Harry's conversation with Lockhart and the knowledge that he was on the case of the Chamber of Secrets gave him relief and hope that they may, indeed, be able to get to the bottom of it all. The very next morning, however, he was painfully reminded of the fact that no matter how bad things seemed, they always had the potential to grow far, far worse, and hope was delicately ephemeral.

Fate took the form of twelve wizards and witches, who marched into the Great Hall the next day at high noon. Among them, explicitly distinguished as the undisputed man in charge, was Lucius Malfoy. In one hand, he held his staff, and in the other, he grasped a scroll of parchment. Completely ignoring the presence of the students, they marched directly up to the staff table, stopping and fanning out just in front of Dumbledore. Lucius stood a full step ahead of the rest.

Dumbledore stood up. He looked relaxed and knowingly aware – in contrast to the students, most of whom were staring with confused expressions at the unfolding events.

'Good day, Honoured Governors of the Board,' addressed Dumbledore.

'Good day, Honoured Headmaster Dumbledore,' Lucius Malfoy replied. Harry could hear a not-so-pleasant undertone in his voice as he pronounced Dumbledore's title.

Dumbledore gave a slight nod. 'What business brings you to Hogwarts today, Honoured Governors?'

'We are here to enforce a resolution of the Board,' Lucius answered. 'In light of recent developments of the current…situation, a situation which has endangered even one of the…most distinguished…students of Hogwarts, the Board of Governors has decided that changes must immediately be made, lest another such event occur.'

'Certainly. Your only concern is, of course, the welfare of the entire body of students and staff,' Dumbledore replied, and Harry was astonished by how cold he sounded. 'Naturally, then, I am delighted that you have acted, and would be eager to hear the results of your no doubt careful deliberations.'

'Indeed,' Lucius drawled. He tore away the wax seal holding closed the scroll and opened it dramatically, holding it up at an unnatural distance in front of his face as if a lord giving an edict.

'Resolution 13919 of the Hogwarts Board of Governors,' he began, 'adopted on the second of February, year 1993 with five votes in affirmation, four votes in opposition, one abstention with an expression of objection, and two abstentions, to be in force from the third of February, year 1993. The Resolution dictates the following.'

'One. The Board of Governors of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, henceforth referred to as "Board of Governors" or "Board", expresses its disapproval at the deployment of the Second Battalion "Waal-IJssel" of the Nadat Cuznawtecot Welsh Infantry Regiment, an action taken without the approval of the Board of Governors. The Board of Governors deems this action inappropriate, both for its possible negative impact on national defence, as well as the fact that the presence of soldiers, in spite of the Headmaster's attempts at disguise, is likely to cause panic among the student body. Therefore, the Board Resolution hereby reverses this action. The Second Battalion "Waal-IJssel" is to depart from Hogwarts forthwith, and the previously agreed-upon limited force of Enforcement Patrollers shall return to their posts at Hogwarts.'

'Two. The Board of Governors finds the relocation proposal filed by Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore, Nadat Merlinot, Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, henceforth referred to as the "Headmaster", on the thirtieth of January, year 1993, unrealistic and counterproductive. The Board of Governors is of the opinion that the Orkneys Academy and Ysgol Hud yn Eryri, have neither adequate resources and facilities to accommodate the students and staff of both institutions, nor the ability to ensure that the quality of education is not degraded as a result of the influx of students from Hogwarts. The Board thereby rejects the proposal with this Resolution, and maintains that the best location for Hogwarts students remains Hogwarts.'

Lucius took a long pause before reading out the third resolution, as if to build suspense for his own enjoyment. 'Three,' he recited finally. 'Given the Headmaster's recent actions, as well as his failure to prevent accidents resulting in the bodily harm of several students of Hogwarts, among whom a most distinguished student, the Board of Governors has in this Resolution decided to suspend indefinitely Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore from his post as the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – effective immediately. The stewardship of the school will pass temporarily to the Deputy Headmaster, Minerva McGonagall, until the Board of Governors finds a suitable Interim Headmaster. The Board of Governors may also elect to remove Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore from his post with a unanimous vote in favour, in which case any Interim Headmaster will become the Headmaster of Hogwarts.'

Lucius Malfoy lowered the scroll and looked up at Dumbledore. Harry could not see his face from where he was sitting, but he was sure that if he could, he would have seen a smile of satisfaction. 'Do you have any questions, Headmaster – or should I say, former Headmaster? The decisions of the Board of Governors are – '

'Treated as law within the context of Hogwarts,' Dumbledore interrupted, his tone calm and conciliatory. 'Law which, of course, could only be overturned by the Ejwent Zehwolt. I know very well, Honoured Mister Malfoy, Honoured Board. No, I do not have any questions. I believe that the Resolution was clear and, ah, well-intentioned: the Army is to withdraw from Hogwarts and be replaced by the original Enforcement Patrol detachment, Hogwarts is not to be evacuated, and I am to…take a sabbatical…from my post as Headmaster, for the time being.'

'For the time being, until further notice,' Lucius said, rather maliciously. 'I trust we will have no more issues, Mister Dumbledore?'

'Naturally, we will not,' Dumbledore answered. 'The Resolution has, after all, been passed by the Board of Governors, whatever the margin and majority by which it had passed may be. I must of course respect such a resolution. I shall collect my personal possessions and depart by the end of the afternoon.'

'We believe that it may be best if you received an escort – '

'You believe wrongly,' Dumbledore interjected with a pleasant smile and agreeable voice, but Harry was sure that nobody in the room could fail to understand that he was setting down a red line. 'There is no need to trouble yourselves. In any case, I hardly believe I will be needing any sort of company to ensure my safety, especially in the quite pleasant destinations to which I will be heading.'

'As you wish then, Mister Dumbledore,' Lucius said, relenting.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed. Does the Board of Governors have any further…decrees…which it seeks to relay? If it does, I suggest that we find a more appropriate venue than the one you have chosen to deliver this one. I would be happy to direct you to my study.'

'The Board has no further resolutions,' Lucius answered. 'Even if we did, as you are no longer the Headmaster, we would not convey them to you, but rather the Interim Headmistress McGonagall. On behalf of the rest of the Board of Governors, I bid you farewell, Mister Dumbledore, and wish you a pleasant departure and comfortable…settlement…wherever you choose to go.'

Lucius Malfoy spun on his heels and strode off out of the Great Hall. The rest of the Board of Governors instinctively made room for him to pass before following him out in a brisk pace.

There was silence as the footsteps of the Board faded. Harry looked around the Gryffindor – and neighbouring – tables. Some students were looking at one another in disbelief, others staring at their food in dazed contemplation. Dumbledore was leaving Hogwarts – or more accurately, had been forced out of Hogwarts – at the precise time when, as Harry thought, at least, he was most needed. He trusted Professor McGonagall, of course, and had faith in her capabilities both as a witch and a teacher, but she was in any case not Albus Dumbledore, whose very presence in the castle gave a sense of security, despite all the petrifications. If even Dumbledore could not prevent students from being petrified, would McGonagall, or whomever the Board may nominate to replace her, have a chance of doing so? There would only be more attacks, Harry thought with dread.

'Are you actually going to leave, Headmaster?' shouted someone from the Hufflepuff table.

'But students are still getting petrified!'

'Things are only going to get worse if you're gone!'

Dumbledore held up a hand, and the Great Hall fell quiet. 'Yes, I will depart,' he confirmed.

Voices rose again, but again, Dumbledore suppressed them. 'As you have heard, the orders of the Board of Governors are to be respected, and any actions to the contrary would only be counterproductive, especially in times like the ones we find ourselves in now. Do not fret. Hogwarts is in capable hands under Professor – now Headmistress – McGonagall, and I am certain that soon, the current situation will be resolved, and Hogwarts will return to what it had been before.'


Harry was not sure what the Board of Governors expected – and from the display Lucius Malfoy put on, also did not desire to know what it expected – but Dumbledore's forced departure from Hogwarts changed nothing at Hogwarts except for deepening the mood of anxiety. If the Board of Governors desired calm at Hogwarts, they had in fact achieved the complete opposite.

'I did not even know the army was here,' Harry overheard Leo, the seventh-year Gryffindor boys' Prefect, say one night to Nina, the seventh-year girls' Prefect. 'Nobody knew, and even if they did, I doubt the army being here would be a cause for panic, anyway. Honestly, the army's at least competent. The Enforcement Patrol can barely nab some small-time crime boss without committing some serious cock-up and calling the Aurors in to clean up after them.'

'I doubt the Enforcement Patrol even bothers with that,' Nina replied. She was sitting with her legs across Leo's lap, her arms around his shoulders, and both were in pyjamas and sipping hot drinks. The image struck Harry as quite comical for an ostensibly serious conversation. 'They'd probably just take the bloke's bribe and leave him alone until they come back to collect next month's sum. You know, I sort of get it. How much are they paid? It's something like thirty Galleons a month. That's barely enough to ensure they have a roof over their heads and food to eat. They'd probably stand to at least double their income by taking bribes instead of doing their actual job. Besides, it's not like the Ministry actually gives a shit about crime, as long as it doesn't get out of hand – and doesn't impact any Venerables.'

'To be fair, much of the army isn't paid that much better,' noted Leo, 'or better trained.'

'The units they form from the Ministry school conscripts, true,' Nina said. 'The Board said Dumbledore deployed the Welsh Infantry to Hogwarts. That's a traditional unit of all career soldiers, and they probably get paid at least five or six times what the Enforcement Patrol gets paid, not to mention they…well…they actually receive training.'

'The conscript units are so ridiculous. What's even the point of them? From what I heard, the only thing those soldiers are qualified for is running straight at the enemy and soaking up spells so that the actual army can advance further. That, and serving as a free labour force.'

'Well, you just said it. That's the point of them. In any case, we'd best stop discussing this openly in the common room. Hogwarts is pretty safe as far as…giving your opinion on things…is concerned, but still, especially now with Dumbledore gone, you don't want to risk getting in trouble with the Department of Mysteries. Come on, let's go upstairs.'

The sun set, the sun rose, and at Hogwarts, everyone, Harry included, tried their hardest not to notice Dumbledore's absence, signified most prominently by the empty chair in the Great Hall. McGonagall did her best to maintain a sense of continuity, to make it seem like nothing had changed with Dumbledore's departure, but Harry was sure that even she knew that her efforts would be in vain.

Dumbledore's departure did not seem to deter the Hogwarts pranker – or more likely, it simply emboldened him or her. Hazel MacTavish was the next victim of a prank that, in comparison to the others, seemed far cruder and lacking in sophistication. During their Herbology practical that week, a Flesh-Eating Slug found its way into her Spiked Bush, a strange occurrence, for such slugs were generally not known to dwell in hot and humid environments like the greenhouses. When discovered, the slug made its irritation known by taking a bite out of Hazel's hand. Professor Sprout quickly dispatched the slug before sending a heavily bleeding and fearfully whimpering Hazel to the Hospital Wing. Harry did feel sorry for her as well as indignation at the pranker, but at the same time, the prank comforted him in a way. It made him feel momentarily like Dumbledore had not left at all.

Every few days, Harry would visit his petrified friends in the Hospital Wing, and each time, he would hope irrationally that they would have somehow miraculously recovered. It was impossible, for the reversal potion would not be ready for at least another month or two, but that knowledge could not stop him from wishing otherwise. He brought fresh plants and flowers from the grounds when the old ones wilted.


It was a long and difficult essay that Professor Ross had assigned, one which forced Harry to work late into the evening to complete. They had nearly completed their unit on muggle history and was about to begin their study of Gellert Grindelwald. Without having given any prescribed readings or lectures, however, Ross had told them to research Grindelwald's ideology and methods, then write an essay about an assigned subtopic, which would then be shared with the class. Unfortunately for Harry and all his classmates, the consequences of the fact that Professor Ross had left them completely on their own manifested themselves in heavy amounts of reading in order to even understand what about they were to write. Of course, that was on top of the other essay she had assigned comparing the Nazis' genocide to the 'settlement-clearing campaigns' launched during the Third Great Tremor, as well as the various other work assigned by the other teachers.

Having researched enough to at least decide his rough outline and write an introduction, Harry decided to pack up for the day. As he returned the last of his books to the shelves, he spotted Lockhart in the main reading area on the lower floor of the library. It was quite late, and besides him, there were only two older students still at work, though both sat quite far removed from him. It had been some while since Harry had last seen him there, long enough for Harry to have wondered whether he had been fruitless in his investigation and had given up. His presence here tonight, at this hour, seemed however to disprove that notion.

Harry approached him, wondering if he had managed to find anything in the weeks that he had been – at least to Harry's knowledge – absent. Lockhart was absorbed in his reading, and he was working his way through the tome at an incredible speed, turning the page two or three times every minute while occasionally scrawling something on a piece of parchment. He did not even look up at Harry as he approached.

Lockhart did not, however, fail to notice him, even without casting a glance in his direction. 'Good evening, Harry Potter,' he addressed quietly as Harry walked up from behind.

Harry could not help but feel surprised and shocked that Lockhart knew that it was him. Lockhart seemed to sense his surprise, too. 'The footsteps I heard were obviously those of a child,' he explained, still not turning around. 'A first, second, maybe an abnormally short third year. Certainly not Filius Flitwick, either, for he walks with a more mature, heavier, and self-assured gait. After the first weeks, students learned not to bother me for trivial reasons, a category which includes nearly all the possible reasons a first- or second-year may have to bother me. By deduction, this narrows your identity to just a small pool of people, from which only one has a motive to approach me while I am reading in the library.'

'H-How could you tell?' Harry stammered. 'Are you using a spell?'

'No,' Lockhart answered. 'What I am using is years of training and experience that no Supersensory Charm can hope to emulate. In a battle, knowing your opponent – physical abilities, thought patterns, habits – makes the difference between life and death. You have a tiny fraction of a second to gather all that information, barely another fraction of a second to make a conclusion about what he or she will do next, and then even less time to counter it. Every corpse on the battlefield is a wizard or witch who was a hair too slow, or thought that they could rely on magical aid instead of their own abilities.'

Lockhart paused before changing the subject. 'Nonetheless, you did not come for a lecture on the precise logic and unforgiving discipline of battle instincts. You are here to ask me about what I have managed to learn. To answer your question, I have learned a lot, but haven't made any breakthroughs.'

'What have you found out, then?' Harry asked.

'There are two main points we know – two leads, let's say – that being petrifications and parseltongue,' Lockhart began. 'In theory, pretty simple. We are confident it is not a wizard or witch directly perpetrating the events, so the petrifications are being caused by a creature of some sort.'

'We know that already,' Harry pointed out.

'I know that we know,' Lockhart said irritably. 'That was our starting point. Now, I set out to find out what creature can one, speak parseltongue, and two, be capable of petrifying people. The problem is, there are none. Cockatrices, for example, are known to have deadly poison and a lethal gaze, but in no records is there any indication of them being capable of petrifying other creatures. Their close cousin, the basilisk, is similar. The Olgoi-Khorkoi has incredible strength and speed, but again, not capable of petrification, and is in any case known to live only in a small region of the Gobi Desert of Mongolia. Again, nothing ground-breaking, and I'm completely certain that Albus Dumbledore has known all this for decades. The fact that he did not act decisively – that is, to do anything directly about the Chamber instead of only imposing curfews and sending in the Army – before his…exile…is proof that he, too, reached a dead end trying to fit together parseltongue and petrification.'

'So that's it? You haven't been able to find out anything new in more than two weeks?' Harry demanded. He knew that he was probably sounding rather insolent, but at the same time, he felt justified in his annoyance. His friends were petrified, yet Lockhart, who was beyond a doubt an incredibly talented and knowledgeable man when it came to such things, and who had essentially promised to get to the bottom of things, had come up empty.

Lockhart had not turned around to look at Harry for all this time, but now, he finally did. The look on his face was something Harry had never seen before. He did not look annoyed or impatient as he often did in lessons, nor did he look focused or fatigued. He was not furious like Snape would have been had Harry said what he had just said to him, nor severe like McGonagall, nor benignly ignoring what he had said like Dumbledore would have. His eyes were not intense nor hard, but for the first time since he had met the man, Harry understood that it was an incredibly dangerous man who was sitting in front of him, one who could, if he wanted to, kill him with the ease of batting away an annoying insect, one who could slaughter dozens with such ease that he would not even break a sweat or get a scratch – and one who probably had done just that. A shiver went down Harry's spine.

'Do you understand at all why I am doing this, Harry Potter?' Lockhart asked in a level – and almost conversational – voice that nonetheless managed to chill Harry's blood even further.

Harry gulped. He could not muster the strength, courage to answer, nor the ability to even think of what to say.

'Let me ask you this question. Imagine you were on a battlefield. Enemies are all around you, and spells, fire, blades, are coming withing inches of your body. What do you think motivates you to advance, walk straight at the enemy?'

Once again, Harry could not speak.

'Do you think it's the love you have for your country, or your devotion to whatever bloody cause you happen to be fighting for?' Lockhart questioned cynically. 'If you answer "yes", you are a naïve fool, a naïve fool who will die to the first enemy he sees. Not one person in that situation gives a flying fuck about those things. The only thing that keeps you going is the simple fact that you will not abandon your comrades. Do you know why? It is very simple, Harry Potter. Time and again in the past they have saved your life, and it a simple matter of honour that you must not run and leave them to their fate, that you must struggle for their sakes. You may even think of it as an exchange. They are looking out for you, and you must pay for it by looking out for them. He who refuses to honour this simple fact not only will end up dead himself, but will bring everyone to the grave with him.'

Harry wondered if being petrified felt like what he was feeling now.

'Now do you see it?' Lockhart asked. 'I am not doing any of this because I fancy myself some noble knight who will ride to the rescue of the children of Hogwarts. If I thought like that, I would have long been dead. The reason is very simple and has nothing to do with meaningless absurdities that those simple enough to put faith in "objective morals" call "valour" or "righteousness". A comrade who once saved my life fell victim to the Chamber of Secrets. It does not matter what I think of her, what she thinks of me, it is simply my duty to now repay that deed by avenging her. So, Potter, if you have any intention to question my devotion to this task, I suggest you do away with it.'

Harry blinked and gave a small, timid nod. He did not need to ask whom Lockhart was repaying – that was quite obvious. He wondered how it had happened, and what Anna had done for him, but he was too scared to inquire further.

Despite this, Harry could hear Lockhart's conviction, his true belief in his duty. It was something that gave Harry confidence, and made him feel quite impressed at the man. From everyone, he had heard that Lockhart was, at best, a man with a suspicious past and questionable morality, but it was plainly evident that in fact, he was guided by his own strong sense of right and wrong.

'I want to help,' Harry said with determination and faith that surprised himself. 'What can I do?'

His words had surprised Lockhart, who raised an eyebrow. 'You want to help me?'

Harry nodded. 'I do,' he answered. 'I want to get to the bottom of this, too. Find out who opened the Chamber, who's been petrifying people. I…well…my friends who've been petrified helped me last year, saved me from…from danger. I have to help them now, too, like…like you said.'

Lockhart thought for a few short moments. 'Very well,' he said, taking Harry by surprise with the ease with which he agreed – he had expected several rounds of back-and-forth as would have been the case with someone like Dumbledore. 'There are some things which you can probably do better than I can.'

'What should I do, then? Should I research – '

'No. This conversation has proved to me that more research will get us nowhere,' Lockhart interrupted, slamming the book he was holding shut with a loud and decisive clap. 'What we need to do now is take more indirect action. We won't try to find the Chamber and "close" it, so to speak. We need to find out who's behind all this and exploit him or her to lead us to it.'

'Okay… Where do I come into this? What can I do that you can't?'

'One thing makes you useful,' Lockhart replied. 'It's the fact that you're a student. Unlike me, you can cast a wide net, have eyes and ears all over the castle at every moment, everywhere. You can be in every common room at once, you can keep track of what is happening in every classroom, every corridor, even every lavatory if you so desire. I, meanwhile, am at best restricted to the staff, and currently, not even that. In short, you are at a great advantage over me when it comes to gathering information.'

Harry thought about this for a moment, and one glaring issue stuck out to him. 'But Professor,' he objected. 'I can't be in so many places at once.'

'Of course you can't,' Lockhart said, sounding exasperated. 'I am not asking you to be in fifty places at once. I am asking you to recruit your friends, have them recruit their friends. You need to build a network of informers, people who gather information and then pass it on to you. You need not tell them what for – and you should not – but you should tell them to keep an eye out for any odd behaviour and report anything they see to you. Cast a wide enough net, and it will only be a matter of time before the perpetrator is trapped in it.'

Once again, Harry saw a major problem with Lockhart's plan. 'I don't have that many friends,' Harry admitted, a little sheepishly. 'I mean, what you're asking me to do…it doesn't seem like something you can trust just anyone with, and right now…I don't really have very many people I can trust left.'

Lockhart, however, did not seem perturbed by this latest protest. 'What's the problem?' he questioned. 'You don't need to be best friends with someone to ask them to do something, and you don't need to trust someone with your plans to get them to do some basic information gathering. All you're doing is asking them to keep an eye out for anything strange, anything they'd notice otherwise, anyway. It'd be a perfectly normal-sounding thing to do, especially in times like these – and considering who you are.'

'I…uh…how do I do that?' Harry asked, his throat dry from his discomfort at what he was being asked to accomplish. 'How do I get people I barely talk to…to help me? And for that matter, even people who I do know? And should I tell anyone about what I'm doing? If so, who?'

'I am not here to coach you in social interactions,' Lockhart groused. 'The only thing I will tell you is to use and trust your own judgement, because to give you explicit and rigid instructions in a constantly changing situation is ridiculous. Everything is for you to figure out – and I believe you will, if you really are as serious and committed as I sense you are.'


Harry was used to clear and, as Lockhart may put it, rigid instructions, be it from Dumbledore, McGonagall, or even his friends. As such, he had initially no idea what to do with Lockhart's vague – or rather, near-complete lack of support in how he might accomplish the task. It made sense, of course, for Lockhart to do so, since after all, his entire Defence Against the Dark Arts class had emphasised the importance of making decisions in the moment, but some instructions for Harry's first foray into information-gathering would have been highly welcome.

Luckily, despite Harry's uncertainties, Tracey readily agreed to the plan. He wondered also whether to inform Tracey of his plans, and after some thought, decided to do so. He perceived little danger of Tracey betraying him. Plus, just as Lockhart had to rely on him to spread a net to keep watch around Hogwarts for lack of the ability to do so personally, he had to in turn rely on Tracey to do so in the Slytherin House. Given that the Chamber of Secrets was, after all, opened by a Prince of Slytherin, it may be useful for Tracey to recruit eyes of her own.

'I'll try my best to recruit some people,' Tracey told him. 'I doubt the perpetrator could be anyone younger than a seventh-year, and I have a few sixth- and seventh-year acquaintances through mum and dad who might be able to help keep an eye on things. I'll keep a closer eye out for anything that might be odd myself, too.'

Asking for Tracey's help was, of course, the easiest his task was going to get. Neville and Hermione's absence especially let itself be felt now, for they had not been petrified, he would have had already two people ready to help him, but also two people to whom he could delegate the difficult task of recruiting more 'eyes'. No doubt they would have had a good number of connections in the other Houses through their participation in clubs, connections which would have made everything far easier, not to mention quicker.

For more than two days after asking for Tracey's assistance, Harry anguished over how to recruit more people. He wondered to himself what he should say – would it suffice to simply ask? What if they grew suspicious and asked after what he was trying to do? He would not tell some random classmate what he was up to, would he? How would he respond to the prying, brush it off, yet still not cause the person he was asking to refuse to work with him?

In the end, Harry decided that further rumination was going to simply waste more time – and he had wasted enough already. A difference of one or two days might well mean that an attack they may have prevented would take place, and another student would fall victim to petrification. As Lockhart might tell him, there were times for careful planning and times for action, and this was most certainly a case of the latter.

He decided to begin with the people he already knew, and just like the case of Tracey, things turned out to be far simpler than the scenarios he had constructed for himself in his mind. Dean, Lavender, and Seamus took no convincing to see the sense in what Harry was proposing, and agreed immediately to serve as lookouts. Justin Finch-Fletchley, whom he knew better than most in Hufflepuff thanks to their frequent, if incidental, cooperation in Defence Against the Dark Arts, also agreed. Though he did ask a few questions, none of them trod on the uncomfortable ground for which Harry had prepared himself in the days prior.

A few days later, he even managed to enlist the help of Ron and his friends, who were, after all, relatively popular within the year despite – or perhaps because of – their annoying tendencies. As Lockhart said, Harry did not have to like them to use their value as sources of information. Tracey, meanwhile, had been doing work of her own. Through her, they gained the cooperation of Anthony Goldstein, who had apparently been annoyingly eager to share his own theories about the Chamber of Secrets before agreeing to help.

'He kept telling me that the Chamber of Secrets had to be related to the Bloody Baron,' Tracey had complained.

'The Bloody Baron?' Harry asked, confused. 'Who's that?'

'He's a…uh…rather famous Slytherin from the times of the founders,' Tracey explained. 'Famous for all the wrong reasons.'

'Dark magic?' Harry asked, intrigued – could Anthony Goldstein actually have been onto something?

'No, nothing of the sort,' Tracey answered. 'He was…he was just a foul man. He was…I think it's called a warlord. He commanded a small group of soldiers and liked to raid, plunder, and destroy – he didn't care if it was muggles, wizards, even the royalty – this was before the Statute, of course. He also had a long relationship with Helena Ravenclaw – Rowena's daughter – but he was…uh…horrible to her. They say he beat her…was always drinking Firewhiskey… One day, Helena ran away and took their daughter with her. Eventually, the Baron sobered up, got to his senses, and tried to find them. Their daughter found refuge in France with some cult and never came back, but Helena…the Baron found her in the Byzantine Empire.'

'And?'

'And…they both disappeared,' Tracey answered grimly. 'Nobody knows how. Some say they reconciled and left, somewhere far, far away – beyond Persia. Others believe that Helena died of a curse cast by another wizard, and the Baron took his own life in grief and shame. Yet others think that they died fighting one another, and some others say that the Baron never actually found Helena at all.'

Harry exhaled. 'Oh…that's…dark…'

Tracey gave a small nod. 'It is, but I doubt the Baron would've had any connection to the Chamber of Secrets. It just doesn't fit with…how he lived his life.'

After recruiting so many helpers, Harry thought momentarily that he had accomplished his task. The feeling was, however, temporary, as he quickly realised that he had no sources of information about the upper-years – which, if Orville was correct in his analysis, was the most likely source of any 'Heirs of Slytherin' hiding among the students. The trouble was, though, that Harry did not know very many older students. Without many options available to him, he asked for Fred and George's assistance, and thankfully, they agreed to do so with only minimal teasing – even they understood the seriousness of the situation when it came time for them to be mature, it seemed. Tracey also showed her value yet again, finding a useful source of information in the Prefects – he should have thought of that sooner, Harry thought to himself, for it was their job, after all, to help the students and protect their welfare.

With the Prefects on board, Harry felt rather satisfied that he had cast his net wide enough, and he supposed that now, all there was left to do was to wait for information to come in, information that would lead him straight to the Chamber of Secrets. Reality, however, proved disappointing – and annoying. Information did, as he had hoped, immediately begin to roll in, but he found that nearly all of it composed of clearly irrelevant and worthless rubbish – the absence of a student from class, for example, which turned out to be little more than said student engaging in a private encounter in some secluded part of the Hogwarts castle. The few leads that seemed promising at first, too, all led to mundane dead ends.

More than a week after the first informants – excluding Tracey – were recruited, Harry had painfully little progress to show for his efforts – or in more direct terms, no progress at all. When, the next Thursday, after a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson in which Harry had made surprisingly considerable progress at sword-work, even managing to hold his own for nearly half a minute against Lockhart himself, the Professor stopped him to ask after his findings, Harry could only embarrassedly admit that he had, in fact, found out absolutely nothing of value.

Lockhart, however, did not fault Harry for the lack of progress – though he did not sound conciliatory, either. 'Normal,' he said with a shrug of his shoulders in response. 'When you're running an operation like this, you hear a lot of worthless things. Useful information is like finding a needle in a haystack. You have to be very patient, but you also need to be able to recognise the needle when you find it.'

And so, Harry was patient – but it was no relaxed waiting. Especially at the beginning, Harry and Tracey found themselves following every tip-off he received, something which ate up incredible amounts of their time. As time passed, however, they became better at ascertaining the value of information with a relatively brief initial 'glance', a skill which enabled them to pick and choose which leads might be worth pursuing, and what might be simply another gossip story worthy only of small talk in the Great Hall and the Common Rooms, significantly lightening their work and time investment.

Another week passed, and a breakthrough clue still did not come. The lack of progress still irritated Harry, for he grew excited whenever anyone came with new information, only for that excitement to then be immediately deflated once he quickly realised that the tidings were useless. Slowly, though, he began to come to terms with it. Intelligence-gathering, as Lockhart called it, seemed to him somewhat like learning the Mind Arts – the breakthrough would come when it did, and trying to rush things would simply lead to worse results, something he was not willing to risk, for unlike his Mind Arts lessons, there could be lives at stake.

Just like Mind Arts, the breakthrough would come unexpectedly from an expected situation. Just like Mind Arts, the breakthrough would take the form of something Harry did not expect. Just like Mind Arts, the breakthrough would seemingly mark the beginning of a whole new series of ordeals.