Yo,

Welcome to my first Harry Potter story. Please let me know what you feel about the chapter.

"Talking"

'Thinking'

"Familiar/ Magical Creature/Goblins" talking.

'Parseltongue' or 'will/memories' being read or seen.

"Spell" being used.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Without further ado, let's get started.

Enjoy the chapter.

Broken Shackles

Chapter 1

Freedom

"It is the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once that belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to change," said a great man once.

"When something is repeated so many times that it reaches a point where it cannot be ignored, people tend to accept it as truth."

I, Harry James Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, found myself trapped in exactly such circumstances.

In my second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I began to believe what people told me about myself. Small changes took root in my subconscious as my mind struggled to comprehend the full scope of what was happening around me.

Day after day, accusations flew at me from all directions—harsh words, pointing fingers, fearful glances. "Heir of Slytherin," they called me. When news of the Chamber of Secrets spread throughout the school, my unfortunate habit of being discovered near petrified victims before anyone else sealed my fate. Perhaps it was the same cursed luck that had haunted me my entire life. Despite my desperate denials and pleas to professors for help, I received nothing but silence and dismissal, their eyes filled with suspicion rather than support.

The isolation crept in slowly but relentlessly. Friends and acquaintances drifted away, fear of association outweighing loyalty. A hollow ache formed in my chest as I watched them retreat, one by one. I couldn't truly blame them. By mid-year, only Ron and Hermione remained steadfast at my side, my first and best friends since entering this magical world.

Then came another petrification incident. The fragile balance shifted. Ron's eyes, once warm with friendship, now narrowed with accusation. Even Hermione's unwavering support in our quest to identify the Monster of Slytherin began to falter. We argued over trivial matters—the kind of disagreements that had never mattered before. During one such argument, a strange musical hum whispered at the edges of my consciousness, like a warning. My heart raced momentarily before I dismissed it as mere imagination, a product of my increasingly stressed and isolated mind.

Days later, Hermione herself fell victim to the monster. The rumors swelled into a tempest, and once again, fingers pointed in my direction. The whispers twisted our recent disagreement into a motive. My heart shattered as I stood alone in the corridor, staring into nothingness. The weight of harassment, blame, and isolation pressed down upon my shoulders. The constant vigilance, the fruitless search for the Monster of Slytherin without Hermione's brilliant mind to guide me—it all became too much. Something inside me snapped as I reached my limit, patience exhausted, my tolerance for people's willful ignorance finally broken.

As I stood frozen in that corridor, a commotion erupted nearby. Someone rushed past, shouting about another message and a student taken into the Chamber itself. My blood ran cold as I followed the messenger to the staff room. There, I overheard Professor McGonagall's voice, tight with fear, announcing that Ginny Weasley—Ron's little sister—had been dragged into the Chamber of Secrets.

Then came the revelation I had been seeking: the entrance to the Chamber lay in the second-floor girls' bathroom. My heart pounded against my ribs as determination surged through me. I raced to find Moaning Myrtle, the ghost who haunted that very bathroom. When I questioned her about her death, she described seeing a pair of yellow eyes. At that moment, the mysterious hum returned, a single musical note that seemed to vibrate in my very bones. I glanced around wildly but found nothing. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I pushed the strange phenomenon aside once more.

A single, burning thought consumed me: I would end these accusations once and for all, whatever it took.

My eyes fell upon a small snake carving on one of the taps. Memories flashed through my mind—the incident with the snake Malfoy had conjured during our duel, the research Hermione and I had conducted about creatures with petrifying abilities. Could it be...?

"Open," I hissed in Parseltongue, a blind guess born of desperation. To my astonishment, the sink responded, sinking downward to reveal a dark opening beneath. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of gratitude for my Parseltongue ability—a gift I had once considered a curse.

The revealed entrance gaped before me like the maw of some ancient beast, a long, dark slide disappearing into unknown depths. Without hesitation—perhaps foolishly—I leapt into the darkness. As I plummeted downward, I managed to cast a cushioning charm just before impact, a spell I was immensely thankful to have learned.

Landing in the underground chamber, I froze at the sight before me. Animal skulls of various shapes and sizes littered the ground, telling silent tales of previous victims. A massive shed snakeskin, vividly green and eerily intact, confirmed my worst suspicions. My heart hammered against my ribs as I moved forward, coming upon a door adorned with intricate snake carvings.

"Open," I commanded again in Parseltongue, and the door obeyed, swinging wide to reveal the Chamber of Secrets itself.

The vast chamber stretched before me, illuminated by an eerie green glow from flames that cast dancing shadows across the stone floor. Towering snake statues lined the walls, their stone eyes seeming to follow my every move. In the center lay a small, motionless figure—Ginny, her vibrant red hair splayed across the cold stone, her face deathly pale.

A slow, deliberate clapping sound echoed through the chamber. I whirled around, wand raised, to find a young man in his late teens watching me. He wore a Slytherin uniform, his handsome features twisted in a smile that never reached his cold eyes.

After a tense conversation, the horrifying truth emerged. This was Tom Marvolo Riddle—the future Lord Voldemort himself. My blood ran cold as he rearranged the letters of his name with Ginny's wand: "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT." The revelation sent shockwaves through me, altering everything I thought I knew. Yet despite the fear clawing at my insides, I refused to surrender.

My defiance visibly irritated Tom. His handsome features twisted with anger as he called forth the creature responsible for the petrifications. The truth hit me like a physical blow—a Basilisk, the king of serpents. Tom's explanation of its lethal gaze and the lesser effect of indirect viewing explained the petrifications perfectly. But one question burned in my mind: why hadn't I died from its gaze?

Reading my thoughts with unsettling precision, Tom explained that as Parselmouths, neither of us could be harmed by the Basilisk's gaze. Relief washed over me, followed by a fleeting sense of smug satisfaction—the most dangerous creature in the wizarding world couldn't harm me with its deadliest weapon. But my momentary triumph evaporated when Tom ordered the Basilisk to attack.

Terror shot through me as I dove behind one of the snake statues, heart thundering in my chest. Then came an unexpected miracle—Fawkes, Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, soared into the chamber carrying the Sorting Hat. A spark of hope ignited within me.

Tom's mockery rang out, questioning my loyalty and Dumbledore's trust in me. His laughter at the sight of the Sorting Hat cut deep, but his amusement transformed to shock as Fawkes attacked the Basilisk, piercing its deadly eyes with precision and courage. Though blinded, the serpent remained lethal, using its other senses to hunt me. I narrowly avoided its strikes, feeling the rush of displaced air as its massive head missed me by inches.

Amid this chaos, the Sorting Hat spoke, its voice somehow calm despite our dire circumstances.

'I told you that Slytherin would be the best choice for you, Mr. Potter,' it said. 'A house where you would truly grow to greatness. But you vehemently asked me to put you in Gryffindor.'

My mind reeled at its words, even as I dodged another attack from the Basilisk.

'Today you find yourself in this life and death situation because of those around you,' the Hat continued. 'Had you been in Slytherin, you would have been with people who are more like yourself—ambitious, cunning, intelligent.'

The revelation that followed struck me like lightning. According to the Hat, I was a blood relative of Salazar Slytherin himself. My mother, with her striking green eyes and flower name, had carried the markers of Slytherin's lineage. The Hat had tried to guide her to Slytherin as well, but she had asked only for "the best house." Given the circumstances of that time, the Hat had placed her in Gryffindor instead.

Disbelief and wonder battled within me as I absorbed this information. My mother—a Muggle-born witch—connected to Slytherin's bloodline? The implications were staggering, challenging everything I thought I knew about my identity.

Before I could process this revelation fully, the Hat produced a magnificent silver sword with rubies embedded in its hilt—the Sword of Godric Gryffindor itself. As my fingers closed around the handle, I felt a powerful surge of magic course through me, lending me strength and resolve I hadn't known I possessed.

The Basilisk lunged again, its massive jaws open wide. In that moment, instinct took over. I straightened the sword in my hands and stood my ground as the beast descended upon me. The blade pierced through the roof of its mouth, driving deep into its brain. A deafening shriek filled the Chamber as the Basilisk's movements ceased abruptly.

Victory was bittersweet. As the creature collapsed, one of its venomous fangs plunged deep into my arm. Searing pain shot through me as the venom entered my bloodstream. Dizziness swept over me, my vision blurring as the deadly poison began its relentless journey through my body.

Fawkes struggled to lift the massive serpent's body off me, his incredible strength moving the beast inch by agonizing inch. Despite the spreading numbness in my limbs, I managed to crawl toward Ginny's still form. With trembling hands, I seized the diary clutched in her pale fingers.

Tom's triumphant gloating about my imminent death fueled a final surge of defiance within me. Gathering my remaining strength, I plunged the Basilisk fang into the diary's pages. Black ink erupted like blood from a wound, accompanied by an unholy screeching. Tom's scream of rage and terror filled the chamber as his form disintegrated into golden particles, vanishing into nothingness.

As my strength ebbed away, the venom reached my scar. An excruciating pain unlike anything I'd ever experienced exploded in my forehead as a dark, writhing mass emerged from the lightning bolt mark. Through the haze of agony, I watched Fawkes dive toward this abomination, engulfing it in purifying flames until nothing remained.

My vision dimmed as I prepared for death, a strange peace settling over me despite everything. I opened my eyes one last time, seeking a final glimpse of the world, only to find Fawkes perched beside me, tears falling from his magnificent eyes onto my wound.

The numbness began to recede as the tears worked their healing magic, but I remained light-headed, consciousness slipping away. As darkness claimed me, I heard the Sorting Hat say to Fawkes, "Maybe healing his wound is not enough."

Through a fog, I sensed Fawkes moving to my partially open mouth, his healing tears falling onto my tongue. An extraordinary warmth spread through my entire being as my body began to emit steam. Every wound from the battle closed, including my famous scar, which faded from a jagged lightning bolt to a thin, barely visible line.

A mysterious green glow filled my mind, its meaning beyond my comprehension in that moment. With the last of my awareness, I felt Fawkes gathering us all—Ginny, the Sorting Hat, and myself—and carrying us out of the Chamber.

The transformation I experienced was profound. A lightness filled me, not the lightness of approaching unconsciousness, but as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders—a burden I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying. My body felt renewed, my vision sharper, and my magic... my magic was fundamentally changed. What had once been a faint hum at the back of my mind now flowed through me like a mighty river, controlled and powerful in a way I'd never experienced before.

A profound clarity and happiness washed over me, as though a dark shadow had been lifted from my soul. Some deep, instinctive part of me recognized that something long missing had been restored, though I couldn't articulate what it might be.

As consciousness returned, I found Ginny staring at me in awe. The Basilisk fang still clutched in my hand served as a reminder of what had transpired. Tom's mocking laughter about the venom and my impending death echoed faintly in my memory, but the sight of his vanquished form brought a smile to my lips despite my weakness.

As I drifted back into unconsciousness, I felt myself being lifted gently into the air. For the first time in years—perhaps for the first time in my life—I felt truly at peace, unburdened by worry or fear. The mysterious musical hum returned, but now it sang a joyful melody, as if congratulating me: "Well done, now rest."

The source of this beautiful sound remained a mystery, its notes more delicate and melodious than even Fawkes's magnificent trills. This music seemed capable of bringing joy to even the most troubled soul, and I felt an inexplicable connection to it. The memory of the green light in my mind lingered, another puzzle for another day.

For now, I surrendered to healing sleep, content to push all questions aside until later. In this moment of perfect peace, nothing else mattered except the sweet music guiding me into dreams, promising a future brighter than any I had dared to imagine before.

3rd Pov

Scene Break

Hospital Wing, 3 days later

As Harry reminisced about his recent experiences, his body took three days to recover from the exhaustion. A sense of relief washed over him, as if something dark had been lifted from his very being. His face glowed brightly, and his eyes shone with a newfound clarity. He woke up groggily, rubbing the sourness from his eyes. An overwhelming feeling of peace settled within him, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Looking up, he saw the familiar white ceiling of the hospital wing and sighed, anticipating the inevitable encounter with Madam Pomfrey. As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard her office door unlock, and the woman in question strolled into the hospital wing.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. I hope you had a good sleep," said Madam Pomfrey in her characteristic stern tone. Harry nodded in response, and she proceeded to examine him for any abnormalities, moving her wand in various patterns before nodding to herself, satisfied with her findings.

"I don't know what happened to you, Mr. Potter, but you have recovered from severe magical exhaustion. I found something unidentifiable in your body, but as it's not harming you, I've left it be. I'm telling you again, you have suffered severe magical exhaustion, absorption, and change. I can't understand what caused this, but your magic seems cleaner, calmer, and more controlled than any time I've tested you before, which is a good sign. I hope you don't get yourself into anything more dangerous," she said, giving him a pointed look.

"You're free to leave for breakfast, Mr. Potter," she added, her initial confusion giving way to resignation as she shrugged it off as another of his mysterious adventures. She nodded to him and walked away to check on other patients.

Harry nodded in acknowledgment and sat on his bed, his mind racing with thoughts about what the Sorting Hat had told him. He searched for those memories, finding them nestled in a deeper part of his mind after a brief mental exploration. A soothing hum resonated within him, as if aware of the revelations he was about to experience. He closed his eyes and tapped into those memories.

'To my descendants,

'I, Salazar Slytherin, regret to inform you that I have tainted the name of the Noble House of Slytherin by my actions during my life. I witnessed the deaths of my loved ones and killed those who took them away from me. But I didn't enjoy even a bit of it; only my promise to my daughter to take revenge kept me going. Today, I declare that I have fulfilled that promise.'

Harry was shocked to see the great Salazar Slytherin himself in such a vulnerable state. The remorse in Slytherin's words was palpable, and Harry could deduce the depth of his regret from the memories playing in his mind.

'I gave my grandson to the mundane who doesn't have children and instructed them to name all of the girls after flowers as a remembrance to my late daughter, Lily. I am content with my decision about this and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this old man, My heir.'

At this, Harry felt another jolt of surprise. 'Me, his Heir?' The thought dominated his mind, but he suppressed his urge to dwell on it and continued to absorb the message.

'I know that after me, the line of Slytherin will go extinct as the whereabouts of my grandson are not known to the magical world. I am ready for any punishment I may face for my acts in the afterlife, but remember that those of Slytherin name do not fall for cheap tricks that people may play around them and are cunning and ambitious. I hope you will imbibe these traits as a true Slytherin rather than those who were sorted into the house by the sorting hat, Griff. Griff was given all these memories so that he can, one day, give these to my true heir, who will bring the name Slytherin back to its former glory.

'For that purpose, all the knowledge I have accumulated in all my time and books which I have attained from numerous great writers across the world in my endeavours are secured in a secret room in the Chamber of Secrets. This can only be accessed by my blood descendants and not by anyone who may claim my name or ancestry. I have a blood ward that will take the blood of my Heir and allow access. To those who are not my blood descendent, they won't even know it exists. I hope you can remove the taint that will definitely fall upon the Slytherin name in the years to come.

'I have a Basilisk, Soka, guarding the room so that someone who by mistake, enters the Chamber will be afraid of her and don't try again. I have kept her there not only for guarding purposes but also as additional protection to school if any calamities were to happen. I love all the students who have come to the walls of Hogwarts for education and protection. If you have time, tend to her needs.

'In any circumstance, if she was to attack my descendants, I made a ward that will kill her from inside without damaging anything. If the situation comes to this, I advise eating the remains of her. This may seem cruel but it is for your benefit, my heir. The remains of the basilisk defeated in a battle when you are a Parselmouth will be seen as a right of conquest and are beneficial. You will gain some benefits which will be beneficial to you in your endeavours. If you eat just any part of her, the ritual will work and you can use the remains for different rituals I have amassed in the library in the Chamber.

'You have my blessings and my best wishes in the endeavours to come, my Heir.

Sincerely,

Your Ancestor,

Salazar Slytherin.'

As the message concluded, Harry's mind reeled with the implications of what he had just learned. A mix of emotions washed over him - awe at the revelation of his heritage, confusion about the true nature of Salazar Slytherin, and a sense of responsibility for the legacy he now carried. The weight of this newfound knowledge settled upon him, both exhilarating and daunting. He realized that his understanding of his own identity and his place in the wizarding world had been irrevocably changed, and he wondered how this revelation would shape his future path at Hogwarts and beyond.

Harry re-watched the memory again and again. He couldn't believe that Salazar Slytherin, the man who had been portrayed throughout history as a muggle-hater and pureblood supremacist, appeared so emotional and sorrowful in his final message. In Slytherin's words, Harry could sense genuine regret and a desperate hope to rectify past mistakes by dedicating himself to protecting both his students and descendants. Most surprising of all, Slytherin had willingly given his grandson to muggles to be raised—a move that Harry recognized as quintessentially Slytherin in its cunning.

To give your Heir to Muggles, whom the wizarding world claimed you despised and hated outright—Harry couldn't help but laugh sadly at the irony. The stupidity of the wizarding world and their blind adherence to centuries of misguided beliefs struck him profoundly, alongside the brilliant cunning of his ancestor who had so thoroughly deceived them all. As these thoughts swirled through his mind, he heard that mysterious musical note again, its ethereal sound immediately lifting his spirits. A newfound determination settled within him—he would need to explore the Chamber again when he had the opportunity.

Glancing down at the Marauder's Map that Fred and George had given him during his "Heir of Slytherin" period to keep him safe, Harry spotted Dumbledore heading toward the hospital wing. His heart quickened, and he immediately feigned sleep. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with the twinkling-eyed headmaster. Moments later, Dumbledore entered the hospital wing and approached his bed with purposeful strides.

"Ah, I know you are awake, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said knowingly, his eyes twinkling as usual beneath his half-moon spectacles. "Poppy told me about your recovery. I'm just here to check on you. How are you feeling, Harry, my boy?" His tone carried that familiar grandfatherly warmth, but he barely paused to allow Harry time to respond.

Harry stared at the elderly wizard, irritation bubbling beneath his composed exterior. That infernal twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes had always annoyed him—the way it appeared whenever the headmaster spoke, as if suggesting that everything in the world was perfectly fine and under his control. A whimsical thought crossed Harry's mind: he would love to learn that particular trick himself, just to use it against the old man as revenge for all the times he'd employed it on Harry.

Maintaining his blank expression, Harry suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head. Something seemed to be disturbing the newfound peace within his mind. He winced, rubbing his temple as he turned away from the headmaster. The pain subsided almost immediately. When he turned back, he found himself staring at Dumbledore's lengthy silver beard, gathering his thoughts before answering.

"I'm feeling fine, Headmaster. Thank you for coming to check on me," Harry replied with deliberate smoothness and politeness. He noticed Dumbledore raise an eyebrow at his unusually composed behavior but was relieved when the older wizard simply nodded in acceptance.

"We have learned about your heroic performance in the Chamber of Secrets from Ms. Weasley," Dumbledore continued, that irritating twinkle intensifying in his eyes. "The school board and the teachers' panel have decided to award you a special services award for your actions in keeping the school and its children safe, Mr. Potter. I hope you will accept it." His kind smile never wavered as he delivered the news.

Harry gave a small nod in acknowledgment, but internally, relief flooded through him. It seemed that his most significant discoveries—his Slytherin heritage, his private conversation with the Sorting Hat, and many of the details of his fight with Tom Riddle—would remain secret. Ginny had been unconscious during most of the confrontation, witnessing only the Basilisk's death and Fawkes healing him. The privacy of these revelations felt like a precious gift. As these thoughts consumed him, he mentally prioritized a return to the Chamber and completely missed whatever else Dumbledore was saying.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't hear you," Harry admitted sheepishly, rubbing his head in a gesture of apology.

"I said you've been given the rest of the week off and will be receiving your award at the year-end feast," Dumbledore repeated patiently. Harry nodded gratefully, and after exchanging polite goodbyes, Dumbledore left the hospital wing.

As Harry contemplated Salazar's message, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a distinctive popping sound. He looked up to see Dobby standing before him, the house-elf's dinner-plate-sized eyes wide with apology, his long ears flapping nervously.

"I have warned you of the danger in Hogywards, Great Harry Potter sir," said Dobby, his eyes growing impossibly wider as his ears flapped with agitation.

"Don't worry about it now, Dobby," Harry reassured him, then asked with genuine curiosity, "Tell me, who is your Master?"

"Dobby's master, you ask, Great Harry Potter sir. Dobby's master is Master Lucius Malfoy," the elf replied, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Lucius Malfoy, huh," Harry mused, memories clicking into place. "I saw him slipping the diary into Ginny's cauldron when we met in Diagon Alley. Well, what do you say if I meet your master, Dobby?" A plan began forming in his mind, a blend of justice and mischief.

The elf's eyes widened even further in alarm, and before he could respond, he vanished with another pop, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

With a resigned sigh, Harry prepa red himself for the day and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. He deliberately chose a time past nine o'clock, knowing that most students would be in classes, allowing him a rare moment of peaceful eating without stares or whispers.

His prediction proved correct, and he enjoyed his meal in blissful solitude. However, as he walked back toward Gryffindor Tower afterward, Professor Flitwick hurried toward him, moving with surprising speed for someone of his stature.

"The headmaster wants to see you in his office, Mr. Potter," the diminutive professor announced breathlessly. Before Harry could even respond, Flitwick was already rushing forward, forcing Harry to quicken his pace to keep up.

"We at Ravenclaw are thankful for your efforts in defeating the Basilisk, Mr. Potter," Flitwick added cheerfully as they walked. "I personally express my thanks to you. We are grateful that you killed it before it could cause any further harm." A genuine smile lit up his face. Though Harry didn't know Flitwick well, he accepted the professor's gratitude with a nod and a small smile of his own.

They reached Dumbledore's office in companionable silence. After saying the password to the gargoyle guardian, Flitwick gestured for Harry to enter and then departed, leaving the boy to face whatever awaited him alone.

Inside, Harry found Dumbledore sitting in his ornate, throne-like chair. The headmaster gestured for him to enter just as another figure arrived—a tall, blond man with Dobby trailing anxiously behind him.

"Dumbledore," Lucius said curtly with a curt nod, which Dumbledore returned with equal brevity, simply saying, "Lucius."

"So you have been reinstated as Headmaster, I see," Lucius observed, a sneer briefly appearing before he controlled his expression to one of mere distaste.

"Indeed it seems so, Lucius," Dumbledore replied with calm confidence. "The board of governors believed my return was necessary to address the situation and reappointed me. They also informed me about your threats against them." His blue eyes held Malfoy's gaze steadily.

"What? Me? No," Lucius sputtered, indignation coloring his tone. "I did no such thing. And what of the culprit of this incident? Have they been identified?"

"Yes, Lucius," Dumbledore confirmed. "Unsurprisingly, it was Voldemort again. But this time he acted through this diary." He slid a black diary across the desk toward Lucius, whose eyes widened momentarily before he regained his composure.

"How did this happen? Is someone outside the school responsible?" Lucius pressed, his voice taking on a tone of artificial concern. "As a Governor of the board, I have the students' best interests in mind."

"Yes, Lucius. The culprit has been identified and will be punished harshly for endangering the entire school," Dumbledore replied, giving Lucius a pointed look that made his meaning unmistakable. Lucius, however, refused to be cowed, merely flaring his nostrils in barely contained anger.

"The culprit was discovered through Mr. Potter's exemplary efforts," Dumbledore continued, gesturing toward Harry. "He bravely confronted Lord Voldemort—or his shade—at great personal risk. The board and staff have decided to present him with an award for special services, Lucius. I trust you can appreciate his contribution." His tone remained conversational, as if discussing nothing more significant than the weather, while Lucius visibly seethed.

Meanwhile, Dobby was frantically tugging at Harry's sleeve and gesturing toward Lucius, his enormous eyes filled with urgent meaning. Harry gave him a subtle nod, understanding the silent communication perfectly.

"Yes, I appreciate Mr. Potter's efforts and believe the award is a fitting recognition," Lucius managed to say, giving Harry a small, grudging nod. Harry deliberately offered no response, his silence speaking volumes.

"Oh, Lucius, I nearly forgot to give you this," Dumbledore said, reaching for a piece of parchment on his desk. He handed it to Lucius, whose eyes widened with shock before darkening with barely suppressed fury.

"That is your removal letter from the Hogwarts Board of Governors," Dumbledore explained pleasantly, his eyes twinkling more intensely than ever. "It seems they didn't hold you in particularly high regard, Lucius. I wish you a pleasant day." The cheerfulness in his voice was unmistakable.

Lucius looked outraged but remained silent, apparently recognizing the futility of protest. He called sharply for Dobby, delivered a vicious kick to the elf that made Harry's blood boil, and stormed out of Dumbledore's office, slamming the door behind him. Harry's lips curved into a determined smirk as he prepared to execute his plan. After quickly asking Dumbledore's permission to take the diary, he hurried after Lucius.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," Harry called out, his voice deceptively polite. "I believe you forgot this." He held up the diary, his smirk growing more pronounced as he watched Lucius's reaction.

"What are you talking about, boy? That doesn't belong to me," Lucius denied, his voice cold and dismissive.

Harry's politeness evaporated instantly. "Don't act innocent, Malfoy. I saw you placing this diary in Ginny's cauldron in Diagon Alley. I didn't think much of it then, but after you endangered the entire school, I can't help but reconsider your actions. You disgust me, Malfoy." The words spilled out, charged with all the anger he'd been suppressing.

Lucius's face contorted with outrage. "Who do you think you are speaking to, Potter?" he demanded, drawing himself up to his full, imposing height. "Do you imagine you can accuse me of such things? You pathetic child. I believe you've lost your mind, Potter. I can walk away from this without a single mark against my name. But don't consider this the end, Potter. The Dark Lord may have failed to kill you once, but he will succeed when he returns—or I'll do it myself if you continue this behavior." His voice trembled with barely contained fury.

Harry surprised himself by laughing at Lucius's threats, a cold sound devoid of humor. "You, Lucius Malfoy, a mere lackey of Voldemort, possibly the worst of his followers, think you can kill me, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of the Dark Lord, and survivor of the Killing Curse?" The irony of the situation struck him as darkly amusing, even as he observed Lucius's face turning an alarming shade of purple with rage.

Harry stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Say whatever you want, Malfoy, but remember this: the next time you put me in danger will be the last time you draw breath." A dark smile spread across his face, causing Lucius to step back involuntarily, a flicker of fear crossing his aristocratic features. "Do not test my patience, and take this as your final warning. I'm not as kind as people believe. If you try..." He deliberately left the threat unfinished, the possibilities hanging ominously in the air.

With a swift motion, Harry shoved the diary into Lucius's hands. Caught off guard, Lucius automatically accepted it before passing it to Dobby in his shock. The house-elf dutifully took the book and opened it when he noticed Harry's subtle gesture urging him to do so.

"Master gave Dobby clothes," the elf exclaimed, amazement and joy suffusing his voice as he discovered a sock hidden within the pages. His declaration seemed to snap Lucius back to full awareness.

"What nonsense are you spouting, you stupid elf?" Lucius snarled, turning to see the sock now in Dobby's trembling hand. His gaze shifted to Harry, who couldn't help but smirk victoriously at the success of his plan. Lucius's face contorted with fury as he drew his wand, ready to curse Harry.

"Why you—"

"You will not harm the Great Wizard Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby declared fiercely, positioning himself protectively in front of Harry with his arms outstretched. Lucius fired a Bone-Breaking Curse directly at Harry, but Dobby deflected the spell with a mere snap of his fingers. The magical backlash threw Lucius off balance, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud.

Groaning in pain, Lucius struggled to his feet, hastily sheathing his wand in his walking stick. With one final murderous glare at Harry, who continued to smirk triumphantly, he stalked away, his dignity in tatters.

"Great Harry Potter sir freed Dobby!" the elf exclaimed, bouncing with unbridled excitement. "What can Dobby do to repay Great Harry Potter sir?" His entire being radiated gratitude and joy.

Harry smiled warmly at the enthusiastic creature. "Dobby, would you like to be my house-elf?" he asked, extending his hand toward the elf. Dobby's already enormous eyes widened to comical proportions as he nodded so frantically that Harry genuinely worried they might pop out. A golden glow enveloped them both as the magical bond between master and elf formed, sealing their connection.

"What can Dobby do for Great Master Harry Potter sir?" the elf asked eagerly, practically vibrating with happiness.

"Please, just call me Harry Potter or Master Harry," Harry requested gently. "I don't need such elaborate titles, Dobby."

The elf nodded solemnly, as if Harry had imparted profound wisdom. "Master Harry. Dobby likes this name," he declared with satisfaction.

Harry leaned down, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "Now, Dobby, I want you to approach Dumbledore and request employment as a Hogwarts elf. Work here at the school, and I'll call you when I need assistance. Until then, act as if you're simply a Hogwarts elf and don't reveal our bond to anyone. Is that clear?" He fixed Dobby with a serious look to emphasize the importance of discretion.

Dobby absorbed these instructions without question, nodding enthusiastically. "Master Harry is a great wizard, to think of such a clever plan! Dobby is fortunate to have Great Master Harry as his Master!" Tears of joy streamed down his face as he jumped up and down in elation.

"Remember, Dobby—call me Harry Potter or anything else, but not 'Master' in front of others," Harry reminded him, and Dobby nodded his understanding. With warm farewells, they parted ways—Dobby to secure his position as a Hogwarts elf, and Harry to return to his dormitory, his mind already turning to the mysteries of the Chamber and the revelations about his heritage that awaited further exploration.

And Cut!

That's it for this chapter, folks!

AN:

I edited the chapter to rectify all the grammatical and structural errors. I hope that made it better flowing and readable. I want to edit 1 chapter per update and publish them for a better reading experience.

Do share your feedback and suggestions on pairings, story direction, anything really!

Thank you for reading.

Good Day!

Black Infinity 1289,

Ja Ne.