AN: Thanks for reading and the lovely comments! Thanks to my Beta readers Iforgottocall and dizzysappedweak! I hope the weather is good wherever you are and the Joy of Easter is in full swing! (Though the new American candy-coated Tootsie Rolls are weird, like a cross between a gumball and an overly soft tootsie roll.)


Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 20: Second Year - Dumbledore's Office & Lucius Malfoy


Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he looked at Mrs. Weasley. "All's well that ends well, Molly. Now, I need to sign some forms for Poppy and it looks like Harry is finally awake. I've been wanting to speak with him about the events. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go take care of that paperwork."

Mrs. Weasley's head popped up. "Oh, Harry dear!" she cried, leaping from the bed and crossing the room so fast that she was on him before he had time to react, much less escape. Snatching Harry up, she pulled him into a tight hug, making his glasses skew and press uncomfortably into his face as he was pressed against her abundant chest. "Bless you, child! Thank you so much for saving my baby! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" With each repetition, her arms gripped him tighter and swung him back and forth, trapping his arms against his sides and making his feet almost dangle.

Harry had never been in a situation like this before in his life. He'd spoken to Mrs. Weasley only once and that was years ago to help get onto the train platform. Now he was being suffocated by her bosom, but she was a grateful mother and not trying to be mean so he couldn't just kick her in the shin to get free, but he really really wanted to be free. He didn't like being touched by adults. Their large hands were always either cruel or forceful. He wished she'd stop but his tongue felt paralyzed. He didn't know what to say or do. If he used force to get free, her husband and the other Professors would punish him for attacking her and with everything else going on he didn't want to risk that. This was awful. He didn't know what to do and he couldn't breathe. He felt hot and sweaty in her grip and she smelled funny.

"Yer welcome," he wheezed out finally, unable to find the air for anything more complicated. He hoped that would be the end of it. It wasn't.

"Oh what a dear," she sniffled, continuing to sway Harry back and forth as she petted his hair, her grip not slackening.

Harry wanted to die. This was so uncomfortable. "Please put me down," he said in a small voice. He didn't want her touching him like this.

"Let him go," said Valeria coldly. "Now."

"What was that?" Mrs. Weasley looked over, her grip finally slackening. "I was just thanking Harry here, no need to fuss, dearie."

Harry immediately took advantage of her distraction to wiggle free and take a big step backward. "Yes and you're welcome!" he said breathlessly, adjusting his crooked glasses. Dumbledore and Pomfrey had disappeared into the office while he was busy being assaulted, so they'd be no help. Typical. "But you can stop now. I'm sure Ginny needs you."

Beaming at Harry, Mrs. Weasley followed right after him, reaching out to grab his chin and halt his retreat. He had a flash of Aunt Petunia's hands and froze. When she grabbed him she expected him to stay still or face the consequences. "You're such a good, thoughtful boy. Ginny was lucky to have a handsome boy like you to save her." She giggled and pinched his cheek, making him flinch and breaking him from his paralysis. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he tried to lean back out of her touch. It didn't work. She had his jaw in too firm of a grip.

"Really, it was nothing," he muttered, cheeks on fire. Why was she still touching him? Hadn't she ever heard of personal space? Wasn't it obvious that he didn't like this?

Valeria tapped her wand on her thigh. "Seriously, don't you have any manners? Or eyes? Stop pawing at him."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Mr. Weasley standing up and looking back and forth between his wife and Valeria with a small frown.

Mrs. Weasley twisted her lips and sniffed loudly, but otherwise didn't pay Valeria any attention. "There's no need to be so modest, Harry dear." She pasted on a wide smile, shifting her arm to slide around his shoulders and try to tug him into her side and over towards her daughter's bed. He passively resisted by not moving his feet, still too wary to wrench free and push her away forcefully despite the tingling in his fingertips. "You simply must come and spend the end of summer with us so we can all get to know you better. You can share a room with Ron. He's your age and I'm sure he wouldn't mind. After this, I feel like you're meant to be one of my boys and another member of our family. Would you like that?"

Harry wasn't sure what to be more horrified over—the idea of being a Weasley, the reaction of his peers in Slytherin, the thought of sharing a room with Ron of all people… or how he was actually seriously considering saying yes to spending time with this overbearing woman and her irritating family just for the chance to get away from the Dursleys a few weeks early.

Before he could open his mouth and do something impulsively rash, Mrs. Weasley winked at him and added, "I know Ginny, in particular, would love to spend more time with you, Harry, and who knows? You might hit it off and become my son in truth. Ginny Potter does have a nice ring to it." She giggled and pinched his burning-hot cheek, ignoring the sweat trickling down his face. "Aw, just look at that adorable blush. I can already see my beautiful grandbabies."

"Mum!" Ginny shrieked. "St-o-o-op," she wailed, face going as red as her hair before she threw herself flat on the bed, shoved a pillow over her face, screamed, and wiggled down until she was hidden beneath the covers. Her father looked down at her and chuckled.

Feeling spooked and seeing his chance, Harry pulled out of Mrs. Weasley's hold while she was looking at Ginny and moved backward as casually but quickly as possible, trying to get far enough away to stay free this time. He silently vowed to never visit the Weasley home no matter how desperate he got. Not ever. Some things just weren't worth it.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, failing to hide his smile behind the hand rubbing his face. "Molly dear, you're embarrassing the children."

"Oh, pish posh." She waved a hand through the air. "I'm just thanking Harry for risking himself to save our Ginny, though it was a very foolish thing for the boy to do. He never should've put himself in such danger. I'm very cross about it. The children are all lucky to have survived such a monster." She bit her lip and looked at Harry like she wanted to hug him again.

This called for desperate measures. Harry took another big step backward and pointed at Valeria, throwing her to the wolves even knowing he'd pay for it later. "Valeria helped too! She's a sixth-year with your son Percy. You should thank her as much as me." An evil part of him was looking forward to seeing Mrs. Weasley try to hug Valeria and get jinxed in the process.

The outraged look Valeria sent his way made her thoughts on this betrayal quite clear. Oh, dear. If looks could kill (looks from human teenage witches as opposed to magical ancient Basilisks), Harry would be dead and his lifeless corpse laid out next to the Basilisk's twisted body and Tom's ink puddle. Harry abandoned subtlety and scurried backward, altering his angle of retreat so he was out of reach of both Mrs. Weasley's and Valeria's hands. If they pulled wands on him though, he was a goner. Killed while still in pajamas. How undignified.

Looking at Valeria's murderous face, Mrs. Weasley showed a flash of consternation. Smoothing her hands down the front of her robes, she licked her lips and started stumbling through an invitation. "Oh, well I—of course, we're very grateful for your help as well, deary, and would be—ah—be pleased to have you visit our home." She gave Valeria a fake smile. "I'm—ah—sure that Percy—"

"Is scared of me," Valeria cut her off curtly, making Mrs. Weasley's head go back and her lips go tight at the interruption. "As he should be." Eyes narrowing, Mrs. Weasley's shoulders bunched as Valeria continued speaking. "I'm not your deary and I didn't go down there for your Ginny, but I'll take your gratitude and your family will owe me a favor for saving her. No need for more contact than that until I come to collect. As for becoming a member of your family through marriage," the corner of her lip curled in disdain, "the answer is no. For both of us. Harry's interest lies in another direction and I already have a boyfriend. I'd happily feed Percy to him for lunch."

Mrs. Weasley huffed and sent her a ferocious frown. "Why how dare you—"

"I better be the boyfriend you're talking about," Flint interrupted as he unexpectedly walked into the room. Gravel voiced, he had dark circles under his eyes as if he'd been kept from sleep by nightmares. His eyes were trained on Valeria with almost uncomfortable intensity, leaving Harry with little doubt about who had kept him tossing and turning. Harry could easily imagine how upset he'd been on flying down into the Chamber with the roosters only to find her bloody and unconscious on the ground, probably looking dead. Poor Flint. "Though I don't think I've graduated to eating people," Flint said cooly, staring at Mrs. Weasley and waiting for a beat of silence before adding, "yet."

Harry snorted and then clapped a hand over his mouth, afraid of drawing Mrs. Weasley's attention again. The corner of Flint's mouth twitched in a suppressed smile and he flicked a look at Valeria through his lashes. Valeria turned to look at Flint, but as soon as he met her eyes she just as quickly turned away, clearing her throat in a way that Harry would call nervous on anyone else.

When Valeria didn't say anything in response, just stood there glaring broodingly at the floor, Flint's head tilted and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You were talking about me?" You could see his fists clenching and unclenching, as if imagining the feel of slamming into this imaginary bloke's face until even the kid's own mother didn't recognize him.

Pulling her eyes back up to Flint's as if fighting against some invisible force, Valeria tilted her chin up and took a deep breath. "Perhaps," she said, arching a brow and rolling back her shoulders, all hints of vulnerability hidden. Valeria was obviously playing him but Harry did not want to get into the middle of that. Bystanders were never safe when the two of them got into it.

Tugging her sleeve so the seam sat centered on her wrist, Valeria looked at Flint through her lashes and drawled, "Though maybe Mrs. Weasley should be throwing her daughter at you instead of Harry since I heard that you're somehow the one who found us and got us out of the Chamber?" She tilted her head to the side and arched a brow at Flint.

Eyes glittering, he said nothing, merely watched her approach from behind a carefully blank expression. The corner of her jaw twitched at his silence and her walk turned into a threatening stalk. Seeing it, Flint smirked. Silently.

Lips twisting to expose a hint of teeth, Valeria eyed Flint like she was a wolf and he was a lamb chained to a tree she was considering whether to eat—though if that were true the chain would be one the lamb had locked around himself before pocketing the key and after maiming or killing at least half of the other sheep.

"Well?" snapped Valeria, perhaps demanding a more detailed accounting of his time in the chamber or thoughts on dating Ginny Weasley. It wasn't clear except for the fact that Flint's continuing silence was obviously pissing her off. Harry would be babbling.

Not so Flint. "Yep."

"And?" She snapped as her shoulders went up, the fingers of her wand-hand twitching.

"And…," he licked his lips and his smirk widened, obviously pleased with himself, "you'd hex stupid any girl who threw herself at me, which I don't mind since I only want you." Flint extended his hand placidly. "Since you want to thank me," she scoffed and rolled her eyes, "let me feed you some real food and we can exchange stories. I don't think Percy Weasley would taste very good."

"I should think not!" Mrs. Weasley huffed, crossing her arms as she stomped over and flopped down to sit on her daughter's bed. Mr. Weasley put a hand on her shoulder and frowned over her head at them. The frown was so mild it barely creased his face. Harry didn't see why he even bothered. It was obvious who wielded the wand in that relationship.

Jumping at Mrs. Weasley's voice, Valeria jumped and spun to face the Weasleys as if caught off guard, fingers flexing. Harry felt a spike of worry. Had Valeria somehow been so focused on Flint that she'd forgotten about the bystanders? Harry nibbled on his bottom lip, unnerved. It was a clear sign that she wasn't as recovered as she'd been pretending. Her wand wasn't even out and pointed at them, much less spitting goo or a nasty jinx. Harry shifted back and forth on his feet, wondering if he should sacrifice himself to draw Mrs. Weasley's attention again to get Valeria away from them.

When the Weasleys didn't do anything but put a hand on the lump of Ginny under the blankets and start whispering to each other, Harry allowed himself to relax and stay in place, though he shifted to keep an eye on them.

Valeria took a slow breath, licked her lips, and looked back at Flint, though she didn't turn her head fully, obviously keeping the Weasleys in the corner of her eyes this time. "I didn't say anything about me thanking you, Flint."

"You're welcome anyway," he said evenly, hand still outstretched but smile gone. He swallowed hard and the muscles in his arms tensed and twitched as some strong emotion went through him. The air became charged. "And thank you for not dying on me," he said with a crack in his voice.

Their eyes met and held as something unspoken passed between them. Harry found himself holding his breath until Valeria's shoulders eased down, not in surrender but in her version of compromise. "You're welcome," she finally said, voice soft.

Flint dipped his head and nodded toward the door but didn't step any closer, patiently waiting for Valeria to come to him. His hand still hung in the air, unwavering, showing no signs of tiring.

Valeria glanced between the murmur of voices coming from Pomfrey's office to the Weasley parents distracted by trying to coax Ginny out from under the covers before releasing a long, low sigh and rolling her neck on her shoulders. She looked down and took a single step forward. She looked around again but nothing had changed. She stepped forward again with her head facing forward, not stopping this time. As she passed Harry, she surreptitiously reached out and squeezed his arm, timing the motion so it was hidden from the rest of the room. Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest.

When Valeria reached Flint, her head went back to maintain eye contact with the taller boy as, not hesitating, she reached out and slapped her hand into his outstretched palm hard enough that Harry could hear the smack echo throughout the room. Not flinching, Flint's fingers instantly closed around hers, squeezing hard enough to blanch his skin. She squeezed back just as hard, their dark and light fingers intertwining so tightly that they dimpled the spaces between each other's knuckles.

Valeria took a ragged breath and a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. Her grip relaxed and the handclasp turned gentle, their thumbs gliding back and forth in subtle caresses. "Thank you, Marcus," she murmured, almost too softly for Harry to overhear. Harry wondered if Flint knew exactly what she was thanking him for. He didn't seem to mind the use of his first name. In fact, her use of it made his face seem to almost glow.

Lips curving, Flint nodded and stood taller. Valeria's spine relaxed, letting herself slouch. He tugged lightly on their joined hands and Valeria gracefully pivoted to slot against his side.

Valeria usually had such a huge presence, but when they stood like that it was impossible to not see how tiny she was, especially compared to the big Quidditch Captain. Tiny didn't mean weak. Harry knew that she was just as much if not more powerful than Flint in her own way, but many people didn't look beyond the obvious. That she was willing to let people see her like that showed just how much Flint actually meant to her. In return, he never used his strength or size against her, even when they disagreed, and openly and fiercely supported and respected her, treating any public intimacy she shared with him as a gift instead of a right. They made each other better. Even the people who didn't like them individually respected them for the way they were together. That or feared them.

Valeria's head tilted up and Flint's turned down. Their eyes met and held. They shared a crooked smile, something intimate and secret passing between them. It had been too long since Harry had seen them stand like that. It made his heart happy.

Flint dragged his eyes away from Valeria with what looked like effort, glancing around the room until he found Harry. Concerned eyes flicked up and down Harry's body in a quick examination, reminding Harry that he was one of Flint's people too. Harry made sure to stand up straight. Looking skeptical, Flint tipped his head towards the door and arched a brow. "Food, Potter? Though you might want to get dressed first."

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Hermione's bed, but from what he could see around the curtains she was still hiding under the blankets. She might've even gone back to sleep. There wasn't anything he could do for her right now until she was ready to come out and talk. Until then, she'd be fine and under the watch of Madam Pomfrey.

Harry certainly wouldn't mind getting out of here. He had too many bad memories in this place. Turning back to his friends he nodded. "Sure, I'll be quick." He definitely didn't want to be seen wandering the corridors in his pajamas. The staff liked to take points for things like that and it would be bad for the reputation he was trying to build if nothing else.

"Ah, Harry. A moment, please," said Headmaster Dumbledore as he and Pomfrey returned to the room. "You can catch up to Mister Flint and Miss Basavilbaso afterward, but I'd like to talk to you in my office first, if you don't mind. "

Harry did mind, but it wasn't like he could say no, not to a power like the Headmaster. "Of course, Sir, just let me get changed." Moving back to his bed, Harry pulled the privacy curtain to hide from everyone else and finally let himself grimace and rub his face. He hadn't been awake long but he already felt tired again. Something itched under his skin and made him want to run away and hide from everybody so he didn't have to talk anymore. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. He found a set of his clean robes in the drawer of the bedside table where Pomfrey always stashed them.

As he changed, he listened to Dumbledore having an awkward conversation with Flint and Valeria where they answered his affable questions as vaguely and succinctly as possible. It didn't seem to bother Dumbledore, though listening to them talk, Harry noticed that he only used their last names when addressing them. Perhaps Draco had been right in arguing that Dumbledore liked to use first names with certain students like Harry to manipulate them into feeling like they had a closer relationship with him than they really did, and thus getting them to blindly trust him and do whatever he wanted them to do without questioning his motives. Harry didn't want to believe he was that gullible, but he was feeling a lot less trusting lately. Maybe he should be questioning his perception of the Head Master.

Harry was relieved to find his wand tucked in with his robes. He'd been afraid it might've been lost forever. Someone must've retrieved it from the Chamber for him. He slipped it into his wand pocket just as his stomach let out a gurgle. He really was hungry, but Dumbledore wasn't going to let him go without explaining himself first. At least he was used to ignoring unhappy signals from his body. Hunger was one of his oldest companions.

Pulling back the curtain, his stomach gurgled again and then subsided sullenly. It must've been quite loud because Hermione shifted beneath her covers at the sound, though she still wouldn't come out. Was she hungry too? Hungry, but too scared to come out? The thought made him hurt in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. Hermione should never be made to feel like that.

Harry turned so his hand was hidden from the rest of the room and slid it into his pocket. He pulled out a bruised orange he'd stashed there earlier and a shrunken package of trail mix the size of his fingernail. He ripped just the edge of the trail mix package to make it enlarge to the size of his hand but not spill if tipped sideways. Keeping the food hidden behind his back, he lifted up just the edge of Hermione's blanket and slid the food in quickly before letting the blanket drop again. "Everything will work out," he murmured under his breath. "Feel better." Rubbing his fingertips together and feeling uncomfortably exposed, though he refused to think about why, he walked back towards the door.

"All done," he said, fighting the urge to look back and see how Hermione had reacted to his gift and words. He made sure to straighten his green tie.

Dumbledore looked over his spectacles and smiled at him. "Splendid. Shall we, Harry?" He gestured Harry forwards. "You're free to go," he said with a nod to Valeria and Flint.

Flint stepped to the side of the door and gave the Headmaster a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We can wait. Perhaps we should come along with Harry to talk to you since we were down there too."

Valeria closed her mouth with a snap as if she'd been just a moment too slow in suggesting the same thing. Holding his breath, Harry looked over at Dumbledore to gauge his response, trying to keep his hope hidden.

Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore clucked his tongue and gestured them all to proceed him out of the infirmary. "A generous offer, Mr. Flint, but you've kindly shared your perspective of events with me already and I'd like to get Harry's unbiased account. Besides, I wouldn't want to keep you two children from your meal." He looked back over his shoulder with a queer gleam in his eyes. "Though I do need to interview Miss Granger as well. I suppose you could take Harry with you for now and—"

"That's not necessary," Harry interrupted. Eyebrows arching at the interruption, Dumbledore looked at Harry. "She's still sleeping," Harry said firmly, widening his stance to try and make her bed harder to see through the doorway.

Head tilting, Dumbledore gave a thoughtful hum. "Very well, then. Shall we, Harry, my boy?" He gestured and Harry obediently fell in by his side. Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and they walked out of the room together. The hand felt heavier than it should and his robes smelled cloying. Part of Harry found it incredibly uncomfortable.

Another part of him, the tender-hearted, wide-eyed little boy deep down inside, liked the feeling—almost too much. It quietly considered turning into that heavy warmth and seeing if Dumbledore would go along with the motion and gently wrap his whole arm around Harry's shoulders in an open hug. Sometimes Harry's chest ached for want of a tall frame to stand between him and the world, for arms to hold him close, for someone he could break down and be vulnerable with, for someone who'd put him first and be there for him no matter what.

Sometimes he dreamed that Dumbledore was that man, a powerful yet kindly grandfather caring only about Harry's safety and happiness. There had been moments over the last two years where Dumbledore had seemed to be that man. Harry held the memories of those times close to his heart… but they were few and all too brief.

When Harry woke from dreams and forced himself to face the facts without any emotional blinders, he saw the truth—Dumbledore was a good man, but he wasn't that man to Harry and he never would be. No one ever would be, not for Harry. His chance for that had passed a long time ago. The Headmaster might care about Harry, maybe even more than the average student, but that had more to do with Harry's parents and the way Harry's fate seemed inexplicably intertwined with Voldemort's. It was a hard and unpalatable truth that Dumbledore didn't and probably never would really see Harry as only himself, much less put the good of Harry first against a competing agenda. It would be easier to pretend otherwise if he hadn't been trained to think like a Slytherin, but there was no use clinging to might-have-beens and comfortable lies. Harry just wished he would stop hoping for what he'd never have.

Looking over his shoulder at Flint and Valeria, Dumbledore said, "You can tell the rest of Mr. Potter's friends that I'll send him along when we're done. Off with you, now." With no other option, they turned and left, though the tense set of Valeria's shoulders and tight press of her lips made it clear she didn't like it.

Dumbledore led him away in the opposite direction. Giving a gentle squeeze, his hand finally left Harry's shoulder, leaving it feeling cold and empty. Harry didn't let himself frown or sigh, though he did surreptitiously rotate his now-free shoulder. He was distracted by trying to act normal so it caught him by surprise when they reached the spiral staircase guarded by the statue of a gargoyle that led up to Dumbledore's cluttered office.

Once inside the office, Dumbledore circled around his desk and sank down into the large chair placed there. He didn't offer Harry a seat, though Harry got the feeling that he could take a seat in one of the unmatched chairs scattered throughout the office if he so chose. What that choice would say about him to the Headmaster, however, wasn't clear. Unsure, Harry decided to stay standing. That probably said something too.

Harry had been in the office before, but the huge monstrosity of a chair behind the desk was new. Dumbledore was by no means a short man, but the chair practically swallowed him, both framing and diminishing his effect. Sitting in it made him look almost as small and inoffensive as a child. It was hard to focus on his face with the distraction of the chair surrounding him on all sides. The elaborate frame of the chair was wide enough to seat Hagrid and reached almost to the ceiling. It was painted burnt orange and cream and carved with dozens of arching, feathered wings, as if a flock of birds was about to take off and fly away with the chair and its occupant at any moment. The upholstery was a mix of mustard yellow stars on a field of plaid in cherry red, moss green, and neon purple that clashed with the frame dreadfully.

It was absolutely hideous. How could he not notice? Did he actually like it? Then again, his robes were often rather crazy and clashing too. Blaise and Pansy, Slytherin's resident fashionistas, would die when they heard about the chair. It would be funny to see. Harry bit his tongue hard to make sure a smile didn't make its way onto his face.

Watching Harry with an inscrutable—but hopefully not offended—expression, Dumbledore reached out over his desk and pulled off a fringed sky blue and silver spangled cloth draped across the top. The portraits on the walls of previous Headmasters murmured to each other in excitement, shuffling around in their frames, craning their necks, and in one instance standing up on a chair to get a better look at both Harry and the items now revealed on the Headmaster's desk.

Caught off guard, Harry swayed, feeling a moment of dissonance as he saw the blood-stained bedraggled flag (animated enchantment off or broken) and the ink-stained, warped diary with a hole torn through the middle (fang missing). The edges of the room blurred and cold sweat beaded on his skin. It felt like he was back in the Chamber again. The Headmaster was speaking, but Harry couldn't hear him over the echoes of Tom's taunts and the Basilisk's insane screeching. Locking his knees, Harry tried to hide what he was feeling and keep from passing out, plastering a hopefully blank look on his face as he fought to stay in the now.

He blinked and instead of blackness behind his eyelids he saw the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk's yellow-stained teeth sinking into his arm as it tried to kill him. Agony.

Eyes open and he was in front of the Headmaster's desk. Safe.

Another blink and he could see bits of animal fur and tendon caught between the Basilisk's back teeth, could smell musk, rot, and cloying venom. If he didn't do this his friends would die. His mouth tasted of coppery blood, sour fear, and muddy grit. Everything hurt. He was scared. He was numb. He was—

Wrenching open his eyes, Harry saw the Headmaster's pointed hat about to fall off of his head as he bent over the corner of his desk to fill a candy dish full of lemon drops. The rattling plink-plink sound of hard candy on metal was so sharp and foreign to what had happened in the Chamber that it broke through the spiral of Harry's thoughts. He was in Dumbledore's office.

Not the Chamber of Secrets.

He was here and safe—physically at least.

The Headmaster didn't seem to have noticed anything wrong with Harry as he held out the candy dish in offering and shook it. The candy rattled around the dish. Harry forced his mouth to murmur a thank you and took one, shoving it past dry lips. The tartness of the lemon drop as it rasped across his tongue came as a shock, overpowering the unpleasant flavors in his memory. Harry rolled the candy with his tongue and swallowed, flooding his mouth with saliva and his throat with tart sweetness. The candy dissolved across his tongue. He focused on the bright taste.

The shadow of a cloud darkened the room for a moment. When the sunlight came back it somehow made the clashing colors and patterns on the Headmaster's chair look even uglier. Harry didn't think he could have imagined a chair like that. This room here and now was the reality. He needed to keep his memories in check. He couldn't let himself be weak.

"Too sour?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and sucked hard enough to hollow his bearded cheeks. "Mmm." Wiggling happily, he leaned back in his ugly chair. "They are a new batch from a different supplier, as I was forced to restock on returning to the school, but they're still quite lemony delicious in their own way, yes?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Harry pushed the lemon drop into his cheek and gave a polite, close-mouthed smile. "Thank you for sharing."

"Of course, Harry, my boy." Again with the false intimacy of addressing Harry by his first name. Stupid Draco for making Harry question every interaction they had now instead of letting Harry pretend it meant something special. "I'm glad you like the lemon drops. So few in the castle really appreciate muggle sweets," Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore steepled his hands on his lap, becoming serious. "You've done a very daring, dangerous, and wondrous thing for Hogwarts, breaking numerous school rules and putting yourself and others in danger," he looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles sternly, "though ultimately saving lives, jobs, and the school in the process." A small smile flickered at the corner of Dumbledore's lips and the corners of his eyes creased. Harry felt warmth bloom through his chest at the praise. Maybe he was being too harsh on Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's smile fell away into a sad, small frown. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'd hoped that you'd loyally call on me or Fawkes for help should the need arise," he paused expectantly and Harry flushed, feeling tongue-tied and guilty, "but it seems you found another way without us. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear what happened in your own words."

"Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore, though I didn't realize we could call on you or—or Fawkes," he looked at the perch where the bright red phoenix was perched, "not with you gone from the school and who-knows-where." Dumbledore sighed but otherwise didn't respond, just looked down at the flag and diary on the table and then back at Harry expectantly.

The remembered feeling of those weeks without the Headmaster in the castle and both Hermione and Halle petrified suddenly flooded over Harry. Obviously they'd had need of Dumbledore, but what would Fawkes have done for them anyway? How was Harry supposed to have called on either of them when he didn't even know how? And if Dumbledore expected to be called in, why hadn't he made that clear or gotten one of the teachers to do it? If he or Fawkes could have helped, why hadn't they just done it instead of waiting to be asked?

Harry pushed down a wave of frustration and gathered his thoughts, focusing his gaze over Dumbledore's shoulder at the wings sprouting from the corner of his ugly chair. "It all started after Hermione Granger was petrified. We still didn't know who or what was attacking students and I found a clue she'd left about it on a bookmark that fell out of her bag…." Harry left out any mention of Hermione's first awakening in the infirmary, of manipulating Hermione's roommate into giving him her bookbag, or of breaking into the Gryffindor locker room and pranking it to find the bookmark.

In fact, as he spoke to the Headmaster, Harry found himself skimming over and being vague about a lot of things, even to the point of implying that Valeria may have been coerced into breaking the rules with him and therefore shouldn't be punished, and barely mentioning Hermione being unpetrified and awake until he was describing her pushing Valeria to safety and then stabbing the diary after Harry himself had been laid low by the Basilisk's venom. Dumbledore didn't seem surprised to hear about Hermione being unpetrified. Maybe someone else had already mentioned it to him. Maybe he had the right to be told that one of his students was (potentially) some type of gorgon, but if so, that knowledge wasn't going to come from Harry's lips.

Harry wished he could trust the Headmaster with the full truth, but he didn't. As amazing and powerful as Albus Dumbledore was, the man hadn't earned that level of trust from Harry. Especially when Dumbledore didn't even seem that surprised to hear that Lord Voldemort's real name was Tom Riddle or that former Head Boy Tom had been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets and wake up the Basilisk fifty years ago instead of poor, innocent, kind-hearted Hagrid. A small frown was Dumbledore's only response to learning how and why Myrtle had been killed or that Hagrid's wand had been snapped and his future stolen because of Tom's clever manipulations and lies. Not to mention what had happened to Ginny Weasley under the diary's influence and the students she'd helped attack this year. Dumbledore didn't even seem that angry about any of it.

It made Harry angry.

The Headmaster only stopped him a few times with clarifying questions. "The Basilisk is one of the rarest and deadliest creatures in the magical world. Its venom should have killed you, though I'm glad it didn't, and it should've been almost impossible for you to kill or hurt it. You say you stabbed the Basilisk through the roof of the mouth with this flag you enchanted?" He gestured to the gory flag on his desk. "It shouldn't have been strong enough to pierce the Basilisk's skin, not even with an engorgement charm." He frowned and tapped a finger on his chin, eyes going unfocused. "Did your flag come into contact with any powerful potions or restricted substances before the fight? The blood or saliva of an extremely powerful magical creature perhaps?"

"Not that I know of." Harry shook his head. He hadn't done anything crazy like that when making the flag, unless his sweaty palms and the blood from a split knuckle getting on it counted (doubtful). Getting the flashing enchantments to work right had been hard enough. He hadn't had time or training for anything more complicated before giving it to Hermione.

His mind abruptly flashed to his first view of Hermione in the Chamber when she'd been coming out of Slytherin's mouth, encircled by the Basilisk's tail. Terrified, skin and clothing torn, she'd held the flashing flag aloft in a clenched fist. The flag had been smeared with her blood, sweat, and tears, but Hermione was just a girl… a girl who was also an insanely brilliant witch, possibly related to gorgons considering the head snakes (not just his imagination!), and maybe some kind of queen if the Basilisk's insane and confusing mumblings were to be believed. Could her blood really be powerful enough to kill something like the Basilisk? And if it was, what would the Headmaster do with that information? What would happen to Hermione? Would she be expelled? Or disappear into some secret government program?

"Ah, did you remember something?" Dumbledore asked, watching him keenly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head without hesitation, determined to protect Hermione's secret as long as possible. "No, Headmaster. Just thinking of something else. Maybe Tom did something to the Basilisk to make it easier to control and that also made it easier to hurt it." It was possible. "That could be why stabbing it with the flag worked. After all, Valeria's spell was able to slice it in two, and if the Basilisk was as strong as you say, our magic shouldn't have worked then either."

Except Harry might have helped at that moment by casting a wandless spell while thinking in Parseltongue. Possibly. He decided not to mention that to the headmaster either. Dumbledore wouldn't like it, as he'd already made it clear to Harry that he thought only Dark wizards used Parseltongue, and that he hypothesized that Harry could only do it because Voldemort had accidentally given him the skill the night he gave him a scar. Dumbledore's frown and flared nostrils when Harry had explained opening the passageway in Myrtle's bathroom had made it clear that he disapproved of Harry using Parseltongue except under extreme duress.

No, Harry wouldn't be mentioning potentially casting wandless magic in parseltongue, Hermione's blood on the flag, or her head snakes. What the Headmaster didn't know couldn't be used to hurt Harry or his friends. Besides, Harry had tasted Hermione's blood and he wasn't dead—the exact opposite in fact—so her blood on the flag probably hadn't done anything to it.

The Headmaster hummed and tipped his head thoughtfully, staring Harry right in the eyes uncomfortably as if reading his thoughts. Could he read thoughts? Harry tried not to panic as the Headmaster said, "Although rare, there are other creatures whose magic can counteract a Basilisk. Higher-order gorgons for instance, like their famed Queen—Medusa. There's a tapestry of her and Aglaia in your common room, I do believe." Dumbledore paused.

Harry stopped breathing and his expression froze, though he did his best not to otherwise react. What did Dumbledore know? Or was he just fishing for information, trying to trick Harry into giving something away? Had Harry given something away?

Continuing to hold his eyes, Dumbledore leaned forward. "Their blood can either kill or heal, depending on the gorgon's intention at the moment the blood is shed. Potion masters have tried and failed to understand and control this power for millennia, but queen gorgons are extremely elusive and obstinate, inevitably killing their captors or dying themselves before giving away their secrets."

Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore leaned back and gave a small smile, allowing Harry to relax enough to take a breath. "Another such magnificent creature is the phoenix, like Fawkes." He gestured to his familiar. "His beak and claws can cut through the hide of a Basilisk, as can a blade coated in phoenix blood or tears, though phoenix tears traditionally are used to heal mortal wounds instead of injuring."

Harry tore his eyes away from Dumbledore's and looked over at the bird. "That's interesting," he croaked, mouth dry.

Dumbledore gave a little chuckle and leaned back. "There's a fascinating story about a sword soaked in phoenix tears that could cure a person on the brink of death if you stabbed them through with it, but then one overenthusiastic lass accidentally sliced off her injured lover's head in trying to heal him and that proved to be too much for the poor sword to fix. In despair, she killed herself with the sword to join him in death and it stopped working after that and was soon lost to history."

"That's awful," Harry said, swallowing hard and trying not to imagine it. After the Chamber of Secrets, he had a new appreciation of how good intentions could go very wrong very fast.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "If only Tom's diary had been lost to history as well, we all would have been better off, but in the grand scheme of things it is but a small part of the problems besieging magical society."

Harry respectfully disagreed.

Nevertheless, Dumbledore insisted on deftly but firmly changing the subject, asking Harry to clarify a few more details about other things he'd observed and how he'd created the flag. To Harry, it was pretty obvious that Tom Riddle's diary in Ginny Weasley's hands had been the catalyst for all of their problems this year—the one that Lucius Malfoy had planted on Ginny to get into the school. Harry wanted to talk about that but the Headmaster didn't seem eager to pursue Harry's allegations against Mr. Malfoy, perhaps thinking the social politics of accusing a Peer and member of the school board too complicated for Harry to comprehend, forgetting that Harry was learning all about social politics as a member of Slytherin.

Except no, the Headmaster would never forget that Harry was a Slytherin, especially with how he slipped a mention of Harry's parents being ideal Gryffindors into almost every conversation they had and implied that Harry should try to be more like them and less like, well, like someone who'd sorted into Slytherin—less like himself.

Dumbledore looked out the window and sighed heavily. "Tom Riddle was dark and corrupt before we ever got him, full of deceit, uncaring, and Slytherin to the core."

And there it was.

Harry's jaw clenched. He swallowed down his first, second, and third responses. "Pardon me, Headmaster," he took a breath and forced his voice to remain soft, "but I'm also a Slytherin… and I'm the one who cared enough to stop him from hurting anyone else. Both—all three—times." He met the Headmaster's eyes and mulishly refused to drop them.

Dumbledore's lips thinned and after a moment he gave a short nod. "You must excuse me, Harry, I misspoke. You are right to be proud of your accomplishments. Your Slytherin ambition has brought you much success," he tilted his head to look at Harry chidingly over his spectacles, "although it wouldn't do to understate the power and legacy of your mother's love in that equation. Her love and magic still clings to you and protects you to this day, guiding you to stay safe and in the light. That you sorted into Slytherin holds no shame," except for how the Headmaster obviously thought it did, "but just as likely occurred more because of the nurture of your muggle Aunt than from the nature of your parents, who embodied all of the best traits found in Gryffindors and did their best to pass that on to you before they were lost. I know they would be proud of your Gryffindor bravery and how much you care for your friends and fellow students."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. He swallowed to wet his throat and give himself a moment to calm down. "Sir, I hold my parents, especially my mother, in the highest of esteem." He bit his tongue and forced himself to stop there. Everything else he wanted to say right now would not serve him with this powerful man who held so much control over Harry's future.

Before the silence could get awkward, the door to Dumbledore's office banged open, bouncing against the wall. Harry jumped and pulled his wand, moving to put a chair between him and the intruder like Valeria had drilled during snake school.

Lucious Malfoy strode into the room, an angry look fixed upon his lips. He had an expensive-looking cane in one hand with an elaborate silver grip. At his heels scurried a small creature with bat-like ears wearing a dirty pillow-case.

Harry must be more out of it than he thought because it took him several seconds to recognize Malfoy's cowering servant as Dobby the House Elf. The connection between Mr. Malfoy and Dobby made several mysteries slot into place. Harry had never mentioned Dobby to Draco, at least not by name. He wondered what Draco would have said or done if he had.

When Mr. Malfoy unexpectedly stopped walking, Dobby bounced off his boot and fell to the ground. Mr. Malfoy cursed and knocked Dobby away with his cane, a cruel gleam in his eye.

Hand tightening on his wand, Harry's shoulders rounded but otherwise he didn't let himself react. Dobby's watery eyes met his and the small creature gave him a small smile before looking away sadly. Harry ached with the need to do something.

Turning back to sneer at Dumbledore, Malfoy demanded, "What are you doing back in the school? I'll see you punished for this. The school board kicked you out and—"

Dumbledore folded his arms in his lap and cut Malfoy off. "When the board heard about the Basilisk, I was recalled. You must have missed the memo, perhaps too busy auditing your library for more mementos from the past?" He arched a brow and gestured to his desk, where the destroyed diary lay.

Pale lips going thin and a red flush appearing high on his cheekbones, Mr. Malfoy looked down at the diary. A muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched and he tore his eyes away. "I don't know what you're trying to imply," he glared at Dumbledore and then Harry for good measure before turning back to the Headmaster, "but recalling you was a mistake I intend to rectify immediately, so don't get too comfortable." His gray-gloved fingers tightened around his cane so hard Harry almost expected the cane to snap.

No matter what Harry's complicated feelings for Dumbledore were, the fact remained that the school was a better and safer place with him as Headmaster. Both Harry and the school needed Dumbledore to be here. Harry wanted him here. He couldn't let Malfoy send him away again.

"I doubt the school board would be interested in listening to the man who sent Voldemort's diary here in the first place," Harry said, stepping forward around the chair. "We know you slipped it to Ginny Weasley in the bookstore before school started and then, when I found it abandoned and Draco recognized it as yours and shipped it back to you, you made him return it to the school. This is your fault because the spirit of Tom Riddle AKA Voldemort in that diary is the reason the Basilisk was released and people got hurt and almost killed, including your son!"

"You lying, insolent brat, hold your tongue if you don't want to lose it," Malfoy hissed through his teeth, threat and promise threaded into every word. He spun the cane in his hand in a tight circle. Dobby moaned in terror and crouched down at Malfoy's heels with his hands wrapped around his head.

Harry swallowed hard but refused to shrink back. He wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction. If they'd been alone, Harry was pretty sure Malfoy would have made good on that threat to hurt Harry, but they weren't alone. Dumbledore was here and he wouldn't let that happen.

The Headmaster tilted his head and arched one snowy-white brow at Malfoy. "No need to bother the school board, Lucius, since I'm here to stay. After all, you used up most of your favors getting me removed the first time and we see how long that lasted. We're all just lucky no students were killed, including your son, as Harry mentioned."

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "Don't try to play me. Draco may be a disappointing crybaby and momma's boy, but he wasn't hurt." He tossed a lock of sleek, silver-blond hair behind his shoulder and gave a hard smirk. "The only danger was to mudbloods, which is no great loss."

"How curious then that the Basilisk sent pure-bloods and half-bloods to the infirmary as well," Dumbledore said.

Malfoy waved that off. "The Weasleys are blood traitors. Everyone knows that."

"Would you use the same faulty excuse to explain injuries to children in the Basavilbaso and Harper families? They're both related to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You have business dealings with many of those families, do you not?"

Lips pressed tight, Malfoy's nostrils flared. "Collateral damage," he said curtly. "That they were hurt is regrettable, but has nothing to do with me. Your actions here are more to blame for their injuries than anything I may or may not have done and I'll make sure the majority of the school board knows who to blame."

Dumbledore looked at Mr. Malfoy coldly over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "So you may claim, but if I am taken before a formal inquiry, I will be forced to relay the facts pertaining to how Riddle's diary came to the school and my understanding of your part in it. Even if never proven, such accusations linger and stain the reputation. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, when they seat a new school board this summer, do you think you'll still be on it?"

Snarling, Malfoy spun on his heels, kicked Dobby out of his way—ignoring the House Elf's cry of pain—and stomped out the still-open door. "Come, Dobby. Now!" he roared from the stairwell when the House Elf was slow to regain his feet and follow. Dobby lurched upright and limped quickly after his master.

Seeing the casual abuse Malfoy heaped on Dobby made Harry feel sick. He had a burning desire to do something to stop it, but what? No way Malfoy would free Dobby willingly. Draco probably wouldn't go against his father to help, though Harry might be able to convince him if he badgered him enough. That would have to be plan B. Thoughts racing, Harry remembered that the only way to free a House Elf was through the gift of clothes. Maybe he could trick Mr. Malfoy into it somehow with Slytherin cunning.

Eyes darting around the room, he paused on the mangled diary. "Headmaster, can I have that?" he asked, looking up to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

Eyes starting to twinkle madly, Dumbledore nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Of course, my boy. Good luck." He gave a little chuckle.

Harry snatched up the diary and ran out of the room after Mr. Malfoy. He grabbed the knot in his Slytherin tie and tugged it down hard to loosen it enough to pull over his head, but realized that his tie might be too nice for this to work. He jerked to a stop in the curving stairwell, leaning against the wall to toe off a ragged shoe and rip off his sock. The sock was technically clean but didn't look it—more a dingy yellow than a bright white with a stretched out elastic, several stubborn reddish-brown bloodstains speckled along the top, and a ragged hole in the end where his toenail had poked through. It looked kinda nasty. Perfect.

Harry shoved the diary into the top of the sock as far as it would go and jammed it under his arm while he hopped down the stairs and tried to shove his foot back into his shoe at the same time, barely avoiding falling forward and breaking his face in the process. When he got into the hallway he broke into a sprint and skidded around corners until he caught up to Mr. Malfoy and Dobby.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Harry called out.

Turning around, Malfoy's lips twisted. "What do you want, Potter?" he spat out, twirling the cane in his hand in clear threat. Behind him Dobby shook his head at Harry fearfully and made a frantic shooing motion, trying to tell Harry to get away. It just reinforced Harry's decision to try and free him.

"You forgot this," Harry said curtly, shoving the sock-covered diary into Mr. Malfoy's hands and stepping back out of range of his cane.

"What?" Nose wrinkling with disgust, Mr. Malfoy peeled the sock off with two fingers and tossed it to the side… the side with Dobby, who caught it. Harry gave a silent cheer. Malfoy didn't notice, too busy glaring down at the diary hot enough to almost make it burst into flames. "This isn't mine, I already told you that, boy." He looked back at Harry with his mouth open, obviously intending to deliver some cutting insult, when Dobby's high-pitched voice spoke up.

"Master has given Dobby clothes." His voice sounded awed.

"What?" Face draining of color, Malfoy jerked around to look at Dobby. "Wait, no—"

Dobby's ears went up and a huge smile overtook his face. He hugged the sock to his chest. "Dobby is FREE!"

"No!"

Malfoy took a step towards Dobby, but for the first time the House Elf completely ignored him, dancing from foot to foot and spinning in circles up and down the corridor as he giggled to himself and chanted, "Free, free, free!" Leaping up and knocking his heels together, Dobby waved the sock in the air like a flag. "Free, free, free!"

Snarling, Malfoy turned back to Harry with so twisted and hateful a look that Harry took a stumbling step backwards. "You have cost me my servant!" Twisting the top of his cane, he ripped out a hidden wand, pointed it at Harry, and began to cast something vicious.

Harry tried to get his wand up in time to disarm Malfoy, but he realized with panic that he wasn't going to be fast enough.

Before Malfoy could finish his spell, Dobby screeched, "You shall not hurt Harry Potter!" Light burst from Dobby's hands and sent Malfoy flying through the air and crashing onto his back on the floor. His cane went spinning down the corridor with a clatter, though he managed to hang onto his wand.

Blinking in surprise and glee, Harry nevertheless got his wand up and pointed at Malfoy, ready to disarm him in case he tried to attack again. He didn't dare disarm him before then for fear Malfoy would punch him or call the authorities and claim the theft and attack were unprovoked. Despite all of the racket, no one came running. Typical. When you wanted help or witnesses no one was around, but Merlin forbid you ever wanted to hide or be alone, because that was when Filch and crowds of students always popped up to point fingers and make everything worse.

Obviously winded, Malfoy rolled to his feet and staggered to one side before catching himself on the wall with one hand. His once-immaculate hair was falling into his eyes and the hem of his robe had torn. Batting his hair out of his face, he glared at Dobby and Harry, his chest still heaving and his wand down at his side in a white-knuckled fist. "You'll regret this."

Harry exchanged a look with Dobby and they both smirked. Turning to look at Malfoy, Harry said, "No, no I don't think we will."

It was so tempting to gloat more, but Malfoy didn't give him the chance, turning with a growl and retreating down the staircase. Harry moved to stand at the top of the staircase and watch. He wanted to make sure that Mr. Malfoy actually left the castle and didn't maim someone along the way.

Reaching the foyer, Malfoy stalked across the flagstone floor towards the exit. Before he got to the front door, Draco strode into the space. On seeing his father, Draco's face lit up like a Lumos. "Father! Did you hear what happened and come to see me? Did you—" He rushed in front of his father to greet him.

Without breaking stride, Mr. Malfoy backhanded Draco across the face, sending him crashing to the floor. "Idiot, worthless child," Mr. Malfoy spat, pausing to wrench open the door.

Stunned, blood trickling from one nostril and a split lip, Draco stared up at his father with wide, wet, uncomprehending eyes.

Pausing in the open doorway, Mr. Malfoy looked down on his son with a terrible expression. "You should've kept your mouth shut and done what you were told. Your mother's turned you into a spoiled brat. If only one of her other pregnancies had gone to term and you'd been the miscarriage." Draco jerked back as if struck again and made a horrible moaning sound that seemed to please Mr. Malfoy's sense of cruelty.

"Don't write and don't bother whinging to your mother. I don't want to see or hear from you until I have to this summer, and even then, if you know what's good for you you'll stay out of sight unless I explicitly call for you. Understand?" He pinned Draco with a glare until Draco gave a shaky nod. Grunting, Mr. Malfoy turned without another word and left the school, letting the door swing shut between him and his devastated son.

With parents like that out in the world, maybe it was just as well that Harry was an orphan.