Chapter Seventeen: Back to the Chamber
With a groan, Harry picked himself up off the floor and attempted to dust himself off, scowling as he examined his now slime-covered robes.
"Allow me, Harry," offered Dumbledore, who proceeded to vanish the muck from Harry's body and clothing.
"Thanks," said Harry, igniting the tip of his wand to better see their surroundings.
The place hadn't changed since the last time he'd been there. The stone walls were still damp and covered with slime, which is what previously led him and Ron to believe that the pipe had taken them all the way under the lake.
"I must say, that was quite the thrilling ride," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "For future reference, Arresto Momentum is a handy spell, if you wish to slow yourself down before reaching the bottom."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," replied Harry.
The two of them made their way through the dark tunnel, until they finally came to the section blocked off by the collapsed ceiling — the result of Lockhart's backfiring Memory Charm. The small hole that Ron had dug out for him and Ginny to get through was no longer visible, though Harry suspected he would have long since outgrown it anyway.
"The Chamber isn't far from here; we just need to get past this cave-in," said Harry.
"Yes, this is quite the conundrum," the headmaster replied thoughtfully. "Do you have any suggestions?"
Harry turned his head towards Professor Dumbledore in surprise, but then realised that the professor was likely using the opportunity for their next lesson.
"Well, I suppose we could just vanish the rocks," he answered after a moment, "but I'm a little worried it'll just cave in again. I don't suppose Reparo is an option here, is it?"
"I am afraid not, at least not in any permanent sense," confirmed Dumbledore. "The Mending Charm has a wide variety of applications, but at its essence, the spell involves returning a damaged object to its unbroken state. I do not believe that the ceiling of a cave constitutes an 'object', meaning that even if Reparo could return the fallen rocks to their rightful place, the spell would be unlikely to hold for any length of time."
"I suppose that would've been too easy," muttered Harry. "What if we transfigured the rocks into an archway? Or maybe even a column to support the caved-in ceiling?"
"Ah, an excellent idea," praised Dumbledore. "Have you learned of a particular spell that would achieve what you have described?"
"Actually, no," he replied after a moment's thought.
"I thought not, which — believe it or not — actually suits my purpose," said the headmaster. Moving into lecture mode, he continued, "As I am sure you have realised from your work on nonverbal casting, a spell's incantation merely acts as a set of instructions to guide our magic."
"Yeah, Sirius said something similar."
"Excellent! Now, part of what makes Transfiguration such a difficult subject is that in order to progress beyond a certain level, one must let go of the notion that every act of transfiguration requires its own dedicated spell."
"It doesn't?"
"Consider how many different objects and animals exist in our world today," Dumbledore instructed him. "Having a dedicated spell for each possible transformation would require a near infinite number of incantations. Obviously, this is neither possible nor practical," he went on to say. "Knowing that, how would you suggest we proceed without having a proper incantation?"
"By using our intent to tell our magic what to do," Harry answered hesitantly, recalling Sirius's earlier lessons.
"Precisely!" said Dumbledore. "I rather like your suggestion, but instead of making just one column, let us each make one of our own. You may make use the rocks on the righthand side, and I shall take those on the left."
Harry nodded his agreement, but what was being asked of him was well outside of his comfort zone. The last thing he wanted was to make a mistake and bring the entire cave down on top of them. Dumbledore must have sensed his hesitation, because he turned to Harry with a kindly smile to offer some words of encouragement.
"Confidence is the key, Harry. You have more than enough magic and determination to complete the task. Simply visualise what you want to happen, and then guide your magic as it carries out your will."
Closing his eyes, Harry pictured his half of the rock pile coalescing into a single column reaching from the floor all the way to the ceiling. He called forth his magic, allowing it to well up inside of him as he opened his eyes and raised his wand.
Slowly but surely, the rocks began to move, arranging themselves just as Harry had visualised, moulding together like pieces of clay being shaped by a child's hands before re-solidifying into a solid stone pillar.
Still breathing a little heavily due to sustained magical exertion, Harry stood back to appreciate his work. His column, at nearly two feet in diameter and climbing all the way to the ceiling, could have easily been mistaken for a natural cave formation. He was feeling rather proud of himself, until he turned to his left and saw Dumbledore standing before a Greek-style column that looked as if it could have been transported there directly from the Parthenon.
"You just had to show off, didn't you, sir?" Harry said cheekily, prompting a hearty laugh from Professor Dumbledore.
"I admit to having been accused of such in the past," confessed the professor. "A consequence of my tendency to educate, combined with a natural flair for the dramatic. Shall we press on?"
Harry and Professor Dumbledore passed between the two columns, stopping only briefly to examine the shed basilisk skin curled up on the floor. They followed the tunnel through several twists and turns — the journey was actually much longer than Harry remembered — until they finally came to a solid wall, the surface of which was completely smooth, unlike the tunnel walls.
Carved into the dark stone wall were two entwined serpents, richly detailed, with enormous glittering emeralds set into their eyes. Harry stopped, and all of a sudden, he was a scared, twelve-year-old boy again, standing just outside a room that he knew contained one of the deadliest monsters known to wizardkind, with the life of his best friend's sister hanging in the balance.
"Are you all right, Harry?"
"Yeah," he replied, shaking off the unpleasant reminiscence. "Sorry, it's just…bad memories."
"I understand," said Dumbledore kindly. "Take as much time as you need."
Taking a deep breath, Harry concentrated on the carved snakes and tried to picture them as living serpents. In the back of his mind, he could feel the sensation he experienced in Dumbledore's office. Latching onto that feeling, he spoke the necessary command.
"Open."
A faint line suddenly formed in the middle of the wall before widening into a crack, and the two emerald-eyed serpents parted as each half of the wall slid smoothly out of sight, revealing the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Dumbledore was the first to enter, becoming only the fourth human in centuries to see the inside of Salazar Slytherin's hidden chamber. Harry followed closely behind him, taking in the details of the Chamber he had missed during his prior visit.
One thing that had not changed was the overall eeriness of the place. Two rows of towering stone pillars lined either side of the Chamber, all of them covered in carved stone snakes similar to those on the outside door, only without the emeralds. There was a low, greenish glow emanating from an unknown source, providing just enough light to see while still leaving the ceiling cloaked in darkness.
Normally, the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end of the Chamber would command the majority of any visitors' attention. However, even the exceedingly rare likeness of one of the most famous wizards in history was easily overshadowed by the presence of the preposterously large, but definitely dead basilisk taking up a large portion of the floorspace.
"Harry…I find that I lack the appropriate words to describe what I am feeling," Dumbledore said quietly, as he examined the basilisk's head. "While I did not doubt your description of the beast's size, actually seeing it…" Shaking his head, the professor turned back to Harry. "To think that you came to this place — alone, and at twelve years old — only to defy all odds and defeat both Slytherin's monster and a version of Lord Voldemort, all whilst saving another student…"
"I'd rather forget all about it, to be honest," replied Harry.
In fact, now that he was standing in the Chamber once more, part of him wished they hadn't even come. When he looked at the basilisk, he couldn't help but picture it racing towards him with its fangs bared. For the first time in years, he recalled the excruciating pain of the monster's venom spreading from the wound in his arm, and the fear that accompanied the realisation that he was about to die.
"Sir…do you know…has Ginny ever talked to anyone about what happened down here?"
"I am unsure," admitted Dumbledore. "Are you concerned about how the ordeal may have affected her?"
"Maybe," Harry replied with a shrug. "I've just realised that once it was all over, none of us ever really talked much about it — me included. If anyone needed to talk about it, though, it would be Ginny. She was the one possessed by Voldemort on and off for most of the year."
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. "I am ashamed to admit that I did not give much thought to Miss Weasley's care, once her physical well-being was addressed," he said contritely. "I shall speak to Arthur and Molly about it at the earliest opportunity. Miss Weasley may, however, be more receptive to speaking to you about what occurred."
"Yeah, maybe…I'm not really sure how to bring it up, though. I'll think about it."
"Very well," replied Dumbledore, with a slight bow. "Are you still amenable to completing our designated undertaking?"
"Of course," agreed Harry, as he looked around the Chamber. "I haven't felt anything since we've been down here, though."
"Nor have I, but we shall do our due diligence nonetheless."
Nearly an hour later, they were both confident and disappointed in the knowledge that Voldemort had not hidden a Horcrux within the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore even conjured a tall ladder, allowing him to climb up to the gaping hole where the mouth of Slytherin's statue should have been, yet even a quick investigation of the basilisk's den yielded no results.
"So, I guess we cross the Chamber of Secrets off the list of potential hiding places," Harry said finally.
"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "While I am not surprised, I must confess to being somewhat disappointed."
"Me too. After everything you showed me about him, I can't help but feel like he would have left one somewhere in Hogwarts, if he had the chance."
"I am inclined to agree with you. The castle holds many secrets, and it would not surprise me to learn that Tom had discovered several that have otherwise remained lost."
He hated to admit it, but Dumbledore made a good point. It was his fifth year at Hogwarts, and Harry still managed to stumble across previously unknown areas with astonishing regularity. One of them, he even visited practically every day. Aside from the elves, and the few others with whom he'd shared the secret, Harry was fairly certain that nobody else in the castle had even heard of the Room of Requirement…
The Room of Requirement!
Harry's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets; how had he never thought of it before? Voldemort may not have had time to visit the Chamber when he visited the castle under the guise of a job interview, but it wouldn't have been much trouble to swing by the seventh floor on his way to or from the headmaster's office.
"What is it, Harry?"
"I might have another idea, sir," he replied vaguely, uncertain whether he was ready give Dumbledore the secret of the Room. "I'm not sure, though. Let me check on it, and I'll let you know."
"Harry, if it is something dangerous…"
"I won't do anything dangerous, I promise," he interrupted. "I just want to check out another potential hiding spot. I'll come get you if I think there's a chance we'll find a Horcrux."
"Very well, then. I shall trust your judgment," replied Dumbledore, though he seemed unconvinced. "While we are here," he said, shifting topics, "I ask that you suffer through another brief lesson, if you are willing."
Harry snorted and gestured for the headmaster to continue.
"How adept would you say that you are at conjuration?"
"We haven't done much of it in class, but I haven't had much trouble so far."
"No less than I expected," replied Dumbledore. "Conjuration is, of course, a form of transfiguration. As such, it follows similar rules to those we discussed out in the tunnel."
"You mean how all the different spells aren't really necessary?"
"Precisely," confirmed Dumbledore. "Whilst learning, some people do experience greater success using a non-specific incantation, Conjurus, while concentrating on what they wish to appear. You may do so as well, if you wish, but I urge you not to rely on it for long."
"Okay…what do you want me to conjure?"
"Anything will do, as far as this particular demonstration is concerned."
With a shrug, Harry pictured his chosen object clearly in his mind and muttered, "Conjurus."
A red Quaffle suddenly appeared in mid-air before dropping to the ground and bouncing off of the Chamber floor.
"Well done!" said Dumbledore approvingly. "This time, I would like for you to conjure a stone block — granite or marble would be my suggestion. The block should be approximately one foot across in either direction, but no more than a few inches deep."
It took Harry a bit longer to properly visualise the stone that Dumbledore requested, but he had no trouble with the spell itself. The headmaster looked at him with a satisfied look on his face as the chunk of granite crashed into the floor and broke into several pieces.
"Outstanding work, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore. "You have just taken an important step in learning to defend against the Unforgivable Curses."
"Sir?"
"While completely avoiding them is, of course, preferable, it is not always possible," explained the professor. "The Unforgivable Curses cannot be shielded against, but they can be blocked using physical objects. Here," he said, taking out his wand, "try intercepting my spell using conjuration."
Harry barely had a chance to get his wand out before Dumbledore's Stinging Hex hit him in his upper chest. He hissed in pain and rubbed the spot where the spell connected, glaring back at the headmaster in annoyance. It was definitely going to leave a welt.
"You will need to be much faster than that, Harry," remarked Dumbledore, raising his wand a second time.
Harry was actually able to pull off the conjuration this time, but he still wasn't fast enough to block the spell, leading to a second welt on his chest. He eventually found success on his fifth try, after which Dumbledore mercifully called an end to their lesson.
"Outstanding work, once again," Dumbledore said cheerily.
"Tell that to my chest," Harry grumbled in response.
"Learning to heal minor injuries is another worthwhile pursuit," replied the headmaster, who again directed his wand at Harry. "Observe — Episkey."
The relief was immediate. "Thanks," he said, gingerly rubbing his chest.
"Intercepting spells with conjured items is an extremely advanced skill; one which you must be able to perform without thinking. Unforgivable Curses are far more powerful and will almost certainly destroy your conjuration," explained Dumbledore. "The further away from your body you intercept the spell, the less likely you are to be injured by shrapnel, thus the importance of practicing both your speed and accuracy."
"I'll work on it," promised Harry.
"I know that you will," he replied. "There are myriad uses for conjuration and transfiguration in duelling, as long as one is sufficiently skilled and creative enough to make use of them. Do not be afraid to use the environment to your advantage."
Harry nodded. Professor Dumbledore had given him a lot to think about. Up until then, he had thought of duelling as little more than trading spells and trying to overpower or outmanoeuvre your opponent. Dumbledore's advice had opened up a whole new avenue for Harry to explore, and he intended to do so at the earliest opportunity.
"I believe it is about time for us to make our return," said Dumbledore. Taking a final look at the basilisk, he added, "Would you care to do anything with the remains? I daresay the skin and fangs at the very least would fetch you a fair number of Galleons."
"I…don't know," Harry replied haltingly. "I've never really thought about it."
"No need to decide right now. The basilisk is remarkably well-preserved — part of the magic of the Chamber, I suspect. If you do decide to do something with it, simply let me know and I shall assist you in making the proper arrangements."
"I will. Thank you, sir."
"Not at all," replied Dumbledore. "Now, if you would be so kind as to lead us to the exit…"
"Er —" Harry started, suddenly realising the flaw in their plan. "Last time, Fawkes just flew us back up the pipe. I'm not sure how else to get out. We probably should've brought brooms with us."
"No matter," chuckled Dumbledore. "I am sure Fawkes can be persuaded to assist us once again."
With that, Harry and Dumbledore backtracked their way to the pipe that brought them there. Fortunately for them, Fawkes did indeed consent to giving them a ride back up to the castle, though not without an air of smugness.
After exiting Myrtle's domain, Dumbledore took his leave and left Harry to his own devices. Without the distraction of surprise O.W.L. examinations and trips to secret chambers, the memory of Amos Diggory's open letter rushed back to the front of his mind. Still not prepared to deal with the school's reaction, Harry went straight to the Room of Requirement and remained there until curfew, his only other interaction being with Dobby, when he asked the elf to help him get something to eat.
Much later, he returned to the common room under his Invisibility Cloak. Ron and Hermione were both waiting up for him again, but Harry was far too tired to explain everything he'd done that day, so he went straight to the dorm and pulled the curtains around his four-poster bed.
Unfortunately, sleep eluded him for much of the night. This time, however, instead of focusing on his own plight, Harry's thoughts were turned towards the Diggorys. Umbridge writing to them as she did was both incredibly cruel and self-serving, and she had done it to get to Harry. The fact that nobody had told Cedric's parents exactly what happened to him was a source of discomfort as well, which led to Harry quietly leaving his bunk and returning with a quill and parchment. Even though had personally told them some of what happened, in the hospital wing the morning after, he felt the Diggorys deserved to hear the full story, and they deserved to hear it from him.
Harry spent the next hour writing out a heartfelt apology to Mr. and Mrs. Diggory for the loss of their son. He went into detail about his interactions with Cedric over the course of the year: the way they helped each other, their burgeoning respect for one another, and even how Harry had grown to consider the older boy a friend. Painful though it may have been, Harry gave them a complete accounting of the third task and Cedric's eventual demise as a result of Wormtail's Killing Curse.
He closed the letter with an offer to meet in person and answer any and all of their questions. When he was done, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and was finally able to fall asleep.
oOoOoOo
The rest of that week was very difficult for Harry, with him finding it somewhat reminiscent of the fallout following his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. On Tuesday morning, he received a slew of hate mail from complete strangers during breakfast. While not entirely unexpected, it had certainly been disheartening.
The only bit of good news was a reply from Reginald Cartwright, who had agreed to meet with him in Hogsmeade the following Saturday. The solicitor had assured Harry that he was willing to take up his case, and in fact he had already been in touch with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, confirming his client's willingness to cooperate with any inquiries.
Fortunately, he had Flitwick and McGonagall for his morning classes the next day, so there wasn't much trouble with the other students, and instead of having lunch in the Great Hall, he brought Ron and Hermione down to the kitchens so he could fill them in his latest adventure with Professor Dumbledore. Both of his friends were fascinated by the tale — particularly Hermione, who did a fairly adequate job of hiding her jealously over Harry getting to take one of his O.W.L.s early.
There were a few nasty comments from the Slytherins during Care of Magical Creatures, but with neither Malfoy nor Nott eager to confront him directly, it wasn't as bad as Harry had been expecting. Sadly, Professor Sprout was a little cold to him during Herbology, as were the other Hufflepuffs. Ernie had at least come by to offer his support, though Harry noted that he did so in a far less conspicuous fashion than he had the prior occasion.
Wednesday came and went in a similar fashion, but Thursday dawned with Harry beginning to feel some anxiety that his O.W.L. result had yet to arrive. He was scheduled to have Defence that afternoon, and he didn't see how he could survive another lesson with Umbridge without succumbing to the temptation to curse her.
When the post owls came and went without delivering anything more than another round of hate mail, Harry made the decision to skive off Umbridge's class anyway, regardless of what Dumbledore had told him. Of course, having to put up with Snape and the rest of the Slytherins for ninety minutes did little to improve his mood.
Harry made it a point to be one of the first to enter the classroom, allowing him and Ron to grab a table in the back corner — there was no way he was going to let Malfoy or Nott behind him again. Unfortunately, Professor Snape had other plans for him.
"Potter, you will be sitting up front today," drawled Snape, pointing to a single-person table set right next to the professor's desk.
Ron gave him a sympathetic look as he grabbed his bag and marched to the front of the classroom. Harry's table faced the rest of the class, so he was able to clearly see Malfoy smirking at him from the back of the room. He also made brief eye contact with Daphne, who flashed him an amused look before quickly switching back to her usual detached expression.
"Today, you will be completing your Strengthening Solution," Snape instructed the class. "You have ninety minutes; instructions are on the board. Carry on," he said, and then turned to address Harry.
"Potter, you will be starting your potion today, and I expect you to complete it on your own time before Monday's class — you are not absolved of your responsibilities simply because the headmaster chooses to coddle you."
Harry nodded his understanding without saying a word, but then Snape swooped down in front of him and leaned over his table.
"I know you were responsible for what happened to Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott," the professor said in a dangerous tone.
"I have no idea what you're talking about…sir," Harry replied emotionlessly.
"Insolent boy!" spat Snape. "I could drag the truth from your mind in seconds, had the headmaster not expressly forbidden me from doing so," he continued, making Harry's eyes widen slightly. "You may think you're untouchable, Potter, but one day, Dumbledore won't be there to protect you, and I desperately hope I am there when it happens."
"Join the club," Harry ground out, his temper starting to flare. "Wait…you already did that, didn't you? You have matching tattoos and everything."
Snape's eyes bulged with rage. For a moment Harry thought the man was going to draw his wand on him, but then the professor seemed to suddenly remember he was in a room full of witnesses.
"You have no idea of what you speak," hissed Snape. "How very like your father you are; always thinking you know everything, when in reality, you understand nothing."
"I'm aware that there's plenty I don't understand, sir," replied Harry, allowing his voice to carry a bit more. "For starters, why my muggle aunt says she knows you."
Snape's already pale face whitened at Harry's remark. A couple of nearby Slytherins audibly gasped, and Harry could tell from the look exchanged between Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis that the rest of their House would soon find out what Harry had said.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for your impertinent questions," growled Snape. "One more word, and I will see you in detention for the rest of the term."
With an extraordinary effort, Harry turned away from Professor Snape without retorting, or even acknowledging his admonishment. Instead, he simply went to gather his ingredients and set to work on his potion. He caught Snape staring at him once or twice out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise the man ignored him for the rest of the period — which, as far as Harry was concerned, was a drastic improvement over their normal dynamic.
Once he had finished with that day's steps, Harry slowly cleaned up his station until class was finally dismissed. With one last glance at his simmering potion, which he half-expected Snape to sabotage while he was gone, Harry followed the rest of his Gryffindor classmates out of the classroom and into the corridor. He turned around once and saw Malfoy glaring daggers at the back of his head, but he was far enough behind them that Harry wasn't concerned.
"What was that you said to Snape that got the Slytherins all worked up," asked Ron, as they came up the stairs to the central area of the castle.
"Oh, I just mentioned how my Aunt Petunia said she knew Snape."
"It's definitely an odd coincidence, but why would that get anyone worked up?" asked Hermione.
"Some pure-bloods look down on anyone who associates with muggles," answered Neville, stepping up to walk alongside the others.
"And most of the ones who do look down on people like that are probably in Slytherin," added Ron.
"Snape isn't a common wizarding name, so he's probably a half-blood," shrugged Neville. "A lot of pure-bloods would overlook that knowing he's fully embraced being a wizard — even Slytherins — but rumours that he still associates with muggles could damage Snape's reputation with his House."
"How ridiculous," said Hermione irritably, but Neville simply shrugged again.
They were spared from Hermione going into full lecture mode by a group of Ravenclaws intersecting their path from an adjacent hallway.
"Hey, stranger," called a familiar voice.
He turned and saw Astoria smiling at him hesitantly. She was walking with her friend Ethan, whose expression turned sour as soon as he saw Harry. Felicity wasn't with them, so he assumed they had just come from Arithmancy class.
Harry peeled off from the group to go talk to her, while the rest of his friends kept walking — Ron subtly giving him an awkward thumbs-up as they went.
"You go on ahead, I'll catch up later," Harry heard her say he approached, though she didn't see the brown-haired boy sneer at him before storming off in the other direction.
"Hi," said Harry, as soon as he reached her.
"Hi — I haven't seen you lately."
"Yeah, sorry about that," he replied sheepishly, cringing inwardly at the realisation that they hadn't spoken since Monday morning. "I promise I haven't been avoiding you — not on purpose, at least. With everything going on, I've had to steer clear of Umbridge, and I guess I've done too good a job."
"Well…I suppose I can forgive you. Just this once though," she replied, flashing a grin to let him know she wasn't really mad at him. "How are you going to keep avoiding Umbridge? Don't you have to attend her class?"
Checking that no one else was within earshot, Harry leaned in and said quietly, "Don't tell anyone yet, but I took my Defence O.W.L. on Monday."
"Really?" she asked, clearly surprised. "And that means you don't have to take the class any longer?"
"Sort of," replied Harry. "Assuming I passed, I can withdraw as soon as I receive my results."
"And how long will that be?"
"I was hoping they'd arrive this morning, but no such luck," Harry replied, with a touch of annoyance. "I can't go back there, though… I don't really trust myself to deal with her today," he added darkly.
"What are you going to do, then?"
"Just not go, I suppose," he shrugged. "Hopefully I'll get my O.W.L. results tomorrow and it'll all work out."
"I hope you're right," said Astoria, not sounding quite as confident as Harry. "Anyhow, I'm glad I ran into you," she continued, her eyes flitting down the corridor. "I was wondering if you wanted to eat dinner together tonight. It's just that we haven't been able to talk much since our…since Saturday," she added quickly.
"Er — yeah…yeah, that'd be great," agreed Harry.
"Great! Nothing fancy or anything," she clarified, "just in the Great Hall. I'll come sit at your table — my friends mean well, but I don't entirely trust them at the moment."
Harry laughed. He'd been studiously avoiding the Great Hall for most of the week, but he didn't think one meal would hurt. Besides, it wasn't like he could stay away forever.
"That sounds fine — I'll be sure to save you a seat," he grinned.
"I can't wait," she smiled back. "I have to go, but I'll see you this evening. By then, I may even have some news to share on the plan we talked about on Monday."
"Really? That's great," he said excitedly.
"I'll tell you everything later — 'bye, Harry," Astoria said finally, before heading off.
"See you," he replied with a small wave, and then hustled off to catch up with his friends.
oOoOoOo
"I really hope you don't get in trouble," said Hermione, as they entered the Great Hall for dinner. "Honestly, Harry, could you not have just stuck it out for one more day?"
"No, I really don't think I could've," sighed Harry, already tired of defending his decision to skip Defence that afternoon.
"Yeah, don't you think he'd be in more trouble if he duelled Umbridge in the middle of class?" Ron chimed in.
"Don't be so dramatic, Ronald. Harry would never challenge a professor to a duel, and certainly not during class," scoffed Hermione.
"Can't say the thought hasn't occurred to me," muttered Harry, scanning the Great Hall for any sign of Astoria while Hermione huffed in disapproval.
"Well from what I've seen, Umbridge wouldn't stand a chance if he did," Neville remarked quietly.
"You've got that right," agreed Ron, slapping Harry on the back. "I mean, we're all loads better than before and we still can't take him, even three-on-one."
"Maybe one day," Harry replied cheekily.
Ron hadn't been wrong, though — all of them had improved by quite a bit, especially considering they had only been at it for a few weeks. Neville's confidence had been slowly building, Hermione's technique was fundamentally flawless, and Ginny could be surprisingly vicious in a duel. Harry hadn't yet had a chance to speak with the youngest Weasley about what happened in the Chamber, but he had at least added it to his ever-growing list of things to do.
Being in their seventh year, Fred and George easily managed most of what Harry had been willing to show them. As one would expect, they also worked extraordinarily well together and their duelling styles showcased their creative flair — something which Harry had paid extra attention to during their last session, especially in light of Dumbledore's suggestion to use transfiguration and conjuration against his opponents.
As well as everyone had done, Harry had been the most impressed by Ron. His best mate had never been particularly studious, but in the Room, he was demonstrating a sense of focus and resolve that the others could hardly compete with. He rarely joked during their sessions and worked hard on mastering that day's spell or techniques, only reverting to his usual self once they were done.
As much as Harry enjoyed practicing with the Gryffindors, however, he personally got more out of his sessions with Daphne. The elder Greengrass sister was arguably the most skilled of Harry's duelling partners, but what really set her apart was her willingness to dive into more questionable magics, and her corresponding lack of judgment when Harry did the same.
While he had little room to talk, Harry did have to admit that there had been a few occasions where he'd experienced a brief flicker of concern over Daphne's growing eagerness to use Dark Magic. One of those was just last week, after they had taken turns practicing a Disembowelling Curse. The training dummy had no entrails to remove, of course, but that didn't stop Daphne from describing what she hoped it would be like, when — not if —she used it on a real person.
It was likely just the heat of the moment, but it was something Harry had resolved to keep an eye on. They were supposed to meet up later that evening, but Daphne had mentioned that some of the Slytherins were becoming a little too curious about her comings and goings, so she couldn't guarantee her availability.
"Isn't that right?" said Ron, nudging Harry with his elbow.
"Hmm?" was all he could say, having not paid a bit of attention to the conversation.
"What, weren't you listening? I was just saying, that last duel between me and Neville —"
"We were all there, Ron," Hermione cut in, subtly rolling her eyes.
Ron's ears pinked slightly, but Harry didn't hear a word of his rebuttal, as he had just caught sight of Astoria entering the Great Hall. Her eyes soon found his, and then she split off from her friends to make a beeline for the Gryffindor table.
"Hi," she greeted them, sitting down next to Harry.
"Glad you could make it," replied Harry, while the others returned her greeting.
"What are you all talking about?"
Ron leaned forward so he could see her around Harry. "About how great we're all going to be at duelling," he said proudly.
"Oh, have you started your club already?" she enquired.
"Not yet, it's still just our little group," answered Harry. Glancing at Hermione, he added, "We still have a few things to work out before we bring in others, but I'll let you know."
"About that," said Hermione, "I'm actually fairly close to being ready. I just need to ask Professor Flitwick a few more questions, and then we need to decide who's going to cast the charm and who will be Secret-Keeper."
"You cast it; I'll be Secret-Keeper," Harry replied simply.
"Do you always have to be so nonchalant about these things?" responded Hermione, with a hint of exasperation. "It's a difficult spell, and there are a few details that need proper consideration before we decide anything!"
"I'm sure you're on top of it," he shrugged, causing Hermione to pinch the bridge of her nose and start muttering to herself.
Suppressing a grin, Harry turned his head slightly and gave Astoria a subtle wink. Even though he knew he shouldn't, there were times when he simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to wind Hermione up — it was just too much fun.
"It just so happens that I have some news, as well," announced Astoria. "Luna Lovegood's father has agreed to publish Harry's story in The Quibbler."
"Perfect!" beamed Hermione. "I was about to tell you — I just heard back from Rita, and she's agreed to meet with us on Saturday to go over our proposal."
"Which is?" questioned Harry.
"Oh — she writes the article, and we release her early from her one-year writing ban and promise to keep her secret," revealed Hermione. "I haven't told her exactly what the article will be about yet — I didn't think it'd be a good idea to put it in writing — but I'm positive she'll agree."
"You should probably bring Luna when you meet Rita," suggested Astoria, "just in case there are questions about how it's going to be published."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I'm meeting with Reginald Cartwright on Saturday, too, so it sounds like I'm going to have a busy day," he muttered, before turning to address Hermione. "Write to Rita and tell her to meet us at the Three Broomsticks at eleven. My solicitor's already arranged for a private room at ten; I'll just ask Rosmerta to let us have it for the rest of the day."
"Can I come, too?" asked Astoria.
Harry's first instinct was to say to say no — it was risky enough taking both Hermione and Luna — but he found himself wanting to say yes.
"Well…it might be a bit tricky getting four people out of the castle, but I'll see if I can figure something out," he said finally. "Bring Luna and meet us in the alcove across from the statue of the one-eyed witch at nine o'clock."
"Hey Harry, what's —" Neville started, but then mouth snapped shut as his eyes fixated on a spot just over Harry's right shoulder.
"Hem, Hem."
Harry shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, before turning around in his seat to see Professor Umbridge practically leering at him.
"Mr. Potter, I couldn't help but notice that you failed to attend my class today," she said, her disgustingly sweet voice dripping with malice. "The headmaster may have excused you on Monday, but that does not mean you are free to come and go as you please."
"I wasn't feeling well," he replied weakly.
"Madam Pomfrey has no record of you visiting the hospital wing today," countered Umbridge, her grin broadening. "You seem to think the rules don't apply to you, Mr. Potter. I am here to inform you that is not the case. You shall be serving detention with me tonight at eight o'clock, in my office — unless you've managed to contrive another lie with the headmaster that I am yet unaware of?"
As much as Harry wanted to tell Umbridge about his O.W.L., Dumbledore had warned him not to — at least until after he received his results and formally withdrew from Defence Against the Dark Arts. So instead, Harry just shook his head, causing Umbridge's toad-like face to split into an even wider grin.
"Eight o'clock sharp, Mr. Potter," she repeated, and then marched off in the direction of the staff table.
"That can't be good — she looked way too happy," Ron said uneasily, while Hermione fixed Harry with her 'I told you so' look.
"What are you going to do?" asked Astoria.
"Go to detention, I suppose," grumbled Harry, while stabbing at the food on his plate. "I don't think Dumbledore will get me out of this one."
The rest of the meal was as pleasant as it could be, with the spectre of detention with Dolores hanging over Harry's head. Not wanting to go back to his common room, he decided to take a walk around the castle to clear his head before his detention, and it was with a deep sense of foreboding that he took his final march towards Professor Umbridge's office on the third floor.
Steeling himself, Harry knocked on the door. "Come in," she said in a sugary voice, and he cautiously entered the room while taking a moment to observe the changes in décor.
It looked as if Valentine's Day had thrown up.
The walls had been charmed pink, and every flat surface had been draped with lacy doilies and tablecloths. There were several vases filled with dried flowers, and most disturbingly, one entire wall had been covered with decorative plates — each one of them with a brightly-coloured kitten wearing a ribbon around its neck. Professor Umbridge was sitting behind her desk, wearing her familiar, fluffy cardigan, which perfectly matched the colour of her office walls.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter."
"Evening," he returned stiffly.
"I have very much been looking forward to having you in detention," said Umbridge with a wide grin. "I knew it would only be a matter of time, of course. You simply can't help but try to make yourself the centre of attention."
"I've barely said a word in your class all year," he retorted.
"Dumbledore's coaching, I assume," she responded, her false smile slipping somewhat. "Trust me, Mr. Potter, I will get to the bottom of whatever it is you and Dumbledore are up to — just you wait."
"I'm not up to anything," he protested.
"We'll see — sit," she said, pointing towards a small table off to the side.
Without a word, he took a seat in the highly uncomfortable straight-backed chair. Laying on the table was a blank sheet of parchment, but Harry noticed that there was neither quill nor ink set out for him.
"Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, seeing Harry bending down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."
Umbridge handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point, which he accepted suspiciously.
"I want you to write 'I shall respect authority'," she told him softly.
"How many times?" asked Harry, as politely as he could manage.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," replied Umbridge, her sugary voice making Harry's skin crawl. "Off you go."
As she returned to her desk, Harry raised the black quill and was about to begin writing when he noticed something was missing.
"You haven't given me any ink," he said.
"Oh, you shan't need ink," she replied, with a touch of amusement.
With a shrug, Harry leaned over the parchment and scratched out I shall respect authority.
He let out a gasp of pain. The words were written on the parchment in what seemed to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been smooth and unblemished, if perhaps slightly redder.
Harry looked up at Umbridge, who had been watching him — not even bothering to disguise the sadistic smile on her face.
"Yes?"
"What…what is this?"
"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Potter?" she replied sweetly.
"This quill — is…is it writing with my blood?" he said incredulously. "There's no way this is allowed!"
"Did you not read the latest Educational Decree?" she asked with a dangerous glint in her eye. "As High Inquisitor, I have supreme authority over all punishments — including the methods."
"Dumbledore won't —"
"Dumbledore has no authority in this room!" she shouted, her composure finally slipping. "Now, you are to continue writing until I tell you to stop, and every word you say from now until then will earn you another detention."
Harry closed his eyes and tried to centre himself, but he could still feel his magic bubbling up within him, practically begging to be unleashed on the vile woman who dared harm him. In direct opposition of his baser instincts was his internal voice of reason — which sounded suspiciously like Hermione — telling him that this was neither the time nor place for a showdown.
Gritting his teeth, Harry turned away from Umbridge and continued to write. He knew he had to do something about Umbridge, but he needed time to think. Initiating a conflict right then and there had the potential to spectacularly backfire on him, and he knew there could be no mistakes. So, instead of drawing his wand or running out of the room, Harry sat there and continued to repeatedly carve words into his own hand.
After thirty minutes or so, Umbridge had apparently lost interest in the essays she was grading and renewed her focus on Harry. "I assume the sensation is quite unpleasant," she taunted. "Perhaps this will teach you to respect your betters, and not tell ugly, attention-seeking lies."
Harry ignored her words, instead picturing scene after scene of himself exacting revenge on the petty excuse of a professor.
"One thing is for certain — you will learn to respect authority once I have you in a prison cell surrounded by dementors," she continued. "Rest assured, it is only a matter of time before you are charged with the murder of Cedric Diggory."
Magic started leaking out of Harry as a sense of cold washed over him.
"I assume it was your guilty conscience that kept you from classes on Monday," she added with a cruel grin. "Amos's letter in the Prophet must have been a shock, though I admit the tone was far more diplomatic towards you than I had hoped."
There it was — confirmation of what Harry already suspected. Umbridge was the 'unnamed Ministry official', and the driving force behind Mr. Diggory's letter. Harry bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from reacting.
"While I am certain Dumbledore will attempt to help you, I am afraid it will not matter in the end," she said in a mockingly sombre tone. "Cornelius — that is to say, the Minister, will not allow you to escape justice a second time. Of course, with myself being not only Senior Undersecretary, but also High Inquisitor and Hogwarts Professor, I will almost certainly be asked to provide testimony about your character — or lack thereof."
Harry slowly turned his head towards Umbridge.
"Face it, Mr. Potter, your days here are numbered," she said, her girly voice belying the threat within her words.
Suddenly, the kitten-adorned plates on the pink wall began to vibrate as Harry struggled to maintain his control. Umbridge's eyes betrayed a flicker of fear, only to be replaced with a smug look once the oppressive atmosphere caused by Harry's magic dissipated. Clearly mistaking Harry's self-control for evidence that he had been cowed, Umbridge returned to her desk and continued on with her paperwork.
It was over an hour later that Harry thundered out of Umbridge's office and into the empty third-floor corridor. He made it to the seventh floor as quickly as he could and opened the Room. Surprisingly, Daphne was already inside practicing her spellwork. Harry was originally supposed to meet her there over forty minutes ago, so he had expected her to have given up and gone back to her common room by then.
"You better have a good excuse for making me wait, Potter," she said playfully, but her tone shifted when she saw the expression on his face. "Harry? What's wrong?"
Without a word, he brushed past her and raised his wand.
"Crucio."
There was a rush of magic, and the training dummy began shaking violently as Harry performed his first-ever Unforgivable Curse. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced; it was all-consuming, almost as if all his anger, all his hate coalesced into one simple desire — to inflict as much pain as possible on Dolores Umbridge.
Daphne looked on in awe as Harry held the spell on the helpless wooden mannequin. In all the time they had spent together practicing, he had never looked so…powerful. She gave an involuntary shiver as the magic rolling off of Harry made the delicate hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand straight up.
Chest heaving from the exertion, Harry finally lifted his spell and stared at what remained of his target. Smoke was pouring off of the training dummy, which appeared to have caught fire in a few places. Harry wasn't sure what to feel. His use of the Cruciatus was accompanied by a rush of power which, for a short while, made him feel nearly invincible. Once it was over, however, he was left feeling somewhat hollow inside. It was almost as if a line had been crossed, but what that meant for the future was anyone's guess.
Without a word, Daphne moved to stand next to Harry and used her wand to extinguish the smouldering dummy. For a time, the two simply stood there in silence until Daphne took it upon herself to break the tension.
"So…rough day?"
Harry turned to see Daphne looking at him with a single raised eyebrow. He just stared at her blankly for a moment, but then something about her expression broke through. It started with a single snort, then a weak chuckle, and before long, he was absolutely howling with laughter. Even Daphne joined in, as they revelled in the absolute absurdity of the situation.
Once they had settled down, Daphne led Harry over to the seats by the fireplace and listened intently as he described his evening. Of course, she didn't blame him for using the Cruciatus Curse — instead, she actually seemed rather impressed, perhaps even jealous. Besides, casting an Unforgivable Curse on a glorified pile of wood wasn't technically illegal — being sentenced to Azkaban required using one on an actual human first.
With curfew fast approaching, they decided to call it a night instead of trying to squeeze in any practice. Harry checked the map and sent Daphne on her way, following after her only a few minutes later. He had only taken a few steps down the seventh-floor corridor when he stopped and turned around.
"I never did check the Room for Horcruxes," he thought to himself.
After a brief moment of deliberation, Harry decided to ignore curfew and do some searching. He knew Ron and Hermione were likely waiting up for him, but at that moment, he wasn't sure he would be able to look either of them in the eye anyway.
He stood and stared at the blank wall disguising the entrance to the Room of Requirement. The tricky part would be figuring out what to ask for. Realising that he had to start somewhere, Harry went for the obvious and walked back and forth across the wall, thinking, "I need to find a Horcrux…I need to find a Horcrux…I need to find a Horcrux."
After his third pass, he turned expectantly towards the door — or what would have been the door, had his attempt actually worked. Disappointed but not discouraged, Harry tried several variations of the same request, but to no avail.
After his last attempt, "I need the room Tom Riddle asked for," was equally unsuccessful as the rest, Harry leaned back against the troll tapestry on the opposite wall to think. Perhaps he was going about it all wrong. As uncomfortable as it made him, Harry tried to put himself in Voldemort's shoes. If he were an up-and-coming Dark Lord trying to hide a piece of his soul, what would he ask of the Room?
Deciding to give it one last try, Harry closed his eyes and paced across the blank stretch of wall, concentrating hard on the thought, "I need a place to hide my Horcrux…I need a place to hide my Horcrux…I need a place to hide my Horcrux."
When he opened his eyes, the familiar door to the Room of Requirement had once again materialised. His heart beating rapidly in anticipation, Harry pulled open the door and stepped inside. What he saw nearly took his breath away.
The Room was enormous — far bigger than the version he was accustomed to. It had a high, vaulted ceiling, and the walls were lined with tall windows large enough to illuminate the entire space with moonlight. As impressive as that was, the size of the place was its least remarkable feature. Nearly the entire floorspace was filled with literal towers of junk; centuries of clutter, seemingly abandoned by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants, navigable only by through the use of narrow alleyways set between the teetering piles of discarded items.
As Harry took in his surroundings, he was struck by the amusing thought that if one were to glance quickly through the doorway, they might mistake the place for a miniaturised city — albeit one with a very unusual skyline. There was also no doubt that it would take him several lifetimes to search the entire area, so he certainly had his work cut out for him.
He spent nearly thirty minutes wandering aimlessly throughout the Room, taking note of the plethora of unusual items he came across, until he finally decided to try a different tactic.
With practice, he had become much more adept at turning his magical sensing abilities on and off at will, but he was still learning how to keep it 'on' in the background without becoming overwhelmed. Closing his eyes, he attempted to reach out with his magic to see if he could feel the Horcrux — just like he'd practiced during his first lesson with Dumbledore. As one might expect in a room filled with discarded magical items, there was no shortage of positive hits, but nothing that felt like Slytherin's locket.
Not ready to give up yet, Harry kept moving about the room and repeating the process. It was during his fifth attempt, while standing in the shadow of an enormous stuffed troll, that Harry first felt it — a dark, black hole in his perception, so faint that he almost dismissed it.
"It's here!" he gasped aloud, and then took off in the direction of the sensation.
As he drew closer to the item he sensed, Harry became even more convinced that he had found one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. There was an undeniable, yet familiar sense of malevolence emanating from a spot just ahead, convincing Harry to proceed with caution. He eventually came to a dead end containing some broken furniture, several stacks of books, a large cupboard that had been marred by what Harry assumed was acid, and a marble bust of an ugly old warlock set atop a beat-up wooden crate.
Harry's senses directed him to a pile of junk set upon a small table just to the right of the damaged cupboard. Using his wand, he shifted the items around until he came across a tarnished silver tiara set with a large blue gemstone, and his heart immediately started pounding.
This was it — it had to be. Whatever the tiara once was, the amount of Dark Magic radiating from it was downright oppressive; malignant, even. There was absolutely no shred of doubt in Harry's mind that he had found what he was looking for.
Not wanting to touch the Horcrux with his bare hands, Harry conjured a thick leather glove and slipped it on. Holding his breath, he picked up the tiara and examined it with his eyes. Tainted though it now was, it had obviously once been a beautiful, well-crafted piece. Something on the surface caught his attention, so Harry brought it just close enough to his face to where he was able to read the inscription etched into the metal:
Wit Beyond Measure is Man's Greatest Treasure.
