The third chapter of the second year. A bit shorter than most, unfortunately, due to a few cuts that I felt were necessary for both character development and the flow of the story. The chapters that follow retain a respectable length.
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Read, review, and feel free to point out any errors/inconsistencies.
The next chapter will be published the coming Saturday.
Harry Potter: A Flaw in Fate
The Riddle's Plight
III. Home at Last
Cool, cracked leather lined the window frame, and a soft, silk-like material covered the seats beneath him. Harry peered out his window from the back of the train, watching as the first students finally stepped onto the platform. His eyes jumped to the shabby watch wrapped around his left arm - one Uncle Vernon had accidentally tossed into his cupboard many years ago.
Nine in the morning, if this thing still works.
Harry rubbed at his eyes. His reflection glanced back at him in the window - he looked tired and fatigued, and red lines curved across his eyes from his irises. Above him, his trunk sat on the thin metal luggage rack. All his belongings - aside from his wand - sat within it, safely locked away and out of sight.
Two more hours before this stupid thing moves.
"This is what I get for showing up before anyone else is even awake." muttered Harry dryly, "I must've set a record."
Another hour and a half had passed before people truly started pouring in. By then, Harry had grown bored enough to pull out both Emily's notebook and the diary. The former was sprawled open within his lap, the latter pressed between himself and the compartment wall just beneath the window.
Truthfully, Harry didn't care much about hiding the diary from everyone. As far as he was aware, diaries were certainly allowed to be brought into Hogwarts. Whilst it was true that most diaries weren't at all similar to Emily's . . .
Harry decided to overlook that insignificant detail.
Besides, imagine if Malfoy found out I had a diary.
Harry pressed the diary tighter against the compartment wall.
"There you are." a sharp voice pierced through the compartment as the glass door slid open. Harry looked up to see Theodore Nott enter, his large trunk resulting in slouching shoulders his father would likely have frowned at.
Struggling slightly, the boy shoved the trunk into the rack above him before taking the seat opposite Harry. His fingers reached into his robes, and he held out a large, black book before Harry's eyes.
"'Muggles and their Malicious Misadventures'" Harry read aloud, "Where'd you get that?"
"You didn't reply to my letter," Nott waved the book uncaringly, nearly dropping it as his hand shook, "I thought it might be a muggle thing. I asked my dad about muggles - he told me to read this. Absolute rubbish, mind you - but I suppose it's interesting enough."
Harry snorted, taking the book from Nott's outstretched hand. He casually flicked through the large volume, managing to catch a sparse few words from within. From what Harry glimpsed, Nott hadn't been exaggerating.
"I suppose it was partially a muggle thing," admitted Harry, handing the book back, "Normally we've got a person to deliver mail, not owls."
"That's a shame." Nott yawned, cracking his book open, "It isn't as though muggles can't use owls."
The dark-haired boy tossed the book aside, pulling another from the insides of his robes. Silence filled the compartment, and Harry lowered his gaze to the notebook in his hands.
Page sixty. A year ago I wouldn't have understood a thing this far in.
Still, strange bits leered at him, scrambling his thoughts as they spoke. They were far and few between, but still -
I have her diary now. She'll help me catch up. I've got to catch up.
Harry nodded determinedly, his eyes flicking to the book at his side.
At long last, the clock struck eleven. Harry forced his eyes away from the platform, ignoring the endless stream of parents that hugged, waved, and kissed their children good-bye. Something ugly boiled within him - a gorgeous woman with crimson hair watched him with emerald green eyes, a man rather similar in appearance to Harry himself standing to her side. They too waved, smiling at him with tears in their eyes.
There was a flash of green light. An ethereal voice, one high and cold, screamed in agony. His parents slowly faded from view -
Creak.
Harry looked up. Daphne Greengrass quietly stepped into the compartment, her beautiful blonde hair tied up in intricate patterns. She was taller than she had been when Harry had last seen her. Harry was certain that should she stand beside him or Nott, there would be nothing more than an inch in difference between them. Quietly whispering the Levitation Charm beneath her breath, Daphne watched as her trunk floated onto the rack. She pocketed her wand and sank into the seat beside Harry, leaning against the compartment wall. Harry watched as her shoulders went stiff, her eyes unnaturally blank.
Tracey.
"You alright?"
"I'll be fine." murmured Daphne, "And you? You didn't reply to my letters."
"I couldn't." said Harry, "My mail was intercepted by a house-elf."
Daphne's eyes widened, and her gaze focused. Nott looked up from his book, leaning in as close as he could without falling onto the floor.
"You didn't mention that."
"Er - I was getting to it, I guess." muttered Harry sheepishly, "His name is Dobby, if it helps."
"It doesn't." said Nott with a sigh, sinking back into his seat, "Purebloods don't talk about their servants, it's almost blasphemy. You couldn't just go up to someone and ask them about their servants, either."
"Someone whose family is powerful then." decided Harry, thinking back to his conversation with Dobby many weeks before.
They visited Azkaban, didn't they? They'd have to be in some position of power for that to be allowed.
"That's just about everyone in Slytherin." Nott frowned, rubbing his fingers against the cover of his book, "It doesn't narrow down the list all too much."
"Maybe it's someone who knows me personally."
I certainly wouldn't put it past someone like Malfoy to play a practical joke like that.
"I wouldn't know." said Nott with a shrug, "Just forget about it for now. It isn't like you can talk to Snape about it or something -"
"- he'd squish me like a bug -"
"- and it wouldn't look good if you started asking around about 'Dobby the house-elf' either." Nott finished, "If you really have to, tell Dumbledore about it."
Harry nodded, turning to face Daphne. She watched him silently, her icy blue eyes latched upon his own.
"What else did he do?" she asked eventually, her voice quiet, "Did he just stop your mail, or did he do anything else?"
"He warned me that I was in danger." admitted Harry nervously, "He said something terrible was about to happen."
Daphne caught Harry's eye. Harry was certain that she too was thinking of what he himself was.
Voldemort.
Harry's palm balled into a fist.
Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled out Emily's diary from beside him. Removing a quill from within his robes, he began to write.
-(xXx)-
Harry, Nott, and Daphne stepped down from the Hogwarts Express many hours later. The cold evening air beat against their robes as they trekked towards the carriages that pulled themselves. At long last, the trio stepped inside, joining a group of third year Ravenclaws on their ride up to the castle.
Hogwarts, as always, shined beautifully beneath the starry sky. Its walls were dull, its design quite plain - but truthfully, it didn't matter. It would always remain a perfect image in Harry's mind.
Home at last.
Harry smiled.
The three of them made their way up the marble staircase, through the large oak doors and into the Great Hall. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long House tables were lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in midair.
Moving towards the Slytherin table, Harry glanced towards the staff table. It stood at the top of the hall, facing each and every one of the students. It was almost entirely filled; only Professor McGonagall and Hagrid's seats remained empty.
"You've got to be kidding." muttered a voice from somewhere behind him. Harry turned around.
Sitting just to the left of Professor Snape (whose sneer was significantly more pronounced than usual) was a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He sat leaned back in his chair, occasionally winking at a few of the students, or perhaps flashing a blinding smile.
"Lockhart." murmured Nott, "He must be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
"What's wrong with him?" asked Harry curiously, the image of a woman with long brown hair and sapphire eyes swimming through his mind. He roughly pushed it aside.
"He's an idiot." Nott shook his head, glaring daggers into the side of Lockhart's head, "Absolute fool. I saw him leaving Diagon Alley that day he visited Flourish and Blotts. The prat spent a solid ten minutes talking to a portrait of himself."
The two of them took their seats, Daphne sitting silently beside Harry.
"You know, I would've thought you'd at least know about Lockhart." said Nott curiously, "He's just about written our entire book list."
"I haven't bought any of my books yet." Harry whispered.
"Don't bother buying them." Daphne's gaze latched upon the three-legged stool that stood just before the staff table, "They're absolute rubbish."
Nott nodded in agreement, pulling out the book from before and placing it on the table before him. His hand was an inch away from the cover before he paused, turning towards Daphne. His eyebrows scrunched slightly. Shrugging, Nott returned to his book and began to read.
Harry's eyes combed over the girl. She seemed quieter than usual, and she looked rather awkward without a bubbly brown-haired girl sitting by her side.
"You sure you're alright?" muttered Harry quietly.
Daphne looked up, her fingers pressed tightly against the underside of the table. Her eyes softened by the slightest of margins, and her head slowly nodded.
"I'm fine." she whispered, "Thanks."
Anytime.
Emerald eyes slid away from the girl with the blonde braids, jumping across the sea of students opposite him. They paused every now and then, soaking in many of the familiar faces.
At the Ravenclaw table sat Lisa Turpin, one of Harry's partners in Astronomy. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot both sat at the Hufflepuff table, chatting amongst each other, and at the Gryffindor table sat Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Ronald Weasley. The latter appeared as though he were going to be sick. His eyes kept flicking from the three-legged stool to the large oak doors and back again.
After what felt like hours, the first years finally arrived. Harry watched as Professor McGonagall led a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. Many of them shivered from the cold, and all of them looked nervous. Several chanced glances around the hall, their jaws dropping as they took in the beauty of the magnificent school.
Harry paid little attention as Professor McGonagall presented the Sorting Hat, and paid an equal amount of attention as the curious hat sang into its annual song. His eyes roamed the hall once more, landing on the first years more often than not. To one side stood a boy with a muggle camera clenched firmly in his hands, and on another stood a dreamy-looking girl with long, blonde hair and silvery eyes. At the front stood a pretty girl with flaming red hair who kept glancing towards the Gryffindors.
So the Weasleys aren't all boys.
Shaking his head, Harry clapped along with all the other students as the Sorting Hat finished its song. At long last, the hubbub died down and Professor McGonagall spoke.
"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years, "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."
With that, Professor McGonagall began to call out names. Harry, glancing back at the red haired girl once more, turned to Nott.
"Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?"
"Not necessarily." answered Nott, not bothering to look up from his book, "The Patil twins are in different houses."
I suppose he's got a point.
Harry turned his attention towards the staff table. Hagrid, the abnormally large gamekeeper, had finally made his way to his seat. He easily dwarfed the diminutive form of Professor Flitwick, who sat to his left.
Harry didn't pay much attention during the sorting. The silvery-eyed girl, Luna Lovegood, had gone to Ravenclaw, and the boy with the camera had been sorted into Gryffindor. The youngest Weasley, Ginny, had been sorted there as well. The Weasley twins had all but jumped to the ceiling after her sorting, causing the girl to go red in the face.
After Ginny Weasley had been sorted, Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool, carrying them off to the side of the hall. The numerous conversations all died down at once as Professor Dumbledore, dressed in anomalous purple robes, stepped up towards his lectern.
"There are times when I feel the need to impart knowledge within those that surround me." said Dumbledore, his soft, strong voice permeating through the hall, "But now is not such a time. Let the feast begin!"
With a wave of his hands, the many empty dishes of the Great Hall magically filled to the brim. Foods of all sorts - steak, hamburgers, vegetables, and much, much more - could be found within a few feet of each and every one of the students. Nott groaned, just barely managing to pull his book out of the way of a tray of mashed potatoes.
Harry, grinning, filled his plate with just as many different foods as he had a year prior.
It was all delicious.
-(xXx)-
"- would be alright if I could have a picture?"
Harry stood just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his jaw hanging loosely open as he stared blankly at the boy before him.
It was the middle of the day; in a few minutes the Slytherin second years would experience their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. To his side stood Daphne, who stared coolly at the mousy-haired Gryffindor. The boy shivered nervously under her gaze, fiddling with his camera.
To Harry's other side stood Nott. Nott, for the first time in quite a while, did not have his nose buried deep within a book. Not that such a thing particularly pleased Harry.
Especially not when it's at my expense.
"Go on, Harry." said Nott, grinning, "You can take a picture with him, can't you?"
"You want a picture?" repeated Harry blankly, facing the mousy haired boy.
"So I can prove I've met you!" the boy bounced eagerly, holding up his camera, "I'm Colin Creevey, by the way. I've heard all about you! I'd love to send a photo to my father - he's a milkman, by the way. It'd be really good to have a picture of you. And then, maybe when you're done, you could sign it too?"
The boy was nearly jumping up and down in excitement now. Hands wrapped tightly around his camera, he turned to Daphne.
"Maybe you could take t-the p-p-picture." the boy began, losing his nerve as Daphne's harsh glare stabbed at him. He gulped slightly, shivering. Nott sniggered.
"Er - maybe you could take the p-picture then?" asked Creevey, turning to Nott.
"I'd love to." Nott grinned, taking the camera from Colin's outstretched hand. Harry glared at him as Colin jumped with excitement.
"You're giving out photos now, Potter?"
A loud, scathing voice, clearly filled with amusement, echoed through the hall. Harry groaned as Draco Malfoy, flanked by his thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, swaggered towards the door of their Defense classroom.
"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared towards the hoard of second years that stood outside Lockhart's classroom, "Potter's giving out signed photos!"
"No, I'm not." said Harry firmly.
"Don't worry about it, Harry." squeaked Colin from somewhere beneath them all, "He's just jealous!"
Harry winced, his eyelids slamming shut in disbelief.
This kid has really got to learn when to shut up.
"'Jealous'?" repeated Malfoy incredulously, laughing, "You think I want to walk around with a foul scar on my head -"
"Well, what's this I'm hearing about signed photos?" said a loud voice. Harry swore under his breath, glaring at Nott, who sniggered loudly.
Professor Lockhart had finally stepped out from his classroom. Silky turquoise robes covered him from head to toe, and a light tan wand stuck out from between his fingers. For an uncomfortably long moment, there was silence, and then -
"Ah, Harry!" exclaimed Lockhart, his eyes finally landing on him, "I should've known! It's good to meet you - must've missed you in Flourish and Blotts!"
Flashing a painfully white smile as he laughed, Lockhart turned to Creevey, beaming.
"Tell you what." he said to the mousy-haired Gryffindor, "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."
Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes. As he left, Lockhart beckoned the second years into his classroom. Rolling her eyes, Daphne led a blank-faced Harry into the classroom, an unusually cheerful Nott following shortly behind. The three of them sat at the very back of the classroom, Daphne and Nott sitting on either side of Harry.
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of 'Travels with Trolls', and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. Several of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls - including Hermione Granger - sighed softly.
"Now then - to business!" he exclaimed, pulling out a stack of test papers from behind him, "I see you've all bought a complete set of my books - well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in!"
Parchment soared feebly through the room as Lockhart waved his wand. The man straightened his pointed blue hat, flashing them all another smile as he tapped his fingers upon a long, mahogany desk.
"You have thirty minutes - start - now!"
Harry looked down at his paper and began to read.
'1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?'
On and on it went, over three sides of paper, until it finally finished with:
'54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?'
Harry stared blankly at his paper before him, blinking rapidly. The quill slid from his hands, and Harry looked up. To one side, Nott stared at his parchment, seemingly torn between amusement and irritation. To his other, Daphne seemed firmly set on the latter. Her lips straightened into a thin, sharp line, and the ink on the edge of her quill blotted the front of her paper.
It's a good thing I didn't buy my textbooks this year.
After what felt like far too long, Lockhart collected their tests and rifled through them as he paced back and forth at the front of the class.
"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in 'Year with the Yeti'. And a few of you need to read 'Wanderings with Werewolves' more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"
He gave them another roguish wink. Harry felt his jaw slide open, and he stared at Lockhart in disbelief; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, the two Gryffindor boys who were sitting in front, shook with silent laughter. By now Nott's amusement had long vanished; he was silently banging his head against his desk in the back of the classroom, muttering incoherently.
"If class is anything like this, we're going to fail this year." muttered Harry quietly. Nott groaned in agreement as Lockhart said something to Hermione Granger at the front of the classroom.
After another ten minutes, Lockhart shuffled back towards his desk, tucking the test papers into one of the many drawers. He shot back up at once, glancing around the classroom dramatically.
"Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."
Harry and Nott both looked up, their eyes falling upon the cage Lockhart had lifted onto his desk. The thing was rather large, draped in a silvery satin blanket. It shook slightly, causing a few students near the front of the class to yelp in surprise.
"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice, "It might provoke them."
The whole class held its breath. Lockhart ran his fingers along the edge of the silk, and he whipped off the cover.
"Yes," he said dramatically as screeches filled the room, "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."
Slam.
Harry turned, watching as Nott's head crashed against his desk once more. A faint chuckle escaped Harry's lips, and he slowly shook his head.
There's no way he's done half the things he says he's done.
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.
"They're not dangerous." muttered Nott irritably, his voice muffled slightly as he pressed his head against the desk, "Not unless you're stupid enough to cage them."
Seamus Finnigan, from the looks of it, seemed to agree. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.
"Yes?" said Lockhart, smiling at Seamus.
"Well, they're not - they're not very dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.
"Tut, tut - I wouldn't be sure." he said, waggling a finger in Seamus' direction, "They're awfully devilish when they want to be!"
The class sat in silence as Lockhart, still smiling, strode towards the cage.
"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly, flashing them all a brilliant smile, "Let's see what you make of them!"
Harry scrambled out of the classroom as Lockhart opened the cage.
