Chapter 9: The Good Student

Later that night, after the boys had all been assigned their dorm rooms, Harry snuck out to retrieve the Diadem of Ravenclaw.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the cupboard was that his Diadem was missing. The shelf he'd set it on was tauntingly empty.

He had a very good memory; he could recall coming here, after Dumbledore had denied giving him the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, and storing it away. He could remember setting it on this exact shelf. But there was nothing there, as if he hadn't even put it there in the first place.

What followed was a strange, panicky feeling that he had not felt in a long time. He thought it was past him; he was the Dark Lord Voldemort, after all. Panic and stress were not things that bothered him. If something bothered him, he made it scream until it didn't dare look in his direction anymore.

But all the same, Harry stood there in the Room of Hidden Things with rapidly widening eyes and a racing heart. It was not even that the Diadem had been forced away, like someone had crashed through here turning everything over to find it. It was just gone. Plucked away, like someone knew exactly where it had been.

He turned to his side, swallowing, taking deep breaths. He slowly walked through the tall piles of discarded furniture and books, wand clutched in his hand. If something had jumped out at him then, he would have killed it on the spot.

Look, he thought. Search for it, it could be somewhere here.

For the next twenty minutes, Harry went through the Room, checking every cupboard for the Diadem of Ravenclaw. He found old clothes, cobwebs, spiders, dust, but not a diadem. At last, he raised his wand in the air, and said, "Accio Diadem of Ravenclaw."

Nothing happened. Harry's hand was shaking.

"Accio Diadem."

Something cluttered far behind him, and there was a crash way to his front. After a few seconds, two pieces of metal shot towards him. He quickly pointed his wand at them and slowed their momentum down, then set them at his feet.

One rusted bronze circlet that would make a woman slap you if you presented it to her. And a thin, gray metal loop that was broken in half.

No Diadem of Ravenclaw.

Harry closed his eyes and put his hands to his face. He took deep breaths. He sounded like a child nervously watching a scary film.

Then, he stilled. He slid his fingers down to his nose, and opened his eyes.

Someone had taken the Diadem of Ravenclaw. It could mean anything. It could have been a student who opened that cupboard and thought it was a pretty piece of jewelry. It could have been a custodian who swiped it, intent on selling it for money.

Or, someone could have known it was Voldemort's horcrux. Someone who knew that Voldemort himself was coming here soon to retrieve it, and grabbed it before the Dark Lord could.

Harry felt himself losing his good humor. He had become careless. Far too careless. While he'd been on a honeymoon at the Malfoy's house, combing Iris's hair and gifting her pet snakes and jewelry, someone was unraveling all his secrets and working to undermine him. How much did they know?

Did they know Harry was Voldemort?

Harry cleared his throat. He blinked, letting the cold panic wash off of him. It was okay. He had gotten every horcrux except for the Cup and Diadem, and the Cup itself would soon be in his hands. The goblins took their security very seriously.

Who had taken the Diadem? Dumbledore? Harry remembered the old man's strange warning at the opening feast, about not going to the third-floor corridor. Was that because something was there? Was he trying to bait Harry? Was Harry overthinking things? Was it… Snape?

Harry clicked his tongue. These were pitiful thoughts, the thoughts of a losing man. He clasped his hands behind his back. He looked around the Room of Hidden Things one final time, then began walking out.

Things were far more serious than he'd thought. He needed to stop acting like a child, and behave like the thing he really was: a horror.

After a grim night's sleep, Harry awoke early and readied himself for the day. He was showered and dressed by 7:50. When he passed other first years in the hallway, they looked at him with surprise and hurried on their way. Having someone around who got ready on time had a way of inspiring others to do the same.

Before going to bed last night, he'd spoken to Iris through the mirror he'd given her. "Harry!" she'd screamed, hugging the mirror to her chest as if it were him in person. He then had to console her for fifteen minutes, and then spend another fifteen convincing her to end the call and go to sleep. "I don't want to sleep!" she'd sobbed. "I want you, I can't sleep without you…"

In the end, he'd told her to get her pet snake Siril and sleep with her. She accepted, and eventually agreed to end the call. Harry felt a light headache afterwards. He laughed, though, because the thought of a ten year old girl sleeping with a venomous snake to comfort her was far too amusing.

During breakfast, class schedules were handed out. Harry looked it over. For the first day, he had Potions, followed by History of Magic, then Defense and Astronomy last. The DADA professor was someone called Olivia Green.

I apologize, Olivia Green, Harry thought, smiling. I hope you are alive by the end of the year, at least.

After breakfast, the Slytherin first years gathered and headed back down to the dungeons. The Gryffindors followed them shortly after, and Harry thought there was some queer matchmaking at play. Gryffindors with Slytherins and the Slytherin Head of House. What could go wrong?

What followed was the most dramatic Potions class Harry had ever been in. Severus swept down the hall, towering above the first years with his robes billowing behind him.

"Take your seats," he said, opening the classroom door and going in. The students all looked at each other for a few moments and then began filing in.

Severus gave a lecture describing how little he thought of them and how much he expected. Most of the derision was directed towards the Gryffindors, and once again Harry found himself wondering how good of a headmaster Dumbledore was if he let things like this happen.

They were assigned a simple potion to brew after, a Sleeping Draught. Snape stalked through the class, inspecting each student's cauldron. When he reached Harry's table, he stopped behind him.

"Already have the base ready, do you, Potter? Or are you so stupid you're just chucking in whatever ingredients the textbook mentions?"

The other boys at the table kept their eyes fixed on their work.

"The base is ready, professor," Harry said. Around him, most students were struggling to complete even that step. "See?" He leaned to one side so Severus could see the cauldron. "If you wish, I could double check my work, but the color is developing as described."

Severus looked at his potion. The light scowl he'd been wearing slowly faded. He gave a grunt that was not completely hateful, and said, "Keep working." He turned and went away.

Harry made some slight errors in the brewing on purpose. If the potion came out perfect, Severus would know something was wrong. But if the potion was good, remarkably good for a first year, he would think Harry had a natural talent for Potions.

When the class was finished, Severus inspected everyone's cauldrons. When Harry's turn came, Severus watched his simmering potion for a while. "This is good," he muttered.

It was not just good—it was the best work in the class by a mile. A lot of adult wizards and witches probably couldn't brew something as good as this. But Harry simply smiled at the Potions professor, who walked on to the next student.

After that, Severus began ignoring him.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. Harry became the top student in first year. Every professor loved his work, even Snape, who tried his hardest to pretend Harry didn't exist.

Harry visited the Chamber of Secrets intermittently. The place was a little dusty, but otherwise the same; dark, gloomy, wet.

When he first went, he checked over the side rooms, which had living quarters and even a small library. Everything was as he'd left it. And of course, he checked the basilisk.

"Speak to me, Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four," Harry said, looking up at the mouth of his ancestor's statue.

The stone slid open, and for a while there was nothing. Harry changed forms; black mist began falling off his body, and he became taller as he assumed the form of Voldemort. He floated up in the air, and looked inside the hole where the basilisk emerged from.

There was a lot of darkness. But in the distance, Voldemort saw something move. A gigantic thing slid a little, as if shuffling.

"Close," he said, and Slytherin's mouth closed shut. The basilisk was in there. There was little reason to wake him up, so Voldemort descended, dark smoke enshrouding him, and appeared as Harry Potter on the floor.

Everything went well. Harry continued to talk to Iris every night—her mental condition improved, and she stopped crying after a week. She told him how she was spending her days playing with Draco and drinking tea with Narcissa.

It was only when December arrived did something go very wrong, because Harry found someone else in the Chamber of Secrets.

It had been a visit like any other. He went to the girl's bathroom, disillusioned so the ghost there wouldn't bother him, and slid down the long tunnel that led to the Chamber. He went down the rocky cavern, wondering why it seemed to be a little darker than normal.

The answer presented itself soon after. The door to the Chamber was locked.

Harry told it to open, and it didn't. He told it again quieter, and it didn't respond that time, either.

The only reason it wouldn't open was if someone was inside. If the door was locked from the inside, then no command from the outside could open it.

Harry's heart fluttered. He felt the onset of the same queasy panic he'd felt in the Room of Hidden Things, when he'd found his Diadem gone.

Things were slipping away from him. He didn't know, he didn't know. The Diadem was gone and he didn't know where it was. He half expected that Dumbledore already knew his true identity and was just feigning ignorance, biding his time.

But this. This door, stubbornly shut to him. That made him angry.

Harry relaxed his muscles. In the darkness, it was hard to tell, but smoke began appearing around him, and he changed forms. If someone could see him, they would find his eyes glowing red in the dark.

He raised his wand at the door, and said, "Laminis."

There was a great force. The door screamed and shot forward, metal grinding against the stone floor. Voldemort shot a large orb of white light, brilliant against the Chamber's darkness, lighting the entire place up.

He went up the stairs, and in the distance was a small robed figure, crouched on the ground. They had a hood on.

They looked up at the Statue of Slytherin. The voice that followed was strangely high pitched. "Speak to me, Slytherin—"

Voldemort pointed his wand at the base of the statue, and send forward a missile. It shot to the small figure, and there was a ground-shaking explosion. Gray stone erupted into the air, and dust fell from the ceiling.

When the smoke cleared, there was no one there. Voldemort looked at the empty crater on the ground, then swiped his wand at the air, clearing the rest of the smoke.

At the far corner of the room, there was movement. The thing was running way. It didn't look like an adult; it was strangely short.

Voldemort shot a barrage of spells. All of them deflected in the air, and the ones that did find their mark were blocked by a shield. The thing hissed at the corner, and a door opened. A side exit from the Chamber.

Voldemort jumped forward, still shooting spells at the figure. "Close!" he bellowed, but the door was open too far now, and the figure was too close. He tried yanking them back, but his pull was deflected.

The thing in dark robes slipped through the door just as it shut closed. Voldemort skid to a halt in front of it, wide eyed, nose slits flaring. "Open!" he hissed.

The door opened, and the dark hallway beyond was completely empty.

Voldemort stared for a few seconds before he closed the door. Then, he pointed his wand at it, a complex incantation going through his head, and pulled his wand toward himself. He felt a sensation like a knot slipping loose.

He tried telling the door to open, and it didn't respond. It no longer would. He'd dismantled the magic operating it.

He went back to the statue, standing in the middle of the crater he'd created, and looked up at the mouth. It was closed. That thing in robes had tried to open it. It could speak parseltongue.

Voldemort pointed his wand at the rubble around him, and levitated it all up to the basilisk's exit hole. He stuck them all around the hole, putting the strongest sticking charms he knew. They could be undone, but it would take time.

After that, he checked the entire Chamber. There didn't seem to be anything out of place; even the books in the library were all there. Still, Voldemort scanned the entire place with his wand, checking for any traps or magical traces left behind.

He went to the entrance, and repaired the door he'd blown open. It would no longer work now; like the side exit, its magic was undone. Still, Voldemort set it in place. He took one final look around the Chamber, then exited. The door to the Chamber was locked with the strongest spells he knew. Someone determined could probably open it, but it would take considerable effort.

Voldemort changed back into Harry as he left the Chamber. He went to the slide that led up to the abandoned girl's bathroom, and flew up it. After he emerged on the other side, he turned around, and undid the entrance's magic just as he'd done to the side exit below. Now, no one could enter the Chamber of Secrets. He'd fed the basilisk just a few days ago, so it would be fine for a while yet.

"Hey! Who're you? You're in the girl's bathroom, freak! Get out—"

Harry looked up at the ghost who was screeching at him. It was that girl, Mary or whatever her name had been.

Whatever she saw on his face made her shut up. She yelped, and shot down into a stall, disappearing into the toilet. She did not come back up.

Harry put a disillusionment charm on himself and went out of the bathroom. It was pretty late at night, but he still needed to go to where that side exit led to, and dismantle that door as well.

When he reached the side exit a half hour later, it was empty. The small robed figure was long gone.

The three glasses that had been set up against the room's wall shattered one after another. Narcissa watched them, arms folded in front of her, feeling increasing discomfort. The spells had been shot expertly, but that was exactly what unsettled her.

Bella stood in front of her, holding Narcissa's wand. She had lent her wand to Bella, as her sister didn't have one.

Her big sister was in good health. Her skin had regained its color, her form had filled out, and her hair looked luscious.

But her eyes. They were different now. Somehow, they looked even more unhinged than Narcissa last remembered. Looking at Bella now, it seemed like her eyes were open just a little too wide, and were almost jittering in their sockets. When she smiled, it sent a chill down Narcissa's spine.

She had been right to fear Bella's return. Her sister looked like she was barely holding onto whatever remained of her sanity.

Bella shot a bolt of blue light at the table the glasses had been set on, and it exploded into chips of wood, sending dust into the air.

"Oh!" Bella shouted, and began giggling madly. Narcissa swallowed. That laughter was not right. "Cissy, did you… see?" Bella was barely able to talk through her laughter. "I don't think I've felt this much power since forever! Oh!"

She put her hands on her stomach, doubling over in amusement.

Narcissa forced herself to smile. "Yes, Bella, I saw. It's very impressive."

"Oh, Cissy," Bella said, holding her arms out and coming to Narcissa. She pulled her into a hug. She kissed her neck, then her cheek. "I'm so happy, Cissy. So happy."

Narcissa chuckled nervously. She set her arms on Bella's waist. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest.

"Cissy?" Bella said. She pulled away a little, her face inches away from Narcissa's.

"Hm?" Narcissa smiled again. Yes, her sister's eyes were jittering, they were shaking back and forth in their sockets—

Bella put a hand on her cheek. She pressed her lips against Narcissa's.

"Mm!" Narcissa gasped. But Bella's grip was too tight on her. She held her close, and kissed her.

She was grinning when she pulled away. She stroked Narcissa's cheek, and then her hand dipped below her waist.

"Bella!" Narcissa yelped. "Bella, no, wait—"

Her sister kissed her again. She still has my wand, she still has my wand, Narcissa thought. Her heart was now pounding.

Bella pulled away, and Narcissa thought it was over, but then she grabbed her forearm. She pulled her—towards the bed.

Now Narcissa's eyes went wide, too. She shook her head vigorously.

"Bella, no. No, I'm married. We can't do that."

"So? I'm your sister," Bella said, as if that explained everything. "I've missed you so much, Cissy. We used to do this all the time when you were younger. Remember? You used to scream my name when you—"

"No!" Narcissa shouted. "No, Bella, no, that was before. I'm married now. I have a son. We can't."

"You're my sister, Cissy," Bella said. "I need to love you."

Narcissa sputtered. She whimpered and half-resisted, trying to pull away, but Bella's grip was too strong. She pulled her to the bed, and when they reached, Bella put her arms on her waist and stroked them up and down.

She kissed her again. "Get on the bed, Cissy," she whispered, and Narcissa's blood went cold. That was the tone of voice Bella used to order her around. Disobeying her sister now would not just be impolite, it would probably be dangerous.

Narcissa was panting now. She looked at the bed. It seemed to grin at her, inviting her to give in. Just let it happen.

"Bella, please," Narcissa whimpered. She didn't want this to happen, she didn't—

(Yes you do.)

"No." Narcissa shook her head. She was crying now. "Please."

Bella put her hand on her neck and gently pushed her to sit down. She leaned down and kissed her again, and now Narcissa knew she was too far gone because it felt good and she wanted her to keep going.

Bella set the wand on the bedside table. Narcissa felt no urge to grab it. She sat still, letting her sister unbutton her dress. When it was down to her shoulders, and her bra was off, Bella squeezed her breasts and nipples. Narcissa moaned once, and clapped her hands to her mouth, unbelieving. Bella nuzzled the side of her head. She was smirking.

When her dress was completely off, Narcissa lay on her back, now actively trying to stop herself from moaning. She kept her head turned away from Bella, but she could feel her at her side. Her sister had taken her dress off too; the skin contact made Narcissa's body tingle. Her sister's hand was between her legs, working, and it felt good. No, it didn't feel good—it felt heavenly.

Bella sank a hand into the back of her hair, and grabbed a handful. She twisted Narcissa's head around to look at her. Lucius had never done that. He'd never pulled her hair.

Bella kissed her. Her breasts squished against Narcissa's, and she did moan then. It felt wonderful, being so close to her.

The pleasure mounted. Narcissa was not even trying to resist now—she wrapped her arms around Bella. When she came, she did not scream her sister's name, but she did scream.

She panted, holding Bella. When she settled down, her chest shook, and tears started coming. She'd cheated on Lucius. It was not a man, it was her sister Bella, but she had cheated. In their own home.

"Shh. Shush, Cissy. None of that," Bella said, hugging her. They were both naked, wrapped in each other's arms.

Then, she giggled. "I knew you missed me," she said. She giggled and laughed, chest shaking against hers as she stroked her hair. She sounded completely mad.