The holidays passed quietly quickly, without any further attacks from the Heir of Slytherin to worry about. Harry was surrounded by his friends who had worriedly decided to accompany him in case someone decided to attack him, it had already become quite clear that the Heir cared very little about getting rid of purebloods and mudbloods alike, Justin, muggle-born and Ernie, wizard-born, were the petrified, but living proof of that. And it was curious how the Slytherins, previously so sure that they were safe, had now fled like cockroaches towards the safety of their little houses. Only Draco, Gregory and Vincent had decided to stay with Harry, faithful believers that he was not the Heir of Slytherin.
Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had been the few other friends who had stayed with the sole purpose of keeping him company and protecting him, although it was clear that if anyone was in danger it was them; one, blood traitors, Hermione, a Mudblood. And yet there they had been, all gathered in the great hall most of the time, with Draco Malfoy especially peaceful and a Crabbe and Goyle willing to keep the party peaceful if the lions didn't dare mess with their leaders.
And it had been nice to feel the peace and quiet for a few days, not only from the absence of people, but from the absence of problems. Quite the opposite of what had happened the previous year when Harry had spent day and night, along with Ron, in the library looking for something related to the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone. And it wasn't that the Chamber of Secrets issue didn't intrigue him, it was simply that being so sure that no one would dare attack him, he had decided to take things a little more calmly. In short, Draco didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get involved in that either, despite his claim to discover who the anonymous perpetrator of all those attacks was.
The only thing the dark-haired boy needed to forget about all that was for Christmas to come and for him to receive more gifts than he had ever received in his life. The alliances he had formed since the beginning of the course were paying off. Boys and girls from all grades and all houses had sent him gifts. Some more expensive than others but they all shouted the same thing; "Please, if you are the Heir of Slytherin, I want you to know that I am on your side, do not petrify me. And if you are not, then I just want you to know that I admire you." And it had been sensational. The room that morning had been so full of boxes between what Draco had received and what he himself had received that he could barely walk around the room. Muggle clothes and magical robes, bath essences, lotions, Quidditch items, magazines, jewelry, sweets, scarves, gloves, hats, posters of his favorite Quidditch team, quills, ink, scrolls of parchment and socks. All wrapped in boxes with colored paper, plain paper, bows and little cards.
Of all those presents, there were two that Harry had valued more than the rest, and for entirely different reasons. Draco's, of course; the new Nimbus 2001 that would help him crush Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in the upcoming matches; and the Dursleys' present. Yes, the Dursleys' present. A Christmas cake with icing, a stocking filled with pounds worth twenty galleons, a brand new pair of pyjamas, his size and perfect for winter, and a Christmas note telling him how sorry they were for being so mean to him and not realising how talented he was. Of course, along with all that, there was a very thin layer of grey gossip for Draco, along with a note of apology for their behaviour during the summer when they were "not very polite".
That gave both boys hours and hours of stifled laughter and stomach aches. Harry thought, now more than ever, about how pathetic his uncles were, who after having hated him for being different, now groveled at his feet for the simple fact of rubbing shoulders with people like Malfoy; rich, powerful and elegant. However, when the moment of fun passed, Harry couldn't help but feel disgust towards them. So many years trying to win their affection, their understanding, the one that he should never have begged for and it turned out that in the end it only took a year of good relations for him to know that he was as spoiled as Dudley who surely had to be throwing a tantrum at that moment.
He felt that he understood Salazar Slytherin a little after all when he decided that his people should not mix with Muggles. Hogwarts was a refuge, a refuge for people like him, special, fantastic and misunderstood people, people who there, in the Muggle world, would be rejected. The world would never have understood someone like Harry, so powerful that sometimes he had trouble controlling himself. The Dursleys had never intended to put themselves in his place, to know what it was like to be an orphan, to have no friends, to have your birthday forgotten every year, to not be allowed to look at a single photograph of your parents. They had never tried to understand him when extraordinary things happened around them, like that time when his aunt cut his hair by force and in just one night he returned to normal, or the time when Dudley, along with his friends, chased him to beat him up and he magically appeared on the roof of the school.
The only thing he had received from them because of his magic had been punishments; days without eating, with only one change of clean clothes a week, being their house elf twenty-four hours a day. Watching year after year go by as Dudley got to know the world between trips to the cinema and the amusement park, while he stayed in the care of his neighbor, who always kindly let him even watch television, something that was impossible with the Dursleys. And Harry believed that, if Draco had not come into his life, things would probably remain the same, he would have bowed his head for the rest of his life, accepting that in that house he was nothing more than a nuisance. Until, of course, he got tired of it and got rid of them with magic and at the risk of ending up in Azkaban.
He was looking forward to going back to his aunt and uncle's house for the first time in a long time, just to play "Draco says..." and "Narcissa says..." for a while and torment them for a few days, make them feel ashamed of what they were, unimportant, mean, selfish muggles. And then, of course, to go to Malfoy Manor, far away from them, to a place where he was treated as he deserved, to spend time with the living person he loved most, to fly over the manor gardens again, to learn to swim in the lake, to explore the vast Malfoy library once more, to have interesting and deep talks with Lucius Malfoy, to have tea and talk politics with Narcissa, to spend whole nights sleeping with Draco, looking at the constellations that were glorious against the clear Wiltshire sky.
By the time February rolled around, some were so convinced that the heir had disappeared that things hadalmostreturned to normal. No more attacks, Harry's nightmares were fewer and fewer, the voice in the walls hadn't appeared once, and Draco seemed to have almost completely recovered from the magical imbalance that had nearly cost him his place on his house's Quidditch team. He no longer suddenly got dizzy in the corridors, his sleep-deprived nighttime walks seemed to have ended, he ate much better, and thanks to all of that his mood had improved. Although he was certainly still a little reckless with anyone who threatened his integrity or that of his best friend Harry, although flattered, he was dying to get the old Draco back, discreet as a snake, cunning and silent.
"Draco?" Harry asked Draco, seeing that he wasn't paying attention, too lost in his thoughts.
"Excuse me?" he asked sullenly. Harry frowned. "I didn't hear you, sorry."
"Are you ready to go to dinner?" he repeated, observing him closely. His friend had been particularly silent that evening and Harry feared that his illness had relapsed.
"I don't really feel like going to the Great Hall," he replied, glancing at his desk, a gesture that Harry imitated, but among the pile of things he had scattered there (something not very common for Draco) he couldn't guess what he was looking at. "Why don't you go have dinner with Granger and Weasley? I'll stay and get some rest."
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, waiting for her to lie.
—Yeah, sure, I'm just a little sleepy —and there it was.
Harry watched him take off his shoes and without bothering to put on his pajamas he lay down on his bed, turning his back to him. The dark-haired boy wanted to insist, to tell him something else but he simply couldn't find the words and ended up leaving, maybe if he got there before everyone else he could steal a few blackberry cupcakes and a glass of milk for his friend who would surely wake up in the middle of the night dying of hunger.
He made his way to the Great Hall accompanied by Zabini and Nott, who couldn't stop talking about the great training the day before. It wasn't that Harry disliked those boys, they were both intelligent and skilled, they belonged to important families and they seemed really willing to be his henchmen now that Draco had shown he fully trusted him. They were both interesting, yes, but Harry thought they were also somewhat... short. Neither of them had shown to have Draco's gift for words, nor his sense of grandeur, neither of them aimed too high and were, to a certain extent, conformists. They weren't easy to manipulate, very few Slytherins were, but Draco had already taken their measure and for him it didn't mean much effort. And if Draco managed to get a couple of allies (like that pair), they were automatically Harry's allies.
Upon arriving, he said goodbye politely and headed to the Ravenclaw table where a freshly-received Hermione was waiting. She had had an accident with a cauldron during Potions and had been hospitalized for a couple of days. Ron joined her shortly after and the three of them dined at that table, chatting and joking about the results of the upcoming Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Ginny tried to join in the conversation for a moment, taking advantage of the fact that her friend, Luna Lovegood, was a Ravenclaw like Hermione.
Harry didn't miss the pert glances the girl gave him, though she didn't seem very aware of doing so, not of that, not of the sighs every time he laughed at a joke Ron told, or of the times she looked at him for more than three seconds, her cheeks rosy. However, when Harry looked directly at her, she simply looked away, hurried and nervous, almost trembling, trying to get back to Luna's talk about Merlin only knew what. It seemed that Ginny's feelings for Harry had been noticed by everyone at the table, and at the other tables as well, but no one said absolutely anything, not even Ron who didn't know whether to apologize to his friend or ask him to reciprocate his poor little sister's feelings.
At the end of dinner, as promised, Harry had some blackberry muffins and a glass of milk, which he charmed so the liquid wouldn't spill, and put it all in his backpack. Hermione asked them to accompany her to the library and the two boys agreed, Harry because he was interested in a new book about magical creatures, and Ron so he wouldn't have to go back to his common room and Ginny would start her questioning about "Harry Potter." The three boys walked through the castle through the corridors until they reached their destination.
As they left the library the three of them began to say goodbye, they paused for a moment longer because Hermione asked Harry about the Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and then they heard it, a cry, the cry of a little girl. It was so loud that the three of them wondered why no one else came out to see what was happening. Quickly the three of them walked slowly to the second floor, the cry was coming from the girls' bathroom, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"It's probably just Myrtle," Hermione assured her, "she cries at everything, all the time, which is why we never use this bathroom."
"But why is the hallway full of water?" Harry asked, lifting his robes uselessly, they were already soaked.
—...Wasn't that the case when... —Ron asked then.
The three of them looked at each other, remembering the attack on the unmissable janitor and his kitten. They rushed into the bathroom, not caring much that it was the girls' bathroom. Inside, the water mess was even worse than in the hallway. Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, harder and louder than ever (or so Hermione claimed). She seemed to be in her usual toilet. The toilets were dark, because the candles had been extinguished by the huge amount of water that had soaked the floor and walls.
"What's wrong, Myrtle?" Hermione asked.
"Who is it?" Myrtle asked sadly. "Are you here to throw something else at me?"
Hermione walked to the toilet and asked:
—Why would I have to do that?
"I don't know," Myrtle cried, sending another wave of water splashing onto the already wet floor as she emerged from the toilet. "Here I am, trying to deal with my own problems, and yet someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."
"But if someone throws something at you, it won't hurt," Harry chimed in, quite oblivious to his emotions. "I mean, it'll just go right through you, right?" Myrtle felt offended and shrieked:
—Let's throw books at Myrtle, who can't feel it! Ten points for getting it through her stomach! Fifty points for getting it through her head! Good, ha, ha, ha! What a fun game, but it's not fun for me!
"But who threw it at you?" Ron asked, trying to change the subject.
"I don't know... I was sitting on my toilet, thinking about death, and it hit me on the head," Myrtle said, looking at them. "It's just there, soaking wet."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. There was a small, thin book there. It was very worn and black and was as damp as everything else in the sink. Harry gasped as he recognized the object, Draco's diary. Harry reached out to grab it, but Ron stopped him with his arm.
"What is it?" Harry asked, afraid that something in his expression might betray his concern. He didn't understand why Draco would get rid of his diary like that, unless, of course, someone had dared to steal it and then get rid of the evidence. Foolish, of course, no one would dare play such a prank on him. But then… why?
"Are you crazy?" said Hermione. "It could be dangerous."
In his state of shock he had forgotten the number one rule in the wizarding world; there were really dangerous objects that, with a single touch, could kill you. Melt your eyes, poison you, pulverize your hands. What an idiot and careless... He was glad to have friends as cautious as the ones he had, Draco would have made a very bad face if he had caught him about to hold an extremely strange object, abandoned in the middle of a flooded bathroom, in a school where, up to that moment, there were four petrified people and a cat.
He closed his eyes, placing his hand just a few inches away from the main lid, all the magic emanating from it said "Draco Malfoy" as a personal seal, however, when he noticed that there was nothing else, at least nothing that would end up leaving him without arms, he opened his eyes and took it. His friends looked at him with their mouths open.
"Can you sense the magical essence of things?" Ron asked, and Harry shrugged dismissively. "Very few people can… in my family, only Bill… but they say it's something you're born with…"
"I learned it over the summer," he replied, looking at the black leather cover. There, in one corner, was something engraved. He read: "TM Riddle…"
"I know him," said Ron, who had crept closer and was looking over Harry's shoulder. "That name sounds familiar… TM Riddle won an award fifty years ago for Special Services to the School." Hermione and Harry stared at him in amazement. They had never heard of the guy before. The first and only time Harry had held that notebook, he hadn't noticed it. He wondered if Draco had.
"And how do you know that?" Harry asked, deadly serious.
"I know because McGonagall made me clean her nameplate about fifty times when I got detention last week," Ron said resentfully. "If you'd spent an hour cleaning a name, you'd remember it, too."
Harry pulled the damp pages apart. They were blank. There was not the slightest trace of writing on them, not even because he had watched Draco spend hours tracing sentences and words on those pages.
"He didn't actually write anything," said Hermione, disappointed.
"I wonder why anyone would want to flush it down the toilet," Ron said curiously.
Harry wondered the same thing. Why would Draco want to get rid of something he had apparently grown so fond of? Potter rarely saw him without it. He always carried it in his backpack and if he didn't, he knew he could find it on the table next to the bed. Draco had waited patiently for Harry to leave for dinner, lying to him about feeling tired and such. He hadn't stayed in bed, he had sneaked out of the dormitories and into that bathroom that everyone knew was abandoned, to get rid of that object that Harry had always found so mysterious.
He knew he should probably share with Ron and Hermione who owned the object, but he was terrified that something bad was going on and opening his mouth would get his best friend into trouble. He didn't know if it was safe to trust Draco, he didn't know anything at all, only that Malfoy had been acting too strange the last few months to let something like that go. The question was whether to confront him or not. If he did, would he tell him the truth? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was best to watch him, make sure he was on solid ground. The diary probably had some kind of concealment charm on it, if he managed to revoke it, maybe he would discover what it contained, the reason why Draco had desperately—and absurdly—sought to get rid of it.
He said goodbye to his friends who had promised to find a way to reveal information from such notebooks. It was a muggle notebook, so it was certain that any spell on it would be easy to remove. Harry stopped dead just as he reached his bedroom door. Why had Lucius Malfoy given him a muggle notebook? Hadn't Draco said it had belonged to his family or something? Since when did the Malfoys, purebloods, eternal enemies of non-magicians, acquire objects like that?
She opened the door, not expecting to find Draco asleep, but he was. He was sleeping like she had never seen him sleep before, completely stretched out on the mattress, as if he had just let himself fall down, undoing the entire bed, as soon as she got close. His face was relaxed and peaceful, the dark circles under his eyes had almost completely disappeared and he was breathing through his mouth, keeping it half open.
Harry stood by the door, not quite sure what to do. Everything was a mess. He was a mess. He finally closed the door behind him and sighed, deciding that the best thing to do was to take a shower and go to sleep. When he got out, he put on his pajamas and dried his hair in an unattended manner. He looked at Draco once more and sighed. He walked over to his bed and pulled the covers over him, causing Draco to let out a small snore, which sounded more like a cat's purr than a snore.
Just as the raven-haired boy was heading to his bed to rest and forget about that mess for a moment, the sound of paper rustling from his feet caught his attention. He looked down at his bare feet, he had stepped on what looked like a note, a letter that Draco had been holding before falling asleep. He bent down and picked it up, but just as he was about to leave it on his nightstand he decided that, even if he didn't like the idea, he had to read it. Draco wouldn't hide anything more from him.
Dear Draco,
I'm sorry I can't help satisfy your sudden curiosity about the Chamber of Secrets, there's nothing I can tell you without compromising your integrity, if you knew too much people might startpointing fingers at youand that would be counterproductive to our family name.
The only thing I can tell you, and I still ask for total discretion, is that the chamber was opened fifty years ago, even before I entered Hogwarts as a student, the headmaster in charge was very careful to keep it a secret, just as Dumbledore is doing right now, a girl died, it was no wonder they didn't want anyone to know what was really happening. It wasn't a great loss anyway, just any old Mudblood.
I trust your judgment and that you will keep out of everything, that you will let the Heir of Slytherin take care of everything withoutgetting involvedin anything. Our society needs to be purified, it needs to get rid of those who stain our lineage.
I hope to hear from you soon, Lucius.
Harry looked at the note carefully, Lucius as always was too smart to let his son get involved, if something went wrong and the heir was caught it was best not to get involved in anything. However, Lucius Malfoy's clear hatred for those who were not pure blood did not surprise him in the least, what had him rigid as a rock, standing in front of his friend's bed was that little piece of information that had been revealed to him unintentionally. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened fifty years ago and in his backpack he had a diary whose owner had received a plaque for services to the school, more or less at the same time.
Could it be possible that this Riddle had unmasked the heir and that had earned him the decoration? It was probable, but... Why had Lucius Malfoy had such an object in his possession? And why had he given it to him? Some kind of sign for the heir?
He looked at Draco once more, but he still didn't understand why he had wanted to get rid of the diary. Maybe he had discovered the truth and obeyed his father and got rid of all evidence linking him to the heir... Maybe Draco was the heir...
He shook his head, impossible, Draco couldn't be the heir. There was something else, something he was missing and he was going to find out on his own, sure that Malfoy wouldn't open his mouth just to avoid harming his father.