Author's Note

Now that the canon plot points from the second and third year are mostly wrapped up, we're getting to the point where things really diverge from canon. I should note that if things feel like they are coming too easily to Harry, that is intentional. He's going to get increasingly overconfident from his streak of beginner's luck, and that will catch up with him eventually.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed!

Harry pushed open the heavy door of the Hospital Wing, peering into the sterile, silent room where the faint scent of medicinal herbs mingled with the morning chill. He hadn't been back since it happened, and now, two days later, the sight of Hermione lying Petrified beneath crisp white sheets felt both surreal and irritating. He moved forward, but voices stopped him short.

"Without the mature Mandrakes, there's little we can do, I'm afraid," Dumbledore's voice floated softly from within, carrying the usual calm assurance but undercut with something deeper—perhaps resignation. "Pomona's plants are progressing, but it will be some time before they reach full maturity. We're fortunate to have even that. As you know, Madam Pomfrey, Mandrakes aren't exactly native to our part of the world, nor are they easy to come by. Hogwarts is one of the few institutions that keeps a steady supply."

"Yes, well," Madam Pomfrey's voice replied, resigned but edged with frustration, "it's hardly comforting when we have students lying helpless here in the meantime. Miss Granger… such a bright girl."

Harry stood in the doorway, hidden from view, his jaw tightening. He'd heard enough. Waiting months for Mandrakes to mature—completely unacceptable. The Headmaster's insistence on caution seemed particularly misplaced when solutions were, quite literally, a letter away. He could hardly imagine Rachana Champei shrugging off something as simple as a Mandrake supply issue with helpless patience. Mandrakes, he knew, were nearly as abundant in certain parts of the jungle as nettles were here. If they needed a Restorative Draught, Harry would make sure Hermione got one—quickly.

Harry slipped back out, steps quickening as he turned his attention inward, running through his options. He could write to Rachana immediately. She'd have no trouble brewing the potion herself, and, knowing her efficiency, he could expect a solution within a fortnight.

He reached Ravenclaw Tower, irritation simmering. To Hogwarts, Hermione was just a casualty of unfortunate timing, another hapless Muggleborn on the list, but to him, she was an asset. Bright, inquisitive, and eager to dive into whatever hints he gave her. He couldn't afford to have her out of commission. If he needed a detail researched, a legend cross-checked, Hermione was his go-to. This situation wasn't just an inconvenience; it was an impediment to his plans.

No, he'd have her back on her feet in a week or two. A smile ghosted across his lips as he thought of the letter he'd write. He stepped into his dormitory, retrieved parchment and quill from his trunk, sat down at his desk, and scratched out a suitable letter.

Dear Rachana, Sok,

I hope this finds you both well. It's been too long since I last wrote—Hogwarts keeps me busy, though the training here hardly compares to what I learned under you.

You'll find this amusing: my Potions professor, Snape, has earned a reputation as something of a terror, though he's passable at best. Hogwarts seems content with his skill level, but I think you'd find the quality of his instruction quite concerning.

I could actually use your expertise. A Basilisk attack has left a classmate of mine Petrified, and Hogwarts has opted to wait until their Mandrakes mature to brew a Restorative Draught—a needless delay, as all the ingredients are readily available in Cambodia. If you're able to brew it there, I'd be grateful. I have no doubt you'd be faster.

There's much more I'd like to discuss, and your guidance would be invaluable. The topics, though, are too sensitive to entrust to a letter that could be intercepted. Perhaps a visit this summer would be in order; it's past time to catch up in person.

Let me know if you need anything from this side of the world.

Best,

Harry

Harry leaned back, feeling the familiar satisfaction of having a plan in motion. With the letter written and waiting for Hedwig, he let his thoughts wander, thinking of the long flight awaiting his loyal owl. Then, a thought struck him. He had his Nimbus 2001 tucked away under the trapdoor in his trunk, the one he'd completely forgotten about since purchasing it and packing it away. It was the latest model, just released, and he'd picked it up on his quiet early morning shopping trip in Diagon Alley before term started. With everything that had happened since his arrival at Hogwarts, it had completely slipped his mind.

The idea of a flight sounded perfect. He could practically feel the crisp November air, which, with a few charms, wouldn't be a problem at all.

Rising, he made his way to his trunk and opened the hidden trapdoor. He hadn't been down in the Expanded space since he'd handed it over to Dobby, giving his elf free rein to turn it into his own little sanctuary. Ever since, Dobby had easily retrieved items for Harry at a snap of his fingers, so he hadn't needed to go down himself. Now seemed as good a time as any to see how things were progressing.

With a quick step, he climbed down into the room, greeted immediately by the sight of neatly stacked piles of books, perfectly organized potions supplies, and shelves he hadn't remembered being there. Dobby had transformed the once-cluttered space into a surprisingly orderly home, complete with a small bed covered in blankets and a small explosion of colorful decorations.

"Oh, Master Harry!" Dobby's head appeared from around a stack of books, ears flapping in excitement. "Is there something Dobby can fetch for you, sir?"

Harry nodded. "My broom, actually. The Nimbus. I'm thinking of taking it out for a spin."

Dobby's eyes sparkled with pride. "Ah, Master Harry's new broom! Dobby keeps it safe, sir, very safe indeed." With a snap, Dobby summoned the sleek, polished Nimbus from a nearby stand, holding it out to Harry with reverence.

Harry took it, running his hand along the smooth handle. "Thanks, Dobby. You really cleaned this place up."

Dobby beamed, practically vibrating with happiness. "Anything for Master Harry, sir!"

Leaving Dobby to his projects, Harry headed toward the common room, broom in hand, immediately ran into Terry, Anthony, and Michael, sitting and chatting in the shared area outside their rooms. Their conversation stopped short, eyes widening as they took in the broom.

"Wait—is that a Nimbus 2001?" Terry asked, half in shock. Michael and Anthony looked at him as if he'd just conjured treasure out of thin air.

Harry shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "It is."

Michael stared. "You never said you'd bought it! We thought you'd decided against it when you didn't bring it up on the train."

"Well, here it is," Harry replied, tone as dry as ever. "Figured it's about time to take it for a spin. Thought I'd test it out on the Quidditch Pitch—if there's no practice happening."

The three boys exchanged glances, barely hiding their excitement. Without another word, Harry held the broom out to Terry. "Here, take it to the pitch. I need to send a letter first, but I'll meet you there."

Terry's hands closed around the handle as if it were made of glass. "We'll guard it with our lives, Harry," he said, voice full of solemn awe.

"Yeah, no kidding. We know exactly how much this costs!" Michael added, still staring.

Harry stayed deadpan, nodding. "Good. Try not to break it before I get there."

Leaving them to their excited murmuring, Harry headed toward the Owlery to send his letter. He could hear their footsteps quickening behind him as they made their way outside, their voices a mix of disbelief and excitement. For the first time that day, he felt a genuine thrill of anticipation; after all, it wasn't every day you had a Nimbus 2001 to yourself.

—

Pettigrew had lost track of time in the trunk. Hours, maybe even days, had passed, the unchanging flicker of the blue flame casting ghostly shadows on the array of jagged metal that surrounded him. His body ached, and his mind was caught in an endless loop of panic and regret.

Then he heard something—a shuffling, the unmistakable scrape of earth moving above him. His heart leaped into his throat as he heard the lid creak open. A harsh light flooded in, and he barely registered the figure above him before he was hit with a flash of red. Everything went dark once more.

When he awoke, he was lying on cold stone, no longer confined to the cramped cage. His senses sharpened as he became aware of an ominous presence around him. He froze, instinctively curling tighter, but as his eyes adjusted, he realized what was surrounding him: large, muscular snakes, their eyes glinting with a strange intelligence as they watched him intently.

Fear surged through him as he quickly transformed back into his human form, hoping that appearing larger would dissuade any of them from deciding he was prey. Only then did he register the figure standing before him.

Harry Potter.

The boy looked down at him with an unnerving calm, a composed but intense expression that made Pettigrew's skin crawl. He couldn't reconcile this child with the rumors he'd heard from Ron—the stories about Harry's strange abilities and mysterious training. Now, face-to-face with him, Pettigrew could see something far more chilling in those eyes.

"Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, his voice cold and steady. "Order of Merlin, Third Class—awarded posthumously. I believe you have some explaining to do."

Pettigrew's heart hammered in his chest as he looked frantically from Harry to the snakes. "P-Please," he stammered, "I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Save it," Harry cut him off, his voice as cold as ice. "You betrayed my parents, and you framed Sirius Black." There was no question in his tone, only a harsh finality. "Why?"

Pettigrew's mouth went dry. His mind scrambled for a way out, any possible excuse. "It… it was the Dark Lord. He forced me to do it, I swear! He found me, he… he knew about the Prophecy, the one that said you were his downfall!" he blurted, his voice trembling. "He… he gave me no choice!"

There was a flicker in his eyes at the mention of prophecy, but Harry's expression remained impassive. He turned his head slightly and hissed at the snakes, an inhuman sound. The boy is a Parselmouth! Immediately, one of the larger snakes slid closer, its dark eyes fixed hungrily on Pettigrew.

Harry spoke again in English, his conversational tone belied by the menace in his words. "These are venomous, you know. I'd suggest you cooperate."

Pettigrew's heart raced, and he shrank back, his fear overcoming whatever feeble resistance he might have offered. "Alright, alright!" he babbled, desperation clear in his voice. "I… I framed Sirius because… because he would have killed! He was… he was so brave, so reckless, they'd believe anything about him. I knew they'd never suspect me… they'd all overlooked me for years…"

Harry's gaze remained fixed, emotionless, as he continued. "Tell me about my parents. What were they like?"

Pettigrew's eyes darted from Harry to the snakes as he began to speak, his voice wavering. "They were… good people, kind and… and strong," he whispered. "James—your father—he was always fearless, so confident. And Lily… she was brilliant, a true talent with charms and potions. And they loved you, Harry… they would have done anything for you."

Harry's expression didn't change. "Who else were they close to? I know Sirius, and you, but who else?"

Pettigrew's shoulders sagged, the memories dragging him down as he tried to avoid Harry's piercing gaze. "Remus Lupin," he murmured. "The four of us were… we were friends, once. The best of friends. But it… it all changed when… when the Dark Lord gained power. I thought he'd be unstoppable, that siding with him was the only way to survive." His voice wavered, almost to himself. "They trusted me, and I… I betrayed them all."

Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening. "So you chose survival over loyalty."

Pettigrew's voice fell to a fearful whisper, "Yes… but I regret it, I swear, every day…"

Harry's gaze remained steely, the snakes still encircling them like silent sentinels. Pettigrew swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his betrayal in the boy's unrelenting stare. Pettigrew's hand crept toward his pocket, his fingers brushing the handle of his wand, his last, desperate hope for escape. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he braced himself, steeling his nerves to act. But before he could fully grasp the wand, Harry was casting.

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from his grasp and landed neatly in Harry's outstretched hand. Pettigrew flinched, his heart sinking as he watched Harry tuck the wand into the inner pocket of his robes with an unnerving calm. There was no hint of satisfaction or triumph on the boy's face, just a steely focus that made Pettigrew feel even smaller.

Harry met his eyes, continuing as though nothing had happened. "Tell me about my father's friends," he said, his tone cool and unwavering. "You mentioned Sirius and Remus. Was that everyone?"

Pettigrew's throat went dry, his mouth fumbling for words as his hopes of escape withered. "Y-Yes," he stammered, glancing nervously at the boy's pocket, where his wand was now securely hidden. "It… it was just the four of us. We… we were called the Marauders."

Harry's gaze sharpened, unguarded interest showing for the first time. "The Marauders?" he repeated.

Pettigrew nodded, a faint, trembling smile creeping onto his face as he latched onto the memory, hoping it might soften Harry's steely demeanor. "Yes… we gave ourselves the name at school. We were inseparable, always causing trouble, pulling pranks. It was… our way of leaving a mark, I suppose."

Harry's expression remained unreadable. "And this… 'mark'—was that just pranks, or something more?"

Pettigrew's hands fidgeted as he looked down, unable to meet Harry's piercing gaze. "We… we made a map," he admitted quietly, his voice thick with nostalgia. "A map of Hogwarts. Every secret passage, every hidden corridor… it was our masterpiece."

The silence that followed was suffocating, and Pettigrew dared a glance back at Harry, hoping for a glimpse of softness or understanding. But all he saw was calculation in Harry's eyes, as though he were weighing Pettigrew's every word, testing them for lies. Pettigrew swallowed hard, trying to find some hint of leniency or understanding. But Harry's gaze was steely, giving away nothing. Pettigrew's hope withered as he endured the cold weight of the boy's unyielding scrutiny.

Suddenly, Harry turned slightly and called, "Dobby."

With a sharp crack, a House Elf appeared at Harry's side, bowing low. Pettigrew's eyes widened in shock. The Potters had once had an elf, a loyal creature who'd been killed by Death Eaters along with James's parents. But this was a different elf—one bound to serve this boy, it seemed, if the look of deference on its face was anything to go by.

"Fetch a meal from the kitchens," Harry instructed, "for my guest."

The words hung in the air, their cold courtesy more unsettling than any threat. Pettigrew's mouth went dry, a sense of dread settling in as he watched the boy control this strange, unnerving situation with the confidence of someone far older. With a small nod, Dobby vanished with another crack, leaving behind a silence thick with unspoken tension.

Moments later, Dobby reappeared, carrying a tray laden with food and a pitcher of water. Without a word, he set the meal in front of Pettigrew before vanishing again. The smell of food made Pettigrew's stomach growl, a painful reminder of how long he'd gone without eating. Under Harry's watchful gaze, he reluctantly began to eat, each bite tasting bitter as he realized the boy was scrutinizing his every move.

Pettigrew sat, tense and watchful, as he ate under Harry's unrelenting gaze, each bite a reminder of his captivity. He tried not to think of the cold, confined prison that awaited him once the meal was over, but the dread settled like a stone in his stomach. When he finished, he placed the cup back on the tray and looked up, hoping to catch some sign of leniency or understanding in Harry's expression. But the boy's face was as unreadable as stone.

"Transform," Harry ordered, his voice cold and uncompromising.

Pettigrew's hands tightened involuntarily around the edge of the tray. "P-Please, Harry," he stammered, his voice a high-pitched tremble. "I… I can't go back into that trunk… I won't survive like this…"

Harry's expression didn't soften. Instead, he extended a hand, and suddenly, the surrounding stones on the chamber floor began to lift, swirling around Pettigrew in a slow, deadly orbit. They spun with precise, controlled force, each jagged edge glinting in the flickering light of the chamber.

"Transform," Harry repeated, his voice cold as steel. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

Pettigrew swallowed, his mouth dry as his eyes darted from Harry's impassive face to the stones spinning dangerously close. He knew Harry's resolve was unwavering; he could see it in the calm set of his jaw, in the unflinching gaze that bore into him with a kind of calculating menace he had never anticipated from a boy. The stones whirled around him, a silent promise of pain if he resisted.

Heart pounding, Pettigrew let out a small, defeated whimper before reluctantly transforming back into his rat form. No sooner had he shifted than Harry's wand whipped up.

"Stupefy."

With another flash of red light, the world went dark once more. When he awoke again, he found himself once more inside the prison-trunk, the cold bars pressing against him, the blue flame casting long shadows over the cruel spikes, blades, and shards surrounding him. Any hope of escape, of negotiating his way to freedom, had vanished like a cruel joke.

—

After re-burying the prison-trunk, Harry turned his attention to the dark, still pool at the far end of the Chamber. Earlier, he had summoned a yellow-bellied sea snake with Serpensortia, sending it to investigate the ancient well by the water's edge. Now, the snake emerged, gliding across the stone floor to him.

Harry crouched, speaking softly in Parseltongue. "What did you find?"

The snake's tongue flicked as it replied. "A hole in the wall, deep below… it opens into a cave, vast and dark, larger than this place. Half flooded with water."

Harry's eyes narrowed with interest as the snake continued.

"And flowing into that cave, there is a river—broad and slow, moving through the caves." the snake added. "I turned back there lest I be drawn away by its current."

Harry absorbed the information, nodding thoughtfully. "Thank you," he said, ending the spell with Finite Incantatem. The sea snake vanished in a puff.

As he stood, Harry took in the Chamber with a renewed sense of its purpose. The well was no isolated feature; it was part of a vast, unseen network beneath Hogwarts, ancient waters and hidden paths, all waiting in the depths.

—

Percy's mind was racing as he finally spotted Potter heading down a mostly deserted corridor, clearly on his way back to his common room before curfew. Percy quickened his pace, barely noticing the hush that had fallen over the castle with most students already tucked away in their dormitories. As he approached, he called out quietly, "Potter!"

Harry turned, eyebrows lifting as Percy hurried to catch up with him. "Percy," he said calmly, his gaze steady. There was something about that calmness—unfazed and unhurried—that both unsettled and reassured Percy.

"Could we… talk? It's about the situation with Ginny," Percy said, his voice tense. Harry's eyes flicked around, scanning the hallway before he nodded toward a nearby empty classroom. He led Percy inside, closing the door behind them.

Once inside, Percy's unease grew. "Listen," he began, struggling to keep his voice steady. "The twins—they told me that diary was cursed. That Malfoy put it on her somehow. It's connected to the Chamber, isn't it?"

Harry responded in a level tone. "The Chamber of Secrets is, in all likelihood, merely a legend. The diary influenced Ginny, made her do things she wouldn't—couldn't—have done otherwise. That's why she painted that message on the wall, a misdirection. It's how she Petrified Mrs. Norris and Hermione."

Percy felt his fears lessen. At least the Chamber of Secrets was only a myth, as everyone used to believe. Slytheryin's monster wasn't real. "So… Ginny's innocent, then." He swallowed hard, the weight of what he was hearing pressing down on him. "And… you have it now? The diary?"

Harry's gaze held Percy's steadily. "I do. It's safe. As long as I have it, Malfoy can't use it to influence anyone else, including Ginny."

Percy exhaled, feeling a flicker of relief mixed with guilt. "You're keeping it hidden, I take it?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. For now, I don't think it's wise to involve the Headmaster. We know Malfoy planted it, but we don't have proof. If I keep it, we might see if he tries anything further—more cursed items, attempts to provoke trouble. It's a chance to gather more information."

Percy frowned, still uneasy. "And Ginny… she won't be… affected anymore?"

"No, she's completely free of it now," Harry assured him. "She didn't know what she was doing. The diary manipulated her, exploited her. And she doesn't deserve the blame for something she had no control over."

Percy's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tight knot in his chest easing as he considered Harry's reasoning. Ginny had always been his shy, sweet little sister—she could never have willingly hurt anyone, let alone Hermione. And yet, the idea of hiding this… of not going straight to Dumbledore… "But isn't this dangerous to keep from the Headmaster?"

Harry's gaze held his, steady and unwavering. "Perhaps," he admitted, "but I think it's the best course. It's over. Ginny's been through enough. Exposing this would only add to her pain, especially with her name getting dragged into everything. I think it's best for everyone if we handle this quietly."

Percy hesitated, but the logic was hard to deny. If protecting Ginny meant keeping this secret, then perhaps it was a burden he could carry. But even so, he felt the heavy weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "Alright," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you, Potter. But if anything—anything—goes wrong, you'll tell me. I can't keep something like this from my family if it threatens them."

Harry nodded. "Of course."

With that, Percy straightened, casting one last concerned look at Harry before he left the room, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

—

Harry moved down the corridors in silence, the conversation with Percy lingering in his mind. He'd been careful with what he'd told Percy, feeding him only the parts of the truth he wanted Albus to know in case Percy felt compelled to report anything to the Headmaster. If Percy ever gave in to his sense of duty as a Prefect and confided in Dumbledore, Harry knew the story would reflect well on him while keeping the more sensitive information under wraps.

His mind wandered as he passed the darkened classrooms, bringing to mind the last letter he'd exchanged with Fleur. They were working together on the enchantments for her fifth year project. While she was quite clear on the style she wanted, he'd offered to help with the enchantments, given his private lessons with Professor Flitwick. It was a worthwhile project, if only for the experience—and the possible connections it might forge with Fleur and her family. After all, he had to think strategically. He looked forward to hearing what she thought of the charm graph he'd proposed, but he had to wait for Hedwig to get back from Cambodia before he could send it.

Enchanted dress robes naturally shifted Harry's thoughts to Acromantula silk and Acromantula matriarch's alien perspective, letting her brood expand without restraint or regard for consequence, left him in a bind. The Centaurs, who already hunted her children to manage the spider population, were unlikely to accept a larger, unchecked colony within the Forest. Aragog's demands seemed impossible, but the silk was of immense value. Harry would need some way of convincing the spider to see reason. But what leverage could he apply? Aragog was dangerous, intelligent, and unwavering. He would need to find something she couldn't refuse.

As he turned down another empty corridor, he pictured Hermione, stiff and cold in her cot in the Hospital Wing. At least he'd solved that hurdle by requesting a Restorative Draught from his old tutor in Cambodia, and now it was only a matter of days before she'd be back in action. The thought filled him with anticipation—Hermione's eagerness as a researcher was sorely missed, and he knew she'd be invaluable once restored.

He recalled the dream he'd had a few nights ago as he reached the last turn. The coin's reaction to the cursed objects, the vision of the snake temple, the ancient relics all connected to the chilling sense of hidden power—Amaru, Atlantis—they had to be real. And somehow, he'd find the answers buried in those mysteries. But that would have to wait until things settled here at Hogwarts.

As he approached the door to Ravenclaw Tower, the bronze knocker posed a riddle. More of a rudimentary logic puzzle, really. He gave the answer, listening to the latch click open, and slipped into his dormitory, letting the quiet close around him.