creatures. I asked them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms."
"So you took credit just like that."
"It's better this way," said Lockhart petulantly, "No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Brandon Banshee had a harelip."
"How nice of you to give readers something nicer to look at," John said sarcastically.
"Isn't it?" said Lockhart, a shadow of his old smile on his face. "It was a lot of work, doing the stories justice. It's not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. And if you want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog."
John took one more step. Lockhart's smile took the full-on gleam.
"Your meddling ends here, Dr. Watson!" he said. "Say good-bye to your memories!"
He raised his wand high over his head and started to yell, "Oblivi—"
The fire in the fireplace turned green and a voice shouted, "Watson!"
Lockhart hesitated for a fraction, and John seized the chance. Lunging low, John grabbed hold of Lockhart's wand-arm and twisted it hard behind his back with the wand pointing towards his torso.
"—ate!"
There was small explosion of light like a stun grenade going off in close proximity. John rotated on one heel to face Lockhart, arms guarding the face, and readied to follow up.
When the light faded, John surveyed the battle ground.
Snape was at the hearth, frozen in wand-out position. Lockhart was standing in the middle of the room, eyes unfocused and humming placidly to himself. His wand lay abandoned on the floor.
Slowly, John lowered both fists.
"John?" said Mrs. Hudson's frightened voice.
Snape's wand snapped to her direction. John jumped into his line of sight and resumed fighting pose.
"Get out of the way, Watson," Snape hissed, wand outstretched.
"No," said John, adjusting stance to make sure Mrs. Hudson was completely covered.
"She's just your landlady."
"She's my friend."
Snape pursed his lips. "Listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me!" John shouted. "If you do anything to Mrs. Hudson, I won't hold back!"
Snape's face turned like a death mask in a moment.
"I might risk it, seeing as I have slight advantage," he said, shaking and bloodless.
"Like to see you try," John snarled. "I was a solider. I've killed people."
Snape and John kept their stalemate for a long time. John didn't dare look back, and prayed Mrs. Hudson had the sense to go downstairs and lock the door—for all the good it was going to do against a wizard who could teleport himself anywhere. It's really unfair, John grumbled privately.
A hand touched John's bicep.
"Matters have finally come to a head, Snape?" said Sherlock, gently pushing John aside.
"Rather," Snape confirmed, finally lowering the wand. "Hermione Granger was taken to the Chamber. Dumbledore, Mr. Watson and Miss Lestrade headed there about an hour ago."
Sherlock's eyes flashed as he walked over to Lockhart, who had the familiar placid look of unconcern John had witnessed many times over the course of beating up impertinent Ministry of Magic officials.
"Where is the diary?" Sherlock demanded.
"Hmm?" said Lockhart, looking at Sherlock in a good-natured way.
"He was hit by his own memory charm," Snape said.
Sherlock turned thunderous. "What is your name?"
Lockhart scratched the back of his ear as he thought the question over.
"I don't know," he answered.
"Do you have any childhood memories?" Sherlock asked. "What about the day you were born? Do you even know who you are?"
Lockhart continued to look politely confused. John let out a long breath, thinking: That could've been me.
"…His memory is blown to oblivion," Sherlock concluded. "It's no use asking him questions. Search him. He might have it in his person."
"The diary is the agent, I take it," said Snape.
"Obviously."
Sherlock and Snape roughly pushed Lockhart into a chair and rummaged his pockets. John took a shaken Mrs. Hudson downstairs to her tiny flat.
"What's going on, John?" she asked fearfully. "Who are these people? What happened to that man?"
"It's alright, Mrs. Hudson," said John, holding her wrinkled hand. "The … blond guy is in huge trouble. I think he had a psychotic break."
Mrs. Hudson trembled. "Oh, dear…"
"We'll sort it out," John promised. "Just stay here and keep the door locked. I'll let you know when everything is clear."
John didn't climb up the stairs until the lock on the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat clicked. Snape and Sherlock were standing a foot away from Lockhart when John returned to the sitting room. Neither was holding a journal.
"He doesn't have it?" John asked.
"No," Sherlock replied.
"It seems to me that you know what had happened," said Snape. "I'd like to know."
"We know parts of it. Harry should have the full story."
Snape pulled a face.
"That's what you get for taking away his phone," Sherlock snapped.
"There is this archaic but effective method called letter writing," Snape drawled.
"Which we have used to limited effect," Sherlock retorted. "Here is the summary: There is a diary in Hogwarts that's also a soul wand; the soul wand possessed its owners to carry out the attacks; Lockhart was the last owner as far as I know — the only way he could've learned Hagrid's expulsion seventy years ago for supposedly raising the Monster of Slytherin in a cupboard in the dungeons is through the enchanted diary."
Snape thought this through.
"Please don't tell me Grandmaster Shin is in communication with you."
"I won't, then," said Sherlock.
Snape let out a gusting sigh. "I cannot believe I'm feeling sympathy towards Lockhart."
"We're nosy parents," said John.
"To put it mildly," snorted Snape. "I must return to Hogwarts and report this to Dumbledore. Good day."
Snape vanished, taking Lockhart with him.
Sherlock tackled John to the sofa as soon as they were left alone. As Sherlock loomed over, John noticed his eyes had dimmed and his firm lips were shaking.
"What is your name?"
"John Hailey Watson."
"How did we first meet?"
"Mike Stamford introduced us at Barts," John looked into the pale eyes. "I'm okay, he didn't get me."
Sherlock let out an immense sigh of relief.
"No. You're right. He didn't."
It was worth it, John thought, as they round their arms around each other. It was worth many more scares to catch a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. It was the moments of revelation like these that made the months and years of exasperation worth it.
-oo00oo-
About an hour prior to the events in 221B, Harry waiting fretfully inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He felt a glorious sense of relief when he saw Albus Dumbledore step inside. Neville and Julia, who were there with him, both let out sighs of relief too.
"Somehow, I am not surprised to find myself here," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Everything does seem to go back here, doesn't it? Now there's something you need to show me?"
"Right here, sir," said Harry.
He indicated the toilet at the end. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank.
"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. "What do you want this time?"
"I want you to tell Dumbledore how you died," said Harry.
Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.
"Ooooh, it was dreadful, sir," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."
"How?"
"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."
"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" asked Julia.
"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.
Harry, Julia and Neville hurried over to it. It looked like an ordinary sink, except scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.
"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as Harry touched it.
Harry drew in a huge breath. All those months of actively hiding the fact he was a Parselmouth, now was the time of disclosure. Harry looked over at Dumbledore, and he gave Harry an encouraging nod.
"I'm going to do something disturbing," Harry warned.
Julia looked at him curiously and Neville went blank in bewilderment. Harry stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving.
"Open," he said.
A strange hissing escaped him instead of words, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.
After staring at the opening for some time, Harry steeled himself, turned around and faced his friends, who may not be any longer.
He was surprised when he found only Neville was pale and gaping in shock. Julia had a wide-eyed look that contained a lot of things, but not fear towards Harry.
"You knew?" Harry asked.
"I wondered," said Julia, looking at Harry awkwardly. "You never looked at a snake directly when we practiced the Serpensortia curse, and you wouldn't speak either."
Harry felt his dread ebb away, slowly. "I wasn't supposed to let people know."
"Per my advice," said Dumbledore. "I want you to know, Neville and Julia, that I trust Harry. Not for one moment did I think Harry was behind these attacks, even though I knew he was a Parselmouth. Do you believe me?"
Neville closed his mouth, took in several breaths before hardening his expression.
"Yes, sir," he said stoutly.
"Absolutely," Julia agreed.
Dumbledore beamed as Harry let out a weak laugh.
"Now," said Dumbledore solemnly. "Before we proceed, I must tell you some very bad news: Hermione Granger has been taken by the Heir of Slytherin, right into the Chamber itself."
Julia and Neville gasped. Harry's insides did a somersault.
"Hermione?" Harry stammered. "She was taken to the Chamber? When?"
"Within the last hour, by my estimate," said Dumbledore to three very pale students. "I myself am determined to go ahead and search for Hermione. Harry, too, from the look on his face. As for you, Neville and Julia, I will not accuse you of anything if you do not wish to proceed any further."
"I'm going," said Julia immediately. "Hermione helped me so much; I want to help her too."
"Me too," said Neville.
To Harry's amazement, Dumbledore's bright blue eyes went rather watery. When he walked towards the opening, however, he was perfectly composed.
"I shall go first," he said.
Dumbledore crouched in front of the opening, slid both of his long legs into the pipe, and pushed himself forward, sliding out of sight. Harry followed quickly. He lowered himself slowly into the pipe, then let go.
It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Neville and Julia, Neville bouncing slightly off the crevices.
And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe levelled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in. Dumbledore was getting to his feet a little ways away, covered in slime and perfectly fine about it. Harry stood aside as Neville came whizzing out of the pipe, too. Julia crashed right into him shortly thereafter.
"We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice echoing in the black tunnel.
"Under the lake, probably," said Julia, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.
All four of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead. Dumbledore swished his wand; balls of light trailed out of the end and created a lit path inside the tunnel they were in. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous.
"Now remember," Dumbledore said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, "at any sign of movement, close your eyes right away."
The tunnel was quiet as the grave. The first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Neville stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his glance look at the floor and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very hard not to imagine what Hermione might look like if/when they found her, Harry followed closely as Dumbledore led them forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.
"Harry, there's something up there—" said Julia hoarsely, grabbing Harry's arm.
They froze, watching. Harry could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving. Harry swallowed hard. His heart was beating so fast it hurt.
Dumbledore directed his wand at it and said, "Lumos."
The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.
"The Basilisk's skin," said Dumbledore, stooping down to examine it. "Shed not long ago."
Harry stepped forward to take a closer look. That moment, Neville's knees gave away. As his legs folded, Neville's wand slipped out of his pocket and the large rock next to him vanished with a loud BANG.
The tunnel started to shake. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.
"Professor Dumbledore! Julia! Neville!" he shouted. "Are you okay?!"
"I'm here!" said Julia's muffled voice from behind the rock fall. "I'm okay – Neville's knocked out, though … I think a rock hit his head…"
There was a dull thud and a loud, high-pitched "Ow!" It sounded as though Julia just got hit by a rock too.
"I can't find Dumbledore," Julia's voice said, sounding desperate. "What now? I can't get through …"
Harry looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He never tried to break apart large rocks like these by magic, and now didn't seem a good moment to try — what if the whole tunnel caved in? Dumbledore may have been buried under the rubble — the new wall was approximately in the area where he last stood. Neither Harry nor Julia had the ability to dig him out. Perhaps it was just his own guilt speaking, but he didn't think a cave-in would finish off Dumbledore. Hermione had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for close to an hour; could he really afford to stay behind and do little better than nothing?
"Listen," he called to Julia. "It'll take more than just a rock-shower to finish off Dumbledore. Wait for him with Neville. I'll go on. If I'm not back in an hour …"
There was a very pregnant pause.
"I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Julia, who seemed to be trying to keep her voice steady. "So you can—can get back through. And Harry—"
"See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to inject some confidence into his shaking voice.
And he set off alone past the giant snake skin.
The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was tingling unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it did. Then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.
Harry approached. His throat was very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive. He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker.
"Open," said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside.
-oo00oo-
Neville woke up, blinking and seeing stars. Julia's concerned face swam into view.
"Hey," she said quietly. "How do you feel?"
"Like I head-butted a rock," Neville groaned as he felt his head pounding. "Where is Harry? Dumbledore?"
"No idea where Dumbledore is," said Julia. She swallowed. "Harry went ahead by himself without backup. Idiot."
Neville sighed. "He does that."
He sat up. There was a rock wall where the tunnel used to stretch out further. His wand was rolling around making hissing noises. Even an idiot like him could figure out what had happened.
"Figures I'd trigger a cave-in at the worst possible moment," said Neville dully.
The two of them sat in a miserable silence. Neville felt like a useless failure. Last year, when Harry confronted Quirrell and You-Know-Who, Neville had been there to provide moral support. Now he couldn't even do that, and Harry was off to face the Monster of Slytherin alone.
Neville wrapped his arms around himself as he further descended into misery. He'd been a millstone around Harry's ankles for the last three weeks, completely unable to help and only getting in the way. It all started when he'd kept a wary eye on Harry since Ron was found petrified over the Christmas holidays, for if anything would make him sit dangerously close to the edge of a dormitory window that was it. Sure enough, he'd heard Harry quietly get up from his four-poster one night. Instead of heading towards the window, however, Neville saw him tip-toe to the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
Harry didn't look entirely surprised to find him awake. "Go back to sleep, Neville."
"Where are you going?" Neville asked again. "It's curfew; you're not allowed to go outside the tower."
"I'm just going to talk to Hermione in the common room," said Harry, "Nothing wrong with that."
"Why do you have to talk to her now?" Neville asked as he sat up straighter. "Harry, is this about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed deeply.
"Well, yeah," he said at length, "So you see, it's really important."
"Can I hear about it too?" Neville persisted.
Harry had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he said, smiling: "Sure, why not."
They went down to the common room. Hermione was waiting at one of the tables near the fireplace. She didn't look completely surprised that he was accompanying Harry either.
"Here is the gist," said Hermione. Then she launched into a short summary of what they knew: the monster of Slytherin was a basilisk, which was also known (appropriately) as the King of Serpents. The Heir of Slytherin was a soul locked inside a diary, and it was possessing its owner and using the basilisk to attack people. No one saw the Basilisk directly, that's why no one was actually killed; Mrs. Norris saw the reflection; Miss Jackie through Nick; Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again; Ron and Ginny probably saw the reflection from a mirror. The vital clue lay in the last attack: Ron and Ginny had gone to Moaning Myrtle to ask her questions, and clearly the information they got were vital ones because the Heir of Slytherin attacked them right then and there, despite being pure-blood.
"So we need to talk to Myrtle," Hermione finished. "The problem is we can't just go to her toilet willy-nilly."
Definitely not, Neville thought fearfully. The teachers and ghosts were watching the students like hawks, and day and night Filch was guarding the wall that had the first message, which was next to the girls' toilet on the second floor Hermione was talking about.
"Harry has an invisibility cloak, but that's not enough; Filch can still hear us," said Hermione. "I'm pretty sure there are noise-blocking spells we could learn and use, but the problem is, it would block out Myrtle's crying too, and Filch might become suspicious if she suddenly goes silent. Besides, we can't keep leaving the Gryffindor tower at night trying to find a good time to talk to her."
"That leaves the day time," said Harry. "We need to talk to her while the hallways are loud; that way Filch'll never suspect we're there."
Neville had a catching of breath, and his skin went cold at the blithe words. As a flash of lightning in the night showed in an instant every detail of a wide landscape, so at one glance he seemed to see every possible result of such an action - the detection, the capture, and possible irreparable failure.
"Think what you're doing!" he cried. "How are you going to leave the group without the teachers knowing? And what are you going to do once you find the Chamber?"
"We've got it all worked out," said Hermione smoothly at Neville's horrified face. "There is a duplication spell that lets you create clones of yourself. Julia Lestrade from Hufflepuff knows how to do it and she's going to teach us how. Once we master the spell, we can make a clone, send it off to the next class, put on the invisibility cloak, and go talk to Myrtle. If we do find out where the Chamber is, we'll go straight to Dumbledore."
Neville looked incredulously at Harry and Hermione.
"Hermione, I don't think— this could go seriously wrong—"
Harry just shrugged.
"I can't see any other way. Think about it: we need to find the Chamber of Secrets and find the Heir of Slytherin. If we don't, they're going to close the school and that would be the end of Hogwarts. Do you want that to happen?"
Neville turned it over his head.
"No," he said at last. "I don't want Hogwarts to close."
"Exactly. That's why we're doing everything we can."
"You might get caught!"
"That's part of the risk. We need more information and Moaning Myrtle has it."
Neville took in a shaking breath.
"Well, I still don't like it, but I suppose there's no choice. When do we start?"
"You're not coming."
"Then you're not going," said Neville stubbornly. "If you don't let me join, I'm going straight to Professor McGonagall and tell her everything."
"You can't help."
"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. I can be a lookout if you think I can't handle the spell. Anyway, I made up my mind, I want to help."
Harry and Hermione relented in the end. Julia Lestrade came over to the Gryffindor table the next morning. She appeared not to think it odd Neville was listening, too.
"From where Grandpa comes from, the duplication spell is the simplest form of transfiguration, like turning a match into a needle," Julia explained. "That's because magic people over there don't use wands. Since there isn't a wand to let your magic out, your magic has nowhere to go except inside your body. If you let the magic stew inside your body long enough while you're focusing on who you are and what you look like, eventually your magic creates an avatar of you to stop you from stewing it too much. That's it."
"Sounds hard to me," said Harry as Neville sputtered in utter confusion.
"It's not that bad," said Julia. "Uncle Jeremy taught me how when I was six. I managed to get it right in a month. Grandpa got really angry at him, though, when he found out," she added. "He was so angry he decked Uncle Jeremy over the head with a two-by-four."
The three of them stared at Julia incredulously.
"Why?"
"I don't know," said Julia helplessly. "He wasn't shouting in English."
They practiced every night. To hide what they were really doing, they picked a project from Miss Jackie's notes—the Magical Mobile Phone, since it sounded the easiest—and made a huge show of asking questions about it to the teachers during the day. Harry was the fastest to pick up the duplication spell, creating an insubstantial clone that looked just like him in a week, and a flesh-and-blood one on the next week. Hermione was still struggling to produce a flesh-and-blood clone and Neville could create an illusion of his own self only one out of three times by the third week. In the end they decided Harry and Julia would go and question Myrtle while either Hermione or Neville distracted the teacher so Harry could slip away. Thus his intention to help had been thoroughly unnecessary.
Then the actual execution of the plan came. They had first decided to distract Lockhart, since the class after Defence Against the Dark Arts was History of Magic and that didn't require any magic use. But a short fight between Harry and Hermione forced them to change targets.
"He's not a brainless git!" said Hermione shrilly, after Harry off-handedly remarked it should be easy since Lockhart was a brainless git.
Harry regarded her in frustration. "How can you still defend him after everything we know about him, Hermione? He removed all the bones in my right arm, hasn't done a single successful spell to date except maybe Lumos, and finally he brought back a dead Acromantula thinking it's Slytherin's monster!"
"Everyone can make a mistake," Hermione argued. "He doesn't have the kind of information we have. He only had the records to go by. No wonder he thought it was an Acromantula if the last time the school thought they banished the monster it was a Spider they found. Anyway, I told him what we know, so he knows better next time—"
"You told him?" Harry shouted, his eyes flashing dangerously, "Why on earth did you tell him?!"
"I just wanted to help!" squeaked Hermione, shrinking at Harry's temper. "And I didn't tell him much; just that we know the monster is a Basilisk and something similar happened decades ago!"
Harry entire frame started to shake like a volcano ready to erupt. Both Neville and Hermione cowered at the sight.
"Um, can we actually do it on Friday?" piped Julia, raising a hand. "I have Charms on Thursday, and I can't miss it. I'm behind as it is."
Harry's rage slowly reduced to a mere smoulder.
"Are you still having wand troubles?" he growled.
"Wand is fine, I just have to learn everything from the beginning," said Julia wearily. "I have a whole term's worth of practical to cover. Everyone else is doing elementary locomotion charms and I'm still stuck in levitation. Besides, Friday I have History. I can skip that."
"…Fine," Harry snapped. "Friday we have Charms and Herbology. We'll think of something by then."
Neville was sweating the entire week trying to think of an excuse that would let them hide inside a classroom long enough for Harry to clone himself and sneak out wearing his invisibility cloak. When he asked, Hermione only said, "leave it to me," with a confident smile on her face.
At the end of Charms, Hermione hurried over the Professor Flitwick, pulling Harry by the arm.
"Professor Flitwick? Is it possible for us to stop by the music room?"
"The music room? Whyever for?" asked Professor Flitwick.
"Harry's been having trouble sleeping, professor," said Hermione, stepping on Neville's foot. "Music is the only thing that helps. He has a music player, but it needs recharging."
Harry started to blink and rub his eyes tiredly. It helped that they were red due to actual lack of sleep, though not for the reasons Hermione implied. Professor Flitwick caved immediately.
"Oh, why not," he squeaked. "The player was cleared with Professor Burbage, of course?"
"Yes, sir."
Flitwick escorted the three of them to the music room after depositing their Gryffindor classmates inside the Great Hall. Harry crouched down at the foot of the electric generator and plugged his Muggle music player to charge. Neville and Hermione stood in front of him so their robes would hide him from view. Harry took out his invisibility cloak, created a clone, draped the cloak over himself and noiselessly vanished from sight. Harry's clone left with them fifteen minutes later, the invisible real-Harry walking right behind them so he could go to the Hospital Wing where he'd promised to meet Julia.
Neville and Hermione had just returned to the Great Hall again for lunch, when Hermione suddenly clapped a hand to her forehead.
"Neville - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library! I'll meet you at the toilet!"
Then she sprinted away to Lockhart, presumably to ask him to escort her to the Library.
She didn't return. Neville didn't even think it was odd until Dumbledore made his announcement. What kind of thickie was he?
"I don't know why I bother," muttered Neville, staring at the ground beneath them. "I always forget things and Gran's always going on about how I'm not as good as Dad … and she's right. I am practically a squib."
Julia let out a hollow laugh.
"You? Look at me! My grandfather's the Grandmaster and I'm rubbish at magic! The only thing I can do is taught by the teacher almost everyone hates!" she let out a sob. "I should've just gone to a Muggle comprehensive. If all I can really do is Potions, I can do that after school."
"But you're good at a lot of other stuff too!" Neville protested.
"Only things even a Muggle can do." Julia savagely wiped away the tears that kept falling. "Even with my own wand, it takes me twice as much time as everyone else takes to make spells to work. I'm useless at this."
Shaking, Julia took out a small glass falcon from her pocket. It sat on her palm and peered up at her.
"Why did you send me here, grandpa?" she whispered. "Why didn't you just tell me I'm no good?"
The falcon spread its wings and took flight. Julia watched it fly away. The tear-tracks on her face glistened under the dim lights Dumbledore left behind.
They sat in another bout of miserable silence.
Then they looked up, started.
A tinkling sound was coming from somewhere. They stood up and stared at where the noise was coming from. As they did so, the tinkling sound grew louder, like hundreds of glass wind-chimes were swaying against a gentle breeze.
Then they saw it—a regiment of glass falcons just like the one Julia kept inside her pocket were flying towards them from the pipe's opening.
"Grandpa's sentries!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "They're here!"
The hundreds of small glass falcons floated in formation when they reached Neville and Julia.
"Everyone, Professor Dumbledore underneath these rocks," said Julia urgently. "We need to get him out. Be very careful, and make sure if you find a wand, put it in his hand."
About thirty or so sentries entered the cracks of the rock wall; the rest waited in the mid-air.
"I need a way to get pass this wall," said Julia, pointing at it. "Let's a make an opening."
The remaining sentries divided into two groups and transformed into a two giant glass hands. They started shifting away the rocks at a rapid pace. Julia and Neville helped, heedless of the cuts on their hands they received.
Soon, there was a small opening big enough for them to crawl through. Julia immediately ducked and shimmied. Neville followed her.
He ran after Julia, who sprinted down the tunnel. The glass hands, which had transformed back into miniature falcons, flanked her either side. After many twists and turns—thankfully, there were no forks—they reached a stone wall that had two carved snakes with emerald eyes. It was divided in half to reveal an opening. Julia ran through it without a second's pause. Neville, out of breath, puffed after her.
They'd entered a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, Neville stood to catch his breath and listened. A soft, but horrible hissing noise was coming at the end of the chamber, as well as a piping, eerie music that sounded unearthly. The music seemed to fill his head and make his heart swell twice its size. Feeling braver, Neville walked down the chamber. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.
Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, he entered a nightmare.
An enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. A crimson bird the size of a swan was soaring around its head, and the snake was snapping furiously at it's with fangs long and thin as sabres. As Neville watched, frozen in fear, the bird dived. Its long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Neville. It turned — Neville looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the bird; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was hissing and spitting in agony.
Julia, who was also staring at the horrible scene like a petrified statue, said something so foul Neville felt his ears blister.
"Where did you learn that?" he muttered as they backtracked blindly, away from the writhing snake.
"My Daddy's a police officer!" Julia shouted incoherently.
The blinded serpent swayed, confused, but still deadly. The crimson bird was circling its head, piping its eerie song, jabbing here and there at the snake's scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.
The snake's tail whipped across the floor again; something large crashed into Neville, knocking the wind out of him. He heard Harry's voice around his navel let out a series of swear words so bad if he ever used them in his Gran's earshot, he'd have soap pouring out of his mouth for weeks.
"What's your excuse?" Neville asked stupidly as something soft hit his face.
"My Mum's ex-army!" said Harry. "C'mon, get up! Let's get out of the way!"
They dived behind a pillar. There, Neville peeled off the soft thing that clung to his face. It was the raggedly Sorting Hat. His whole brain turned into a trembling, terror filled question mark at the sight of it.
"Fawkes – the phoenix bird over there – brought it with him," Harry explained. "I don't know why. Hermione is at the statue over there. I think she's stunned."
Neville craned his neck to see the statue Harry pointed out. The face was ancient and monkeyish, its mouth was wide open, and had a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Between the feet, facedown, laid a black-robed figure with lots of bushy brown hair.
"So who called the snake?" asked Julia.
"Tom Riddle," said Harry grimly. "He is the Heir of Slytherin. He framed Hagrid seventy years ago and then kept his sixteen-year-old self inside a diary. He possessed Lockhart and attacked Ron and Ginny — after Ginny chucked his diary into Myrtle's toilet."
The basilisk reared up again. Without thinking, Neville rammed the Sorting Hat onto his head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the snake's tail swung at them again.
Help me - help me - Neville thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. Please help me…
There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.
Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Neville's head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking in front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard beneath it.
A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.
"Harry!" Neville breathed, grabbing the handle of the sword. It was heavy and very long — Neville could barely lift the point off the ground.
Harry and Julia stared at Neville and the sword in astonishment for a second, Then instead of asking questions, they got to their feet and grabbed hold of the handle too. The three of them hefted the sword off the ground. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face them. Neville could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as the sword, thin, glittering, venomous—
It lunged blindly— and it hit the Chamber wall right next to them. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry's side. They stepped back, putting their whole weight behind the sword, and got ready.
The basilisk reared again. With a tremendous shout, the three of them thrust the sword towards the lunging snake. Their aim was true—the sword flew straight through the air and drove deep inside the serpent's open mouth.
Warm blood drenched Neville's face. There was a loud thud in front of them as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.
Neville collapsed to his feet, feeling completely spent. Dimly, he noted a handsome, sixteen-year-old boy, wearing Hogwarts robes walking towards the snake. He appeared strangely blurred around the edges, and he looked intently at Harry's face.
"No matter," said the boy, and though he'd never seen this boy before, Neville knew he was the Tom Riddle Harry mentioned earlier. "It makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter… you and me…"
He raised the wand in his hand.
Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and dropped something on Harry's lap — the diary.
For a split second, the three of them and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the book and ran it through one of the dead basilisk's fangs.
There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then—
He was gone. The wand he held fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip, drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.
Shaking all over, Neville pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he'd just travelled miles by Floo powder. Julia was picking up the wand, which he just realised belonged to Hermione, and the diary and the Sorting Hat. Together with a huge tug, the three of them retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth. Harry went over to Hermione at the end of the Chamber, pointed his wand at her and said: "Enervate."
Hermione let out a faint moan and stirred. Her bemused eyes travelled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, Neville and Julia in their blood-soaked robes, then to the diary in Julia's hands. Then she started to weep hysterically.
"Harry — oh, Harry I was so stupid! It was Lockhart, he had the diary … he picked it up in the Moaning Myrtle's toilet because I told him the Chamber of Secrets had been open before years ago! And—"
"It's alright, I had no idea either until Riddle told me," said Harry quickly, as Julia held up the diary, and showing her the fang hole. "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon, let's get out of here—"
Fawkes and the glass falcons were waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Hermione to her feet. They stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Neville heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.
After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, they saw the rock wall in a distance. The falcons with them joined the ones that stayed behind to dig out Dumbledore and formed humanoid figure. The figure shattered into nothing, and revealed a small, clean-shaven old man with short hair, a sorrowful face and dark eyes.
"Grandpa!" Julia yelled, speeding up.
Grandmaster Shin smiled at her briefly before turning his face towards the rock wall. He pulled out a folding fan out of his pocket, and whipped the fan in an upward motion. Immediately, all the rocks that blocked the tunnel shot upwards and returned to the ceiling from whence they came.
Dumbledore lay in the middle of the floor, looking quite battered and bruised. His half-moon glasses were cracked. Grandmaster Shin squatted next to him.
"You don't look so good," Mr. Shin remarked.
"My reflexes are not what they used to be," said Dumbledore ruefully. "I'm feeling exceptionally old at the moment, which is not an easy thing as I am really that old. Mr. Shin, would you be so kind…?"
Mr. Shin picked up Dumbledore's wand from the floor and placed it gently into the headmaster's battered hand.
"I'm absolutely rubbish at healing," he said. "You're better off letting your pet Phoenix help you."
Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, landed next to Dumbledore and lay his head on his bruised forehead. Pearly tears trickled out of his beady black eyes and slid down his glossy feathers. Wherever the tears touched, the wounds healed almost instantly.
"Phoenix tears have healing powers," said Hermione in a hushed voice.
At length Dumbledore stood up, filthy as the rest of them, but not wounded anymore. He flicked his wand and the slime, blood and dirt that clung to their robes vanished.
"I think some bed rest and a nice, steaming mug of Hot Chocolate is exactly what we need right now," said Dumbledore. "Let's get out of here and have some, shall we?"
-oo00oo-
Four months had passed since the Chamber of Secrets was discovered, the Heir of Slytherin vanquished, and the Petrified victims were subsequently restored. The incident moved from the most talk about thing among the students to a memory kept in the back of one's head in favor of studying and taking exams. The teachers, whose workload reduced correspondingly to the amount of studying the students had to do as the end of term approached, were enjoying their short breaks.
Albus Dumbledore was no exception. He was currently playing a leisurely game of chess under the bright summer sunshine with the most unexpected person— the reclusive and saturnine Shin June Hu. A tall glass of chilled lemonade and a small ceramic cup of hot green tea were sitting next to Dumbledore and Shin's respective elbows as they pored over their game.
"Jacqueline has quite a thriving business in her hands," said Dumbledore as he moved one of his knights to an empty square. "Her Magical Mobile Network is explosively popular amongst the students, especially to those who wish to imitate Harry Potter. Speaking of," he chuckled, "my staff is starting to realise how much of a gentleman Harry had been about mobile phone usage. Severus has already put a blanket ban against all magical mobile phones in his dungeons, and I believe the other teachers are going to follow his example."
Mr. Shin pulled a face as he moved his bishop to avoid Dumbledore's knight. "This is bad news. Jacqueline works too much as it is."
"She's not working alone," said Dumbledore. "Ron Weasley is taking care of sales, your granddaughter is helping with the network maintenance, and Harry and Hermione Granger are overseeing the mobile phone development."
"Hermione, she's a smart one," said Shin thoughtfully. "She figured out how to use Floo-powder to connect the phones to the network, did she not?"
Dumbledore nodded. "She was stuck on how to create a fire effective enough to burn Floo-powder, but small enough to be kept inside a hand-held device. Conjuring up portable, water-proof fires are a specialty of hers, and she'd learn to turn on and off the effects of indefinite charms last year while creating a map of Hogwarts. She eventually connected the two together. It was sheer bad luck she asked Gilderoy to escort her to the library to confirm her hypothesis."
"How is he, by the way?"
"Still in St. Mungo's to get his memory restored."
"How likely is this?"
"Not very," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver moustache quivering, "Impaled upon his own sword, poor Gilderoy!"
The two old wizards sat in a comfortable silence, occasionally sipping their beverages as they made their moves. In a distance, Hagrid was cheerfully assisting Professor Kettleburn in his Care of Magical Creatures class. Severus Snape briefly made an appearance in their private corner up a not-well-known balcony, holding a white ceramic mug that had red letters that read: 'Knackered' on one side next to the handle, and a red square that had a white crown and the words 'Keep Calm and Brew Up' on the other side. He left swiftly with a perturbed look on his face.
"Is Lucius Malfoy causing you trouble?" asked Shin.
"Not so much since he's been sacked as school governor," Dumbledore replied. "It's unbecoming to find amusement over someone else's misfortune, but I cannot help but find a bit of humour in the many unforeseen ways in which Lucius had brought misfortune upon himself: his scheme not only cost him his position as governor, but he also lost his House-elf—all due to his own hubris and Harry and his family's ingenuity."
"So what was his scheme?"
"We can only speculate at this point, now that Riddle has vanished from the book. But I suspect Sherlock was, as usual, quite correct: The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his new Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns … Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise … and if the book wasn't discovered, why, Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will."
"Very fortunate," Shin agreed. "I see how Lucius Malfoy's underestimation of Sherlock's intelligence and Harry's resourcefulness led to his downfall. But how does his house-elf enter the picture?"
"The poor elf was so downtrodden in Malfoy Manor, he rebelled against his masters by providing Harry hints. I'm not entirely sure how Harry managed to free the elf, but I believe there was a very dirty sock involved."
Mr. Shin snorted. "And Tom Riddle is—"
"The name by which Lord Voldemort was called as a student before he changed his name. Very few people know Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, more than seventy years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school … travelled far and wide … sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognisable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."
"Quite a brilliant one if he was able to seal a version of his own self inside a diary at age sixteen," Mr. Shin remarked.
"He was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen," said Dumbledore. "That is, of course, until you came."
"You exaggerate."
"No, no, I'm quite serious. You have powers neither Voldemort nor I will ever have."
Mr. Shin shook his head. "You only say that about yourself because you are too noble to use certain powers. I am the mean-spirited one who does not hesitate to use Dark Arts when angered."
"It's a good thing we're alone here. I haven't blushed this much since Madam Pomfrey said she like my earmuffs." Dumbledore paused. "I advised Lucius not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to him, to say nothing of you."
Dumbledore moved his bishop. Shin studied the board pensively.
"I have only one more question for you, headmaster."
"Albus, please."
"…Dumbledore," Shin compromised, reluctantly. "The diary was a soul wand of sorts. You cannot tell me it was anything else. Harry has a fragment of a soul embedded in his scar. Considering the soul inside the diary and the man who tried to kill Harry Potter as a baby is one and the same, I'm inclined to think Voldemort had divided his soul into a many fragments, and one of those fragments had found refuge in Harry Potter when Voldemort's curse rebounded upon his own self," he looked at Dumbledore intently. "Why have you not told this to anyone?"
Dumbledore winced as Shin's rook took out his queen with a savage punch.
"I will answer your question if you will answer mine: when a Ministry Unspeakable, who lost his entire family to Lord Voldemort's followers during the war, used a curse that you have developed and caused several suspected followers of Voldemort and their family members to lose their ability to use magic in 1962, why were not all the victims treated and accounted for?"
Shin calmly watched Dumbledore's knight check his king.
"We are both foolish old men," he said simply.
"Indeed we are," Dumbledore agreed.
-oo00oo-
Final Notes: Am I only person who thought the sword of Gryffindor ought to be heavier than implied in the books? As former kumdo practitioner, this bothered me. Of course, it's a magic sword, so that might be it. Anyway, it wasn't just the momentum of three kids throwing a sword that killed the basilisk. The sentries made sure the sword dug deep :)
ETA: So the sword of Gyffindor, according to many reviewers and additional research, would weigh only 3-5 pounds, perfectly within range of a twelve year old to lift. Even a longsword (eg: claymore), which I picture the sword being, weighs around 4.9–6.2 pounds (2.2–2.8 kg) at most. Oh well. My bad. Let's just call it Dramatic License, then. I think I was subconsciously picturing Arthur/Wart from the Disney's Sword in the Stone. He could carry the Sword in the Stone, but swinging it around was out of question.
Thus ends the Chamber of Secrets. Phew. PoA is going to be very interesting. Heehee.