A/N: Chapter revised as of November 5, 2024.
"Hiya, Harry!" Luna Lovegood greeted him as Harry walked past her at the Ravenclaw Table. "Off to plot more Heir of Slytherin misdeeds?"
Harry froze. He turned and stared incredulously at the first-year girl, who looked as though she had said nothing out of the ordinary. Several other nearby Ravenclaws looked various bemused and horrified.
"I'm not the Heir of Slytherin, Luna," Harry said as he dropped into the seat across from her. "Why would you say that?"
"Oh, just wondering," Luna grinned, oblivious to her odd outburst. "That's what everyone assumes you're doing, anyway. You disappear for hours at a time and no one knows where you're going."
Harry scowled...he had been planning to spend his Saturday in the Room of Requirement, in fact. It figured that people would assume he was plotting something in the Chamber of Secrets, when in reality he was instead brainstorming ways to locate and neutralize it. "Actually, I was headed to the library," he said instead. "Would you like to accompany me?"
"Okay!" Luna said brightly. And she stood to join Harry, skipping beside him as they exited the Great Hall. Several passing students giggled at the odd pairing, though that was likely to do with the giant, orange-tinted glasses Luna was sporting.
"Where did you get those glasses, by the way?" Harry asked conversationally as they headed to the library.
"Oh, my father had them special-ordered for me," said Luna. "They can detect Blibbering Humdingers, which are normally invisible to the human eye. I haven't seen any yet, but I know they must be hiding in the castle somewhere!"
"Fascinating," Harry grinned. And he listened to Luna talk his ear off about the Blibbering Humdinger for the next few minutes, relishing in the nonsense that distracted him from the dire circumstances he found himself in.
They arrived at the library and dropped their bags at a secluded table in the corner. "So, what are you studying today?" Luna asked.
"Oh, I'll probably start with some transfiguration homework," Harry said absent-mindedly. He did have a twelve-inch essay due Monday for McGonagall, but he was still researching the properties of transfigured objects to see if his conjured rooster plan would work against the basilisk. He had yet to find a satisfactory answer to the question.
Harry pulled a second-year transfiguration textbook off the shelf, then grabbed a handful of sixth- and seventh-year texts nearby that he hoped would have more insight. He returned to the table, where Luna had a copy of The Quibbler open upside-down inside a first-year Charms book. Bemused, he set to work on his research.
It quickly became clear that he was out of his depth with the theoretical discussions in the more advanced books. It was technically material he should have learned the next year in his previous timeline, but without McGonagall to explain it to him (and Hermione to explain it to him again afterwards), Harry was unable to make heads or tails of the concepts being discussed.
So instead, Harry let Luna fill him in on the latest research on various mythical creatures he was pretty sure did not exist. He asked questions and made comments at the appropriate times, delighting in the way her face lit up with joy and enthusiasm. He wondered if anyone had ever indulged in her interests before, and could see glimpses of the brilliance that had no doubt contributed to her Sorting in Ravenclaw. She may believe in some wacky concepts, but she was well-versed and able to speak so convincingly about them that Harry began to second-guess his own doubts about them.
Harry eventually gave up on his studies and decided to check out a few of the books to try and decipher at a later date. Luna waited by the exit as Harry brought the stack of books up to Madam Pince.
"Name?" she asked without looking up at him.
"Harry Potter."
Madam Pince's eyes suddenly snapped up to him, fixing Harry with a cold stare. "You're Harry Potter?" she asked sternly.
"Erm...yes?" said Harry, uncertain. Had he done something wrong?
"I haven't seen you in here all year," she said accusingly.
"I come every once in a while," Harry said evasively. In truth, he could use the Room of Requirement to find whatever textbooks he was looking for anyway, so he found himself perusing the library less frequently these days.
"Wait here," said Madam Pince, and she disappeared into a back room. Harry waited nervously, unsure of what he was about to be accused of this time. She emerged moments later with a long list of names, brandishing it in Harry's face.
"This is a magical ledger of every book checked out of my library," she explained. "Your name has appeared more often than any other student this term, but I have no recollection of checking books out to you. Care to explain?"
Harry gawked at the ledger. Sure enough, his name appeared several times, and he recognized many of the titles he'd recently checked out: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Serpents of the Northern Isles, and 151 Deadly Beasts of Britain.
"I, uh…" Harry stammered. "That's quite odd. How can that be?"
But Harry had a very good idea how: those were all books he'd requested from the Room of Requirement, while researching the basilisk earlier that very week. The magic of the room must have somehow logged him in the ledger as 'checking them out', much like how it prevented him from perusing the Restricted Section at his leisure.
"I might have taken them without checking them out properly," Harry fibbed lightly. "But I always bring them back. I apologize if that has caused any problems."
Madam Pince looked as though she didn't believe him, but she gave a small hmph and put the ledger away. "See that you follow the proper procedures from now on," she said. And she handed him back the stack of transfiguration textbooks, which he hastily collected and walked back to Luna, red-faced.
Does that mean Dumbledore knows what I've been reading? Harry thought with horror. Harry would have to be more careful about what books he read in the Room of Requirement – any staff member could check the ledger and see that he was reading far beyond the second-year course material. Harry was suddenly relieved that he had been unable to find much material on soul magic, as he didn't want the Headmaster knowing he was researching that subject just yet.
Harry and Luna chatted aimlessly as they walked back up towards the common room. It was a windy November afternoon, not too chilly – Harry had plans to take his Cleansweep out onto the Quidditch pitch for some casual flying before the weather got too cold. His daydreaming caused him not to notice when Luna stopped dead in her tracks behind him.
"Do you hear that?" Luna asked.
"Sorry?" said Harry. He looked around; they were standing outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"There are voices coming from inside," Luna muttered, pointing towards the bathroom door. "It sounds like someone is doing something they oughtn't be doing."
A chill ran down Harry's spine at this. "Wait, Luna—" he said, but to his horror, Luna was already pushing her way inside the bathroom.
For a heart-stopping second, there was silence. Then, Luna exclaimed, "Oh, hello, Ronald! I didn't know this was an all-genders bathroom."
Frowning, Harry pushed his way into the bathroom behind her; Ron Weasley was indeed standing frozen by the door. Behind him were Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, looking very guilty; the former was hastily pushing something out of sight into the stall behind her.
"Hello, Luna!" Hermione said brightly, trying and failing to sound casual. "We were just...hanging out!"
"Odd place to do so," Luna remarked serenely, looking about the dingy space.
"Hi, Hermione," Harry greeted awkwardly to announce his presence. "Neville. Ron."
"Potter," Ron muttered, sounding a bit standoffish. "Spying on any first-year girls today?"
"I'm not the one lurking in a girls' bathroom," Harry retorted. Ron's face went red at this. "But I'm sure that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it."
"We were just...ah…" Ron spluttered, looking to Neville and Ron for support.
"Talking to Myrtle!" Hermione jumped in quickly. "Yes, we, erm...we thought maybe she would know something about this Chamber of Secrets business. But she fled when you two arrived, you see."
Judging by the putrid smell wafting from the back of the bathroom, Harry suspected that the trio had been brewing Polyjuice Potion. But he decided to play along with their cover story. "Smart," he nodded. "So you know she was killed by Slytherin's monster?"
All three looked shocked by this admission. "She...what?!" Hermione shrieked. "I didn't realize...but surely she would know what it is then—"
"All she remembers is seeing a pair of yellow eyes, over there," said Harry, pointing at the broken-down sink to their right. "I suspect it was a basilisk, you see. And I've already informed the Headmaster of my beliefs."
"A b-basilisk? In Hogwarts?" Neville stammered. "But they're supposed to be nearly extinct, and nowhere near Britain…"
"But that would make a lot of sense," Hermione frowned. "Slytherin was famously a Parselmouth, and his Heir probably would be as well…"
"Say, Neville, didn't you hear voices on Halloween, right before Dahlia's cat was attacked?" Ron added. "Maybe it was speaking Parseltongue!"
"Yeah, could be," Neville muttered, looking troubled. "But that doesn't get us any closer to finding out who the Heir of Slytherin actually is…"
"But Harry said he thought it was Tom Riddle before!" said Hermione. "I looked him up; he was a student here, when the Chamber was opened the last time! He didn't seem the type, though – he was a Prefect, and I think he was Muggle-born, so why would he be attacking other Muggle-borns?"
Harry sighed; he might as well get this out of the way now. He drew his wand and traced the words 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE' in the air. With a swipe, the letters rearranged themselves into 'I AM LORD VOLDEMORT'. Ron, Hermione and Neville looked shocked, while Luna merely gazed innocently up at the words.
"Voldemort," Luna remarked. "Say, that's the name of the Dark Lord that Neville defeated as a baby, isn't it?"
Everyone ignored her. "So you're saying…" Neville stammered. "This Tom Riddle is Voldemort…?"
"But Voldemort couldn't be opening the Chamber again," Hermione said thoughtfully. "He's not a student here anymore."
"But he was here, in the castle, last year! Wasn't he?" Ron jumped in. "What if he came back again?"
"I suspect he's been using another student to do his bidding," said Harry. "Listen, Ron...when I asked your sister about her diary, I thought it was a cursed book that Voldemort created to possess the owner. I don't know for sure if she has it anymore, but I promise my only goal was to protect her."
"Why would Ginny have a cursed diary?" Ron demanded. "Where would she even have gotten it?"
"I saw Lucius Malfoy slip it into her cauldron in Diagon Alley," Harry fibbed lightly. "I should have just asked for it directly, but I tried to do it without causing any alarm. That was my fault."
Ron looked surprised by this admission. For the first time in weeks, he looked at Harry with an expression other than outright suspicion.
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" asked Hermione. "We've been trying to figure out who the Heir is for weeks!"
"I didn't realize things would become as dangerous as they did," Harry sighed. "But I'm telling you now, so you don't have to brew Polyjuice Potion and sneak around asking people who don't know anything."
Hermione gave a little eep of surprise and instinctively shifted in front of the stall that undoubtedly held a cauldron of their potion in progress. Neville just scoffed and shook his head.
"Blimey, it's scary how you seem to know everything, Potter," he laughed. "I'm just glad you're on our side."
"Keep your eyes and ears open," Harry said. "I thought this bathroom was the entrance to the Chamber, but it might have moved somewhere else. And if Neville hears any more strange voices in the walls, check around corners with a mirror before crossing them, alright?"
"Alright," Hermione said, sounding slightly awed. Harry was uncomfortable with the way all three were looking at him, as though he were some kind of all-knowing oracle. It was part of the reason why he tended to keep his foreknowledge to himself. But if he could save lives from the basilisk, there was no point in withholding critical information like this.
Harry nodded in farewell and exited the bathroom. Luna skipped along beside him, not seeming bothered in the slightest by anything that had transpired.
"Your nargles must really like you," Luna said. "If they whisper so many secrets about the future to you."
"So it would seem," Harry said sardonically. "If only they did it more often…"
The rest of the fall semester passed without significant incident. Harry noticed that large, round mirrors had been fixed at major intersections and corners of the castle – that was a positive sign that Dumbledore was taking his warnings seriously. He continued watching Ginny like a hawk; she appeared skittish and frightful whenever he saw her, and she always scrambled away when she spotted him across a room. It didn't help that Dahlia was often with her, giving Harry death glares whenever she spotted him leering in their direction.
On the bright side, the Heir of Slytherin appeared to be quieter than he had been in the original timeline. Colin Creevey ought to have turned up Petrified by now, but he was still happily chattering away at the Gryffindor table (and trying to sneak pictures of Neville in the hallways). The other students seemed to have written off the Calvin incident as a one-off scare, like the troll the year before. Perhaps the enhanced security measures had discouraged whoever had the diary from making their next move.
Harry decided to skip the next few meetings of the Dueling Club, not wishing to draw further attention to himself. He'd noticed how many odd looks he was getting in the halls, and not all of them were out of fear. Some of the upperclassmen looked like they wanted to knock him down a peg, and Harry didn't want to give them a chance to challenge him at a future club meeting. He was especially grateful for the added mirrors in the halls, which let him see if he was about to round any corners into potential trouble.
At the very least, the Weasley twins seemed to be avoiding him after Harry's duel with Fred. Harry wondered if Ron had gotten to them and explained his reasoning with Ginny's diary, or if they had learned to fear (or respect) him after the duel. He hoped things would settle down on their own, because he did enjoy their company and didn't want to count them as enemies forever. (Though if he ever made it onto the Quidditch team, they would be rivals for the foreseeable future.)
With two weeks until Christmas break, Harry received an unusual bit of mail over breakfast. He did not recognize the owl that delivered the letter, or the scratch handwriting scrawled on the envelope and in the letter, and the message within was rather cryptic:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Your 'anonymous' tip has proven quite fruitful. As we speak, materials are being gathered to build an unassailable case against Britain's favorite heartthrob. Keep an eye on the headlines in the coming days.
Your requested document is enclosed below. What use you have for it is beyond me, but I hope it serves you well.
I must remind you of the importance of maintaining our deal. I have upheld my end; be sure to continue upholding yours.
Your intrepid reporter,
Ringo Starr
Harry snorted at the Muggle musical reference. He knew immediately who the "Beatle" who had penned the letter was, and hoped it meant the end was nigh for Gilderoy Lockhart. The vapid man was starting to irritate him even more than usual; ever since the first Dueling Club meeting, he'd been attempting to recruit Harry for 'private lessons' to hone his skills and learn from a 'master of defense'. Harry would sooner kiss the basilisk on the mouth than take him up on that deal. He pocketed the second sheet of paper that he'd asked for, hoping to get the chance to use it before the term ended.
The payoff didn't come until the final day of classes before the break. Harry knew at once that something was afoot when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and heard the intense buzzing of students all around him. Copies of The Daily Prophet were open at every table, each emblazoned with a giant photo of their professor with the caption: 'LOCKHART: THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE LIAR'.
Harry sank into a seat beside Terry Boot, who was busy chatting excitedly with Anthony Goldstein about the article. Terry laid the paper flat on the table so that Harry and others nearby could read:
"Many in Britain and beyond are familiar with Gilderoy Lockhart, whose grandiose accomplishments are known and celebrated up and down the countryside. The man has traveled the land for years, helping innocent civilians and conquering fearsome beasts that have plagued small wizarding (and Muggle) villages for decades. Or has he?
The Prophet's own Rita Skeeter recently embarked on a quest to learn more about Lockhart's self-professed good deeds. She traveled to many of the small villages and hamlets Lockhart writes about during his alleged travels through Britain and Greater Europe. What she discovered shocked her: while many of these villages were familiar with the stories being told in Lockhart's books, none of them featured such heroic feats of daring and brilliance as he claimed. Furthermore, in many cases, Lockhart never stepped foot in these villages at all!
When Ms. Skeeter asked around, she was pointed in the direction of various individuals who had supposedly performed these great deeds. For instance, when she visited the Belgian hamlet of Walthroppe, where Lockhart allegedly captured and killed a vampire serial killer with a silver crucifix, the locals instead pointed her to an elderly Muggle gentleman living on the outskirts of town who had actually performed the feat.
'The lovely gentleman sadly had no idea what I was talking about when questioned about the capture,' Skeeter recalled. 'He had a keen and sharp mind about every other detail of his life, but could not recall anything about his deadly duel with the vampire. He suffered clear symptoms of having a Memory Charm performed on him.'
Similar stories played out at various other towns Skeeter visited during her investigation. Some of the locals did indeed recall seeing Lockhart briefly visit their town – AFTER the alleged events took place – but none could recall speaking with him. In fact, every person Skeeter interviewed who supposedly overcame perilous dark creatures could not remember a single detail about the event in question.
'I have forwarded all of my findings to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for review,' Skeeter added. 'I hope that they will look into these egregious and clear examples of fraud committed for personal gain. And I also hope that Albus Dumbledore does the right thing and prevents Lockhart from teaching our children at Hogwarts ever again!'
This is the latest in a string of controversies surrounding Hogwarts and Dumbledore's running of the prestigious school. For more on Peter Pettigrew's murder of Quirinius Quirrell, see pg. 5. For more rumors coming out of the school in recent years, including a live troll and a basilisk terrorizing students (!), see pg. 14."
"Blimey, d'you reckon it's true?" said Michael Corner in awe. "Lockhart stealing other people's accomplishments for himself?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," muttered Padma Patil. "He doesn't seem to know what he's doing, does he? You'd think someone with as much experience as him would know basic facts about the dark creatures he's teaching us about."
"There's no way Dumbledore can let him keep teaching here, can he?" Terry Boot wondered aloud, looking up at the Head Table. Dumbledore was reading his copy of the Prophet with an inscrutable expression, while Lockhart was nowhere to be seen. "I mean, once our parents hear about this—"
"But how will he find a new Defense teacher to fill in for the rest of the term?" wondered Sue Li. "It's Christmastime!"
"Whoever he finds will probably not be much better," muttered Anthony Goldstein. "Quirrell was alright, but he jumped at his own shadow. And my older brother says the two professors before him were rubbish as well."
Harry quietly hoped this would not be the case. If the document concealed in his trunk up in Ravenclaw Tower was to be of any use, they might have a far more competent professor when they returned from the holiday.
But first, they had one last day of classes to get through, which incidentally began with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry half-expected Lockhart to have fled the castle by now, but the man was present in the classroom when the second-years arrived, hastily boxing up belongings.
As soon as class began, students began pelting him with questions about the article. "Yes, yes, I'm quite aware of what that vulture Skeeter has been writing about me," Lockhart chuckled, putting on a wide smile that did not hide the fear in his eyes. "I assure you the allegations are false, and I will be pursuing legal damages at the earliest opportunity."
"So Dumbledore's letting you stay on?" asked Hermione, looking up at Lockhart with a scrutiny she had never viewed him with before. "He believes you?"
"I, erm, have yet to discuss the matter with the Headmaster," Lockhart admitted. "But I am sure he will see my side of things. He was enthusiastic about my hiring, you see, and I'm sure he will agree that this is a vicious smear campaign designed to humiliate me for no good reason."
The students all looked at one another at this. Harry was pleased to see that nobody was buying it. They'd spent enough time with Lockhart now to know that he wasn't as skilled or knowledgeable as he claimed to be, and they obviously bought every word that Rita Skeeter had written. For once in Harry's life, that proved to be a good thing.
"Right, well, anyway," Lockhart said awkwardly, clearing his throat. "I've tallied up all your grades for the semester and listed them on the board. Any inquiries about grades will have to wait until next term begins. Class dismissed!" And without further ado, Lockhart swept up the steps to his office and shut himself in, leaving a stunned classroom behind.
Hermione led the throng of students rushing up to the board to check their grades. Harry sauntered up with the back of the pack, not really caring all that much what his grade was. But when he reached the front of the pack, he was surprised to see that he had the best score in the class – higher even than Hermione. Usually she bested him every term, thanks to all the added effort and extra-credit assignments she did that he he never bothered with.
"Congratulations," Hermione said breathlessly as she passed Harry, rushing out of the classroom. Harry was alarmed to see that she looked quite upset by this development. Doesn't she know our individual grades don't matter? Harry thought, watching her go with concern. But Hermione had always put far more stock into scholastic performance than he did.
The day didn't get any better for poor Hermione, as she would soon discover that she was also coming in second to Harry in both Charms and Transfiguration. The only class she had the edge over him in was Potions, but Harry suspected that Snape's grudge against James had contributed in part to his 'Acceptable' grade. Harry hoped to speak with Hermione about this after classes concluded, but she seemed keen on avoiding him for the remainder of the day. No matter – Harry had one other important piece of business to attend to that evening before the term officially ended.
The next morning, students took the carriages to Hogsmeade to board the Hogwarts Express back to London. As always, Harry was eager for a break from the castle, looking forward to two blissful weeks of relaxation with his family. He hoped he could use the time to reconnect with Dahlia, who still had not spoken to him since Halloween. He spent the train ride listening to Luna chatter excitedly about her plans to visit Spain with her father for Christmas, where they planned to capture Glumbumbles and harvest their treacle, which supposedly made for a wonderful skin care supplement.
Dahlia pointedly ignored Harry when they reconnected on Platform 9 ¾ and located their mother. But the icy atmosphere dissolved as soon as they got back to Godric's Hollow, as Lily had a big surprise waiting for them. "Pack your bags," she announced with a wide grin. "We're leaving in the morning for the Canary Islands!"
"Really?" gasped Dahlia, looking ecstatic. "Will it be warm there?"
"The weather will be beautiful," Lily beamed. "Your father felt terribly that we had to cancel our summer holiday plans, so he reserved a beautiful villa last-second!"
Harry felt a jolt of excitement at this news. James mentioned last summer that he'd had to cancel their last vacation due to Pettigrew's trial. He had been casual about it then, though Harry suspected he didn't want to make his son feel badly for his involvement in the incident. But from the little time he'd spent with his family in this timeline, Harry knew they valued their vacation time and loved to spend it lavishly.
The rest of the day was spent excitedly picking out a warm-weather wardrobe for the beach over Christmas break. Harry was starting to get sick of Britain's endless snow and mush, and was eager to get out of the country for the first time ever. There were some minor arguments that evening, as James did not allow Harry to bring his broom and Lily vetoed a few of Dahlia's skimpier beachwear options, but it was an excited family that arrived at the Ministry of Magic the next morning to take an international Portkey to their destination.
Harry was in awe of their vacation spot when they arrived. James had picked out a luxurious villa directly on the beach in southern Tenerife, and based on the sheer size and opulence of the interior, it had to be magically augmented in several ways. Harry hadn't really considered just how wealthy his parents must be – he'd never taken stock of his Gringotts vault in his last timeline, and knew James and Lily had an additional decade-plus of high income to add on top of that. The most luxurious vacation he'd ever spent had been with the Dursleys (who hadn't been able to find a sitter for him), and they'd been crammed into a tiny hotel room in Manchester, not spread out across a 10-bedroom suite as the Potters now were.
Dahlia demanded they visit the beach as soon as they arrived and unpacked, and they ventured out amongst the Muggles onto the sand. Harry was content to just soak in the warm sun and take in the sights of the island. James ventured out to the water with Dahlia, who seemed determined to let every wave crash over her head, while Lily settled into a beach chair beside Harry to tan.
"What do you have there on your chest, dear?" Lily frowned, looking over at her son.
"Huh?" Harry muttered, looking down at his bare torso. He'd completely forgotten about the magical burn mark Voldemort's spirit had left imprinted on his chest: it was still there, a benign black stain directly over his heart. "Oh, it's nothing," he lied. "Just a bruise."
"You haven't been getting into any fights at school, have you?" Lily asked worriedly. "Dahlia tells me you've made a few enemies."
"Nothing I can't handle," Harry said dismissively. That clearly wasn't the answer Lily was looking for, as she fussed over him for the remainder of the excursion and insisted on rubbing dittany over the mark. Harry didn't want to endure any more questions from his family, so he waited until dark that evening to steal his father's wand and cast a glamour on himself to hide the black mark. Hopefully Lily would forget about it and not ask again.
Harry wished he'd done a bit more magical augmentation in the days to come, as he and Dahlia spent ample time interacting with the local Muggles on the beach. It was hard for Harry not to ogle some of the older girls – he was getting to that age where they were becoming harder to ignore, and the revealing swimwear did not help matters. Damn these skinny arms, Harry lamented as he looked down at his scrawny figure. He wouldn't have his big growth spurt for another year and a half, and his muscles weren't as toned as he would've liked due to his minimal Quidditch involvement.
Lily insisted that they remained at the villa all day on Christmas, to enjoy an intimate day in with family. They opened presents under a magically-illuminated tree; Harry received a nice set of self-inking quills from his mother, and a gorgeous fur-lined cloak from his father, embossed with a satisfying pattern of Ravenclaw blue and bronze. Among other gifts, Dahlia received a life-sized Kneazle doll, enchanted to prance around and behave like the real thing – "to keep you company until Calvin is healed," James explained with a sad smile.
This seemed to sour Dahlia's good spirits that had persisted all week; Harry was certain that she didn't appreciate the reminder. She disappeared to her room that afternoon and didn't emerge until dinnertime, looking surly and moody. She brushed past Harry with a rueful look, slamming her shoulder into his rib cage and causing him to wince in pain.
This gesture did not go unnoticed by their mother. "We are not doing this today of all days!" Lily huffed. "What has gotten into my children? You're acting like you hate one another!"
"I don't hate Harry," said Dahlia, rolling her eyes. "But you try being known as 'the sister of the weird kid' at school. It makes it hard to make friends!"
"Maybe if you actually explained to people that I'm not the weird kid, that wouldn't be a problem!" Harry protested.
"Maybe if you didn't spy on people in the bathroom," Dahlia retorted, glaring daggers at him, "or try to steal their private journals—"
"Dammit, Dahlia, I'm trying to keep you safe!" Harry groaned. "Do you really think I'd do things like that? Or do you think maybe I'm trying to find the person responsible and stop them from hurting anyone else?"
"By sniffing around Ginny Weasley all the time?"
"She has a cursed diary, Dahlia!" Harry shouted. "It's possessing her and making her do terrible things against her will! If I can just get my hands on it—"
"Whoa, is this a bad time?"
Harry turned; Sirius and Remus were standing in the hallway, looking frozen by the argument playing out in the kitchen. Harry hadn't noticed their arrival in the heat of the moment.
"Uncle Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, rushing forward to hug them both. "Uncle Remus! What are you doing here?"
"Just popping in for a day or two," Sirius winked. "Couldn't let you four hog all the sunlight down here."
"Come in, come in!" Lily said, laughing awkwardly to clear the tension. "Just a little sibling spat, that's all."
"Didn't sound like a normal spat," Lupin remarked, sliding past Harry into the kitchen. "Do most siblings spend their time arguing about cursed diaries?"
"What's this about a cursed diary?" asked Sirius, ruffling Harry and Dahlia's hair as he too entered. "We're not digging around Grimmauld Place, are we? I'm sure my dear mother had a few evil diaries of her own, but they didn't need magic to be cursed."
"Somebody attacked poor Dahlia's cat on Halloween," Lily muttered as everyone took their seats around the dining table. "Some of the students are a bit superstitious about it, but I'm sure it was just someone playing a prank."
"A prank?!" Dahlia gasped. "You think Petrifying a living creature and writing evil messages in blood is a prank?"
"I agree with Dahlia," Harry piped up. "Something fishy is going on, and Calvin may have just been the start."
"What kind of school is Dumbledore running up there?" James muttered as he took the last seat at the head of the table. "As loath as I am to admit it, I'm thinking about asking Lucius Malfoy and the Board of Governors to look into things."
"Well, there's one bit of good news, at least," Sirius muttered. "Did you hear? Lockhart officially got the sack. The Prophet reported it two days ago."
"Professor Lockhart's gone?" Dahlia gasped. "But...but who will teach us Defense now?"
"It's not like we were learning much from him," Harry quipped, earning a chuckle from Sirius.
"Yeah, from what that Skeeter woman said, he sounds like a real piece of work," Sirius said. "And a serial Memory Charmer at that? It's fortunate he didn't prey on any of the students while he was there. I shiver at the thought of what he could have done to some of the older girls…"
"Please, not in front of the children," Lily reprimanded him, covering Dahlia's ears. Harry hadn't even considered the more ugly ramifications of Lockhart's Obliviation skills. He'd seen some of the sixth- and seventh-year girls openly flirt with him in the halls, and he too shuddered at the thought of Lockhart using his talents to take advantage of them without their knowledge….
"Enough about all of that," James muttered; he waved his wand, and the delicious Christmas spread floated from the counter over to the table before them. "Let's eat!"
The Potters (plus two Marauders) enjoyed yet another festive holiday meal, swapping tales and laughing at one another's bad jokes. Remus asked Dahlia how her classes were going, and Sirius pestered Harry for information about his Quidditch progress. "You think you'll get subbed in next match?" he asked excitedly. "That Chang girl is a solid flyer, but Diggory flew circles around her."
"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "The captain – Roger Davies – doesn't like me that much."
"I knew his mother once," Sirius said darkly. "She was my boss in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Real haughty and vain woman...wouldn't surprise me if that apple didn't fall far from the tree."
"Well, just keep your nose clean and continue working hard," said James diplomatically. "I've seen what you can do on a broom, and he can't ignore you forever. Your time will come."
Harry felt a surge of warmth at these words. He'd begun to lose hope about making the squad, and his father's words reinvigorated him to keep trying. Harry had never had a parent in his corner encouraging him to persevere through tough times. It made the isolation at school sting a little less, knowing that he had family rooting him on from afar.
As dinner was winding down and the Firewhiskey had been broken out, the conversation was interrupted by a gentle rapping sound. Everyone looked around confused for a moment, seeking the source of the disruption, until Dahlia spotted the barn owl rapping its beak against the window. She opened the window for the bird to flutter in, brandishing an envelope tied to its talon.
"Who is sending us mail here, on Christmas evening of all days?" Lily muttered as James reached over to untie the letter.
"It's for Moony!" James exclaimed, holding up the envelope so everyone could see. It was addressed to Remus J. Lupin, The Dining Table, Potter Villa, Tenerife. And on the back was the official wax seal of Hogwarts.
Lupin took the envelope with a look of confusion. "What on earth is Dumbledore writing me for?" he wondered aloud as he tore it open.
"Maybe they're revoking your diploma on account of all your shenanigans," Sirius quipped.
"Our own letters wouldn't be far behind Moony's, then," James shot back, earning a laugh from Sirius. But Lupin was staring slack-jawed at the letter enclosed within the envelope. At a glance, Harry recognized Dumbledore's neat cursive handwriting.
"What is it, Remus?" asked Lily, craning her neck to see.
"Dumbledore's offered me a job," said Lupin, looking baffled. "As Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the room erupted in excited yelling and cheering at the news. "Brilliant, mate!" said James, wrapping Lupin in a tight hug. "You'll be a fantastic teacher, I know it."
"I told you to apply at Hogwarts!" Sirius said, also hugging his friend. "It should've been you over Lockhart all along."
"But...why me?" asked Lupin, looking uncertain. "And why now? There must be some kind of mistake—"
"Lockhart was absolute rubbish at the job," Harry piped in. "I bet you'll do it ten times better than he ever could."
"Maybe he needs someone with advanced knowledge of dark creatures," James mused. "That's sort of your area of expertise, is it not? Amelia Bones has been whinging for months about parents writing in about their kids fearing 'Slytherin's monster' or some rubbish."
"It's not rubbish!" Dahlia protested. "Calvin was Petrified, remember?"
"That's right," Harry nodded. "We need someone more experienced to help track down and kill whatever is terrorizing the school." Dahlia gave her brother an odd look at this remark – something resembling actual affection. He hadn't seen that look from her since the summer.
"But what about my...furry little problem?" Lupin bemoaned. "I know you lot are all accepting of it, but when the parents find out—"
"It's illegal for them to sack you on the basis of werewolf status, so long as you take your Wolfsbane," James said sternly. "That's what the new legislation was for, Remus. Even if parents put up a fuss, you'll win over their kids by being a kick-ass instructor."
"And if I hear any of my classmates bad-mouthing you, I'll hex them," Harry chimed in, earning more laughter from James and Sirius. Lupin still looked unsure, but he gave Harry a small smile of gratitude.
"I suppose I'd better send a reply owl," Lupin muttered. "Blimey, I'll have to buy supplies...and create a course schedule...oh, hell, the new term starts in just a week—"
"Relax, Moony, we'll help you sort out the small details!" James laughed, beckoning Lupin to rejoin him at the table. "For now, we drink and celebrate the new Hogwarts professor!"
The night turned rowdy in a hurry as the Marauders drank the night away in celebration of the good news. Eventually a disgruntled Lily rounded up Harry and Dahlia and sent them to bed while the three grown men stumbled out onto the beach to shoot enchanted fireworks into the night sky.
Harry lay in bed that night, pleased with the new development. He would never admit to anyone that he had enlisted Rita Skeeter's help in obtaining a copy of Lupin's resume, which he had sent in to the Prophet months prior, and snuck it into Dumbledore's office the night before boarding the train home. What Lupin didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Harry was sick of fighting Hogwarts' battles alone and needed someone he knew he could trust on his side, and Lupin would be the perfect partner.
If anyone could locate a hidden chamber in the castle, it would be a former Marauder. If anyone could find a safe way to dispose of a basilisk, it would be an expert in dark creatures (who was also partially a dark creature himself). If anyone could arm Harry with the tools to become stronger and wiser, it would be the best teacher he'd ever had.
And if anyone could help Harry through the dark and lonely days of being ostracized from his peers, it would be a lifelong friend he could always rely on.