The Voice

It was just as Harry had gotten used to something resembling normality at Hogwarts when he'd heard the voice, and subsequently led Ron and Hermione to where they'd found Mrs Norris hanging morbidly from a candelabra.

Rip…tear…kill…

What alarmed him most was that neither of his friends had heard it and no matter how loud it had become the more he followed, he had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

That was when they had happened upon the unfortunate cat and had been confronted by an apoplectic Mr Filch only a moment later.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware," Draco Malfoy declared gleefully. "That means you, mudbloods!"

Harry did not miss how his gaze had shifted towards Hermione as he uttered the slur, and he drew his wand, ignoring the continued ranting of the irate Filch.

Pointing it between two first year Hufflepuffs, he whispered the incantation for his chosen hex, his words drowned out by the chattering crowd.

Draco screamed and recoiled, clutching his cheek as though he'd been slapped.

Harry had chosen the spell for its lack of colour, and as the blond frantically looked for where it had come from, he knew he'd made the right choice.

Malfoy had only gotten worse since his father had bought his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Not that it mattered.

Despite being hounded by Dobby's Bludger, Harry had flown rings around his counterpart and secured the Snitch.

The elf.

If Lockhart hadn't tried to play the hero by repairing his broken arm, Harry couldn't promise he wouldn't have strangled Dobby.

Was this the danger he was talking about?

Harry didn't know, but the writing in blood was not a good omen, and the voice only made it all the suspicious.

Why couldn't Ron and Hermione hear it?

It had reverberated off the walls clearly. So much so that Harry had been able to track it here.

"Excuse me, coming through," Dumbledore's voice sounded.

The headmaster took in the scene before him, swallowing deeply.

"He's killed my cat!" Filch growled. "I want him punished!"

Dumbledore frowned as he looked towards Harry whom the caretaker was pointing at.

"Calm down, Argus," he urged. "She is not dead. Mrs Norris is merely paralysed. I believe Madam Sprout is currently growing quite the crop of Mandrakes in one of the greenhouses. When they reach maturity, she can be cured."

Filch's eyes welled with tears at the revelation.

"Prefects, lead your students to their common rooms," Dumbledore instructed.

Reluctantly, they did so, and when the corridor was clear except for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a gathering of professors, the headmaster turned towards Harry.

"I didn't do it," Harry defended immediately.

"I do not believe for one moment that you are responsible for this," Dumbledore assured him. "Is there anything you can tell me about what occurred here?"

Harry shook his head.

Even he knew that hearing a voice that no other around him could was not a good thing.

"Very well," Dumbledore murmured. "I think it would perhaps be best if the three of you returned to your common room too."

Harry didn't need telling twice, and even as they began to do so, he heard Lockhart claiming to have been able to save Mrs Norris if he had been present.

Even Hermione was now struggling to defend the man.

Although he hadn't attempted to release any more creatures on the students, his lessons had been nothing short of lacklustre; an opportunity for Lockhart to boast about the achievements in his books.

Most of the students were now convinced that all were fabricated, but Harry found he no longer cared.

It wasn't as though he was allowing his education in the subject to suffer.

"What do you think happened to Mrs Norris?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he replied. "What is the Chamber of Secrets?"

Hermione had no answer, but Harry had no doubt that as soon as they arrived back in Gryffindor Tower, she would begin looking into the very thing.

"Harry, the voice you heard…"

"What about it?"

Hermione really did seem to be quite concerned.

"Well, it's not normal," she continued carefully.

Harry looked towards Ron who also seemed to be worried.

"Not even in the wizarding world, mate," he said darkly. "What did it say?"

Harry didn't like the sound of that and he frowned before shaking his heard.

"I'm not sure, I really couldn't make it out. I just heard someone talking."

Already they were eyeing him cautiously, and he knew their concern would only grow if he divulged what he had heard.

Hermione would likely insist he spoke to one of the professors about it, but Harry didn't want to.

If it became a real problem, he would, but for the time being, he didn't wish to draw any unwanted attention to himself.

He'd had his fill of problems the previous year, and though he knew it was unlikely, Harry wished to experience something of a normal term at Hogwarts without magical stones or an insane Professor that was housing a Dark Lord in the back of his skull.

"Okay, well, I have some reading to do," Hermione announced as they entered a rather sombre common room before she headed towards the staircase leading to the girl's dormitories.

"Chess?" Ron asked.

"I don't really feel like it," Harry murmured apologetically. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed. I don't really like Halloween much."

Ron frowned before his eyes widened in realisation.

"Oh, yeah, sorry mate."

Harry waved him off and offered the boy a weak smile.

He'd never really been able to enjoy the holiday growing up and having learned that it was this very date that Voldemort had come for him and his parents, Harry found he truly disliked it.

He hadn't lied to Ron about his intentions.

As such, he did shower as he pondered just what had happened to Mrs Norris and climbed into bed to begin sifting through his thoughts as the book on the Mind Arts urged him to do every day.

Whilst he did so, he tended to his wand, cleaning and polishing it before returning it to the holster that he wore even when sleeping.

Catching sight of the corner of his book on the Mind Arts he kept under his pillow along with the cloak, Harry shook his head.

His progress had slowed over the past weeks.

Emotions were a rather complex topic to tackle, and much of this particular leg of his journey tied in with the very first section he'd studied.

It took a complete acceptance of the emotions he felt when he reflected on certain memories, and Harry learned that being honest with himself as to what emotions were triggered by certain memories was not easy.

Maybe it was that he simply could not fully understand what it was he felt, or he simply wasn't ready to accept his true feelings.

Harry didn't know, but he had reached a point in his undertaking of the Mind Arts that was the most challenging thing he had ever attempted.

Nicholas and Dumbledore had been right.

Becoming a competent practitioner was difficult.

What he had learned, however, was that magic that required the use of what he deemed to be more negative emotions was much easier to implement than spells that were powered by positive ones.

Perhaps it was that Harry had more experience of them, so it was more natural for him to draw on things such as bitterness, hate, and sadness?

It wasn't that he wished for it to be so, but thus far, that was what he'd found.

In truth, he had so few memories that elicited any warmth or positivity within himself, so he was less able to focus on these aspects of magic.

Was that why some people found practicing the Dark Arts easier?

Harry couldn't say. He was struggling to understand himself, let alone anyone else, but it seemed to make sense.

He couldn't imagine Voldemort had become a Dark Lord because he was happy, but Harry did not doubt that the man had reached a level in the Dark Arts that he could use them through a twisted sense of joy.

How else could he have laughed whilst murdering a woman in front of her infant son?

No, Voldemort had reached that pinnacle where the misery of others brought him a warped feeling of joy, something Harry had read about in one of the books Nicholas had provided him.

It took severe abuse of the Dark Arts to reach such a point, and an undoubtedly already twisted mind to allow one to delve so deeply.

Each of the books warned of this happening.

To be able to retain feelings of empathy, sympathy, and meaningful feelings of care, any practitioner of the Dark Arts had to be of a sound mind, or they would fall foul of them.

Had a young Voldemort ever possessed any of these things?

If he had, they were certainly no longer present within him and he had truly become a slave of the arts he coveted so much.

Harry wouldn't become like him.

Using such magic was a slippery slope to navigate, but he would not become a victim of the magic he needed to become an expert on.

If he had any hope of survival, it was a necessity for him to have a deep understanding of them. Harry, however, would not be drawn in by the allure of the power he could wield and lose himself in the process.

He frowned as he again felt his mood shift to one of melancholy.

It always overcame him when he thought about the Dark Lord and what he had lost because of the man.

No, he needed to focus on something else, and with that in mind, he retrieved the cloak from beneath his pillows.

For hundreds of years it had been passed on to the next generation until it had fallen to Harry.

It truly was an exquisite garment, and though his magical journey had only just begun, it was not lost on Harry just how special this cloak was.

"Now?" he groaned as he felt himself being pulled into the familiar void.

It had been some weeks now that he'd had the vision of Gawain Peverell as he discussed a certain Mallory Gaunt, and as he arrived at his destination, Harry could see things had progressed.

"There they are," Tristan whispered, pointing into the steep valley below.

Beneath them, dozens of tents had been erected and several fires burned brightly throughout the camp.

"I told you she was coming."

Harry nodded gravely.

Although they had not crossed the border into Cymru, there was nowhere else for them to go. Malory Gaunt had evidently not heeded the warning.

"What are we going to do?" Tristan asked worriedly. "We cannot win against them."

It seemed that the original number of around five hundred followers had been grossly underestimated, and in the intervening months since Gawain had been informed of the woman heading in their direct, her numbers had swelled considerably.

"I will handle it," he murmured.

"How?"

Gawain's hand shifted to the pommel of his sword.

He was not foolish enough to attempt to cut his way through droves of sycophants, but he didn't need to.

Although Gaunt had yet to enter the Celtic lands, it was only a matter of time before she did so.

That could not be allowed.

Gawain would not see a single drop of blood of his people spilled unnecessarily.

"Fear not, Tristan," he said comfortingly. "It will be dealt with by morning. It is best if you return home now."

"I can't leave you here!"

"You can and will," Gawain said firmly. "I will return in a day or so but know that I will be well. It is Malory Gaunt who will suffer. Go."

Tristan was torn, and it took a shove from Gawain to send the man on his way.

After a moment, he took off in a run and Gawain released a deep breath.

"Come Death, come," he murmured, his grip tightening around his wand and sword simultaneously whilst he looked on, waiting for the activity in the camp to die down.

He watched as they set up magical protections around the perimeter, and eventually, those gathered around the fires began entering their tents, leaving only a dozen or so to stand guard.

When he was certain no more would be going to bed this night, Gawain closed his eyes before circling his wand around him.

Immediately, he was enveloped in the cloak in a way Harry couldn't manage without magic. It seemed to fit the man perfectly, and he took note of the feeling that washed over him when he cast the spell.

There had been no incantation, but the sudden influx of welcoming, cold magic could not be ignored.

With a nod, Gawain began traversing the steep hill leading into the valley, careful not to trip on any protruding rocks.

It would not do to break his neck on the terrain.

After some time, he reached to where the magical protections had been placed and took a moment to analyse them.

They consisted mostly of alarms and a few simple iterations of spells used to repel muggles and creatures, but little else.

A mistake.

Gawain simply carved a gap big enough for him to pass through.

He was certain the cloak would have concealed him from detection, but he would not risk it here, not when so much was on the line.

It was odd being amongst those that would treat him with hostility, passing by them so closely that he could kill any he chose.

Tonight, however, they need not die if all went well.

Now, he only needed to find Malory Gaunt.

He began peering into each tent as he came to them, growing increasingly frustrated when there was no sign of her.

Was she even here?

It wasn't until he spotted a larger pitch in the distance that he realised she was. The crest of a three-headed snake on a background of skulls couldn't belong to anyone else, after all.

Cautiously, Gawain approached, pausing as he heard a gentle hissing coming from within the tent.

Malory Gaunt proved to be a strikingly beautiful woman, her thick, chestnut locks spilling over the pale skin of her shoulders, and her bright emerald eyes reminiscent of Gawain's father.

He had not inherited them.

Instead, he had been endowed with the brown eyes of his mother, much to her disappointment.

She'd always said that his father's eyes were what first drew her to him.

Gawain shook his head of his thoughts.

Now was not the time to be distracted.

"It's quite alright, little one. You will produce a large clutch of eggs," Malory spoke soothingly to the large snake she held.

"I will," the snake hissed contently.

Once more, Harry was taken aback by something he'd experienced in the vision.

Gawain continued to look on confused by the interaction, showing no sign of comprehension to what the woman and the serpent were discussing, but Harry understood every word, just as he had when the boa constrictor had spoken to him at the zoo.

Gawain was far from being an expert on the reptiles Gaunt could commune with. Was this one venomous?

Nonetheless, he would not be deterred.

He had a task to complete and it would take more than a damned snake to stop him.

It sounded as though the woman was almost singing to the creature, a song that ceased as he touched her with the tip of his wand.

Gaunt fell limply to the ground, and the snake hissed in fury, looking around to see what had happened.

As Gawain raised his wand once more to put an end to the creature, he paused as more hissing was heard, and in only a matter of seconds, the tent was filling with more serpents.

It was when one brushed against his leg that they all turned simultaneously towards him, each rearing their heads, poised to strike.

Harry felt the panic set in.

He too knew little of snake species, but he recognised the hood that many had flared.

Cobras were particularly dangerous, and if Gawain was bitten by one, it would be the end of the man.

"STOP!" he said dangerously, taken aback as the hissing sound escaped Gawain's lips.

The snakes, however, complied with the command, and whilst Gawain attempted to process just what had happened, Malory Gaunt began to stir, a look of shock forming as she took in the now peaceful snakes.

"What is it, my babies?"

Pulled from his inner musings by her words, Gawain fired a jet of red light at the woman, and she once again fell unconscious.

"What was that?" a voice questioned in the distance.

"I don't know. Let's check it out."

Without further preamble, Gawain cast another spell that turned Gaunt almost invisible, and another that enabled him to pick her up with only one hand before stepping out of the tent, barely avoiding the two men that entered only a second later.

"Bloody snakes everywhere," one muttered. "Where is Gaunt?"

"I don't know," the other replied. "Come on, we'd better alert the…"

He fell to the floor as his head was cleaved from his shoulders, and the second choked, his eyes widening in shock as he looked upon the blade protruding from his chest.

With the two men dead, Gawain knew he needed to escape quickly.

He didn't know when or if others would come, but he did not wish to be here when they did.

Having secured the village from any means of magical transport, the journey back to Godric's Hollow would be a long one. Two days at least on horseback with his cargo, and he doubted that Malory Gaunt would go out of her way to make it any easier.

Checking that the woman was still unconscious, he fled the camp and once more navigated is way through the slopes and out of the valley to where he had tied his horse.

Securing Gaunt across the back and removing her wand, he decided he would ride through the night to put some distance between him and those that would inevitably come looking when they realised their leader had been taken.

"Come Death, come," he murmured.

Harry could only frown in confusion as he was pulled back through the void.

Had he somehow influenced what had happened by conversing with the snakes when they had been ready to bite Gawain?

If so, then how had he managed it from close to a thousand years into the future of when the event had transpired.

Again, there were many more questions than answers from the vision, but he was eager to see what would come next.

Now, however, he was exhausted from the experience, and with another day of lessons ahead, Harry needed his sleep.

Transfiguration was first, and he would need to have his wits about him for that lesson.

Professor McGonagall would not be pleased if he was too tired to complete her tasks to her standard.

Regardless, Harry knew he would sleep little tonight.

With the vision playing over in his mind, he drew his wand and attempted to replicate the same feeling he'd experienced when Gawain Peverell had shrouded himself in the cloak.

When he was certain he'd managed it, he drew his wand around him in a circular motion.

A loud bang sounded, and Harry was propelled into his headboard.

Groaning, he rubbed his back and shook his head.

Of course, it wouldn't be so simple.

"What was that?" Ron asked sleepily.

"Nothing, I fell out of bed," Harry replied.

Ron snickered in the darkness.

"Will you two shut up?" Seamus grumbled irritably.

Only a moment later, Ron's snores filled the dormitory once more and Harry decided that he would need to work on that particular trick when he could find somewhere to practice.

Sometimes, he would manage to sneak away for an hour before Quidditch training to work on some spells, and this was just another of many to add to the list, though this would undoubtedly be invaluable to master.

Not tonight, however.

The prospect of being blown across his bed again was not particularly appealing.

(Break)

Albus watched as Poppy checked Mrs Norris over. He'd already deduced that she had indeed been paralysed, but the nature of her condition was what mattered.

There were very few spells that could incapacitate someone in such a way, and not any that could be cast by a student.

The cat could have been drugged with several potions, though Albus doubted Mrs Norris would willingly accept anything offered by any other than her owner.

Argus remained as upset as he was furious whilst he waited for the diagnosis, and both Minerva and Severus looked on, equally curious.

After several moments, Poppy shook her head as she pocketed her wand.

"What is it?" Argus demanded.

"She is paralysed," Poppy confirmed, "but there are no potions or anything else in her system that has contributed to her state. There is also no sign of any spell being responsible. There are no wounds to be found, but I have no doubt that this was caused by a creature. Which one, I cannot say, but there are not many that are capable of this."

Albus nodded his agreement.

"That is rather concerning," he murmured. "Any creature that possess this ability are exceedingly dangerous and have no place near the school. I do not believe that any are even native to Britain."

"Then perhaps you should be speaking to the Keeper of the Keys," Severus suggested. "His admiration of all creatures is well-known. Only last year you had to confiscate a dragon from him."

"Hagrid is not responsible for this," Albus said firmly.

"Then who?" Severus asked.

Albus and Minerva exchanged a glance.

"It is happening again, isn't it?" the woman said worriedly.

"Again?"

Albus nodded darkly.

"It was before your time, Severus, but there was an incident some fifty-years ago that resulted in the death of a student under very similar circumstances that we have seen tonight."

"Did you catch who was responsible?"

"We knew who was responsible, but there was no proof. No, the blame fell to another who was entirely innocent."

"Hagrid," Minerva confirmed.

Severus raised an eyebrow, as much a reaction as Albus would expect from the man.

"You are certain it was not him?"

"I have as much faith in Hagrid as I do you, Severus," Albus assured the man. "I do not believe I need to tell you of all people who was responsible last time."

"The Dark Lord," Severus whispered.

"Indeed."

Severus took a moment to process the news as Albus pondered the most unwelcome development.

Surely Tom had not regained enough strength to make another attempt so soon after his last failed efforts?

If, however, he was behind this latest attack…

"How?" Severus broke into his thoughts. "How can he be responsible?"

"I do not know, Severus" Albus sighed. "I do not know."

"Well, what are we to tell the students?" Minerva interjected. "They will ask questions."

"We tell them nothing," Severus urged.

"Nothing more than what they could find in any book in the castle," Albus suggested. "The Chamber of Secrets is a place of legend. Many have attempted to locate it, but all have failed."

"Except for him," Severus pointed out.

"Except for him," Albus acknowledged, the thought only increasing his worry on the matter.

Somehow, Tom had to be responsible, but how?

It was a question that needed answering sooner rather than later, and what would be occupying the headmaster's thoughts until he uncovered the truth.

(Break)

She was confused.

It had almost been dinner time when she decided to pen a few notes in the diary to Tom. He always listened to Ginny, was a comfort to her and eased her worries about school and being away from home.

He was always interested in what she had to say, especially when it came to Harry.

Ginny would write down everything she could about the boy; what he had eaten for breakfast, what he was wearing, and even gave an in-depth description of the last Quidditch match, much to Tom's delight.

He'd said that he wished he could meet the boy in person, that Harry seemed like a very interesting boy.

He was.

Ginny would watch him whenever she could in complete amazement.

He had defeated You-Know-Who and was the hero her mother had spoken so fondly of over the years when she would tell Ginny the story, even for the umpteenth time.

Now, however, Ginny was only confused.

She had been writing to Tom and then everything had simply gone blank.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep, but as she spotted the blood on her hands she knew that couldn't be true.

What had happened?

Panicking, she all but sprinted into the nearby bathroom that attached to her dormitory and began frantically washing her hands.

Even when the blood was gone, she felt sick.

Tom.

He would know what to say to her. He always managed to make her feel better.

Taking some calming breaths, she changed for bed before returning to the dormitory and retrieving the diary from under her pillow.

Tom, I do not know what happened tonight. I was writing to you and then…I don't remember. I woke up with blood on my hands.

She waited; her gaze fixed on the diary anticipating the reply.

It is okay, Ginny, there is no need to panic. I'm sure you just fell asleep. Is it possible you had a nosebleed? It can happen when you are stressed. It used to happen to me when I was your age.

Ginny frowned.

Could it have been something so innocuous?

She didn't know, but if Tom had nosebleeds when he was young, it was possible that it had happened to her. Maybe she had just been more tired than she thought and fell asleep.

Maybe you're right, Tom. Thank you for making me feel better.

With that, she closed the diary and climbed into bed.

Despite having just woken up, Ginny was exhausted and felt as though she had gotten no sleep at all.

The headache didn't help matters, and as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, she dreamt of roosters. She was chasing them through a pen with the intent on strangling them.

No, that couldn't be right.

They had chickens and roosters at The Burrow and she'd never had the urge to harm them.

It was an odd and unsettling dream, but it faded and shifted to one of her playing Quidditch with her brothers, Ginny quickly forgot about it.

It was just a dream, after all.

Wasn't it?

(Break)

Hermione watched as Harry helped himself to some toast, his expression giving nothing away to his thoughts. He had changed since they'd met. During their first year, he had been all but an open book, and his mood had been easy to decipher.

Now, however, it was as though there was nothing going on in his mind whatsoever, like he was experiencing no thoughts at all.

It was quite the drastic change for the boy.

"How are you today, Harry?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he answered. "You?"

Hermione frowned.

When he spoke there was little given, his words, even during the inanest of conversations seemingly chosen carefully.

The previous evening had been the most animated she had seen him for some time. He had been genuinely concerned when he'd heard the voice, fearful.

When she had pressed him on the matter, he'd reverted back to how he was now and had been dismissive of it.

Hermione believed he had heard a voice and knew exactly what it had said.

Still, he wasn't going to tell her.

Harry had become rather guarded with most things, and in truth, Hermione had other things on her mind.

She had returned to her dormitory last night to rifle through her books for any reference of The Chamber of Secrets but had yielded little.

Hogwarts: A History had mentioned the room briefly but gave no other information other than that many had attempted to find the fabled room with none evidently proving to be successful.

Instead of visiting the library as she normally would, Hermione had no doubt that every book that may contain any information will have already been checked out, so she decided she would take a more direct approach.

"Transfiguration," she reminded the two boys, and Ron groaned as he was pulled away from the breakfast table.

Often, Hermione had to take this approach or they would be late to just about every lesson that followed a meal.

"I wasn't finished!" the redhead huffed.

"You've eaten more than enough."

Ron scowled, though he cheered up considerably when Harry handed him a slice of the toast he had brought along.

"Fanks, 'Arry," he said through a mouthful of food.

Again, Hermione shook her head.

She had never met anyone as food orientated as Ronald Weasley.

The mood within the classroom was a sombre one, and even Professor McGonagall's expression was rather grim.

"Settle down!" the woman barked. "Today we will be continuing… Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione had raised her hand.

She wouldn't usually disturb a professor when they were addressing the class but today was an exception.

"I was wondering what you can tell us about the Chamber of Secrets, Professor?"

It appeared as though the other students shared her curiosity as the murmured amongst themselves.

Professor McGonagall's gaze swept across the breadth of the room before she nodded.

"Very well," she agreed reluctantly. "Now, you should all be aware that Hogwarts was founded by four of the most brilliant witches and wizards to have ever lived; Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin."

The students nodded.

"Of course, they were as close as friends could be and decided to pool their talents into forming a school for the magical people of Great Britain. This very castle is what they created."

Professor McGonagall paused for a moment before continuing.

"It is said that Hogwarts was a resounding success, but quite the fallout occurred when Slytherin raised his concerns. With the muggle attitude at the time towards magic being rather dangerous, he proposed they limited access to the school only to those who were born to two magical parents. He believed the muggles would eventually learn of the castle and would attack it."

"But they didn't," Dean Thomas pointed out.

"No, but it was a viable concern," Professor McGonagall replied. "For the most part, muggles could not harm a witch or wizard. There are simple spells that will prevent you being burned at the stake, drowned, or hung, as they were wont to do. Children, however, were another matter entirely. Many were killed for what they were, and it wasn't until the Statute of Secrecy was introduced that there was a way of preventing this. Anyway, I digress. Slytherin thought it best to exclude muggleborn students from the school to ensure those that came here were safe, and the others proposed that Hogwarts remained open to all who possess magical ability, despite the danger."

"So, Slytherin was willing to allow children to be murdered instead of attempting to rescue them?" Seamus questioned.

"It is not so simple, Mr Finnegan," Professor McGonagall replied. "There were very few laws governing the wizarding population. The Ministry of Magic was very much in its infancy, and it wasn't until 169, after that the Statute of Secrecy was voted in, and many years after that the Ministry began tracking accidental magic. At the time, there was little that could be done to protect magical children born to muggles."

"So, Slytherin didn't hate muggles?"

"It is evident he was not fond of them and he did believe that students born to magical parents were superior. What he seemed to never consider, however, is that the muggleborn students came to Hogwarts with no prior magical education. Those we consider to be purebloods, had quite the head start."

It was a lot to take in, but Hermione nodded her understanding.

It made sense, though she couldn't help but feel resentful towards Slytherin for his beliefs and attitude.

The man was quite willing to allow muggleborns to die in a bid to protect the purebloods.

"Anyway, the fallout of the four is well-known. It is clear that Slytherin took his leave of the castle after a particularly heated argument with Gryffindor, never to return. It is said that whilst they were building the castle, Salazar created a retreat for himself that only he or his kin would ever be able to find. To date, no sign of the Chamber of Secrets has been discovered. Hogwarts is a magnificent place, so there could well be many rooms that have not been entered in decades or even centuries."

"What about his monster?" Neville squeaked. "My Gran told me that there is a monster in the chamber."

Professor McGonagall tutted.

"Mr Longbottom, Salazar Slytherin has been dead for almost one thousand years. If there ever was a monster which is highly unlikely in a school, it is long dead. Now, if there are no more questions, perhaps we can get on with the lesson."

There were none, and as the woman proceeded to teach, Hermione found herself distracted from learning for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Malfoy was an idiot, but maybe there was something in what he'd said the night before.

That means you, mudbloods.

Slytherin evidently cared little for the students he saw as inferior to his preferred purebloods, but would he go out of his way to cause harm to rid Hogwarts of them?

Not knowing the man, she couldn't say, but what little insight she had gotten had not been a positive one.

Slytherin at the very least had been bigoted, and at worst, a monster himself.

(Break)

If Harry closed his eyes, he could see the duel unfold in his mind, and still smell the residual magic in the air. At first, he had not come here to reminisce about what he'd witnessed at the end of first year.

It had been the mirror he had sought.

Dumbledore, however, had removed it along with the other obstacles that had prevented people coming here.

Now, the third floor of Hogwarts was open, but no one seemed to venture down here.

If they did, they too would see the scorch marks, and maybe even where Harry had worn the stone out by sitting in front of the mirror for so many hours.

Still, it was gone now, but the space provided a perfect place for him to practice.

Perhaps it was a little morbid coming here, but it reminded Harry of what he had seen and would likely one day face.

Voldemort would come for him, and he had no idea where to begin wielding magic of the likes he had seen that night.

Tonight, he only had around thirty minutes before he would have to leave for Quidditch; plenty of time to run through the small number of spells he could use in conflict he had managed to master.

Running through them, he focused on his form.

One of the books Nicholas had given him had explained that having an efficient form when casting was one of the most important things to learn.

It then went on to discuss maintaining said form when switching between spells and even chaining them together.

That particular section had gone over Harry's head.

He was far from being ready for any of that.

Finishing up with the last of his spells, he focused once more as he had in his bed during the early hours and readied himself.

Once more, a loud bang echoed around him, but instead of being propelled into his headboard, he was sent skidding along the stone floor.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled as he pushed himself back to his feet.

He really would need to work on that, but not before Quidditch practice again. Wood would kill him if Harry got injured.

Chuckling at the thought of a furious captain, Harry headed towards the exit that would lead into the broom cupboard, pausing before he reached it.

The book.

Maybe the book would explain how he could use the same trick Gawain had?

He did know where it was, after all.

Ignotus Peverell had somewhat told him himself, but was it still there?

Harry knew there was only one way to find out, so it seemed that a trip to Godric's Hollow was something he would be undertaking in the near future.