A/N: Chapter revised as of November 4, 2024.
Harry stewed in his armchair in the Headmaster's office, feeling immensely frustrated. So much for letting the staff handle things, he lamented. But what on earth was he supposed to do? Stake out Myrtle's bathroom, which was apparently no longer housing the entrance? Break into Gryffindor Tower and tearing through Ginny's things, when she didn't seem to possess the diary any longer? What was even the point of having all this prior knowledge of events if he could do nothing to stop them?
He thought back to his brief meeting with Death in purgatory, to the offer he'd received. He felt tricked somehow, like Death knew he would be unable to stop himself from interfering once he realized what was happening. Death had made it sound as though he would get to live a peaceful existence, without the specter of Voldemort looming overhead. But could he really? Could he just bury his head in the sand, knowing full well that the Dark Lord was less than three years away from resurrecting himself with multiple soul tethers preventing his death?
Harry looked up and saw the Sorting Hat sitting on its usual perch on the wall. He was reminded of the last time he'd worn it in his previous timeline – it was around the same time, in fact, during his second year. The situation was remarkably similar – sitting in this very office, waiting for Dumbledore, silently wondering if the Hat had put him in the correct House. And once again, unable to stifle his curiosity, Harry reached up and grabbed it, placing it atop his head with a resigned sigh.
Well, well, look who we have here, the Hat remarked dryly. The mysterious traveler.
Hello again, Harry thought. I suppose you must find it amusing how badly I'm living up to the House you put me in.
Quite the contrary, the Hat chuckled. I see that your Gryffindor tendencies continue to override good sense at times. But as I said during your Sorting, I placed you in the House that I felt would serve you best, not merely the one you best embodied.
But I've screwed up every attempt to make things better! Harry lamented. I can't seem to do anything right.
Yes, and there is a good reason I did not place you in Slytherin, the Hat said with some amusement. You mistake cunning for intelligence, and while you have ample of the latter, you possess almost none of the former.
If I was actually intelligent, I would know how to apply what I know, thought Harry.
Once again, you continue to look at the problem wrong, the Hat said sagely. If one finds himself unable to capitalize on what he knows, he must reassess how he knows what he knows.
I don't know what that means, Harry groaned. Can you stop speaking in riddles?
Not until you learn how to think outside the box, the Hat said in what Harry thought was a rather teasing tone. Ask yourself this, Harry Potter: why have you been unable to use your prior knowledge of events to change the future for the better?
Because things are happening differently than they did before! Harry said, frustrated.
Why?
What do you mean, 'why'? Harry thought angrily. Because the timeline is different!
Why?
Because Voldemort went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters, for one thing, Harry thought irritably.
Now you are getting somewhere, said the Hat. One minor deviation from over a decade ago has caused severe ripple effects on your perception of events. If you are unsure why things are different now, you have to look farther back to the source. To the reason this world is different from the one you came from.
You mean like, why Voldemort went after Neville instead of me? Harry wondered.
Now you're thinking like a Ravenclaw, the Hat appraised him. Arm yourself with knowledge, young man, and it can only serve you well on your journey. Rushing into situations with incomplete understanding is your crutch, and I'd hate to see you meet the same fate in this world.
The Sorting Hat fell silent, and Harry reluctantly pulled it off his head and returned it to its perch. He hated to admit that the Hat was right: he was looking at his problems backwards. He was still acting under the assumption that things would play out identical to his last timeline. If he was to have any success at preventing future catastrophes, he had to dig deeper and figure out how much had changed based on Voldemort's ill-fated decision to target Neville.
Once again he found himself wishing he knew the full contents of the prophecy. He feared he would never know what it said in his original timeline, but perhaps the one from this timeline would shed some light on the matter. He could ask Dumbledore directly, or perhaps convince Neville to accompany him into the Department of Mysteries to withdraw it himself. Coming up with a valid reason to do either would be the tricky part.
His wandering thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, and Dumbledore and Snape walked in. The former strode around the desk and sank into his own chair, while the latter leaned against the wall, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. Harry ignored him, focusing his attention on the Headmaster, who was peering down curiously at him.
"Severus here has informed me of your visions about the Chamber of Secrets being opened," Dumbledore said. "I must first ask why you did not come directly to me with your concerns?"
"I went to Professor Snape first, in the hopes of resolving things before they got too serious," Harry said (which was mostly true). "When that failed, I decided to leave it alone."
"Without mentioning your suspicion about the entrance in the bathroom," Snape pointed out.
"Once again, you have failed to heed my warnings about your visions," Dumbledore sighed. "Divining the future is a difficult business for even the most experienced of adult witches and wizards, much less a twelve year old. You continue to make assumptions and endanger others around you by withholding information from the staff."
Harry had plenty of retorts in mind – like reminding Dumbledore that he'd allowed Voldemort to live in the castle for almost an entire school year without noticing – but held his tongue. "You're right, sir, I apologize," he huffed.
"I would like for you to tell me, now, everything you've foreseen about the Chamber of Secrets," said Dumbledore. "Your visions may not be entirely accurate, but much can still be gleaned from them, as we learned last year from your visions of Voldemort in the mirror chamber."
Harry hesitated, glancing at Snape momentarily. He had shown the man the memory of his confrontation with Tom Riddle in the Chamber, but only glimpses. He might as well start there. "I'm positive that Slytherin's monster is a basilisk," said Harry. "I spoke with Moaning Myrtle, and she confirmed that she died when she gazed upon a pair of yellow eyes. And it also explains how my sister's cat was Petrified."
"You cannot be Petrified by a basilisk," Snape snapped. "They kill on sight, and their venom cannot be survived."
"If you look into their eyes indirectly, you can survive," Harry retorted. "The cat must have seen it in the reflection of the water in the fountain it was sitting on."
"What is your evidence of this?" Snape demanded. "There is no such documented case!"
"That could be due to a lack of modern research on the basilisk," Dumbledore mused. "The species has been banned from Europe for many centuries, and now exists only in remote areas of the globe."
"So you actually believe the boy's story?" Snape said, incredulous.
"I am merely taking all possibilities into account," Dumbledore corrected. "You forget that the Chamber was opened once before, fifty years ago, and a basilisk could explain the circumstances of Miss Warren's death. I knew, for instance, that my prime suspect behind the attacks was a Parselmouth."
"Which begs yet another question," Snape demanded, rounding on Harry again. "How did you know Longbottom was a Parselmouth?"
"He...he told me once," Harry lied.
"But this cannot be, Dumbledore!" said Snape. "Parseltongue is hereditary, and I've never heard of a Longbottom possessing the ability to speak it."
"It is one of the many mysteries surrounding Neville's encounter with Voldemort as a child," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "But that is a conversation for another day, I'm afraid. We must do all we can to ensure no one else in the school is harmed by this monster, whatever it is."
"And how do we do that?" asked Snape. "If Potter cannot lead us to the perpetrator or the location of the Chamber, what good is he to us?"
"As I have said, there may be useful tidbits to glean from his visions," said Dumbledore. "For one thing, I will instruct Hagrid to purchase more roosters at the earliest opportunity. For another, I will pass on Mr. Potter's suspicions to the staff – anonymously, of course – so that they can keep an eye out for any suspicious activity."
"I hate to ask this, Headmaster," said Harry slowly. "But could we perhaps do with a more competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"For once, I agree with Potter on this," said Snape dryly. "You know my opinions of Lockhart, Albus—"
"Gilderoy was not my first choice for the job," Dumbledore admitted. "But he has ample experience identifying and dealing with rogue creatures throughout Britain. We shall see if he can assist our search in any way."
Harry seriously doubted that. Dumbledore didn't yet know that the man was a fraud and hadn't actually achieved anything he wrote about in his books.
"In the meantime, Harry," Dumbledore continued, looking down upon the young second-year, "I will remind you that my door is always open if you have more visions. You must realize by now that your attempts to solve these problems on your own – while noble – are misguided and can cause more harm than good."
"I understand, sir," Harry nodded. "I will use better judgment next time."
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Severus, please escort Mr. Potter back to his dormitory."
Snape led Harry wordlessly through the castle up to Ravenclaw Tower. They crossed through Central Hall once more, which Harry noticed had been cleaned up, with no sign of the terrible sight they'd encountered earlier that evening. They finally arrived at the bronze eagle statue at the entrance to the common room. "From whence does a wizard channel his magic?" the eagle asked.
"Erm...from his core?" Harry asked aloud.
"From his will, you imbecile," Snape said, rolling his eyes.
"Well put," the eagle appraised him, and the door swung open. Harry scurried inside without a backwards glance, emerging in the Ravenclaw common room. It was full of students, chattering nervously about something, but the room fell eerily quiet when Harry appeared. He ignored their curious stares and walked straight up to the dorms, just wanting the day to be over.
Should I just come clean to Dumbledore? Harry thought to himself as he lay awake in his four-poster, staring at the ceiling. Or should I just sit back and continue to do nothing? Clearly his problem-solving efforts were not working, and it might be best to just sit back and let others handle things for a while.
But he had a few more tricks up his sleeve he wanted to try first. Tomorrow morning, he would head to the Owlery and send off a letter he'd been formulating in his head for a few weeks now. He was not prepared to give up the fight yet, and could think of at least one change to the timeline he could make in his favor….
The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter when Harry entered for breakfast the next morning. He saw heads turn and heard voices go mute as he approached the Ravenclaw table, confirming his suspicions: they were all talking about him. Harry ignored the pointed stares and looks of fear from his House mates, finding a spot to himself and sitting to eat his breakfast alone.
But he was not alone for long. Midway through the meal, his silence was interrupted as Daphne Greengrass descended upon the table and sat opposite him.
"Are you the Heir of Slytherin?" she asked Harry pointedly, eyes boring into his.
"What—no, of course not!" Harry spluttered in surprise.
"Is it Neville Longbottom?" Daphne continued without a beat.
"No!" Harry said. "How could it be either of us? We weren't at Hogwarts fifty years ago when the Chamber was first opened!"
"That's what I told the other Slytherins," Daphne muttered. "But you two are the prime suspects right now, just for your information. Do you know who it might be?"
"I have a very good guess," Harry admitted. "But I have to do some digging around before I can know for sure."
"Hmph," Daphne frowned. "Well, let me know what you find. I'd better go, before anyone thinks I'm sympathetic to your cause."
"Sympathetic to my—?" Harry repeated, bewildered, but Daphne was already walking back to her own table. Was she worried about being seen with him? Were people really talking about him as if he could be the one responsible for all of this?
Sure enough, his fellow classmates avoided him like the plague at subsequent meals and lessons. Once again Harry felt ostracized and unwelcome by his peers – not an unfamiliar sensation, but one he was growing tired of. Was this the life he was cursing himself to? Were all of his attempts to make Hogwarts a safer place doomed to make him appear aloof and manipulative?
Harry occasionally found himself glancing over at the Hufflepuff table during meals, where Hermione, Ron and Neville were conversing in hushed tones. Maybe he should just let them handle things in their own, roundabout way. So what if a few students and cats got Petrified along the way? They'd be revived either way. Clearly Harry was not equipped to solve the problem on his own, and his future knowledge was doing him absolutely no good at this point. Maybe he ought to just tell Hermione what he knew and wash his hands clean of it.
November passed in a haze, with many students avoiding Harry like the plague. All he could really do was keep his head down and try not to stick out like a sore thumb. Emotions were high and fingers were being pointed in all directions – the last thing he wanted was for the entire school to believe he was some kind of Muggle-born killer.
One bit of good news did arrive later in the month, in the form of a strongly-worded letter that arrived via owl and cursed his name up and down with various threats of bodily harm. He couldn't help but chuckle at the vile rhetoric, and folded the letter carefully inside his robes. That would be a fun interaction in a few short weeks.
First, however, he had to endure what was sure to be a miserable experience: watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team play without him. Despite Harry's best efforts to remain upbeat and participate in all team-related drills he was allowed to, he was treated as essentially invisible by Roger Davies, who had eyes only for Cho during practice. In fact, even Roger seemed surprised when Harry showed up to the Great Hall in uniform on game day, as though expecting him to have dropped out long ago.
Harry followed the squad down to the locker rooms after a light breakfast, resigning himself to a useless couple of hours watching the team forget about his existence once more. But he arrived to a chorus of cheers and whistles when they reached the pitch: Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus were all smiling and waving at him, clad in blue and bronze apparel. Harry begrudgingly acknowledged them with a wave, ignoring the snickers of his teammates, who were clearly wondering why their bench-warmer teammate had such a robust cheering section.
As expected, Harry became invisible once more as the team discussed strategy in the minutes leading up to the match. "Remember, Beaters, focus on the opposing Chasers to start," Davies instructed his team, drawing up a schematic on the whiteboard. "Our focus will be scoring goals early and often. Chang, you should be able to outmaneuver Diggory and keep him off the Snitch long enough to let us build an early lead."
That struck Harry as remarkably naive. Cho was a fair flyer, but Diggory's strength was in one-on-one physical matchups, without Beater interference. Shouldn't the Beaters be more focused on him? Was Roger too blinded by Aiden Lynch's past dominant play, or did he simply overestimate Cho's abilities?
But Harry kept his mouth shut as usual, and watched with longing as the team filed out onto the pitch without him. He then made his way up into the small substitute box to watch the game play out from below. Here's hoping Roger knows what he's doing, Harry thought to himself.
At Madam Hooch's whistle, the game began. Roger's strategy seemed to work somewhat, as the Ravenclaw Chasers were able to carve up the Hufflepuff defense and rack up three early goals for a 30-nil lead. Harry hoped they could keep it up, but he kept one eye trained on Cedric Diggory, hovering high above the pitch, unmolested by Bludgers, watching...waiting….
"Diggory has spotted the Snitch!" Lee Jordan suddenly exclaimed, drawing all eyes to the two Seekers streaking across the sky. Cedric had indeed spotted it first; he was several broom-lengths ahead of Cho, who was flattened against her broom trying to catch up. To her credit, she managed to draw near-level with him, but Diggory kept her boxed out of the Snitch's path with his larger frame.
Harry's eyes darted over to the Chasers, where Roger Davies was coordinating another assault on the Hufflepuff goalposts. What is he doing?! Harry thought. Surely now is the time to divert attention over to Diggory! But Davies remained stubbornly attached to his original plan, and the result was inevitable: Diggory kept Cho just out of reach and grabbed the first Snitch to make the score 50-30 in favor of Hufflepuff.
There was a great roar of support from the yellow and bronze faithful as the Ravenclaws dejectedly returned to center field for the reset. Harry watched curiously as Roger swooped over to Cho to exchange words with her, to which Cho could only shrug. Hopefully by now he's learned his lesson, Harry thought as the players prepared for the second set.
But if anything, Roger seemed to be doubling down on his original strategy. He was more determined than ever to live and die by the Chasers, completely ignoring anything the Seekers were doing. Worse yet, the Hufflepuff Beaters seemed to wise up to this strategy and started harassing Cho, preventing her from staying level with Cedric and keeping her own eye on the Snitch. Ravenclaw scored two more quick goals, but Harry felt a sinking feeling that the match was about to take an ugly turn for the worst.
It happened in a flash: Cedric entered a steep dive, drawing all eyes to him as he rocketed after the Snitch. Cho dove after him, but was quickly thrown off-course by a pair of Bludgers aimed her direction. And without any harassment whatsoever from the Ravenclaw bats, Cedric claimed his second Snitch in only a couple of minutes, raising yet another raucous cheer from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd.
"Another fifty points for Hufflepuff!" Lee Jordan shouted excitedly into the microphone. "That's one hundred points for Diggory alone this match, versus Ravenclaw's fifty! And team captain Roger Davies wants a timeout." Harry quickly scrambled out of the substitute box and back down to the locker room to rejoin his squad as they exited the pitch for a quick recess.
Harry entered just as Roger was shouting at his squad for their failed execution. "That's two shots on goal you've missed this game, Chris!" he yelled at one of his fellow Chasers. "And Beaters, why have we not unseated their Keeper once yet this game? We should have scored at least three more goals by now!"
"That would still put us down by twenty," one of the Beaters muttered mutinously, throwing a glare in Cho's direction.
"This is a game of millimeters!" Roger retorted. "Two fluke catches by Diggory can't throw us off our game. As long as we dominate the goalposts, we can and will prevail."
Madam Hooch marched into the locker room soon after. "Time's up, Ravenclaw," she announced. "Any substitutions to announce?"
Roger's eyes briefly flitted over to Harry, sitting alone in the corner. "No," he said stiffly. "Mount up, team!"
A dejected Harry marched back up to the box as the team returned to the pitch without him. Was Roger really so blinded by the Quaffle play that he couldn't see how badly Diggory was dominating Cho? He hoped that the third set would show something different from the team strategy. As irritated as he was that Cho had beaten him for the Seeker spot, he did not want to see her get humiliated three times in a row either.
Roger remained steadfast in his strategy, keeping the Hufflepuffs in a constant state of defense as they forced the Quaffle down their throats. Soon they had pulled to nearly even, the score now 100-90 in favor of Hufflepuff. But did it even matter? It would all come down to who caught the third Snitch, and with neither Ravenclaw Beater keeping Diggory in check, it might soon be over.
"Cho Chang has a chance here!" Lee shouted, and Harry's heart leapt: Cho actually had a decent lead this time. Cedric was halfway across the pitch, badly out of position as Cho raced for glory. She could win it all here...erase all of Roger Davies' mistakes…
But the Hufflepuff Beaters were ready. One well-placed Bludger grazed Cho's shoulder, causing her to spin off-balance; the second Bludger caught her right in the chest, knocking her clean off her broom. Roger Davies was forced to drop the Quaffle to catch her in midair, just as Diggory swooped in uncontested for his third Snitch of the game.
"And Diggory's done it!" Lee Jordan shouted over the roaring crowd. "A rare hat trick for the Hufflepuff Seeker, scoring all 150 points for his team and giving his team the victory!"
Harry returned to the locker room to change with the rest of the team. The atmosphere was one of bitter disappointment – nobody dared speak or point fingers, but Harry could sense the team's simmering frustration with their poor performance today. At least nobody can blame me this time, Harry thought. But that was little consolation as he had to walk away from the pitch as part of the losing squad, forever destined to wonder if he could have done any better for the team.
His family (minus Dahlia) was waiting for him outside the locker room to give him support. "Shame you couldn't get out there today," James said, engulfing his son in a hug. "You'll get 'em next time."
"Sorry you had to come all this way to watch me not even play," Harry muttered.
"Nonsense!" Sirius laughed. "We'll be here for every match. They can't keep a natural talent like you locked away forever!"
Just you wait and see, Harry thought bitterly, as he watched Roger Davies escort a shaken Cho Chang back up to the castle. He had lost faith in Ravenclaw's leadership, and was now forced to wonder if he would ever see the pitch as long as Roger Davies remained team captain….
Harry pushed all thoughts of Quidditch aside in favor of his studies, diving this time not into a specific branch of magic, but into Tom Riddle himself. He looked up everything he could find on the boy as a student: accolades, O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, mentions in the Daily Prophet. He discovered that the boy had been both a Prefect and Head Boy, was listed as the top student of the Class of 1945, and was a member of various organizations, including the Slug Club (whatever the hell that was).
But what of his past life? Harry knew Tom's father was a Muggle, but what of his mother's family? Was she also descended from Slytherin? Did he have other relatives who could speak Parseltongue? The school records were sparse on the subject, and Harry doubted he would find much more in the school library. Perhaps a Muggle library would be of more assistance? Harry determined to visit one during his next holiday break, where perhaps a computer database would have more to say on the mysterious orphan than the more outdated wizarding methods of data collection.
The following Wednesday evening brought an unexpected change in the students' schedule, as everyone was invited to the Great Hall after dinner for a 'special presentation' by Professors Lockhart and Snape. Harry arrived with his classmates to find the two men standing atop an elevated platform at the center of the room, the former looking far more enthused to be there than the latter.
"Due to recent events at Hogwarts, I've heard that there is a lot of interest in starting a Dueling Club at the school," Lockhart announced to the crowd. "As I am something of a dueling master myself, I found it prudent to start up the club and run it myself, along with Professor Snape here."
Likely story, Harry thought irritably to himself. He knew Professor Flitwick was, in fact, a former dueling champion – why wasn't HE running the club? Snape looked similarly chagrined by Lockhart's theatrics, but neither he nor Harry said anything.
"Today, I'm going to demonstrate the effectiveness of a Disarming Charm," said Lockhart. "First, I'll need a volunteer. Ah! How about you, Mr. Longbottom?"
Neville, who was standing near Harry, looked frozen in the headlights. "Go on then, mate," Ron encouraged him, and Neville strode forward to join Lockhart atop the stage.
"Now, Neville," said Lockhart with a broad smile, "On the count of three, I'm going to attempt to disarm you, and you will attempt to stop me. Ready? One, two, three…Expelliarmus!"
A jet of red light flew directly at Neville, who, as a second year, had never been taught how to block incoming spells. He was hit full-on with the blast, his wand flying up into the air as he stumbled and fell to one knee. Several girls applauded generously as Lockhart bowed at his incredible feat of disarming a twelve year old.
"Good effort, Neville!" said Lockhart. "Now, I would offer you the chance to disarm me in return, but I know that may prove difficult for you. In fact, I would be surprised if any student in this room had the ability to take me down!"
"I'll do it," Harry piped up. All eyes turned to him; many laughed aloud at the bold declaration of another second-year. Lockhart seemed surprised by the challenge, but also grinned at the sight of Harry, clearly not intimidated.
"Wonderful, another volunteer!" Lockhart said genially. "Come on up here, Mr. Powers."
Harry climbed up onto the stage as Neville clambered off of it, squaring off against Lockhart. He'd been dreaming of the chance to hex the man into oblivion for the past two months and prove his ineptitude to the disbelievers in the castle.
"Now, on my count, you may attempt to disarm me," said Lockhart. "You will fail, of course, but it should be a good demonstration for the others to learn how to properly defend yourself. Ready, Henry? One, two, three!"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry bellowed. He gave an elaborate twirl of his wand, mostly for show, sending a jet of red light towards Lockhart's head. The man erected a sloppy shield to deflect the spell, and the red jet careened off towards the ceiling. But Lockhart never saw or heard the follow-up spell: a silent Tripping Jinx, which caught him in the legs and sent him sprawling onto his face. Another Disarming Charm later, and Harry stood over Lockhart holding two wands.
Lockhart sprang back to his feet, looking momentarily stunned. But he recovered quickly with a wide smile. "Give a hand for Mr. Porter here!" he said, initiating a reluctant round of applause from the gathered students. "A rather sneaky tactic there, mixing in nonverbal spells to catch me off-guard, and I assure you I would have blocked it if I'd been trying not to injure the poor boy."
"Perhaps it would be prudent to pit Mr. Potter against someone of his own skill level?" Snape offered. "Another student, perhaps, who won't have to...restrain themselves?"
"Ah, yes, quite right, Severus!" Lockhart grinned. "Anyone else here fancy a go at young Henry?"
"Right here!" someone shouted from the crowd, and many snickered at the sight of the boy making his way up to the front of the room. Harry realized why with an internal groan as Fred Weasley took the stage, replacing Lockhart opposite Harry. The redhead eyed Harry with a look of malice, clearly relishing in the opportunity to rough him up a little bit.
"Very well then," said Lockhart cautiously. "Do be careful, Mr. Westley, as you are far more experienced than your opponent. Duelists ready?"
"Nowhere to run this time, Potter," Fred snarled. Harry said nothing, merely dropping into a defensive stance and waiting for the signal.
As soon as Lockhart said 'go', Fred launched into a vicious combination of spells, several of which Harry did not recognize by sight. He erected a powerful Shield Charm to deflect them, his golden barrier shimmering wildly as it was pelted by jets of light. Harry retorted with a volley of his own: mainly weaker, easier-to-cast spells like the Stinging Hex, testing Fred's reflexes, gauging his defenses.
"That all you got, Potter?" Fred laughed. But his smile was wiped away as Harry's next spell came crackling across the stage at him: a Shocking Charm, causing the hairs on everyone's necks to raise as it careened past. Fred was forced to flatten himself to the floor to avoid the nasty spell.
"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in protest, but no one paid him any attention. Fred launched himself back to his feet, lip curled in a snarl, and Harry reset, prepared to give it his all. He had no reason to wish Fred harm, but he had been bottling up his frustrations for weeks now and finally had an outlet to unleash them.
"Avis!" Fred shouted, conjuring a flock of birds that twittered and chirped as they fluttered around him. "Oppugno!" The birds gathered in a tight formation and launched themselves at Harry like a spear. Harry quickly conjured a miniature tornado to catch the birds in a flurry of wind, then redirected the stream towards Fred. As he did so, he transfigured the birds into small stones – not large enough to seriously injure him, but sharp enough to bloody him up a little if they connected.
Fred's eyes went wide at the sight of the projectiles and erected a brick wall to block the stones. Harry exploded the wall with a follow-up Blasting Curse, followed quickly after by a Disarming Charm. But Fred managed to erect a Shield just in time to avoid the fight ending early. So close, Harry thought. Fred was a better duelist than he'd given him credit for, but still clearly the less experienced of the two. It was time to end this quickly – and that meant surprising his opponent with something he'd never encountered before.
"Tempesta electra!" Harry shouted. A dark cloud formed over Fred's head, pelting him with heavy raindrops and crackling with dangerous electricity. Fred warily watched the cloud out of the corner of his eye while keeping most of his focus on his opponent. Harry fired a few minor hexes and jinxes to make sure Fred was distracted before unleashing his attack.
With a twirl of his wand, the dark cloud erupted with light, pelting the ground with lightning bolts. Fred danced and dodged to avoid being struck, but they were meant to distract him and keep him in one place, not harm him. Harry ratcheted up his attacks, forcing Fred to shield from his barrage of spells, which he did not have room to dodge because of the lightning bolts all around him. Harry finally penetrated the Shield Charm with another Blasting Curse, and his follow-up Stunner sent Fred sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
The room was eerily silent as Harry twirled his wand once more, dissipating the thunder clouds and reviving his opponent in a single swoop. Fred gingerly sat up, looking annoyed but also awed at the display Harry had just put on.
"Winner...Potter," Lockhart said after an awkward silence. "Are you alright, Mr. Beasley?"
Fred waved off Lockhart and got to his feet, jumping off the stage and disappearing back into the crowd. Harry did the same, noting the wide eyes and shocked expressions of his peers. Well, if they didn't think I was the Heir of Slytherin before, they probably do now, Harry thought to himself. Still, with any luck, it might discourage future ambushes in the hallways between classes.
Lockhart invited a few more pairs of students up to the stage for more practice rounds, but none were as flashy or buzzed-about as Harry and Fred's duel. Harry could feel the curious eyes of many in the room upon him, and suddenly felt very surrounded. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, he made a beeline for the exit, eager to escape the attention he'd drawn to himself.
"Harry?" a voice tentatively called after him. He turned to see Neville approaching through the crowd. "Can we talk for a minute?"
"Sure," said Harry, following Neville to a more secluded corridor. He was well aware of the curious eyes watching them go, but he did his best to pay them no mind. When they were out of earshot of the prying students, Harry threw up a Muffling Charm for good measure before turning to Neville.
"Hermione said you might know who the Heir of Slytherin is," he said.
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "But I'm not totally sure yet."
"Right," Neville muttered. He looked highly uncomfortable, shifting from side to side as he considered his next words. "It's just that...well, Malfoy and some other people are spreading rumors that it's me. And I can't exactly argue back, considering I'm in Slytherin and I'm a Parseltongue—"
"I'm sorry for revealing that so publicly," Harry said at once. "I didn't mean to expose you like that."
"I know," Neville nodded morosely. "Just, if you do figure out for sure who it is...can you, like, let me know? So I can break up some of the rumors?"
"Yeah," Harry said, nodding slowly. He felt badly for keeping Neville in the dark, but didn't want to say too much until he was absolutely sure the culprit was the same as last time. "Have you heard the name Tom Riddle before?"
"Riddle…" Neville frowned. "Don't think so. Who is he?"
"That's what I'm researching," said Harry. "See if you can find anything on your own about him."
"Alright...thanks, Harry," said Neville, not looking entirely reassured.
"No problem," said Harry. "Oh, and one more thing: d'you reckon I could borrow the Invisibility Cloak for a little bit?"
A look of panic flared in Neville's face, but it quickly subsided into resignation. "I suppose it's your Cloak, after all," he muttered with a guilty grin.
"I'll return it in a few days," said Harry. "I need to make a few inquiries…."
Harry had missed the feeling of sheer freedom that the combination of the Cloak and Marauder's Map provided him. He could go wherever he pleased in the castle, totally invisible, with plenty of forewarning if anyone was about to sneak up on him from behind or around the next bend. He knew he could get himself into all kinds of trouble with that much freedom, which was part of why he'd resisted the impulse to hoard both items all to himself.
But today he had a very specific goal in mind. He had a meeting to uphold, and very limited time with which to get there. He crept along the corridors to the third-floor passage containing the statue of the one-eyed witch. "Dissendium," he whispered, and the back of the statue gave way to a hidden passageway that Harry slipped into.
The trip to Hogsmeade was a bit cumbersome as the passageway hadn't been traversed in quite some time, and Harry hoped the person he was going to meet would still be there when he arrived. Her letters had been rather threatening as of late, and Harry half-expected some kind of ambush waiting for him on the other side. But if things were anything like his last timeline, his gamble should pay off handsomely.
Harry finally emerged in the cellar of the Three Broomsticks and carefully crept up the stairs into the main pub, which was still mostly full at this late hour. Madam Rosmerta was bustling around tending to patrons, making it less likely that she would be on the lookout for anyone who shouldn't be there. Harry ducked underneath the bar and stole through the crowd, in search of his target.
He found her sitting alone at a booth near the back of the pub, just as he'd hoped. She was clutching a mug of Butterbeer tightly, looking apprehensive. Harry slid into the booth across from her and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak without ceremony.
"Hello, Rita," he greeted the woman.
Rita Skeeter gasped with surprise at the sudden appearance of a twelve-year-old boy out of thin air. "Merlin, kid, you can't sneak up on people like that!" she huffed.
"I take it you got my letter?" Harry asked, ignoring her protests.
"You wrote that letter?" Rita said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him. "What are you, nine years old?"
"I'm twelve, actually," said Harry. "And yes, I wrote it. I believe we can help each other."
Rita studied him closely. "You're James Potter's kid, aren't you?" she finally deduced. "You look just like him, you know. It would be a shame if the Prophet readership knew that his son was running around blackmailing reporters."
"They never will," Harry said sharply. "One bad word against my father, and the Ministry will learn of your secret. Unregistered Animagi can be imprisoned for up to twenty years in Azkaban; did you know that?"
Rita glared at this statement; obviously she did know. "I won't even begin to ask how you found out," she muttered, taking another sip of Butterbeer. "I never breathed a word of it to anyone."
"Well, the good news is, I'm actually here to help you," said Harry.
"Help me?" Rita laughed shrilly. "You call this helping me?"
"I have a scoop for you," said Harry. "You're going to investigate some things for me and write about them in the Prophet. I suspect it will be some of your most popular articles ever, and could give your career a nice boost."
"I don't need career advice from a little kid," Rita snapped. "What kind of 'scoop' could you possibly have for me?"
Harry leaned in closer to ensure that they could not be overheard. "What if I told you Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud?" he whispered. "That he made everything up that he wrote about in his books?"
"Preposterous," said Rita at once. "His accomplishments are renowned up and down the countryside. Someone would have spoken up by now if he was lying."
"Not if their memories had been tampered with," said Harry. "I have it on good authority that Lockhart has been taking credit for other people's good deeds and using Memory Charms to cover his tracks."
Rita's eyebrow arched at this. "How do you know all of this?" she asked skeptically.
"Never you mind how I know," Harry said. "I suggest you travel around to some of the villages he claims to have rescued, and ask around. I think you'll get a different version of events from the locals, and if they point you towards the true hero, you'll find someone with large gaps in their memory so they cannot remember doing any of the heroic things they did."
Rita studied Harry for a moment. He could see the gears turning in her head, the dollar signs flashing behind her eyes at the potential this story could have if it was confirmed. "You're quite the peculiar twelve-year-old, you know that, Mr. Potter?" she finally said.
"I have my secrets, same as you," Harry shrugged. "But I see no reason that you and I can't both profit off of our hidden talents."
"Alright then, Mr. Potter, I'll look into your claims," Rita said thoughtfully. "I concede that Lockhart's fall from grace would be quite the windfall for the Prophet. But what do you stand to gain from this?"
"He's a rubbish teacher," Harry shrugged. "Do I need more reason than that?"
"Fair enough, then," said Rita, extending her hand towards Harry. He shook it, but she held on for longer than necessary, pulling him in closer so she could see the severe look in her eye. "And if you breathe a word about my...condition to anyone, I'll dig up every bit of dirt on your father and make him the most reviled man in Britain overnight."
"I think we both understand each other perfectly," Harry said coolly. He hoped his tone did not give away the sheer panic he felt at her words – he'd forgotten just how dangerous Rita could be, and how much his father stood to lose if this plan backfired.
Just then, Madam Rosmerta sauntered by, freezing at the sight of Harry. "Are you a Hogwarts student, young man?" she demanded, eyes widening.
"No, ma'am," Harry said, pitching up his voice half an octave. "I'll be eleven next year. My Aunt Rita was just showing me around the village, right, Auntie?"
Rita's eye twitched slightly at Harry's coercion, but finally relented. "That's right, dear," she said in a convincingly pleasant tone. "Be nice to Rosmerta here, because she'll be serving you Butterbeers in a few years' time." That seemed to placate Rosmerta, who gave Harry a little wink before continuing with her rounds.
"I'd better get back to the castle," Harry muttered, gathering his Invisibility Cloak and preparing to leave. "Best of luck with your research, Miss Skeeter."
Harry made it back to Ravenclaw Tower roughly an hour later, encountering no one except for Mrs. Norris (who glared in his direction but seemingly could not see him). He slipped into his dorm, drawing no comment from his dorm mates, who had stopped bothering to ask him about his many late-night excursions.
Take that, Sorting Hat, Harry thought triumphantly to himself as he settled into bed for the night. Maybe I do possess a little more cunning than you expected!
Now it was just a matter of playing his remaining cards carefully so everything didn't blow up in his face.