A/N: Day 14 of NaNoWriMo! I think I have 4 more chapters until Percy's first real chapter! :D

And Day 15, since I wanted this chapter to be longer...

Rising Storms

A Harry Potter and Percy Jackson crossover

Chapter 17:

Harry

The shopping trip ended there. Harry and his father left the bookstore, walking past Ginny who gave Harry a small black diary with a small, "Here's a diary for you. I want to apologize for my mum. She can be a little much."

Harry looked the diary over, noticing that it didn't have any indication that it belonged in the bookstore, and said, "Thank you, miss Weasley." He looked at her and nodded.

James led Harry away and they immediately went home. "Don't worry about your supplies. I'll owl order them."

"Thanks, dad." Harry looked at his left shoulder where Lockhart's hand had wrapped around and gripped the shirt. He couldn't believe that he had to deal with that kind of person as a teacher. "I'm going to change my shirt."

"Okay," James said.

Harry sped walked up to his room, wishing that the house elves could fix the tear, and he stripped off the shirt as he walked to the closet. He tossed the torn shirt on his desk chair as he passed it. In his closet, Harry found a royal purple shirt that he immediately put on. By the time he stepped out of his closet, the torn shirt was gone.

…

September at Hogwarts brought a palpable unease. Lockhart's charismatic facade, once a beacon of charm, cracked under the scrutiny of skeptical students. Harry, in particular, found himself entangled in the web of Lockhart's questionable teaching methods.

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class set the tone. Lockhart, in his grandiosity, announced a quiz on his own achievements. As the students exchanged incredulous glances, Harry, penning down absurd anecdotes from Lockhart's books, couldn't help but notice the undercurrent of doubt in the room.

...

October dawned with a crisp chill in the air, and the castle walls whispered with secrets. The dueling club, an exciting prospect for many students, became a stage for unexpected revelations. Lockhart, ever eager for the spotlight, paired Harry with Draco Malfoy.

The tension in the room heightened as the duel unfolded. To everyone's shock, Harry spoke Parseltongue—a language associated with dark magic. The whispers of suspicion grew louder, and Lockhart, though attempting to downplay the incident, couldn't conceal the flicker of concern in his eyes.

In the dim light of the Slytherin common room, Harry sat at his desk, surrounded by books and parchment. Ginny's gift, a seemingly innocuous blank diary, lay untouched among his study materials. Little did he know, the enchanted diary sensed his proximity, a dormant magic waiting to stir.

Curiosity piqued, Harry picked up the diary and idly flipped through its pristine pages. The faint rustle of parchment echoed in the quiet room as he pondered its purpose. Ginny had insisted it would be perfect for jotting down notes and thoughts during his studies.

As he considered using it for his potions research, ink quill in hand, something peculiar happened. The blank page beneath his quill seemed to respond, words appearing as if inked by an invisible hand. The diary itself was aiding him, offering insights and information that he hadn't consciously sought.

Intrigued, Harry continued, engaging in an unintentional dialogue with the enchanted diary. It provided him with obscure potion recipes, historical magical tidbits, and even subtle tips for his upcoming exams. The magic within the diary disguised its darker nature, subtly influencing Harry's actions while keeping him blissfully unaware of its true intent.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the diary reveled in its newfound connection. It fed off his unwitting interactions, subtly weaving its influence into the fabric of his thoughts. The once dormant magic now pulsed with a dark vitality, entwining itself with Harry's own magical aura.

As the ink on the pages continued to dance under Harry's quill, the diary silently celebrated its clever manipulation. Harry, blissfully studying with what he believed to be a helpful tool, remained oblivious to the dark undercurrents swirling within the enchanted pages.

Little did he realize that the seemingly innocent diary would become a conduit for a malevolent force, shaping events in the shadows and setting the stage for unforeseen consequences in the days to come.

About a week later, after using the diary every day, Harry was dragged to the Great Hall by his friends.

The Great Hall buzzed with the chatter of students, the long tables laden with delicious dishes. Ron, eager to maintain the appearance of friendship with Harry, approached the Slytherin table with a forced grin. Unaware of the truth about his own heritage, Ron intended to uphold the facade of camaraderie.

"Harry, mate! Fancy sharing some laughs over dinner?" Ron exclaimed, slapping Harry on the back in what was meant to be a friendly gesture.

Harry, who had been deep in conversation with Draco, Blaise, and Theo, glanced at Ron with a nod. "Sure, Ron, join us." His friends looked at him in surprise.

As Ron settled into a seat next to Harry, he launched into a series of quips aimed at Slytherins, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere he was creating. "Can't believe you hang out with these snakes, Harry. They're slimier than ever. And Malfoy, well, he's just a walking disaster, isn't he?"

Draco, maintaining his composure, retorted, "At least I don't need a Howler from my mother every other week, Weasley."

Ginny, seated at the Gryffindor table, looked warily at the Slytherin table. She worried for her brother. Ron, unfazed, continued his barrage of insults.

"You know, Harry, you could do so much better than this lot. Hanging out with Slytherins? What would your Gryffindor friends think?" Ron chuckled, oblivious to the irony of his words.

Harry, choosing to deflect, responded, "We're just having a civil meal, Ron. No need for unnecessary jabs."

But Ron persisted, his insults becoming more pointed. "I mean, seriously, even the Sorting Hat regretted putting me in Gryffindor. It must have been a mistake."

Ginny, feeling the weight of Ron's words, hurried over and shot him a stern look as she grabbed his shoulder. "Ron, that's enough. Let's go eat at our table."

Unbeknownst to Ron, Harry, while feeling the sting of Ron's words, kept his composure, aware that revealing the truth wouldn't serve any purpose. Yet.

As the tension lingered in the air, the Great Hall continued its lively atmosphere, students engrossed in their conversations and meals. The delicate dance of maintaining appearances and concealing secrets unfolded, leaving an undercurrent of complexity beneath the seemingly ordinary Hogwarts dinner.

The Slytherin common room provided a backdrop of subdued green and silver hues as Draco Malfoy, sitting amidst the plush armchairs, observed Harry Potter. Over the past few weeks, Draco had noticed a change in Harry's behavior. His once vibrant and energetic demeanor had shifted, replaced by an air of fatigue and a haunting paleness that didn't escape Draco's perceptive gaze.

Curiosity gnawed at Draco as he observed Harry engrossed in the mysterious diary Ginny had given him. The blank pages now brimmed with Harry's notes, intricately filled with quill strokes and magical diagrams. It seemed as though the diary had become Harry's constant companion, his link to a world of hidden knowledge.

Draco, torn between concern for his friend and an instinctual wariness, approached Harry. "Harry, you've been spending an awful lot of time with that diary. Anything interesting in there?"

Harry, looking up with a weary smile, closed the diary. "Just studying, Draco. Trying to get a head start on some advanced charms. You know how it is."

Draco, however, wasn't entirely convinced. "Studying? You look like you've been wrestling with a Hungarian Horntail. Are you sure that diary isn't cursed or something?"

Harry laughed, a hollow sound that echoed through the common room. "Cursed? No, it's just a diary, Malfoy. Ginny wouldn't give me something cursed."

But Draco's suspicions lingered, especially at the sudden use of his last name and the female Weasley's first name, his gray eyes narrowing in contemplation. "I've never seen you this worn out just from studying, Potter. Something doesn't add up."

As the days passed, Draco's unease grew. Harry's exhaustion deepened, and his reliance on the diary became more pronounced. Even during Quidditch practice, Harry seemed distracted, as if his mind were elsewhere.

One evening, finding Harry alone in the common room, Draco approached cautiously. "Harry, I can't shake the feeling that there's something off about that diary. It's like it's draining the life out of you."

Harry, looking up from the pages, hesitated before responding. "It's just a diary, Malfoy. Maybe I'm just overworking myself."

Draco, however, wasn't easily swayed. "I've seen you pull all-nighters for exams, and you never looked this bad. Have you considered that maybe there's something more to that diary?"

Harry's expression shifted, a momentary flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's just helping me with my studies. Nothing to worry about."

Draco, though concerned, couldn't press further without risking their fragile friendship. As the days turned into nights, the diary's influence on Harry became increasingly apparent. Draco, torn between loyalty and suspicion, resolved to keep a watchful eye on his friend, uncertain of the dark secrets that lurked within the seemingly innocuous pages of the enchanted diary.

Halloween arrived, casting a shadow over the festive decorations. The Great Hall buzzed with anticipation as the Halloween feast commenced. Lockhart, determined to regain control, strutted to the front of the room.

"Now, my dear students, a special Halloween treat! I shall attempt to free this room of a boggart, the most fearsome creature known to wizardkind," Lockhart declared with theatrical flair.

The anticipation in the room was palpable as Lockhart raised his wand, but instead of banishing the boggart, chaos erupted. The boggart, reflecting Lockhart's deepest fear—exposure as a fraud—multiplied, filling the hall with illusionary copies of the narcissistic wizard.

Students erupted into laughter, and the once-charming Lockhart, now entangled in a spectacle of his own making, retreated in humiliation. Harry, watching the scene unfold, couldn't suppress a wry smile. The doubts about Lockhart's authenticity had found a voice in the most unexpected way.

As October drew to a close, Hogwarts stood witness to the unraveling of Lockhart's facade. Whispers of doubt spread like wildfire, and the once-glorified Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher struggled to maintain control.

Near curfew on Halloween night, in the quiet solitude of his office, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, the soft glow of enchanted candles casting flickering shadows on the walls adorned with peculiar instruments and magical artifacts. The Headmaster's keen blue eyes reflected a mind constantly in motion, contemplating the intricate threads of destiny woven around Harry Potter.

The events of the dueling club lingered in Dumbledore's thoughts, a puzzle piece that hinted at a larger design. The revelation that Harry could speak Parseltongue had sparked both concern and intrigue. Dumbledore knew that such an ability carried a heavy burden, a connection to a darker aspect of magic.

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore mused aloud, as if uttering the name might unravel the mysteries surrounding the young wizard. The prophecy, the scar on his forehead, and now this newfound ability—all elements intertwined in a complex tapestry that only Dumbledore could navigate.

The delicate balance of power at Hogwarts, with Harry's presence now an undeniable force, required careful maneuvering. Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eye that masked the gravity of his decisions, pondered the role Ron Weasley might play in Harry's unfolding destiny.

A discreet knock on the door interrupted Dumbledore's contemplations. "Enter," he called, and the door creaked open to reveal Professor McGonagall.

"Headmaster," McGonagall greeted, her stern expression softened only slightly by her loyalty to Dumbledore. "What brings you to your office at this late hour?"

Dumbledore, his gaze never wavering, motioned for McGonagall to take a seat. "Minerva, my dear, we find ourselves at a crucial juncture. The events in the dueling club have unveiled a facet of young Mr. Potter's abilities that cannot be ignored."

McGonagall, her brows furrowed, took a seat across from Dumbledore. "Parseltongue, Headmaster. A rare and often misunderstood gift. What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Dumbledore sighed, a measured sadness in his eyes. "The ability to speak Parseltongue is not one that should be taken lightly. It carries a stigma, a connection to a past that echoes with darkness. Yet, young Harry is not responsible for the circumstances of his birth."

"As for the incident in the dueling club," Dumbledore continued, "it revealed more than just an ability. It showed us a potential ally in the form of Mr. Weasley. A loyal friend who might guide Harry in navigating the complexities that lie ahead."

McGonagall, though loyal to Dumbledore, couldn't shake the unease settling in her chest. "Ron Weasley? He's a good lad, but placing such a responsibility on his shoulders—"

"Minerva, my dear, we must play the cards dealt to us. Ron Weasley has displayed qualities of loyalty and courage. He might be the tether that keeps young Harry grounded in the turbulent times that lie ahead."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, the subtle weight of his words sinking in. McGonagall, understanding the depth of Dumbledore's plans, nodded reluctantly.

"Very well, Headmaster. I trust your judgment in this matter. But we must tread carefully, for the shadows of destiny cast long and unpredictable paths."

Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed, Minerva. We shall tread carefully, as always. Now, let us see how the threads of fate unfold."

As McGonagall left the office, Dumbledore returned to his contemplations, the faint lines on his face betraying the weight of the decisions he bore. The intricacies of destiny, woven with strands of magic and prophecy, danced in the recesses of his thoughts. The presence of Harry Potter, and the chosen allies around him, heralded a chapter in Hogwarts' history that Dumbledore knew would redefine the balance between light and shadow. Sometimes he wondered if he was making the right choice…

...

The hall of the castle was dark and silent, save for the sound of dripping water. The only light came from a single torch, which cast flickering shadows on the walls. In the center of the hall was a large stone basin, and on the edge of the basin was a message written in blood:

"The Chamber of Secrets is open. Enemies of the heir, beware."

Under the message, a student's body was standing next to a girl's bathroom, alongside a cat, both staring into a pool of water.

The early morning of November first was cloaked in a serene stillness, a tranquil prelude to the day's impending activities. As the sun began to cast a gentle glow over the castle, Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw prefect known for her diligence and inquisitive nature, found herself strolling through the dimly lit corridors on her way to the Great Hall.

The rhythmic echo of her footsteps reverberated against the stone walls, accompanied by the distant murmurs of the castle awakening. Penelope, however, was drawn to the haunting melodies that emanated from the direction of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Intrigued by the enigmatic presence that lingered there, she altered her course and approached the eerie entrance.

As Penelope reached the door, the mournful wails of Moaning Myrtle enveloped her, adding an unsettling ambiance to the scene. The ethereal glow of the single torch revealed a shocking sight – a petrified student and a rigid cat suspended in a state of unnatural stillness.

Penelope's eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the scene. The petrified figures bore expressions of terror, frozen in a moment of unseen peril. The cat, and student both, appeared to have been transformed into a statue of stone. "What in Merlin's name..." Penelope whispered, her breath catching in her throat. Her Ravenclaw instincts kicked in, and she reached for her wand, casting a Lumos spell to illuminate the surroundings.

As the light revealed the details, Penelope recognized the petrified student as Colin Creevey, a young Gryffindor known for his enthusiasm for photography. The petrification process had rendered him rigid, his camera held in a now-useless grip.

With caution, Penelope examined the cat. Its fur, once sleek and glossy, now resembled a stone-carved sculpture. The fear etched in its feline features mirrored the terror captured in Colin's petrified expression.

Penelope's logical mind raced through the possibilities. Petrification was not a common ailment at Hogwarts, and the circumstances seemed to point toward a sinister force at play. The whispers of the castle's secrets echoed in her ears as she contemplated her next course of action.

Determining that she needed help, Penelope rushed back into the hallway and sprinted towards the Gryffindor tower, where she knew the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall, could be found. The urgency of the situation spurred her, and the corridors seemed to elongate as she navigated the twists and turns of the castle.

Upon reaching the corridor near the Gryffindor common room, Penelope breathlessly explained the situation to Professor McGonagall. The stern-faced professor, her concern evident, summoned other faculty members and set out to investigate the haunting bathroom.

As they returned to the scene, a growing sense of foreboding filled the air. The petrified figures still stood there, undisturbed, as the staff discussed what to do and Penelope stood to the side.

A/N: 2997 words