3. Consequences
Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, continued her announcement. "Aurors will be here soon! Do not discuss what just happened with anyone before speaking to one of the Aurors!"
Dumbledore vaguely remembered seeing a patronous streak away just moments after that stupid boy had been vaporized, apparently sent by her.
"Madam Bones," the Headmaster said to the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who was now standing beside him on the Judges' Platform. "Surely that isn't necessary. This is a tragic accident, but it is an accident."
The Witch turned to face him, "Headmaster Dumbledore, I was assured that when this tournament was resurrected, it would be as safe as magically possible. That we wouldn't have the blood-bath of dead or maimed Champions or spectators as in the past. Based on what we just saw today, that was a lie. Two of the Champions narrowly escaped serious injury, and one just died before our eyes. If either of the dragons of the other three had been just a bit more difficult, we would have been having this conversation hours ago! The only way either of the other two Champions could have survived if their dragons had been more belligerent would have been if they had had portkeys — did you give them portkeys that would work at Hogwarts?"
He slowly shook his head. "In hindsight, that might have been a good idea," he mused, and stroked his beard.
"It appears the Tournament is not safe. If there are any protections then they are laughably ineffective. You already have a dead Champion." She glared at him. "An underaged dead Champion, I remind you, one who vociferously claimed he was forced to participate against his will.
"I find it odd that the great Albus Dumbledore could not keep an underaged boy from being nominated to be a Champion. Weren't you supposed to be protecting the Goblet of Fire from interference? Or did you forget to put any protections in place? What other things have you failed to do?
"There will be a full investigation!"
The dragon-handlers had moved into the Dragon Stadium. Madam Bones turned to face the arena, recast the sonorous, and said, "I said this was a crime scene and not to touch anything! Leave the dragon alone!"
The dragon-handlers stopped their approach to the dragon.
The oddly placid dragon watched, her chin on her front paws. She turned her head to look at the handlers and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Well?"
The Witch turned and looked around the stadium. "Moody," she called, still using the sonorous, "report!"
The dragon languidly stood up and stretched out much like a cat would, except one with wings to stretch out, too. She looked down at her eggs and shot a low, steady flame at them until the rocks nearby glowed red. Then she settled back down and waited, along with everyone else.
A few minutes later, the old Auror was saying, "The boy seemed fine last night, and only a bit nervous this morning. I did not see anything to indicate foul play."
He appeared just as surprised as anyone at what had happened.
"Auror Jackson!" she called out.
The man came running up.
"As soon as the others show up," she ordered, "have them start interviewing those closest to the dragon and Mr. Potter on what they saw . . . and make sure no one sneaks away."
He nodded and started casting an anti-disapparition jinx.
The Headmaster chuckled. "Amelia, you know no one can disapparate on Hogwarts grounds, except myself."
She glanced at him disapprovingly. "You should have made an exception for the Champions, in case they needed to escape a life-threatening situation." She shook her sadly. "Yet another failing of yours." She paused. "Not that that would have helped Mr. Potter, as being underaged, he doesn't know that spell, yet.
"It is standard procedure to cast that jinx in cases where there might be one or more reluctant witnesses, or criminals still lurking about. Plus, it never hurts to be sure of something instead of depending on others who may, or may not," she glared at him, "take their responsibilities seriously. Also, when was the last time you checked those anti-disapparating jinxes?"
Jackson started casting a spell to detect anyone leaving the arena.
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "I assure you; they are in as fine a condition as they have been for the last fifteen years." He sighed. "Well," he said, "I have parchmentwork in my office, you can reach me there," and started to get up.
She stared down at him, raising her eyebrows. "Just why do you think my order for everyone to remain seated until interviewed does not apply to you?"
He raised an eyebrow, too. "I have important matters to deal with . . .," he started.
"Which can wait until after you have been interviewed." She interrupted. "Either here, right now, or later, for much longer, in a Ministry Interview Room." She paused a second. "Even you, as the Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, are not above the law." She looked around the arena and at Hogwarts in the distance. "And right now, you are not the Chief Wizard of an in-session Wizengamot. You are the Headmaster of Hogwarts where one of your students has just very publicly died in a Ministry-sponsored event. That makes it an Auror investigation. It can't be swept under the rug as an 'accident' as your predecessors have done to so many other incidents at Hogwarts."
He sighed, but slowly sat back down. He knew when to choose his battles. Explaining to the Wizengamot that he, a witness, left an Auror investigation without agreeing to be interviewed for any reason but an emergency would cause him political problems.
She cast a privacy charm around the two, and asked, "So, just what were the measures you took to prevent under-age students from entering the Tournament? Who was allowed to approach the Goblet?"
He sighed again. He would not be given any peace in which to begin revising his plans any time soon, he could see. "I put an age-line around the Goblet," he started, "and had Alastor watch it all night to prevent anyone from tampering with it."
"That's it?" she said incredulously.
He nodded. "It was more than sufficient, as several students discovered." He looked over towards the Gryffindor portion of the stands, smiling.
"Clearly not," Madam Bones said sharply, "considering someone entered Mr. Potter's name." She paused. "Unless you're willing to admit that a Fourth-year student is smarter, cleverer, or more powerful than you are."
He pursed his lips. "Perhaps the measures could have been enhanced a bit," he grudgingly allowed, stroking his beard.
She rolled her eyes. "So, your age-line, did it prevent an of-age student from dropping in the name of an under-age student?"
He looked at her. "I believe it would not have," he said slowly.
"Would it have prevented an underage student from wadding up a parchment with their name and throwing it into the Goblet without crossing the age-line?"
He sighed. "I believe it would not have," he reluctantly admitted.
He had to admit, it really did sound as if he had failed to put any under-age protections on the Goblet, at all.
.o\O/o.
Sometime after the announcement that no one leave the stands, someone woke Hermione. Hagrid told her what had been said. Being seated at a prime location for observing what had happened, their position quickly drew an Auror to them. She introduced herself as Auror Tonks. Oddly, she had bubble-gum pink hair.
The conversation with Hagrid was behind a privacy spell, and didn't take long. Closing down that privacy spell, she put up a new one with Hermione. After getting her identity and relationship with Harry, she asked for the memory of what Hermione had seen.
"A what?"
"Think about what you saw from the moment Mr. Potter stepped into the arena until, well, you know," she said somewhat regretfully. "I'll draw out a copy of that memory, and put it in this vial," she gestured with the vial in her off hand, "for us to study. We'll combine the ones we get, and see if anything stands out as different, just in case someone interfered with what happened."
Hermione watched out of the corner of her eyes as a glistening long strand of a strange silvery-white substance was drawn from her head. At times it looked like a liquid and others as a gas. The witch carefully dropped the strand into a bottle, and labelled it with a tap of her wand. She looked brightly at Hermione. "Is there anyone you can think of who might want to have hurt Mr. Potter?"
Hermione looked at her goggle-eyed. "Besides most of the school?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Have you read The Daily Prophet?" she asked incredulously.
Tonks, who didn't look to be someone who had already graduated her NEWTs, appeared embarrassed. "I only made Auror this summer," she said defensively. "I've been in training for the last three years," she explained. "I didn't have much time for The Daily Prophet."
Hermione sighed, and explained how everyone had been acting after Halloween. Hermione was staring at the ground when she finished.
"Right," the witch said. "Has anything like this happened before?"
Hermione sighed deeply. "What do you mean?" she said dully. "Him being hated by everyone? Or him being involved in something life-threatening?"
The witch stared at her, frowning. "That has happened before?" she said sceptically.
Hermione sighed again and rubbed her face with both hands. "Yeah, the school likes him one week, hates him the next. It depends on the current rumour." She waved a hand distractedly in the direction of the other students, before dropping it to her lap.
"As for danger?" She looked up at the Auror bleakly. "Besides Quidditch regularly putting him in hospital?" She shook her head. "Bimonthly?" she said and blindly stared across the arena.
"First year, he saved my life from a Mountain Troll in the Hogwarts First-floor Witches' restroom on Halloween . . . well, he and Ron, that is." At the Auror's raised eyebrow, Hermione added, "Ronald Weasley.
"At the first Quidditch game in November, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Professor Quirrell cursed Harry's broom trying to kill Harry by making him fall a couple of hundred feet." She gave a wry smile. "We thought it was Professor Snape.
"Then, in the Spring, we were in the Forbidden Forrest with Hagrid hunting for whatever it was that was killing Unicorns . . .,"
Tonk's eyebrows disappeared into her hair in surprise, but she didn't say anything.
". . . which Harry and Malfoy found."
"Malfoy?"
"Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin who's always taunting Harry about being an orphan and poor. Anyway, they found the creature. Turns out our DADA Professor, Quirrell, was possessed by Voldemort . . ."
Tonks couldn't suppress a squeak escaping her mouth at hearing that name.
". . . although they didn't realize it at that time. It was dark, barely a quarter moon, and Professor Quirrell was completely covered by a black hooded cloak.
"Draco ran away. A Centaur saved Harry, Firenze, I think."
Hermione stared straight ahead for a moment, thinking. "Then at the end of the year, in the History Exam, Harry almost passed out. That's when we discovered that . . . Professor Quirrell might have figured out how to get through the traps set by The Professors on the Third Floor."
"Traps?" the witch said, said weakly. Her hair had turned brown.
Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Professor Dumbledore had hidden the Philosopher's Stone there and set up traps to try to catch Voldemort."
The Auror blanched almost white, including her hair.
Hermione shrugged. "Turns out," she said dryly, "that The Professor managed to get through all the traps. It was the one day all year that Dumbledore was away and couldn't protect the Stone himself. None of the Professors believed us that it needed immediate protection. So, Harry decided to do it. We, Ron and I, went along, of course, to try to keep him safe. Or at least to keep him from doing anything too impulsive or stupid." She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"To make a long story short, Harry ended up with the Stone, and struggling with Professor Quirrell, who was possessed by Voldemort. Harry had some sort of protective magic from his mother and it ended up burning the professor to ash. Harry was in hospital for a week."
The witch stared at her a moment, then shook herself. "Could I have a memory of each of those?"
"Sure."
Shortly, the witch was putting away four vials, labelled, Troll in Restroom, Broom in Quidditch, Unicorn Hunting in Forest, and Philosopher's Stone on Third Floor. Each had an appropriate date appended.
"Second Year, everyone was in danger of dying the entire year."
The witch's hair turned white, again.
"It started August nineteenth while we were shopping in Diagon Alley, although we didn't know it at the time, with a diary that had been bewitched to possess whoever had it. Which, of course, was Voldemort, again, only it was a young Voldemort, from when he was a student here in the 1940's, Tom Marvolo Riddle." She shook her head ruefully. "It's an anagram for I am Lord Voldemort."
The Auror was staring at her goggle-eyed.
She stared back. "To make a long story short, a basilisk under the school was petrifying students all year. According to Harry it was about sixty feet long. He managed to kill it with the sword of Gryffindor, but it bit him. Fortunately, Fawkes, the Headmaster's Phoenix, saved him by crying tears into the wound. Then he destroyed the diary with a basilisk-venom fang, and went to the Headmaster's office. Malfoy, Senior, showed up, and tried to kill Harry after they left the office, for freeing his house-elf, Dobby."
She stopped a moment. "Oh, right, before that happened, Harry and Ron went into the Forbidden Forest chasing a clue and were almost eaten by the Acromantulas. You know, the giant spiders bigger than the average dorm room?"
She shrugged. "I can give you the memory of what Harry told me, but I didn't see anything after I was petrified on May eighth. Ron could probably help you more. He went with Harry to the Acromantulas and part of the way through the Chamber of Secrets."
Wordlessly, the witch pulled out a few more vials, and they filled them.
"Third Year, we were almost killed by a Dementor on the Train, then Dementors stormed the first Quidditch game of the Year and Harry fell fifty-some feet off his broom to the ground. It was a miracle he wasn't killed." She explained how they were almost attacked by Remus Lupin as a werewolf near the end of the year, after discovering that Sirius was innocent and Peter Pettigrew was still alive. Then how they were nearly kissed by Dementors, again.
"I missed how we escaped the Dementors because I had already passed out when it happened. Only Harry knows . . . knew."
The Auror was already holding out a vial. It did not take long to fill four vials. Hermione made sure to make the incident in the Shrieking Shack include every detail she could, starting just before Padfoot ran off with Ron right up to Fudge disbelieving them in hospital, as well as the things Harry had told her that she missed.
"And that's all," she concluded listlessly, staring at where the Dragon had been. At some point they had moved the Hungarian Horntail, and she hadn't noticed.
The Auror, took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Right. Where's this Ronald Weasley?"
Hermione again looked around. He was still sitting where he had been originally. He was further from being in a good position to see what had happened with the Dragon and Harry, and so he hadn't yet been interviewed by an Auror.
She pointed. "There, the red head. He's sitting beside Dean Thomas, the dark-skinned boy."
"Alright. Thank you, Miss Granger." She shook her head, still in shock at how many times Mr. Potter had been at risk.
Hermione shook her head sadly. "Hogwarts, the safest place in England, my arse! Harry would have been safer in a battlefield! At least there, you know where the danger is coming from."
Auror Tonks shook her head, "You got that one right, sister," she muttered before she dismissed the privacy charm. She moved over to Ginny, and brought up another privacy charm.
Hermione looked around and saw that it was already past sundown — how had that happened so fast? Hermione checked her watch and was surprised to see that it was four-thirty.
She slumped down on her seat. She was exhausted. Not even when they had tried to save the Philosopher's Stone or flying on Buckbeak had she been so scared.
Her best mate was dead. Her hero was dead. The one person in the entire castle who was truly her mate, was dead. Irrefutably dead. Burnt to beyond ashes before her very eyes.
She had dreamed of them being boyfriend-girlfriend ever since that fateful day with the Troll. But Harry had been oblivious to girls back then. To him, she had been a boy in a dress.
Last year, he had started to notice her. She had seen him more than once glance up her robes as she was climbing the ladder to Divination.
The first time, she was now sure, had been accidental. He had turned bright red and refused to meet her eyes for the rest of the class. It wasn't until that night that she had realized why he had been soo . . . embarrassed. He had seen her knickers! Before, she had been too excited at her first Divination class to really process what had happened while she climbed the ladder.
She had been outraged, furious! She had almost stormed into his dorm room to yell at him. However, he had been embarrassed — and yelling at him would let him know she had noticed, which was too embarrassing for words.
But then, a few days later, the morning of the next class, she had second thoughts. The boy she liked had looked up her robes! Would he do so again?
On the other hand, any other boy could do so, too!
Was that why so many girls waited until all the boys had gone first?
She resolved that she would join the rest of the girls. Or, at the very least, make sure it was only Harry below her.
It had taken her almost an hour to decide on which knickers to wear under her robe for the next Divination class.
She hadn't admitted to anyone, but she had owl-ordered fancier knickers, the ones she had were rather plain, cotton whities. Several times she had managed to delay enough that she and Harry were the last two up the ladder. The thrill she had gotten sticking her butt out just enough to make her robes billow out as she climbed so he could have a better look at her new knickers had been wonderful.
His blushes as he tried not to look, but did anyway, had been great fun.
At least until she had walked out of the useless class with the useless Professor just before Easter.
She had had high hopes for this year. But S.P.E.W. had ended up taking most of her time, at first. She was still hacked-off at the way they were treated as slaves. But then Harry had been dragged into the Tournament. Helping him had quickly taken priority.
Just as Harry had said every year since starting Hogwarts, even the adults who were supposed to protect them were unreliable. From the best, Professor McGonagall, who tended to ignore them, to the actively hostile worst, Professors Snape and Quirrell.
The Headmaster did nothing to help. He clearly could have squashed the rumours, stopped the harassment, and settled the students. Why he allowed the rivalries between the Houses to rage the way they did was unfathomable to her. Reading Hogwarts, A History clearly demonstrated that the bad blood between those two Houses had only erupted in the last fifty or so years, and accelerated after Headmaster Dumbledore took over.
Before that, they had merely been rivals.
The Headmaster had said he would personally ensure that no underage student entered the Tournament. The smartest, most powerful Wizard in all of England, and he couldn't prevent under-aged and average Harry from being forced into the Tournament.
He had been wrong. He had said no champion would find himself or herself in mortal danger. He had been wrong. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.
Or he had lied.
And Harry had paid for that. Poor innocent Harry.
Plus, there was the whole Magical Contract problem. How can you enter someone other than yourself? That was a major flaw. Magic was all about intent. If all you needed was a signature, maybe they should have entered Tom Riddle! When he missed the first event, his magic would have been stripped from him and poof, no more Voldemort problem!
She felt like a zombie. Time seemed to erratically jump around. She barely noticed, later, when the Aurors started releasing people to return to the castle.
Her feet seemed encased in lead, and she repeatedly tripped on the way back to the castle, but caught herself before falling. She couldn't remember leaving the stands around the arena. She noticed some of the older Slytherins celebrating, laughing and joking on the way back to the Castle until outraged Gryffindors reacted violently.
She just watched with a disinterested eye, and simply stepped aside from the occasional spell that flew her way.
Only the presence of the Aurors had prevented the situation from deteriorating to an outright deadly melee.
Then she was one of the very last in climbing in the Gryffindor portrait hole, despite having been one of the first to leave the stadium.
The Common room had been a wake, barely anyone saying a word. No one could believe what they had seen. Harry had retrieved the Golden Egg. He had had it in his hands! And then he was gone. What had happened? Why had the dragon given him the egg, and then killed him when he picked it up? Nothing made sense.
Even those who had disliked Harry, believing him to be an obnoxious attention-seeking braggart, had been silenced by his death. They had wanted him to lose, but dead? Never.
Oh, many in the castle had said so out loud, especially the Slytherins, in the previous weeks, but most hadn't been serious, not really. Only now were they beginning to believe that maybe he hadn't entered the Tournament of his own will.
While most of the students had gone to the Great Hall to eat, the house-elves had rearranged the Gryffindor Common Room. They provided sandwiches, finger foods, and various fruit drinks on tables for those who didn't. The few there just picked at what was offered. Hermione hadn't the appetite — she wasn't hungry in the slightest.
Hermione sat on her bed in her dormitory. The curtains were drawn tight. She had even placed a silencing spell on them.
It took her only a few minutes to decide that she was done with Hogwarts. She would send a letter tomorrow to her parents asking them to officially withdraw her. She would finish her magic education somewhere else. Beauxbatons seemed like a nice enough school, and she already knew a spattering of French.
She would visit their carriage tomorrow and ask the Head Mistress what the requirements were for a transfer. If she could pull it off, she wanted to start with the New Year term.
.o\O/o.
Although Dumbledore wanted to scream at her interference, he kept his expression placid as Madam Bones worked her way through how the First Task had no protections for the Champions. She did admit the protections for the audience were more than sufficient.
He had to admit, however, that with that stupid boy dying, all she had to do was go to the Wizengamot and blame him for the disaster to make his life exceedingly difficult for quite some time. Instead of working out how to bring Neville Longbottom under his control, the other boy who might have been the target of the prophecy, he would have to waste important political capital, and precious time, to keep his position in Hogwarts.
Cooperating with her was the only way through this thicket. He would have to grit his teeth and play the suitably chastised friendly-grandfather for the next few days.
Later, after he had strengthened his support in the Ministry, he would have his revenge on her. Her tenure as Head of the DMLE would not extend for much longer past the end of the tournament.
Susan would find it difficult to attain her OWLs. She might even have to be held back a year, or two.
After listening to his detailed explanation of the Second Task, she declared it had no protections, at all, from hostile life in the loch. That didn't even consider the state of virtual war between the Merfolk and the Veela. How he expected either Delacour to survive was beyond her.
"I assure, Madam Bones," he carefully explained, "that the chieftainess of the Merfolk promised no harm would come to any of the hostages or Champions while in their village," he defended.
She stared at him, aghast. "Are you really that clueless? 'While in their village' means that when the Champions and hostages are no longer in the village, the Merfolk are free to attack them with impunity! They can blame it on one of the other loch creatures and you would never know any different! Especially because you don't have anyone there to watch them, and everything is too deep underwater to see anything from the surface!"
She shook her head in disbelief. "First, no hostages. You will approach the families and ask them for something the Champion owns for them to rescue."
The Headmaster cleared his throat. "That's not possible," he explained reluctantly. "The Goblet was given a list of the tasks, the goals necessary, and their constraints. If we were to change from the hostages to something else, the Goblet would not recognize the task and would ignore it."
She glared at him, again. "Fine, then I will post teams of aurors to follow each Champion, as well as in the village itself, to make sure that there is no mischief on anyone's part."
He sighed. "I'm sure the other Judges will accept your alterations to the Task, but only if the Aurors are restricted in their actions to situations in which non-action would result in the death of a hostage or Champion."
"Or maiming," she added in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Or maiming," he allowed.
Then she tore into him about the audience staring at the surface of the loch while the action happened below. The event could not be more boring if it were watching paint dry without magic! Especially because they would be seated outside in the cold winter of February in Scotland!
Actually, Dumbledore realized, they had been so focused on the challenge, that they had overlooked the audience aspect. Everyone would laugh at the organizers for being so blind — and, by association, at him.
"Well," he said, stroking his beard, "What would you suggest? There's no way to show everyone what's happening underwater."
She stared at him. "Do you claim you are the smartest wizard in the entire world? Do you claim you are the most experienced wizard in the entire world? Have you spent your life doing nothing but studying magic?" She shook her head sadly. "Ask the Unspeakables! They should be able to come up with something from their experiments!" She pursed her lips and shook her head, again. "They would probably love the practical challenge, for once, if nothing else."
That . . . was a very good suggestion, truthfully. If he moved quickly enough, he could have everyone think it was his idea. That would go a long way towards restoring the publics' confidence in him.
In fact, he could take credit for all her suggestions with a very public appearance in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He would loudly rip Barty Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman new excrement holes for their "failures" to provide adequate protections for the Champions in the Tournament.
He would add, naturally, that he was on his way to speak to the Unspeakables. He wanted them to craft a way to allow the audience to see the remaining Tasks in the loch, and the maze, now that he thought of it. Tasks which would be as boring as watching grass grow, otherwise, because of their bumbling failures to consider that aspect of the Tournament!
By the time Bones could object that she had insisted on the beefed-up security and suggested the Unspeakable participation, no one would believe her. It would hurt her reputation to do so, in truth, as everyone would think she was trying to steal credit.
He gave a long and detailed description of the Third Task, and the individual hazards, admitting that, like the Second Task, the audience would not be able to see the Champions and their struggles.
"Again, no protections for the Champions if something goes wrong!" she exclaimed.
He nodded tacitly agreeing with her assessment.
She sighed. "I'll have teams of aurors watching each Champion from brooms."
"That would be acceptable," he agreed.
"And maybe whatever the Unspeakables come up with for viewing what happens in the loch can be adapted to the maze."
"Yes, indeed," he said, stroking his beard. He looked around. More time than he had realized had passed, and most of the stadium was empty, now.
That had taken longer than it should have because of the interruptions from her Aurors with various progress reports and questions.
"Well," he said, standing. "If there's nothing further to discuss, Madam Bones, I believe it is time for me to return to the castle."
Bones shook her head. "I think," she said a bit frostily, "That that will be all for now. If I have further questions, I will floo you."
"Then, good evening to you, Madam Bones." He turned and left the judges' box.
He decided to take his meal in the Great Hall. The students could do with the comfort of his presence. It would be good for his image, too. Too many questions would be asked if he secluded himself in his office so quickly.
The Great Hall was subdued, most students speaking only in whispers. Many students had remained in their Common Rooms, leaving the Hall distinctly emptier. The professors were just as quiet. Any discussions would take place in their offices, the Great Hall was too public.
.o\O/o.
Harry slowly realized how uncomfortable he was, and cold. The first thing he noticed was the heavy musty smell. It wasn't brightly lit, so he wasn't outside. He slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He blinked, looking around at the torch-lit place he found himself in, puzzled at where he was. Wherever it was, the darkness was held at bay by the burning torches lining the walls.
Then he noticed the giant dead snake.
He was in the Chamber of Secrets!
The memories of his death, and what had happened after that, flooded into his mind.
He got to his feet and took another look around.
Thanks to the torches, at least he wasn't stumbling around in the dark.
There, not an arms-length away, was the Golden Egg.
The Chamber was as depressing as it had been the last time. There was a scar in the rock floor where the diary had been when he stabbed it with the basilisk's fang. The corpse of the snake appeared almost unchanged. Had the magic in it preserved it? Or was there a spell on the Chamber to preserve everything whenever that wasn't anything alive in it? While the antechamber had had rats' bones, the main chamber had nothing of the sort. Perhaps the basilisk's hide was so tough nothing could get through it?
He took a quick inventory. He had his wand, his school robes, and his cousin's ill-fitting clothes.
A tempus showed the time as a bit after five, which meant dinner had started in the Great Hall. He had apparently been knocked out for three or so hours.
He lightly bit his lower lip, thinking, on what to do next, and how to follow the man's, his agent's, his DEATH agent's, advice.
Harry spent some time pacing in the Chamber.
Finally, he shook his head.
He needed help — without letting everyone know he was still alive. Coming up with a reasonable explanation, and one of the things his agent had mentioned needed a bit more knowledge than he knew. That is, what was a soulmate?
Not to mention identifying who he had meant. The names he mentioned could be Ginny, Hermione, Susan Bones, or possibly someone else in one of the other Houses. On the other hand, he might have been referring to someone not in Harry's year — he had no idea who Luner might refer to.
The man had said to use his head.
The problem was, he wasn't very good at that. Hermione was the brains of the three!
Hermione.
Hermione!
His eyes shot wide open! She had to be out of her mind right now. She must think he was dead!
.o\O/o.