AN
The first scene of this chapter is a personal favourite of mine. Harry and Susan just – You'll see.
January to June 1993, 2nd year
"It's weird," Susan said. "It absorbs any liquid without getting wet."
"Any liquid?" Harry asked curiously.
"Toilet water and ink, certainly," Susan said.
"Let's dip it in tea," Harry said. "And pumpkin juice. And soup. And blood. And then some potions –"
"– that we can be certain won't have any dangerous reactions with magical objects of unknown kind. And then we can try –"
"– dissolving it in organic solvents and various acids and bases."
Theodore looked between the two of them with a mix of awe and annoyance clearly written in his eyes, though not in the line of his mouth or the non-existent frown between his brows.
"How did you find it, anyway?" Harry asked, turning the little black book over and sweeping his thumb over the year on the cover. "It's old enough to have been around when the Chamber of Secrets was last opened."
"I'm sorry, what?"
Harry blinked. "Oh, did I not tell you? Some guy told us the Chamber was last opened some fifty years ago and someone died. But they caught the culprit and sent them to Azkaban, apparently."
"What?"
"Anyway. This book. Where did you find it?"
"In Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. What do you mean, 'someone died'?"
Harry shrugged. "What I said. Someone died. I don't know. What's a Moaning Myrtle? Some type of magical plant?"
"She's a ghost. She haunts one of the girl's bathrooms. The one next to the Writing on the Wall, actually. Who died? Why is no one talking about this? We're lucky there have only been petrifications so far. What if the next attack results in another death? Oh god, oh god. Why is no one doing anything. There is a deadly monster roaming free and no one is doing anything. We could all die! Oh god, what if –"
"Susan," Harry interrupted firmly. "Stop panicking."
Susan snapped her mouth shut and shot him a dark glare. "Excuse me for being worried about all of our lives!"
"Moaning Myrtle?"
"A ghost. I just told you."
"Haunting a bathroom, yes. Why were you in that bathroom, then?"
"She was crying."
Harry sighed. "I'm assuming she's always crying, if people call her 'Moaning' Myrtle."
Susan crossed her arms. "So what? Was I supposed to ignore her, because she's sad all the time? The poor thing has no one to lend her an ear."
Harry chose not to stare at his friend. She was a Hufflepuff. He should have expected that. "Well, at least we got a powerful, dark magical object out of it. Evil magical object? Hm …"
Theodore narrowed his eyes at Harry.
"This is interesting," Harry murmured, thumbing through the empty pages of the little book. "It's sentient and it has ill intent. I like this."
"You what?" Susan shrieked. "If it's sentient and evil, then we should not play around with it and instead hand it in to a teacher!"
Harry puckered his lips into a pout. "But those teachers aren't even batting an eye at the deadly monster that goes around petrifying cats and people and ghosts. Why should I give them a potentially dangerous object when I could just as well keep it safe, myself? And experiment a bit with it as a side project."
"A side project," Susan repeated numbly.
Harry nodded. "Dousing it in all kinds of liquids, to start with. Just like you were suggesting mere moments before. Then we can try setting it on fire. Practice combat spells on it. I'm looking forward to see how much it takes to take this thing apart. I'm hopeful it won't disappoint."
Susan was now staring at him in unmasked horror.
"It sounds like a good idea," Theodore said after a while. He turned to Susan. "Harry is powerful enough to keep dark, evil objects under heavy wards and having a new side project will help him focus more."
Susan's mouth twisted. "He has been rather bored this year, hasn't he?"
Theodore nodded. "Who knows what kind of trouble he would get himself into, should his boredom continue unhindered."
They both looked at Harry and in return. Harry beamed at them. He loved his friends.
o
Harry's new pet project proved to be just as interesting and fascinating and, most importantly, long-lasting as he had expected. It was marvellous.
T. M. Riddle – the name written on the back, the only thing to distinguish the little black book visually from any other little black book – probably the owner – had created something powerful. It withstood all of Harry's attempts to get it to do – anything, really. He started with trying to get it wet. Simple enough, he thought. And it did – but then it didn't. It soaked every liquid up like it was nothing. No stains. No tattered pages. No dissolving pages. Nothing. It did not react to any of the (safe) potions. (It didn't react to the more volatile ones, either, but Harry was careful not to discuss that with Theodore anywhere Susan might overhear.) It did not burn. It didn't rip, no matter how much or what kind of force Harry applied. None of the magics he tried did anything.
It was terrific.
Harry loved it.
He was discussing new ideas on how to destroy the little black book (and not crooning over it, no matter what Susan said), when he walked into the most bizarre thing he had ever witnessed. And he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school currently haunted by some unknown deadly monster.
Everything was pink and heart-shaped and flowery. There even was confetti raining down from the ceiling.
Harry could only gape in mild horror and morbid fascination.
"What," Harry said with feeling, "the fuck."
Theodore mutely pointed at the Head Table where Gilderoy Lockhart was wearing matching robes.
"Who allowed that wanker to deface the Great Hall like this?"
"It's his idea of a morale-booster," Susan said from beside them. She gave them an amused smile, before following her housemates to the Hufflepuff table.
"Morale-booster," Harry said, dumbfounded.
Theodore glanced at the Head Table, pointedly wrinkled his nose, and then strode to the Slytherin table without another word. All Harry could do was to follow, then wrinkle his nose, too, when he saw the confetti strewn all over the food.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" the bloody peacock shouted.
"Valentine's Day?" Harry asked incredulously. "He chose a tacky Muggle feast 'to boost morale'?"
"He could have had the decency to go for Lupercalia instead," some older student sniffed. "That, at least, has tradition in our world."
Harry turned to Theodore. "Lupercalia?"
"A Roman festival for violence and fertility."
"Violence and fertility?" Harry tilted this head. "That does not sound like it would fit together very well. And who would want to celebrate violence, anyway?"
Theodore was about to explain more, but Lockhart chose that moment to one-up himself by introducing his little 'cupids'. Harry stared. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot, today. It was rude, but when had Harry ever cared about appearing rude?
It kept him entertained, at least – bewildered, slightly annoyed and definitely grossed out, yes, but still entertained.
Up until one of the dwarfs ripped his bag in an attempt to stop him from disappearing into the safety of the crowd and escaping. He should have used his Gift, damnit.
The bag was easily repaired, his belongings levitated inside in a mess he would have to reorganize later, and that little black book had no business of spilling out when it was supposed to be under several heavy wards – but the Undetectable Extension Charm had ripped along with the bag and wasn't that delightful?
It certainly gave Harry more than enough to work on over the next few weeks. The Undetectable Extension Charm was highly complicated magic, something so advanced even Harry with his Gift hadn't tried his luck with it yet. But ripping his bag had somehow put tears in the magic and now nothing was quite right and all of his important belongings were in that bag and Harry really ought to put better protections on it, now that he thought about it. Material things could easily be replaced, but those that had sentimental value – which really only amounted to his mother's ribbons and, maybe, that cloak he had forgotten about that had supposedly belonged to his father and was dead-useful and he still hadn't even spared a single thought about actually using it.
Curiously enough, the Featherlight Charm had taken no harm at all.
What a day.
It took Harry a while, but he managed to repair the Undetectable Extension Charm eventually. By that point, he had already layered his bag with many different kinds of protective magic against all kinds of possible things and magics, and magic that was just protective in general. He was rather satisfied with the result. And himself.
With that satisfaction still burning bright in the back of his mind, he returned his attention to the little black book. A tricky little thing it was and all the more delighted Harry felt. Harry barely even noticed how the school as a whole seemed to hold its breath, then release it and relax. Susan did remark at one point that there hadn't been any attacks or sightings or anything else that could be considered stranger than was usual for the school in months. Some believed the Heir of Slytherin was lying in wait, lurking in the shadows until the perfect moment presented itself – perfect for what, they didn't know. Maybe a murder. Most were tentatively hopeful that the danger was over and would never return again. Many had already begun to ascribe the petrifications to the general oddities and mortal perils of the castle and the Writing on the Wall as merely a very sick joke.
Harry wasn't so sure about that, but Harry also didn't have any better ideas, so he really had no right to judge his fellow students. He was gifted and he did not know what was going on or had been going on, so, really, … Where had he been going with this again? Anyway, the danger seemed to be over, but who could really say it was? Hogwarts just was like that. Mysterious monsters or not, one was better off staying alert all the time or at least keeping an eye on the ever-changing magic buzzing and thriving and living in and around the castle.
The school year was almost over by the time Harry finally managed to damage the little black book. Unfortunately, that damage amounted to complete destruction. Considering he hadn't managed to even scratch the thing up until that point, Harry still considered that a success.
Fiendfyre was one of if not the most powerful fire spell known to wizardkind – so powerful, it was even considered a curse. It consumed a lot of magic, was very hard to control and could not be extinguished by either normal or enchanted water. It also liked to take on a life of its own in the form of fiery monsters like snakes and dragons and more snakes and possibly other beasts, but Harry's was mostly made of various snakes. There was a spell to counter the flames, extinguish them and make sure the fire wouldn't consume more than intended. Harry did not know that spell. Harry did also, technically, not know how to cast the Fiendfyre Curse, so he didn't expect any trouble and he did not receive any trouble. The snakes listened to him. They devoured the book and left nothing behind, not even ashes, and then they bowed to his will and disappeared.
Harry felt he had the right to be very smug about that. Theodore was delighted. Susan smacked him around the head and reprimanded him for not listening to her, going through with a highly dangerous and deadly curse he had no prior experience with and did not even know the counter to, and then proceeded to crush both Harry and Theodore in a hug, all the while sobbing relieved tears. Harry was a partly amused and partly bewildered, but it had definitely been worth it.
Harry was still feeling smug when the end-of-the-year exams came around and the Mandrake Cure was ready – just in time for the victims to wake up and fail their exams and face the prospect of explaining to their Muggle parents why they had to repeat a year and why their school hadn't done anything to support them, nor to eliminate the threat, and why they still wanted to continue coming here, regardless.
Harry was still feeling smug when the old man that was posing as their headmaster called him into his office for another reason Harry did not know. Harry hoped this wasn't going to become a yearly tradition.
"It is good to see you doing so well for yourself, my dear boy," the old man said, his eyes twinkling in that infuriatingly insincere way. "I have heard many good things about your academic prowess from our staff."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said politely.
"There have, however, also been rather concerning rumours that reached my ears. Do you know what those rumours say?"
Last time he hadn't been sure, hadn't known about that branch of magic, had only guessed – but now Harry was sure those piercing, bright blue eyes did not seem like they were looking right through him, they were looking right through him. Or attempting to, in any case. The old man was a Legilimens and not above using that skill on one of the students under his care.
Harry had gotten better at controlling his facial expressions during the two years he had spent in Slytherin house, so his eyebrow did not twitch, his expression did not change, nothing would indicate that he knew what the old man was doing.
He was proficient enough in Occlumency to have layered his mind with passive and active shield upon shield upon shield, but that would not help in this situation. If the headmaster encountered resistance, he would grow suspicious and the old man was already suspicious enough as it was and Harry hadn't even done anything to warrant that kind of suspicion.
The old man wasn't even subtle, relying on the naivety and ignorance of a twelve-year-old and his own experience as an old and wise headmaster.
But carefully selecting memories and thoughts – or fabricating them when he had none to fit the situation – and putting them in front of his shields was not all that hard. Fooling a man so sure of his own superiority was easy. The smugness that had been his constant companion since the Fiendfyre Incident grew and grew until it was a steady warmth sitting right under his skin, threatening to spill over.
"I do not, sir," Harry answered, furrowing his brows in resemblance of curious confusion. "May I ask what kind of rumours you are talking about, sir?"
"Snakes, Harry, snakes," the old man said in a heavy voice, disappointment lacing his tone and gentle features, worry in every line of his wrinkled face.
Harry widened his eyes and tilted his head to the side. "Snakes?"
"Did you know, my dear boy, that the ability to converse with snakes is a sign of a Dark Wizard? Lord Voldemort is a prime example of this."
That … was bullshit.
"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."
The old man gave him a disgustingly sad and disappointed look. "Do you know what attacked those unfortunate students, Harry?"
"No, sir."
The old man sighed. "And there is nothing you wish to tell me, Harry? Nothing at all? You might, even unknowingly, hold a clue that could help us immensely in finding the truth of these tragic incidents."
Just like last year with Professor Quirrel, Harry did not understand why the old man was asking him of all people. Why would Harry have any idea about whatever had been petrifying the students? He was still a child. He hadn't even been involved at all. None of the crime scenes nor any of the victims had had anything to do with him.
Besides, the old man clearly already knew or had a very strong suspicion about the nature of the mysterious monster. And he had apparently, somehow, found out about Harry being a Parselmouth. Harry would have to look into that. What else did the headmaster know about that he had no business knowing? How was he snooping around with everyone being none the wiser? Apart from using Legilimency on unsuspecting children.
"Sir, do you think there will be more attacks in the future? There haven't been any since Christmas and six months have already passed without any news whatsoever."
"I am afraid so, my dear boy, I am afraid so. We do not know who set the monster free or why they haven't made any moves since Christmas."
"Maybe something happened to them?"
The old man gave him a tired smile. "Perhaps. But until we can be sure of that we need to stay alert. The students' safety takes utmost priority, after all."
Yeah, sure. And that was why no one did anything to protect them.
The old man sighed. "And you really don't have anything to tell me, Harry?"
"No, sir."
"Very well. You may go, then. Enjoy your holidays."
Harry nodded, even managed a polite smile, and then briskly walked out of the office. The old headmaster was getting troublesome. He should probably do something about that. But when he joined Theodore and Susan, who had been patiently waiting for him, he thought he might listen to the old man's last words, at least, and enjoy his holidays first. Harry was sure the old man would have protested strongly had he known what Harry's plans for the holidays were, but what right did he have to meddle? Harry would spend time with his best friends, would stay with Theodore for a while and perhaps let himself be convinced to meet Susan's family and he would enjoy it.
AN
1st year: What happened to Quirrel and Voldemort? Is he dead? Does it concern Harry? No.
2nd year: What happened to Ginny and the Basilisk? Is she okay? Does it concern Harry? No. ("Who even is 'Ginny'?")
3rd year: pending