A bit late, but here at last. I'm not sure how I feel about the last scene - I didn't edit the back half of that scene as much - but what's done is done.
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
VII. Cold, Wet, and Miserable
It was cold within the Gryffindor common room, though the fire still blazed merrily and the windows remained firmly shut. Small, burning embers wafted up from the fire place. Neville watched as they floated into the air, up far above the cozy red furniture. They hovered before the windows. Their golden-orange glow was a stark contrast to the blank white sky that shone from outside.
This has been the longest half-hour ever.
The hours that followed would likely feel unending, too. In light of the recent attacks, classes had been canceled for the day.
No one would've been able to focus, anyway.
Neville shuffled uncomfortably, fiddling with the hem of his robes as they all waited for Professor McGonagall to return with news.
"A ghost was attacked." whispered Angelina Johnson, a fourth year chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team, "A ghost. How is that even possible?"
A long, looming silence fell over them. Tiny embers flickered across the room. Neville racked his mind, but not one plausible explanation seemed to form.
How is that possible?
"It's him, isn't it?" Neville looked up. Katie Bell, another chaser, was standing just beside Angelina. The girl shivered, her breath somehow fogging up from before the fire, "Potter, I mean."
The silence grew colder. Even the flames seemed to wilt beneath it, waning slightly as a cool, unpleasant breeze swept through the common room.
"It has to be him." said a tall, seventh year boy from beside the fireplace, "For Merlin's sake, he's a Parselmouth. Does that sound like the right sort to you?"
"But, he's . . . well, he's him." said Katie lamely, still shivering. She failed to keep the faint hint of awe out of her voice, "The boy-who-lived."
"What's he like?" Angelina Johnson turned to face the second years. Many of the others followed suit, all turning to the small huddle of students that sat on the floor in the corner. The second years all looked at one another, each unsure of what to say.
"He's alright." said Hermione uncertainly, "He keeps to himself. Talks to Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott. A bit sarcastic, but nice. He's not like the other Slytherins, if that's what you're asking."
"That sounds about right." agreed one of the Weasley twins - Fred, unless Neville was mistaken, "I talked to him a bit last Christmas - didn't rat me out for what I did to Flitwick's hat. Seems alright, honestly. You'd all probably get along with him just fine."
"Maybe." Angelina frowned, turning back to Hermione, "He's quite good at magic, isn't he?"
Hermione nodded.
"He's very good."
"Do you reckon he could do this?" Ron mumbled, turning to Hermione.
The entirety of the common room waited with bated breath. Slowly, Hermione shook her head.
"Maybe in a few years." she admitted - Neville felt himself stiffen, as did many others, "But not yet. He's the same age as us, he's still a second year. And besides, Dumbledore said he couldn't have, remember?"
Ron nodded slowly, his brows scrunched together. Neville felt his fingers return to them hem of his robes, and he fiddled with it once more.
"He's really that good?" asked Katie nervously, "I thought they were just rumours."
"I don't know." admitted Hermione, "I don't know enough to be sure. But he's very, very good at using magic."
The other second years all nodded in unison. Neville watched as the older students all turned to one another, their expressions troubled to say the least.
"Let's say he is the Heir." said a sixth year girl, leaning forward from within her armchair, "Then what?"
"Then nothing." murmured Angelina. Neville frowned, as did countless others.
"He's him, remember?" she explained, her voice low, "The boy-who-lived. They're not throwing him out, not unless he kills someone. Even then, they might not."
"But how's that fair?" Hermione argued, "I'm not saying I think it's him - but if it was, he should be expelled, shouldn't he?"
"It isn't about fairness, Hermione." whispered Alicia Spinnet, the third chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, "It's more than that. Politics, power - those kinds of things."
The soft ringing of low, conspicuous voices permeated the room. Neville was sure they were all thinking the same thing.
If it really is Harry Potter, there's nothing we can do to stop him.
-(xXx)-
Creak.
The wooden door slowly opened itself, a soft creaking noise echoing in Harry's ears. The griffin-shaped brass knocker seemed to watch him curiously as he stepped into the Headmaster's Office, his head ducked and his fingers shaking. He waited quietly for Dumbledore's ancient voice - one perhaps laced with disapproval and disappointment - but the stark, unending silence stretched on.
Harry looked around. He stood within a large circular room. Strange, curious silver instruments lined the walls, each resting upon the numerous shelves. What was left of the walls - the large gap between the shelves and the ceiling - was covered almost entirely by hundreds of portraits, each a different shape and size. A single witch or wizard sat within each of them; almost all of them seemed fast asleep.
Directly in front of him was an enormous, claw-footed desk -
Dumbledore's desk.
A large, ornate chair sat behind it, almost identical to the one Dumbledore sat upon in the Great Hall. But this one was made of oak, and covered with neat, velvety cushions. It seemed far more comfortable than its counterpart.
Golden-orange embers wafted before his eyes. They slowly rose up to the ceiling, fading into nothingness. Emerald eyes glanced across the room, tracing the reverse of their path. Harry faltered, his eyes landing upon a magnificent, swan-sized bird.
It's beautiful.
It was mostly scarlet, though its tail, beak and talons were gold. The peculiar bird watched him with beady eyes, a thoughtful look etched upon its avian features. It paused for a moment before shuffling slightly, its beak pointed at something off to the side. Harry slowly glanced to the left.
Resting gently upon a shelf just behind Dumbledore's desk was the Sorting Hat, looking as worn and withered as ever.
Harry frowned. He looked at the phoenix, then the hat, then back again. An idea, faint but curious, sparked within his mind.
Harry looked up at the portraits. More of them were awake now - nearly all of them, in fact.
They probably weren't sleeping at all.
He took a step forward, his silver-green tie swinging between the gap in his cloak. His hand snaked towards the old, battered hat.
Dumbledore wouldn't mind. I'll tell him myself. The portraits would probably tell him anyway.
Harry clasped the hat within his outstretched hand, lifted it into the air, and slowly lowered it onto his head. Even now, the hat was much too large and slipped down over his eyes. There was silence for a moment, and then -
"I didn't think I'd be seeing you again, Mr. Potter." said a small voice in his ear, "I must confess, I'm glad that isn't the case. I've wondered what might happen with you . . ."
"Er - right." Harry murmured, "Well, I've been wondering, -"
"- if I know who the Heir of Slytherin is?" the hat finished for him. Harry nodded slowly.
"Well, young Mr. Potter, you already seem to know what I'll say."
Harry lowered his head, his heart sinking in his chest.
It probably can't tell me, anyway. It'd be far too dangerous if it could.
"Yes, you're right of course." the hat whispered quietly, "Salazar realised that as well, and so it is that I speak no secrets.
"But," the hat continued, its voice slightly louder, "It is not something to concern yourself with. As you've no doubt been told before, and no doubt will be told again - you will know everything when the time is right."
Harry frowned, a low, irritated sigh fleeing from his parted lips.
Of course I will. But only a few years from now, when it's too late.
"Do not fret, dear Mr. Potter, do not fret . . ." whispered the hat, "You are little now, remember that - but you will not be forever. Your time is coming, and with it, your destiny. Soon, she will return. Not today, nor tomorrow, nor anytime soon - but she will. And you will be ready, I am sure. You must be ready. You have already found your path - soon, you will be made to walk it."
"And the Heir?" whispered Harry, "What about the Chamber of Secrets?"
The hat shifted upon his head. Harry felt the leather press tightly against his skull.
"That is up to you to decide." it whispered, "But a word of advice, if you're all ears . . . do not concern yourself with the now . . . concern yourself with what is to come. And your time will come, dear Mr. Potter . . . your time will come."
With that, the hat went limp. Harry slowly took the hat off his head.
You're right. I will be ready.
He took a few small steps forward, replacing the hat upon the shelf.
And by the time she realizes, it'll be too late.
The room had gone quiet again. Many of the portraits had returned to their feigned sleep by now. Perhaps they hadn't realised Harry had seen them awake, or perhaps they just didn't care. It hardly mattered either way.
Harry had just returned to his spot opposite the grand desk when the door slowly creaked open. A rather somber Dumbledore entered the room.
"Good evening, Harry." said the old man, making his way across the room before lowering himself into the ornate chair. His dull blue eyes glanced at the magnificent bird to his side, "And to you too, Fawkes."
The bird crooned with delight, and Dumbledore turned back to Harry.
"Please, seat yourself, or if it appeals to you more, stay standing."
Harry quickly sat opposite Dumbledore. His brief talk with the withered Sorting Hat had managed to momentarily remove the fear that had gripped him, but seeing Dumbledore's saddened visage returned it in its entirety. The wizened headmaster opened his mouth to speak -
Creak.
Harry spun around. A large, bearded man lumbered into the room, waving the corpse of a rooster as he spoke.
"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently, "I was talkin' ter him seconds before the lil' Hufflepuff was found, he never had time, sir -"
Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around wildly. Blood-stained feathers littered the marble floors.
"- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"
"Hagrid, I -"
"- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never -"
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly, "I do not think that Harry attacked those people."
"Oh," Hagrid paused, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Er - right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."
And he stomped out, his face red and flushed.
"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore vanished the rooster feathers with a wave of his hand.
"No, Harry, I do not." said Dumbledore quietly, "I do, however, still wish to speak with you."
Harry nodded, waiting nervously as Dumbledore studied him carefully.
"I understand that you have been having a difficult time as of late, what with your rather curious ability to speak to snakes being revealed." began Dumbledore, "I have asked each of the Heads of Houses to speak with their students about this - they are doing so as we speak - but children can be as cruel as they can be creative and kind."
Harry nodded, his fingers twitching nervously as his heartbeat quickened.
Calm down. Breathe in, and out -
A blank white sky stretched in Harry's mind. Harry felt the fear slowly leave him.
"Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall have both also spoken to me about your lack of companionship, in the past." continued Dumbledore, "The both of them seemed concerned, especially considering the events of the last school year."
Voldemort.
"I'm fine." said Harry a little too quickly. Dumbledore chuckled, lowering a hand into a bowl of sweets, unwrapping a bright yellow one, and popping it into his mouth.
"It is not something you have to discuss with me, if you do not wish to." said Dumbledore kindly, "But I would suggest that you get it off your chest. Speaking, I find, often helps alleviate our worries and fears. It does not have to be to a person - your owl, Hedwig would more than suffice - but if you have not already, I suggest that you do. Such sorrows are a burden to all, Harry - there is no shame in being upset about it."
Harry nodded once more, his fingers still twitching.
"Regardless, I am pleased to see your blossoming friendships with young Daphne and Theodore." continued Dumbledore, "They are quite the comfort to an old man such as myself - one who has seen and made far too many mistakes."
"Mistakes?" asked Harry, his brows scrunched together.
"Yes, Harry, mistakes." his voice went quiet, and his gaze dulled, "Both horribly beautiful and beautifully horrible, I find. The most enlightening experiences of our lives - but, by then, it is often too late to save what our mistakes have cost us.
"I have made many mistakes, Harry." said Dumbledore slowly, "I do not wish to add this to that very long list. The staff and I are working to discover what we can, but our progress is slow. We are lucky to have Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey with us, or things might be far worse."
Harry nodded.
"Now, Harry, I must ask just one more thing before you may depart." Dumbledore straightened up, his hands clasping together, "Is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything at all?"
Harry paused. Faint memories flashed before his mind - the snake at the zoo, the dueling club, the voices in the wall, and Hagrid's capture all those years ago.
Emily will know. And if she doesn't, neither will he.
"No, Professor." said Harry, "Nothing at all."
Dumbledore nodded, and with a kind farewell, allowed him to leave. Harry felt countless eyes on his back as he departed, and as he stepped through the doorway voices broke into argument, a number of old, ancient portraits vying to be heard. Harry closed the door behind him, looking pointedly at the griffin brass knocker. It stared back at him.
The halls that lead down towards the dungeons were empty. The portraits stared as he shuffled past, whispering once they thought he couldn't hear them. Harry grit his teeth, but he kept walking.
It doesn't matter. It never really did.
Nothing could be heard but the clattering of his feet and the steady thumping of his heartbeat. As he passed the girl's lavatory on the second floor, something foul reached his nose. Harry scooted past, scrunching his nose to block out the smell of rotten eggs.
At long last, he had returned to the Slytherin common room. He quietly whispered the password to the portrait. The door swung open at a tantalizingly slow pace, and then -
It was silent. All the students, both young and old, were huddled around Professor Snape, who had clearly finished a speech of sorts. Every head in the room turned to Harry as he stepped through the portrait hole. For a moment, nothing happened - by the next, Snape had swept past, his billowing cloak trailing him like a shadow.
Harry quickly made his way through the crowd of students, his expression tightening as they parted without being asked. Their eyes were different to the others. There was no fear, or anger, or hate -
I'd have preferred that.
The eyes of Slytherin house shined with mirth, curiosity, respect, and, in some, reverence.
Harry grit his teeth, making his way out of the room and into his dormitory hall. Standing out in the hall was Crabbe, clutching his skull and blinking slowly. Harry pushed him aside, stepping into his room and slamming the door.
I don't have time to worry about either of those two idiots.
He'd have to ask Emily about protection wards as well. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that both of Malfoy's henchmen had intentions far from respectable, and he was not remotely interested in losing what little he had.
Shaking his head, Harry pulled Emily's notebook out from his bedside drawer. Harry watched as a battered quill flew into his outstretched hand.
I'm getting better.
Not that it mattered. Not that he - or anyone, really - cared.
But Emily does. At least a little bit.
Breathing heavily, Harry opened the diary and began to write. He wrote about nearly everything - Hagrid and the rooster, the ghost of Gryffindor tower and the little muggleborn girl, the voice, and his talk with Dumbledore. Only the words of the Sorting Hat did not find their way onto the pages of the aged diary.
It didn't tell me anything about the chamber anyway. Only more about Vol - about her.
Harry clenched his fist -
"Ouch!"
He looked down. His quill had cracked in two. Harry frowned, setting the diary aside. He uncertainly placed one end of the quill to the other, tentatively running his fingers along the feather's edge. The broken pieces of the quill became one, but a long, thin crack still ran down the center.
Not good enough.
Harry turned back to the diary, watching as Emily's familiar neat handwriting graced the yellowing pages.
"Stay away from the voices, Harry." she wrote. Harry could almost feel a sense of seriousness in her writing, "Even in the magical world, hearing voices no one else can hear is bad. Please, don't go chasing after it again."
"Why?" Harry quickly scrawled back, "I can make sure I'm not caught, I can use my invisibility cloak. I might be able to get there in time, next time. I might be able to stop the monster from petrifying anyone else!"
Harry could feel the diary growing hotter beneath his fingertips. A prickling sensation danced against his scar, but he paid it no mind.
"No, you won't." wrote Emily, her words stiff and rigid.
"Why?" Harry scrawled irritably, "I could help them, I could stop this -"
Harry swore, dropping the diary as his fingers jumped to his scar. It burnt painfully, flaring as his fingers pressed against it. A second later, the pain was gone entirely. Harry's eyes swam to the diary, reading the words written upon its surface.
"Because you could get hurt. I won't allow that. I won't let you get hurt."
The words slowly vanished, eventually being replaced by five more.
"That's what friends are for."
Despite everything that had happened, Harry couldn't help but smile.
-(xXx)-
Harry watched with boredom as his carefully diced frog liver splashed into his cauldron, the liquid surface shimmering all the while.
Half an hour left.
Harry grimaced, wiping his knife with and old, worn-out cloth.
Only a few days had passed since the muggleborn girl and Nearly Headless Nick had been discovered, and Harry already felt as though a rope was slowly being tightened around his neck.
In light of what had happened, new rules had been put in place. Normal students were no longer to be out of their common rooms past nine, and all of the students had to travel from one class to the next with every one of the housemates in their year. Students weren't allowed anywhere other than their common room without a teacher, and, as if that wasn't enough, the younger years were to be escorted by Prefects anywhere they went.
As if that'd help. If we did run into the monster, the Slytherin prefects would probably just hand us over.
The second year Slytherins, however, didn't have that probably. They were the only group to be escorted by the Head Girl, who happened to be a Slytherin. Harry was not at all oblivious to the way she watched him like a hawk, and when their eyes met, Harry always felt a hint of suspicion, respect and curiosity that wasn't his own.
Legilimency, definitely.
It was proving very difficult to control. Occlumency was easy enough - he could practice that on his own, for the most part. But Legilimency was trickier. So far, he'd only managed it on accident.
Whenever someone looks at me too quickly, really.
He hadn't yet managed to see much. Nothing more than the faint impressions of emotions, and occasionally random images he hardly recognized.
It could be worse. Imagine if I accidentally did it to an Occlumens.
Harry shivered.
He'd gotten better at finding out when people were lying, too.
And I can thank Malfoy for helping me figure that out. I'd have never realised if he hadn't fibbed about getting an 'O' on Flitwick's exam.
Harry sniggered as he stirred his potion, watching absentmindedly as it turned the exact shade of magenta that the book described.
Bang.
Harry's head turned like a swivel, his eyes landing upon the ruins of Goyle's cauldron. Almost the entire class seemed to have fallen victim to his botched Swelling Solution. Malfoy in particular seemed to have gotten a face full of it. Harry watched with amusement as Malfoy's nose swole like a balloon.
If it gets any bigger it might lift him up, up, and away.
Something soft and cool pressed against the inside of his hand. Harry turned. Daphne stood beside him, her hand pressed against his. She was nodding towards Snape's office. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione dash into it.
"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared, "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draught - when I find out who did this -"
Harry smirked slightly as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. Almost half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips. Just as Snape finished handing out the antidote, Harry saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.
"They're up to something." muttered Harry as he watched Hermione speak with Neville and Ron in hushed voices, "Just like last time."
Hermione glanced up. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met, and Harry felt fear and suspicion that wasn't his.
And, just like last time, it has something to do with me.
Daphne nodded slowly. She quietly stepped around the table, her hands reaching towards a cauldron of her own.
The bell rang just short of ten minutes later. Harry quickly bottled a sample of his potion, placing it neatly upon Snape's desk before packing his bag at breakneck speed. He slung his bag over his shoulder as he watched the Gryffindor trio depart from the room. Harry muttered a quick goodbye to Daphne and Nott before -
The same soft, cold hand wrapped around his own. Harry turned, his eyes meeting those of Daphne Greengrass. Foreign worry pressed against the inside of his skull.
"Don't." she said simply, her voice cool, "Don't do something stupid like last time. It isn't worth it."
Harry glanced back at the door. His chance to tail them was quickly dwindling away -
It isn't worth it.
Harry nodded, sighing in defeat.
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
-(xXx)-
Two minutes.
He paced back and forth, the cold clattering of his footsteps echoing through the manor's foyer.
It was dark out. Light came only from the emerald fireplace opposite him. Bright green embers wafted it up from it, casting the shadows in a sickly glow. The flames beneath them burnt almost cruelly, casting a sinister glow upon the man in dark, expensive robes. He batted his hand through the air, waving the embers aside. His eyes fell upon the mirror just above the fireplace. He could see the worry in his eyes.
Gone. It's gone. She'll kill me, she'll kill us all -
He scowled, his palms balling into fists.
"It wasn't even my responsibly." he hissed at the darkness, "It isn't my fucking fault!"
She gives it to my insane sister-in-law, who then gives it to my wife. I don't even know what it is!
The man shook his head, his teeth bared in frustration.
He would have had to rid himself of it eventually, there was no doubt about that.
"I probably would have sold it to Borgin." he murmured to himself, "The oily bastard would have found it interesting, I'm sure."
I might've even given it to the Weasleys for a laugh.
But that was several months ago. Now, he wanted it back. He needed it back.
Or she'll slaughter us all.
The man closed his eyes. His fingers slid across the outside of his robes. Ornate, golden patterns covered the black silk. He traced them with his fingers, breathing slowly.
There's hardly any proof she's alive. Just the word of my dear deranged sister-in-law.
But it just fit. It fit far too well for his liking.
His eyes opened, and his fingers lifted the sleeve that covered his left arm. A faint image marred his pale skin - a skull, one with a snake slithering out through its fleshless lips. It was barely visible - he had to squint through the darkness to see it - but nonetheless, it was there.
If she was dead, it would be gone. Completely gone.
The curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position would be broken, too. His sister-in-law wouldn't be in nearly as happy a mood as she had been, and -
If she died, the Chamber of Secrets wouldn't have opened again.
"She's alive." the man breathed heavily, staring unseeingly into the emerald fire, "She has to be."
And if she's alive, and she finds out that the strange book is gone -
Lucius swore, his fingers wrapping tightly around his wand as he slashed it through the air. A fine china vase worth more than most would ever see burst into a fine powder, but the man with long, straight blonde hair paid no mind.
It's there. It has to be there.
A dark, traitorous voice whispered in his mind words he knew to be true. He knew where the diary had to be, the only place the diary could be. He had known ever since he had received that letter from his son the day after Halloween.
But he had to be sure.
Time to go.
Lucius slowly stepped into the magical fire. For a split second, he felt as though he were being squeezed down an unnaturally tight tube. The next, he was in a dull, dingy office he had hoped to never see again.
Azkaban.
Even in the warden's office, he could feel the unbearable cold. He flinched as the loud crackling of lightning rang through the prison, but the ringing in his ears was quickly drowned out by the unending crashing of waves.
Though he had only spent a few weeks at most imprisoned in the horrible prison, the place was one that would always haunt Lucius Malfoy's nightmares.
Lucius waved his wand across his robes, muttering under his breath. The air around him thinned, and he slowly faded from view. Only his outline betrayed his presence.
Excellent.
Nodding to himself, he stepped out of the room and into the main hall.
He felt as though his breath had been sucked out of him. The hall was just as it had been more than a decade prior. Frost lined the walls, which seemed to just barely keep the roof from caving in. Dirt and grime lined the floor, and Lucius was sure that when he finally regained his breath, he would be able to see it in front of him.
A weak sneer plastered upon his disillusioned features, the Malfoy Patriarch continued forward, his wand held carefully in his outstretched arm. His eyes flicked towards the golden watch wrapped tightly around his wrist.
The warden said six minutes. I've six minutes until the dementors return.
He clambered through the fortress, with practiced ease, following the winded path that he knew lead exactly to where he needed to be. He had visited this particular prisoner several times before, both at the request of his wife and during his annual visits with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself.
The air was thinning now; with every step he took the prison grew colder. Removing the dementors hadn't been enough to negate the cold emptiness that suffocated the prison.
They'll be back soon. I need to hurry.
Lucius clambered up the final steps, his eyes falling upon the final cell of the topmost floor. His disillusionment charm slowly faded away. His fingers curved around his wand. Wards flared into existence as he waved it before his eyes.
The prisoners won't be able to hear me now.
All except the one in front of him.
"Well, well, well . . ." giggled a maniacal voice from within. Lucius felt his features tighten as he pointed his wand at the woman in the cell.
"Bellatrix." he whispered quietly.
Bellatrix Lestrange slowly turned onto her back, pushing herself off the floor. She lazily made her way towards him before eventually resting her hands on the long metal bars.
"I was wondering when you'd sneak back in." she said, grinning, "Slippy, slippery, Lucius . . . Cissy really ought to have had better."
Malfoy's fist clenched as he grit his teeth.
"I don't have time for your games." he whispered angrily, sparks flaring from the tip of his wand. Bellatrix watched, seemingly unimpressed, as he pointed it at her, "Where is it?"
The woman simply shrugged.
"How would I know?" she whispered uncaringly, "That sounds like your problem to me."
"She entrusted it to you!" Lucius roared, his hands wrapped cruelly around the cold metal bars, "It was your responsibility - yours!"
"Do you really think she'd let me just hand it over to whoever I wanted?" Bellatrix giggled, her voice high as though she were talking to a baby, "Do you really think I would have given it to anyone without her permission?"
Lucius swore angrily, pushing himself back from the bars. He paced back and forth before her, his palms balled into fists. Bellatrix watched on with amusement, her eyes lined with mirth.
"I need it back." Malfoy stopped pacing, turning back to the woman in the cell, "She'll kill us if I don't have it. Draco, Narcissa - all of us."
"She won't kill anyone." remarked Bellatrix lazily, rolling her eyes, "Especially not you - and if he's anything like you, Draco as well. Gods don't waste time squashing insects beneath their heels."
Lucius froze. The woman's dark, heavily lidded eyes soaked in his expression, and she giggled, covering her lips with an almost clawed hand.
"She's truly alive, isn't she?"
Bellatrix snorted.
"What gave it away?"
"The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened." whispered Lucius, "Only a Parselmouth can - but -"
The man paused for a moment, his eyes widening once more.
"Potter." Malfoy hissed. Bellatrix's head snapped towards him.
"What of him?" she whispered hurriedly. Malfoy's stormy grey eyes narrowed further.
"He's a Parselmouth." revealed Lucius carefully, "Draco informed me a few weeks ago. The boy accidentally spoke to a serpent during a school dueling club."
Bellatrix sat silently in her cell, her head pressed against the wall. She said nothing for a moment, leaned closer to flick a bit of dirt from beneath one of her nails, and then -
"Will you shut it!" hissed Malfoy as Bellatrix giggled loudly.
"Potter, Potter, Potter . . ." Bellatrix crooned, wiping a tear from her eye, "I told her . . . I warned her, didn't I? But she didn't listen . . . Grindelwald was onto something, after all!"
"What?" Lucius pressed himself against the bars, his eyes wide and panicked, "Grindelwald? Potter? What are you on about?"
"Nothing, nothing." assured Bellatrix, waving her hand unconvincingly, "Now hurry up and get your priorities straight . . . the dementors will be back any minute now . . ."
Malfoy paled. He looked around for a moment before turning back to Bellatrix, his features tight and angry.
"The diary, Bellatrix." he said simply, "Where is it?"
Bellatrix leaned forward, smiling smugly.
"Where do you think?"
"The school. Hogwarts."
Bellatrix giggled.
"This isn't your game to play, my slippery brother-in-law." she said quietly, "This is a game far greater than the ones you play with your precious politician friends. In this game, the only people who truly have to be afraid are those truly worth fearing."
Bellatrix paused, leaning in closer. She giggled as he did the same. Lucius felt his wrist wrapping so tightly around his wand that it nearly snapped in two.
"So long as you and dear little Draco - and anyone else, really - stay out of the way, you'll be fine. Stay out of the way, Malfoy, or you'll be squashed like the bug you are."