This chapter was quite fun to edit. It also made me realise that there will be seventeen chapters in year two, not sixteen (thanks to a typo in the chapter numbers). I'm sure that's a welcome surprise for many. Additionally, this chapter is a tad bit longer than most, which I'm sure you'll enjoy.
I've started a Discord. I intend for it to be a small, relaxed server - nothing to fancy or grand. If you have any questions about my writing, want to discuss my work, or simply want to hang out, you're more than welcome to join. The link is in my profile.
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
V. The Chamber of Secrets
Nothing.
Harry frowned, slamming a stack of books against the table's surface.
"Watch it!" Nott glared at him, his wide eyes jumping to Madam Pince and back. The strict, white-haired librarian was, thankfully, too far out off earshot, "You'll get me banned again!"
"I didn't get you banned the first time." Harry murmured, pulling a book closer, "How could I do it a second time?"
The dark-haired boy opposite him stuck his tongue out, returning to the even larger book that sat in his lap.
"I take it this is what you've been doing for the past hour?" asked Daphne from Harry's right. Harry nodded, sighing in frustration.
Thin slivers of light poured through the windows of the Hogwarts Library. It was still very early in the morning -
Eight, says Uncle Vernon's ruddy old watch.
- and the day had barely begun. But for Harry it had already been far too long.
I've been here for more than an hour now.
But, even now, after all his searching, Harry had found nothing - absolutely nothing - about the Chamber of Secrets.
"If you haven't found anything yet, there likely isn't anything to be found." noted Daphne from his side, "Something as interesting as a secret chamber hidden within Hogwarts definitely wouldn't be hard to find."
Harry nodded, frowning again. He glanced between Daphne and Nott, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table.
"Do either of you know anything about it? Anything at all?"
The both of them shook their heads.
""I'll ask my grandfather." Nott promised, "If anyone knows, it'll be him."
"Dumbledore seemed to know something, too." whispered Daphne.
"I think he did." Harry agreed, "Him and Snape both. They were acting oddly after Halloween."
"Of course they were." Nott said obviously, flicking through the pages of his book. Harry and Daphne turned to him, "A cat was petrified and hung next to a message written in blood. People tend to act oddly when that sort of thing happens."
Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose before standing up.
"I've got work to do." she said simply, neatly slinging her book bag over her shoulder, "I'd better leave before I lose any more brain cells - I need those for studying, unfortunately."
Harry paused, the cover of his book slipping through his fingers.
Brain cells. We started learning about those in year four. They're a muggle thing.
Realisation dawned upon him at once.
Tracey, probably.
Harry rolled his eyes as Daphne stalked off, sniggering silently as Nott made a rude hand gesture behind her back before returning his attention to a book of his own.
-(xXx)-
"Emily, what do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry watched in silence as the midnight black ink sank within the diary, vanishing from sight.
"Enough." answered Emily eventually, her handwriting neat as always, "But nothing you should concern yourself with."
Harry's eyes widened. He eagerly picked up his quill, jotting down a response at once.
"Could you tell me?"
There was a pause, and then -
"It is not something you will benefit from learning, I assure you." the inky trail vanished, replaced by words written much more firmly, "You will regret asking me. I am certain of this. In time, if you're absolutely certain, I will of course divulge - but not now."
Harry groaned, slumping against the sheets of his four-poster. For the second time today, Harry felt the knowledge he needed hanging just out of his grasp. He reached up, clawing at it almost desperately - but the further he reached, the further it rose above him. Harry was getting rather annoyed at being treated like a child -
But I am a child.
Harry frowned. He slowly sat up, pulling the diary closer and dipping his quill into the vial of ink.
"The heir won't petrify me, will they?"
"It is unlikely." assured Riddle, "You have no need to worry."
-(xXx)-
"- which culminated in his defeat at the hands of Egbert the Egregious in the early Middle Ages." finished Binns dully, not looking up from his notes.
History of Magic was easily the most boring subject on their schedule. Professor Binns was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't even noticed his death. He had simply gotten up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair by the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.
Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns had opened his notes and began to read in a flat, monotone drone like Aunt Petunia's old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor. A few would occasionally awaken long enough to copy down a name or date, but within seconds they would find themselves falling asleep again.
Not that I blame them. If he wasn't dead I'd have thought he cast a Sleeping Charm on us all.
Harry glanced around the room, his emerald eyes combing over the backs of countless heads. Only a few of them were raised - Hermione Granger's, namely, as well a few Ravenclaws Harry didn't recognize. Daphne seemed awake, too - but her eyelids were drooping, and even she seemed on the verge of sleep.
Nevermind them. Focus.
Harry tried. Sparse, random thoughts flew through his mind, dancing around his the insides of his skull. Harry batted a few of them aside, but they clambered back up, crawling closer -
Quiet. Empty your mind. Forget everything else, and focus.
The soft lull of his mind quieted down. Stark, intrusive thoughts slowly faded into nothingness.
That's better.
"Emily was right." Harry muttered beneath his breath, "It's much more difficult than it sounds."
He had never before realised just how loud his own heartbeat was, or how comforting the breeze was, or just how cold it was now becoming. It took a great deal of willpower to push the thoughts aside - and when his mind was finally empty, Harry would suddenly start thinking about just how empty it was.
It was both impressive and infuriating that he always found something to think of.
But it'll be worth it in the end.
Harry pulled out a thin, torn-up sheet of parchment from beneath his textbook. His scrawled, messy handwriting covered it.
'Benefits of Occlumency (according to Emily, anyway):
- Better emotional control
- Clear mind (better rational thinking)
- Better control of one's magic'
His eyes lingered upon the final line before shoving the tattered parchment into the pocket of his robes.
That's a gift I wouldn't mind having.
All of a sudden, Professor Binns' incessant drone ceased. For a moment, Harry was in awe of the sudden silence that had flooded his mind - a silence that might impress even Emily - and then -
"I was wondering, Professor," began Daphne, her cool voice betraying a hint of curiosity, "if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry glanced up, his fingers pressing tightly against the underside of his desk. He wasn't the only one, either - Ronald Weasley's head turned sharply towards the front, Neville Longbottom shivered slightly, and Malfoy straightened up, a vicious grin etched upon his face. Hermione Granger, who had been one of the sole student paying attention, seemed to be holding her breath.
Professor Binns blinked.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in a dry, wheezy voice, "I deal with facts, Miss Greengrass, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "As I said, after achieving victory, Egbert the -"
He stuttered to a halt. Now it was Hermione's hand that waved through the air.
That's about two more questions than he's ever gotten in a single class.
"Yes, Miss Grant?"
"Granger, Professor." she corrected, "I was just wondering, sir - don't legends always have a basis in fact?"
"Well," began Professor Binns slowly, frowning, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He glanced at Hermione, then Daphne, then back again, "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale -"
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, clearly unimpressed.
"Oh, very well," he sighed at last, "Let me see . . . the Chamber of Secrets . . .
"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people - known witches and wizards were often burned at the stake, as I'm sure you know."
He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But as time passed, disagreements sprang up between them, and a rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be both untrustworthy and an unnecessary risk. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips. He looked like a wrinkled old tortoise.
"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said sternly, "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.
"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."
The classroom fell silent, and for once it wasn't because they had all fallen fast asleep.
I might have preferred that.
A slight sense of unease permeated through the classroom, drowning them all within it. Many of the students were watching Binns with fear, hanging onto his every whispered word.
A fair few, however, had their eyes on someone else. Harry managed to catch Hermione sneaking a glance his way. She jumped slightly as their eyes met, quickly turning back to face Binns. Several others - Ron, Dean, and Seamus amongst them - turned to him as well before slowly returning their gaze to the front.
"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," Binns was saying, "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber many times, and by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."
"Or maybe you've got to be the Heir to find it." whispered Nott from Harry's left.
Harry nodded slowly, his eyebrows hunched together in thought. From beside him, Daphne glanced at them both, her icy blue eyes just as blank as Harry's.
Hermione's hand was back in the air by now.
"Sir - what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"
"According to legend," said Professor Binns irritably in his dry, reedy voice, "A monster. One which only the Heir of Slytherin can control."
The class exchanged nervous looks.
"I tell you, the thing does not exist," Professor Binns snapped, shuffling his notes impatiently, "There is no Chamber and certainly no monster -"
"M-m-monster?" murmured Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff boy two seats in front of Harry, "T-they can't have a m-monster in a school!"
Of course they can. Hagrid had Fluffy.
"Reckon it'll get a good bite out of Malfoy if we ask it to?" whispered Dean loudly to Seamus Finnigan. The pair laughed, Malfoy sneering at their backs.
"It'd probably get a good bite out of you, Thomas." said Malfoy snidely, "Didn't you hear what Binns said? It goes after mudbloods -"
It was like the classroom exploded. People were shouting, quills and ink cartridges went flying, and several Gryffindors pointed their wands at Malfoy. The platinum blonde just barely managed to duck out of the way as a flurry of dull lights flashed past his head. They crashed into the back of the room, and one of the chairs caught on fire.
That was probably Finnegan's.
A small huddle of Hufflepuffs danced around the flames, blowing as hard as they could. Harry watched as the flickering flames wilted away. Draco Malfoy slowly rose to his feet, his hair messy and his robes slightly wrinkled. He was grinning, and Crabbe and Goyle slowly marched in front of him, blocking him from view. From the front of the classroom, Professor Binns shrieked, "There is no monster!"
"Enough!" cried a shrill voice from the front. Harry turned to see Hermione standing in front of Ron, her hands wrapped firmly around Ron's wand arm, "He's not worth it! Don't let him get you in trouble!"
"That's you too, Granger." said Malfoy with a smug grin, "Ten galleons says you're next -"
It took both Hermione and Neville to stop Ron from sending another curse Malfoy's way.
-(xXx)-
"Emily?" began Harry, dipping his quill in ink, "What's a 'Mudblood'?"
There was a slight pause.
"Where did you hear it?" Harry frowned, leaning closer. Her normally thin, neat writing was scrawled and untidy.
It must have been bad, then.
"Draco Malfoy." wrote Harry, "A Slytherin boy in my year. He said it to a few of the Gryffindors in my year. What does it mean?"
"It's an insult." Emily explained simply, "A derogatory term used for those of lesser heritage - muggleborns, specifically. A jab at their lack of an illustrious bloodline."
"Does it actually mean anything?" Harry paused, fiddling with his quill uncertainly, "Being muggleborn, I mean?"
Daphne's parents probably think so.
A blurred vision formed in Harry's head. Two women strode side by side, their features obscured by their hair - blonde and brown, respectively. They looked an awful lot like Daphne and Tracey. The pair smiled together, dancing happily in the sunlight.
Just Daphne's father, then.
"Not in most cases, no." replied Riddle, "Aside from rare magical abilities inherited from certain family lines, that is. If anything, it is the assets that come with being the heir of a magical family that truly mean something. Money, land, and knowledge are all within an arm's reach."
That certainly sounds better to me.
Harry voiced his thoughts. When Emily wrote back, it was with a fervor Harry had seldom encountered.
"It did to me as well when I was your age. But there are other, more abstract concepts to consider. These purebloods, these witches and wizards who have grown up alongside magic - they have grown far too used to its existence. They do not watch it with wonder as we do, they do not revere it as they should. It is a tool to them, nothing more."
Harry nodded, his eyes carefully tracing her words. They made sense in a way many others did not. It snapped together like pieces of a puzzle, forming a picture Harry saw clearly. He didn't know much about purebloods, it was true - but this certainly seemed to fit.
"Not that it matters," Emily's writing was neat and thin again, covering the yellowing pages, "Even as half-blood, you are far better than any of your peers. Your blood can not change that."
-(xXx)-
A bright ray of golden sunlight cast the Gryffindor common room in a glorious glow, and despite it only being the early afternoon, the place was filled with life. The older students sat near the dormitories, laughing and chatting with one another. Many first years giggled amongst one another near the entrance. A few forth years sat off to one side, peering at a rather inappropriate wizarding magazine with dumbstruck expressions.
The entirety of the Gryffindor second years sat by the fireplace. Through pure luck, they had all managed to procure the armchairs by the fire - something which, considering just how many students were in the common room, was no small feat.
The fire's warmth, however, was not enough to overcome the cold seriousness of their conversation.
"Surely you don't think it's him." muttered Dean, "I mean, Malfoy, I get - but Potter?"
"He was there when we found Mrs. Norris." said Ron stubbornly.
"Yes, but it could have been an accident." said Parvati, "Didn't the three of you stumble upon Mrs. Norris by accident?"
"Well, yeah, we did." admitted Ron, "But he still found it before us. How'd he manage that?"
"You know exactly how he managed it." Hermione's soft voice wavered, too quiet to be heard by anyone else. Ron nodded slowly, his body unnaturally rigid. Neville, who had overheard, ducked his head.
"It just doesn't seem like him." decided Lavender eventually, "He just keeps to himself, doesn't he? Talks to Greengrass and Nott a bit, but that's it."
"Me mum says Nott's grandfather was one of the most powerful Death Eaters in the first war." Seamus piped up darkly, "Got out of Azkaban though, most of them did."
"Spending time with people whose family aren't very kind doesn't exactly qualify you for this." noted Hermione quietly.
"He's brilliant too." Dean added nervously, "You've seen him use magic - he's good. Better than any of us by far, that's for sure."
Hermione sniffled, shaking her head.
"Dumbledore said he didn't think any of us had done it." she said, "That includes Harry. And besides," she added, turning to Ron and Neville, "Hagrid seems to trust him. I can't imagine Hagrid liking him much if he's horrible. He's a fairly good judge of character, Hagrid."
"I dunno." said Neville quietly, "Remember F-Fluffy?"
"The one that tried to bite off your leg a few times?" asked Ron darkly, "Yeah, I remember."
"Nevermind that." Hermione sighed, shivering uncomfortably from within her armchair, "I'd have thought Malfoy a better candidate, but he couldn't possibly do that to Mrs. Norris."
"It must have been the monster, then." decided Seamus.
"Unless it's a Gorgon, I don't see how." said Hermione, more to herself than anyone else. She sank back into her armchair, lost in thought.
"Maybe it's somewhere in the middle." muttered Dean angrily, his palm balled into a fist, "I reckon you might get messed up if you looked at Malfoy too suddenly. He's an absolute git, he is."
But Hermione slowly shook her head, and silence fell upon them once more.
"You know, maybe it is Malfoy." muttered Ron, sitting up, "You're right, it'd make sense."
"Not even Malfoy's enough of a prat to call Hermione and Dean - well, that - if he was." said Parvati quietly.
Ron sighed, his head falling into his hands.
It was all very, very confusing.
-(xXx)-
The air grew colder as November loomed forward, something which irritated many of the Hogwarts students. The weather, apparently, was unpleasant - though clearly not enough to halt the Slytherin Quidditch team's preparations for their first match of the school year. Led by Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch team could often be seen out on the pitch, practicing during the early hours of the day.
"It's pathetic." Malfoy had muttered to Pansy Parkinson several times in the past week alone, Crabbe and Goyle mindlessly nodding their heads in agreement, "Why couldn't we play when it's nice?"
Harry, however, didn't mind the weather much, nor the way the clouds obscured the sky. It was not dissimilar to a blank canvas - a fresh start of sorts, something that he could change to his own liking. It was much better than a blue sky; that was like being handed a canvas covered in minute splotches of paint - you could paint something grand upon it, but it would always be marred by the few drops that were out of place.
Not that anyone really cares about clouds in the sky.
Still, Harry liked them. They were nice.
Sparing the clouds one last glance, Harry hastily shoved the hood of his robes over his head. He shivered slightly as he made his way back into the castle and down towards the Slytherin common room, the sound of cheering and yelling growing fainter with every step he took.
I dunno why they're so excited.
That wasn't entirely true, but it was true enough. Despite how fun Quidditch itself seemed to be, shivering from the cold air in raised stands seemed the exact opposite.
"Good morning." Harry wrote, pulling out Emily's diary the moment he had entered his dorm.
"Good morning, Harry." Emily wrote back neatly, "How are you progressing?"
"Well enough." he scrawled truthfully, "My theoretical work is a bit dodgy, but I'm better than ever at actually using magic."
"That's good to hear, though it doesn't explain why you've written back so early. You don't write so early during the weekends."
"I'll write more often." promised Harry, "And there's a Quidditch match going on right now. I don't want to be out."
"I thought you enjoyed flying?"
"I do." admitted Harry, "But I've never played Quidditch, and I don't want to go and sit in the cold just to watch a game."
Plus, it's awfully loud.
"That's fair, I suppose." wrote Emily, "I've never been particularly enraptured with the sport, although flying itself is slightly more interesting."
"It is." Harry agreed, "I might get my own broom in a few years, if I can. I'd rather that than the school brooms."
"Don't enjoy sharing?"
"The brooms are ancient." corrected Harry, "But I suppose it would be nice to have something to myself for once. I've got a few things of my own, but aside from my wand, your notebook, the cloak, and this diary, none of it's particularly special."
That much was certainly true. They were all valuable or impressive, and when Harry listed them out, they seemed quite plentiful, but the fact remained that they were all Harry truly had. Everything else belonged to his Aunt and Uncle, or the Professors that taught him, or perhaps even the school.
Harry was not particularly fond of using anything belonging to the latter. Hogwarts, though admittedly home to materials of rather good quality, was also home to a number of rather unkind individuals. That in itself was not much a problem; Harry was long used to people who were far from amicable. What was new were the looks of suspicion sent his way as the many students passed by. It had been happening since Halloween, just after Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville were found beside Mrs. Norris' limp body.
Dumbledore asking to speak with us in front of everyone probably didn't help either.
Still, it could have been much worse. The three Gryffindors had gotten away scotch-free, and Harry wasn't too far behind. Some stared now and then, but that was all.
Not that I'm surprised. The other three were in Gryffindor. Out of the four of us, I'm probably the most likely to be the Heir of Slytherin.
Fortunately, the whole affair hadn't really changed much else in Harry's life. He still spent most of his time alone or with the diary, and what time remained in the company of Nott and Daphne. His classes were unavoidable, of course - something Harry was growing to resent with every passing day.
What I wouldn't do to get out of Lockhart's class.
Harry truthfully had no idea how the man hadn't yet been fired. Everyone in Slytherin seemed to agree with him, as did most of the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs, however, and some of the Gryffindors seemed to think otherwise. Harry clearly remembered Ernie Macmillan's look of pride when he was asked to help Lockhart in one of his demonstrations.
Better him than me.
The image of Ernie Macmillan prancing towards the front of Lockhart's classroom swam through Harry's mind. The blonde boy turned as he reached the front desk, his beady little eyes watching Harry carefully. Fear and suspicion pooled up behind his gaze, and he shivered slightly.
"Emily," wrote Harry, dipping his quill in ink, "What really happened with the Chamber of Secrets?"
The diary was blank for a moment, Harry's words having sunk into its pages. There was a long pause, and then -
"I told you Harry, it is not knowledge worth knowing."
"I remember." Harry scrawled back, "But please, it's important. I have to know."
"And why is that?" asked Emily, an unspoken challenge written within her words.
Harry rested his quill an inch above the page, hesitating to lower it.
"Because they think it's me." he wrote eventually, "They're starting to think I'm the Heir of Slytherin. I've seen how some of them look at me. Like they're just waiting for me to mess up. I need to know, please."
Not a speck of ink formed on the diary for many moments. At last, Harry sighed in defeat, moving to close it.
"Fine." Emily wrote back, her writing stiff and rigid, "Let me show you my memory of the night I caught the culprit."
Wait a moment.
"The night you caught the culprit?" Harry scribbled hurriedly, but by then it was too late. The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Harry glanced at the little square for June thirteenth, watching as the printed ink faded from view. Harry tentatively leaned forward, and, after a moment's hesitation, lowered a single finger onto the surface of the book.
There was a blinding light, and Harry found himself falling into the diary, his feet suddenly landing on a surface hard and cool. The corridor he found himself standing within was one Harry recognised. The walls were obscured behind countless shadows, and the shadows themselves seemed to almost flee from the torches that lined the walls. These were the dungeons; the Potions classroom and Slytherin common room could be found here.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Harry looked up. A young girl, perhaps sixteen, slowly walked away from him, striding towards a door on the far right. Though Harry could not see her face, he managed to catch a glimpse of long, straight hair, pitch-black in colour. As she turned, Harry could just barely make out the silver prefect's badge that glinted upon her chest. She was taller than Harry, her figure far more appealing.
"Er - hello?" said Harry nervously, "Emily?"
The girl continued her stride.
"Hello?" Harry yelled again.
Nothing.
Harry looked around before chasing after her. He somehow managed to follow her into a classroom in the nick of time, barely avoiding getting crushed by the door. To Harry's disappointment, they had entered the Potions classroom.
Nothing interesting ever happens here.
"Good evening, Rubeus," said Emily suddenly.
Harry looked up, his eyes widening as they landed upon the dark outline of a huge boy. The boy was crouching before a large box, somehow managing to almost entirely obscure it from view.
Hagrid?
Harry watched as the familiar boy stood up, turning to face the girl in the diary. He stood protectively before the box, breathing heavily.
"What yer doin' down here, Emily?"
Riddle stepped closer, her dark hair fluttering all the while. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of unnaturally pale skin as she lowered her hand into her robe pocket.
"It's all over," she said quietly, "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."
"What d'yeh -"
"I doubt you meant to kill anyone. Perhaps you simply let it out for exercise and -"
"Aragog never killed no one!" yelled the large boy, backing against the large box. Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking from within it.
"Stand aside, Hagrid," Riddle slowly edged closer. "The girl's parents will be arriving tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the creature responsible for their daughter's demise is accounted for."
"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage, "He wouldn'! He never!"
"Stand aside, Hagrid." Emily whispered dangerously, drawing out her wand.
Harry heard the rustling grow louder, an angry clicking noise drumming against his ears. A moment later, the wooden box behind Hagrid had burst open, and a large, hairy, something burst from within. The creature scuttled away, the girl in the diary watching all the while. She lowered her wand, pocketing it before turning to Hagrid.
"An Acromantula." muttered Emily, her voice laced with curiosity. There was something oddly familiar about the way she spoke.
Harry leaned forward, hoping to get a glimpse of her features, but the scene whirled, the darkness snuffing out the light of the torches. Harry suddenly found himself back in his dormitory, breathing heavily with his head pressed against the diary. He pushed himself up, making his way towards the window before sinking to his knees.
"Hagrid." Harry panted in disbelief.
It was Hagrid.
-(xXx)-
Harry was still breathing heavily several minutes later as he stepped out from the dorms and into the Slytherin common room. The large, underwater room was nearly empty, as far as Harry could tell. A pretty brunette sat by the fire, playing with a strand of yarn. To his left, Crabbe lumbered past, his eyes growing more dull and lifeless with every step he took. By the end of the common room, Blaise Zabini was sitting by the largest of the windows, looking out into the Great Lake. Harry strode past them all, not noticing any of them.
A sick, uncomfortable feeling began to grow in Harry's chest. Feeling as though he were in some sort of trance, Harry stumbled towards the emerald flames of the fireplace, sitting within the throne-like armchair that was almost always occupied by students far older than himself. The pretty brunette watched him carefully, her sharp, thin eyebrows curving upward.
It isn't true, it can't be. Hagrid couldn't, he wouldn't -
No, Harry was almost certain of that much. Hagrid was many things - forgetful, clumsy, and occasionally a bit dense - but the Heir of Slytherin? No, that didn't make sense. That didn't make sense at all . . .
Maybe Emily's lying.
But that didn't fit either. Harry didn't know much about the magic of Emily's diary, but he didn't think it capable of creating memories that didn't exist - especially not in such detail. Besides, Emily wouldn't lie to him. She was his . . .
Mentor, I suppose. Not really friends just yet.
Harry shook his head, burying himself in his hands and leaning towards the fireplace. He groaned slightly, trying to ignore the nervous shivering of his arms and legs.
It isn't Hagrid, it can't be -
But it had to be. No other explanation made sense -
"Are you alright?"
Harry looked up. Daphne Greengrass stood before him, the flames bathing her in an emerald glow. She watched him carefully, her arms crossed. A strand of blonde hair blew against the side of her face. She gently tucked it behind her ear, watching him all the while.
"I'm fine." said Harry quietly, wincing at the crack in his voice.
Daphne rolled her eyes. She took the seat to his right, carefully tucking her skirt beneath her before turning pointedly to the girl opposite them. The pretty brunette smiled faintly, her amber eyes soft and curious. She slowly rose to her feet, sent Harry one last glance, and walked away. Daphne watched the girl leave before turning back to Harry.
"Fine, don't talk." she said blankly, "The last time you did, you nearly got yourself killed - or was that the time before?"
Voldemort.
"You don't have to explain that either." Daphne added, her voice softening by the slightest of margins, "I understand. But if you do need someone to listen, I'm here."
"Thanks." Harry muttered. Daphne nodded, humming quietly to his side.
"You didn't go to the Quidditch game." she said eventually, breaking the silence.
"Neither did you."
"I'm not a fan." admitted Daphne, turning to face the fireplace, "Besides, I thought you could use some company. I could, too. I've been thinking about things I've never really thought of before."
The blonde girl paused. Harry turned to her, meeting her intense gaze. He shivered slightly.
"I've never truly believed in blood purity, you know." she said slowly, her eyes still on his, "I couldn't, not when my best friend was a half-blood."
Harry sat in the silence, waiting as Daphne found the words she sought.
"I think I'm lost." she admitted quietly, "I think most of us are. Blood purity, magic, muggles - none of it makes sense when I truly think about it, but it's all my father would go on about when I was younger. It's confusing, I suppose.
"Take yourself, for example." she said, gazing at Harry, "You're better than I am -"
"- not in our essays." Harry interrupted, "Not -"
"You're better where it matters." Daphne straightened up, and her voice cut through the room like a knife to butter, "Your magic is stronger. I used to watch you fool around in the back of our classrooms, you know. Levitating things just above your hand - without a wand."
Harry stiffened.
"Don't worry, no one would believe me if I told them." said Daphne, "Not that I would tell anyone. It's . . . impressive."
"Just impressive?" asked Harry, grinning slightly.
"Don't push your luck." she said with narrowed eyes, "I'll drop it down to intriguing if you do."
But a hint of a smile graced her features as Harry broke into laughter. The pair sat by the fire for hours, oblivious to the young Gryffindor boy who had just been petrified as he ventured through the dungeons.
-(xXx)-
"I told you!" exclaimed Ron, watching Hermione with exasperation and intensity as he sank into one of the cushy armchairs in Gryffindor tower, "I told you!"
The Quidditch match had been nearly a week ago, and though Ron enjoyed Quidditch more than anything else (with the possible exception of chess), Gryffindor's admittedly poor performance was far from the forefront of his mind. What was not, however, was the prone figure of Colin Creevey, his miniscule fingers wrapped tightly around his ruined camera.
"Not being at a Quidditch match hardly makes him guilty of anything." denied Hermione.
"Hermione, they found Creevey's body in the dungeons!" Ron argued, "Fred and George say that's where the Slytherin common room is!"
"I suppose that is a bit suspicious." admitted Hermione, sitting within the sole remaining armchair behind a rather quiet Neville.
"A bit?" Ron practically roared with disbelief, "Hermione, there's no way it isn't him."
"It can't be." said Hermione firmly, shaking her head, "Hagrid vouched for him, didn't he?"
"He also tried to raise a dragon in a wooden house." added Neville helpfully, shrinking back into his seat as Hermione glared at him.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Ron, "Besides, didn't Hagrid say Potter hasn't visited in a while? Maybe he doesn't want Hagrid to realise anything out of the ordinary! You know what Hagrid's like - he'd blurt it out to anyone."
"That's a bit of a stretch, Ronald -"
"But we don't know that." said Ron firmly, "Not for sure. Maybe it's unlikely, but nothing else makes sense. It has to be him, or at least someone in Slytherin. We just have to prove it."
"How would we do that?" asked Neville quietly, "It's not like we could just walk into the Slytherin common room and ask them ourselves."
Ron nodded slowly, sighing in defeat. But Hermione jumped to her feet, her eyes wide. Without saying a word she dashed up the stairs that led to the girl's dormitory.
"She's lost it." muttered Ron, watching her vanish from sight in exasperation, "Bet you anything it's a book."
As it turned out, he was right. Hermione slammed a rather large tome upon the table, flipping through the pages with great haste.
"Whenever you feel like telling us -" began Ron, only to be silenced by a glare from the bushy haired Gryffindor.
"Here it is." said Hermione at last, turning the book to face the pair of Gryffindor boys opposite her. An image of a rather pretty witch sat upon the page, a large, hairy spider sitting atop her head. Ron flinched at the sight. Neville, however, stared at the title of the page with wide eyes.
'The Polyjuice Potion.'