Harry Potter And The Marauders Of The Phoenix by The Englanderish

Index

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Shades Of Black
Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Riddles
Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Diagonally facing
Chapter 4: Chapter 4: That Awkward Moment When Your Close Friend Is Casually Racist
Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Half-Life Three Confirmed!
Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Points For Not Being Mary Sue
Chapter 7: Chapter 7: A Game At Dinner
Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Elbowing Your Teenage Dad In The Face!
Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Hell March Of The Cupids
Chapter 10: Chapter 10: A Castle Dour

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Shades Of Black

Author's Notes: Based on a plot-bunny put up for adoption on SufficientVelocity. I have also made the story available there under the same name. [Sips tea] This story will cover at least years 1-7 of Harry's time at Hogwarts. This is currently being written and is up to chapter 7 at the moment. Feedback is appreciated, as is suggestions. [Makes fresh cup of tea]​ So without further ado:

“You are certain of this?” asked Bartemius Crouch Senior.

On the witness stand, Severus Snape fixed his beady eyes briefly on the prisoner chained in the chair below them both.

“Yes. Sirius Black was not the man who betrayed the Potters to The Dark Lord,” he replied, his sallow skin almost glowing eerily in the light of the torches, “In my capacity as a spy within his ranks, I was present the night their location was betrayed.”

“One Peter Pettigrew,” Snape almost spat, “I have the memories to prove it.”

There was a brief murmuring amongst the rather sparse jury. They all nodded to Crouch.

“Very well,” said Crouch, “Show us these memories.”

Snape pressed his wand to his temple and used it to draw a wispy silvery strand from it. He dropped the strand into the basin in front of him.

A small group of robed people were gathered around a round table. All but two wore skull-masks.

The first was a tall, thin individual with red eyes, chalk white skin, long bony fingers and a flat nose with only slits for nostrils. This was Lord Voldemort, better known as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who'.

The other unmasked person was a plump, young figure in his early twenties with curly hair. He was sweating profusely.

Voldemort spoke.

“Godric's Hollow? Are you sure? Why would a noble pure blood family demean themselves to live in that muggle-infested hole?”

“They... they believe it is somewhere we would never look,” replied Pettigrew frantically.

“Ah. I see,” said Voldemort with a small smile, “Their fear of me has driven them to resort to rolling in the filth.”

He gave a high, cold laugh.

One of the masked figures spoke up, it was Snape.

“My Lord, I must advise that we do not rush into this. It could very well be a trap. It may be prudent to take time. Plan.”

“Severus,” replied Voldemort, “Do you doubt me? My power?”

“Of course not, my Lor-”

“Then I shall have no trouble. I shall bring some of my chosen few with me. We shall make a show of this, I think. Except you, of course. You still have great value at Hogwarts.”

Snape nodded, “Of course, my Lord.”

Voldemort next addressed the other masked figures.

“Bellatrix, Lucius, Dolohov, Alecto, Amycus, Fenrir, Narcissa, Rodolphus, Travers, Rabastan. You shall have the privilege of joining me."

“All in favour of acquittal.”

Every hand on the jury raised.

“All in favour of sustaining the verdict.”

No hands raised.

“Very well,” said Crouch, “Sirius Orion Black III, esquire, is hereby acquitted.”

The man in the chair — ragged, haggard and breathing heavily — stared up at Snape in astonishment.

It wasn't until he was out of chains and on the floor of the Ministry of Magic's atrium that he spoke.

“Why?” Sirius Black turned to ask Snape.

Snape regarded him for almost a full minute before responding.

He passed a photograph of a two year old boy to Sirius, it appeared to have been taken under surveillance of some kind. The boy had scruffy dark hair, round glasses, vivid green eyes and a roundish, pale face. He also had a red scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning.

“He has her eyes,” was all Snape said.

Sirius looked at the photo. Then he yanked Snape into a crushing hug.

“Get off, you insufferably mangy degenerate!” snapped Snape, shoving Sirius away. Sirius cackled like a maniac as Snape strode off, black cloak billowing around him.

“SIRIUS!”

Sirius looked up to see the worn, unkempt figure of Remus Lupin running across the atrium at him. “REMUS!” Sirius called back and yanked Remus off his feet in a crushing hug. Remus seemed to appreciate it better than Snape.

“Sirius, I am so sorry!” said Remus when Sirius finally put him down, “I can't believe I didn't trust you! Damned Peter... Why didn't I see it?”

“Don't blame yourself,” said Sirius, “We all trusted him. He had us all fooled.”

The conversation was unable to progress any longer, however, due to the torrent of journalists and photographers that suddenly noticed Sirius and descended on them both like flies to faecal matter. They both fought through them all and dashed to the nearest fireplace. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, Sirius flung it into the fireplace and green flames erupted into it.

With no more preamble, he nodded to Remus, stepped into the grate and said, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Then he was spirited away.

He stomped out into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He stepped aside as Remus arrived behind him. There came a clattering sound and a straight-backed house elf marched into the kitchen angrily.

“The mistress is not taking visit-” it stopped and gaped at Sirius. Sirius grinned evilly.

“Hello, Kreacher.”

“YOU! What are you doing here?”

“I was acquitted. Where is Mother-dearest?”

Kreacher stared a moment longer before turning and dashing out of the kitchen, “MISTRESS! HE IS BACK! YOUR DISOWNED SON HAS RETURNED!”

A minute later, a woman in her late fifties and supported by a walking stick shuffled into the kitchen. She had the semblance of faded beauty, her face lined with age, her dark hair lazily tied back. Kreacher was peering at Sirius and Lupin from behind her skirts. She surveyed her son for a long time before speaking.

“What the fuck are you doing back here?”

“Good to see you too mother...” replied Sirius, “I was acquitted.”

“Doesn't answer the question. Last time I saw you, you were leaving for good. What are you doing here?”

“I've just been released from being wrongfully imprisoned for three quarters of a year. I need a wash, a beard-trim and a classy suit. That's all. Then I really will be gone for good.”

She grumbled for a moment.

“Fine. Don't take long. It's just typical, you finally do something to make me proud and it turns out it wasn't you. Or did you just manage to get away with it?” she said, a hint of hope in her voice at the end.

Sirius crossed his arms, “No, Mother, I most certainly did not. Unlike you, I have a concept of morals.” He marched past her and into the hall.

“You can have one of Orion's suits — did you even know he died?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” replied Sirius as he stomped up the stairs towards the nearest bathroom.

“And you couldn't even be bothered to come to the funeral. Now he was a man to respect; I certainly loved him more than I ever loved you. And your friend will have to wait in your room, by the look of him he'll make off with the good silver if he's left alone.”

A shower, trim and dressing later, Sirius was in the hallway with Remus. Sirius hair was now smooth and wavy, his beard was now presentable and he donned a smart-casual pinstriped suit (sans tie).

“And stay out this time,” Walburga Black called after them as he and Remus left through the front door.

“So where now? asked Remus. Sirius held up the back of the photograph that Snape had given him. On the back was an address, with two names.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley No. 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey

“Time for an overdue visit.”

Sirius and Remus strode down Privet Drive, counting the numbers on each house. Upon arriving at number four, Remus took Sirius aside.

“Sirius, I know you never got on with them, but please let's try it my way first?”

“Fine,” huffed Sirius, “but if they get difficult; I get to kick the door in.”

Remus rapped hard on the front door. After a short wait, it was opened by a lanky blonde woman with a neck like a crane. She gaped at them.

“Ah, I see you remember us Petunia,” said Remus warmly, “May we come in? We have some matters to discuss involving Harry.”

Petunia stared at them a short while longer before speaking, “What the devil are you doing here? Leave now please, or I shall call the police.”

Then she shut the door firmly.

Sirius smirked at Lupin.

Then he kicked the door in.

Petunia shrieked and a large, beefy man ran into the hall from the living room. He stared at both Remus and Sirius in shock.

“YOU!” he roared, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“Vernon! You're still here! That's superb! I'd like to have a little chat with the two of you about Harry,” said Sirius with a slightly manic grin in his face, “Firstly, can we see him?”

“Apologies,” added Remus, “I'm afraid he's been rather stressed as of late.”

The Dursleys both looked at each other. Then they looked at Sirius, their eyes wide.

“Well?” added Sirius, “Where is he?”

Still the Dursleys didn't respond. Then Vernon's eyes flickered for a moment to the cupboard under the stairs.

Sirius noticed.

He moved towards the cupboard.

Vernon moved in his way.

Sirius pulled his wand out of his sleeve.

Vernon stepped away.

Sirius pointed his wand at the cupboard door.

“Alohomora.”

The cupboard door swung open. Inside the cupboard was a cot, housing a toddler. The same one from the photo. He was currently asleep. The rest of the cupboard was bare. Sirius and Remus stared at the sleeping form for a full minute. Then Sirius rounded on the Dursleys.

“What is this?”

“He gets in the way,” said Petunia, somewhat timidly.

“Oh he does, does he?” retorted Sirius, raising his wand.

Petunia paled.

“You wouldn't...”

Sirius' face was by now a picture of fury, “Bitch, you have sorely underestimated me.”

Then Remus stepped between them, holding his arms out at each of them.

“Sirius. Enough. We can talk about this.”

“Oh I'll be happy to talk about this after these two get out of the hospital,” snarled Sirius, “Get out of the way, Moony.”

“Padfoot! Give me your wand. Now.”

The stand-off lasted for about thirty seconds. Then Sirius grudgingly handed his wand over.

“Thank you,” Remus said, “Living room. Now.”

And so it was with tentative distrust that the enforced armistice settled down on opposite sofas.

“Right... right...” said Sirius, breathing heavily, “I... am going to offer you two cretins a once-in-a-lifetime deal. We both know, that for Lily's protection spell to hold, Harry has to spend at least one day each year in this house. So. How about this: I look after and raise Harry for all but one day of the year, until he comes of age. And once a year, he stays with you, for twenty four hours. Think you can handle this plan?”

The Dursleys gaped at each other for a moment, before turning to him and nodding fervently.

“Well, I'm impressed by how well you handled that, Sirius,” said Lupin as they walked down the street with the toddler bundled in Sirius' arms.

“Believe me, if there weren't children in the house and I'd had my wand, they'd both be in St. Mungo's by now.”

“So where do you plan to raise Harry exactly?”

“Where else,” grinned Sirius, “Harry's inherited everything of the Potters and I'm his legal guardian.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we have business on the Welsh border.”

A look of comprehension dawned on Lupin's face, “Ah. Cwpan Tân Hall.”

The understated entry hall of Cwpan Tân was dark; thick with dust and cobwebs. It wasn't particularly large, consisting primarily of a marble fireplace on the back wall and a 5-metre gap to the wooden front doors. The walls were wood panelling on stone, the floor a matching stone and an extinguished candelabra hung from the ceiling. The small amount of furniture was covered by sheets. Suddenly, for the first time in over two years, green flames erupted in the fireplace. Sirius, carrying Harry, and Remus stepped out.

“Well... it's in better condition than it could be,” said Remus. He took out his wand.

“Scourgify.”

At once, a ripple passed over the entire room, expunging the dust and cobwebs. Remus walked over to the front doors, opposite the fireplace. He gave them a tug, only slightly surprised when they did not resist.

“Hmm, Mabel must be in.”

“Why would she leave the lights off?” asked Sirius, his brow furrowing. Harry was still asleep on his shoulder.

“Perhaps she just found Lumos to be easier?” said Remus, shrugging.

They both turned to the right of the fireplace and walked into the ballroom, an impressive — but currently dark and dusty — marble-floored room with a grand staircase leading to the second floor and an impressive crystal chandelier. Remus elbowed Sirius, causing him to stop.

“Ow! What th-”

Remus pointed to the bottom of the staircase. There was a wand lying in front of it. Sirius walked over to it and picked it up. It was very dark wood, almost black, about ten inches long and had a twisted knot at the end.

“Mabel's,” said Sirius. He furrowed his brow. Then he turned to Remus and handed him the wand, “I'm taking Harry upstairs. Check the dining room; something isn't right.”

Remus went to the dining room doors. He could hear voices on the other side of the thick wood. He pressed his wand against one of the doors.

“Silencio.”

He edged the now-silenced door open and peered in. He immediately crouched down. Four figures in hoods and skull-masks were gathered in the room — Death Eaters — with a fifth seemingly frozen in a kneeling position between them. The paralysed figure was a woman in her early thirties, dark haired, short, blue-eyed and with a heart-shaped face. She also had several vicious cuts on her face. One of the Death Eaters, apparently the one in charge, spoke.

“Where is he?” the voice was female. It sounded familiar.

“Up your arse,” replied the paralysed woman.

“Do you know who I am?” said the leader, “Give us what we need, or you'll go back to Ireland in a box-”

“I'M FUCKING WELSH, YOU BITCH! AND WHEN I GET FREE I'M GONNA EMBED THAT MASK INTO YOUR FACE!”

Sirius crept up next to Remus. His eyes widened as he looked into the dining room. He nodded to Remus, then they both crept into the room, using the dining table for cover. The leader turned to one of the other Death Eaters.

“Rabastan, are you sure there's nothing else here?”

He nodded.

“Positive.”

“Burn it down then,” she replied, “Burn the whole place down.”

It then hit Remus just who she was. Bellatrix Lestrange. Which made 'Rabastan', Rabastan Lestrange — her brother in law. If he had to hedge his bets, he guessed that one of the others was her husband, Rodolphus.

“Barty, what say we have some fun?” continued Bellatrix, addressing the shortest of the Death Eaters now, “Should we kill her first? Or should we leave her to die in the fire.”

'Barty' took a moment to think before, “Fire, I think.”

They all took out their wands.

Which is when Sirius and Remus both popped out from opposite ends of the dining table and fired simultaneous stunning spells.

The Death Eaters deflected them.

Then the room lit up with spells and counter-spells.

Remus shot a counter-curse at the paralysed woman. She dropped to the floor.

One of the Death Eaters turned to her, only to be hit by a chair sent his way by Sirius.

Remus slid the wand he had found across the room to the woman, before engaging the nearest two Death Eaters in a duel.

Sirius was now fighting Bellatrix. Her mask had been knocked off and her manic face was lost in the frenzy.

Remus feinted dodging backwards, then dropped low and hit 'Barty' with a full body bind, before turning his full attention to Rabastan.

“Serpensortia!”

A large snake suddenly flew from behind onto Rabastan's head. He flailed around trying to get it off.

Lupin hit him with a stunner. Then looked past him to see the woman he'd freed wearing a smirk.

Then the Death Eater who'd been 'chaired' got up. Remus and the woman turned to meet him and the duel resumed.

Sirius, meanwhile, was dodging Cruciatus curses from Bellatrix with a widening smirk.

“C'mon. Try a little harder. I believe in you,” he almost cackled as he sidestepped yet another jet of light.

Then he took a hit to the arm and doubled over in pain.

He recovered well, putting a wall of ice in front of Bellatrix, before calling over to Remus and the woman, “Could you stop messing around and give me a hand?”

“Help Sirius, I'll deal with him,” said Remus, "Incendio!"

The Death Eater's hood burst into flame.

The woman nodded and moved across the room as Bellatrix melted the ice wall.

Sirius and the woman re-engaged Bellatrix, while Remus' opponent pulled off his hood and mask to get away from the fire. As Remus had suspected, it was indeed Rodolphus Lestrange. While he was still trying to regain his balance, Remus hit him with a leg-locker curse, then bound him with conjured ropes.

He turned to the fight against Bellatrix.

“Expecto Patronum!” a large, ghostly wolf burst from Remus' wand and ran off out of the room.

The duel came to a pause. Bellatrix looking at the Patronus as it flew out of sight.

“Outnumbered and out of time, Bella,” said Sirius, his smirk back in full force.

“Now give up or get off this property before the aurors have to scrape up your remains from when we're done with you,” added the woman.

Bellatrix' eyes were darting between Sirius, the woman and Remus as each of them kept their wand trained on her.

“Lumos Maxima!”

Suddenly the room was filled with a very bright light; so bright that they had to avert their eyes. When the light abated all the Death Eaters were gone.

“Damn,” said Sirius.

The woman seemed to properly notice Sirius for the first time, “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

Mabel Baines looked at Remus, who nodded, then back at Sirius. Then she shrugged, “Okay.”

Sirius stared at her, “You're... you're... not even going to question that?”

She shrugged again.

“To be honest, I don't even know what to believe any more. I'm still trying to deal with the idea of you selling out James and Lily and murdering Peter — now it's Peter who sold them out and he's not dead any-more. But anyway, what are you two doing here?”

“We'd just picked up Harry from Lily's side of the family. He'll be spending one day a year with them and the rest here with me. He's upstairs asleep for now — I put a spell on him to keep him under.”

Mabel's eyes widened, “Shit! We need to get some wards up now!”

“Mabel, what's the matter?” asked Remus.

“Those Death Eaters were here looking for Harry,” she said hastily as she began to wave her wand and utter incantations. Remus and Sirius quickly joined her. When they were done erecting every protection they could think of — including animating the suits of armour across the mansion to act as sentries — they checked on Harry, then brought him to the drawing room on the other side of the entrance hall.

After the aurors had come and gone, they gathered round one of the tables in the drawing room to talk.

“So,” said Mabel, “What do we know?”

“Peter betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort,” supplied Remus, “Snape got warning to The Order-”

“I know that bit,” Mabel interrupted, “I mean what do we know now?”

“The general wizarding public is unaware of where Harry is,” Remus continued, “As Harry's legal guardian and now acquitted, Sirius will be raising Harry here with me to help from time to time. Assuming you want to stay on, we'll happily keep you as estate manager.”

Mabel nodded. “You won't get any bailing from me. I'm here till I drop.” She then turned to Sirius, “Listen here, Black. We both know you haven't exactly been one for commitment — if I'm going to go along with this, you better give me your word right here, right now that you will do everything in your power to raise Harry well. Children are not easy.”

Sirius looked at her for a moment, the weight of what she had just said processing in his mind.

“Yes. Yes, I will. I promise.”

Three years later.

“Harry, what did I tell you?” asked Sirius, chidingly.

“Don't play in the fireplace...” said Harry dejectedly. He hopped up and dusted himself off before scampering out.

“POTTER!” roared Mabel from the direction of the drawing room, “You'd better not be in that grate again.”

The five year old Harry Potter was spared from further grilling when a crack sounded through the air and suddenly Kreacher was standing in the middle of the entry hall.

“DEAD!” he bawled, “DEAD! DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAADDD! THE MISTRESS IS DEEEAAAD! MY PRECIOUS MISTRESS IS DEAD!”

Sirius stared at Kreacher's anguish morbidly. He leant against the mantelpiece for a moment, before striding into the ballroom and up the stairs. Remus looked up from reading the Daily Prophet.

“Keep Harry busy for a moment, please,” he said to a perplexed Mabel. He followed Sirius upstairs to the master bedroom. Sirius was sitting on the bed by the time Remus caught up.

“Are you all right?” Remus asked.

“Fine,” said Sirius.

“I see,” Remus said, sitting on the bed.

There was a long silence.

“I wish I'd had a mother who wasn't shit. There. I said it. Happy now?”

“Yes. What are you going to do about Kreacher?”

“Fuck if I care. He can rot in Grimmauld place for all I care. Or go free, or whatever.”

Remus frowned.

“Won't he go mad?”

“Not my problem.”

“Padfoot.”

“I don't care.”

“Do I have to bring the portrait of James and Lily into this?”

There was another silence.

Sirius sighed.

“Fine. He can stay. But somehow, I doubt Mabel will get along with him.”

A further five and a bit years later.

“Harry, calm down. They'll be here soon enough,” said Sirius wearily.

“But it's MY BIRTHDAY!” Harry cackled as he chased Kreacher around the ballroom. Harry was enjoying his little game. Kreacher was not.

“MASTER! CALL HIM OFF! CALL HIM OFF!”

Sirius just roared with laughter, “Are you kidding? You never call me master if you can help it. I am going to savour this.”

Then there was the unmistakable sound of floo powder flames from the entrance hall. Quick as a flash, Harry dashed out of the Ballroom and with a soft thud, crashed against someone. Giggling uncontrollably, he looked up at the first of the visitors.

Lucius Malfoy stood in front of the fireplace; Narcissa Malfoy beside him; and their son Draco just behind them.

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Riddles

Author's Notes: I'm currently fleshing out how the next couple chapters are going to play out, so now seems like a good time to talk about a few addendum points. A combination of trivia and 'behind the scenes', as it were.

Firstly: The duel with the Death Eaters.
I wanted a good reason why the Potter family grounds never came up in the books. By having this Death Eater incursion, I provide the answer: quite simply the home (and probably Mabel) were casualties in Bellatrix and co.'s rampage. We never got an exact time frame for how long they were able to evade the ministry and how far their quest extended, so it was logically straightforward to insert them here. Add in the fact that we're not going to see a duel for some time, it allows me to put in a duel and introduce Mabel. Which brings us to my next point.

Secondly: Mabel Baines
Even with magic, the idea of a substantial manor not requiring at least someone to ensure it's continued upkeep felt a bit too much of a stretch. Hogwarts, for example, has an entire corps of house elves. I considered having a house elf or two; I liked the idea of a full estate manager better. I'm trying to create the sense that the Potters were not the Malfoys. An important point to make is that Mabel is not a maid or a cleaner. She is the estate manager. Her job is to manage the entire house - book balancing, supplies, gardening, maintenance, logistics, etc. - she keeps the whole place running. When James and Lily went into hiding, her duties diminished to little more than inspecting once a fortnight. When Sirius returned with Harry she once again took a more active role in management of the place. Her word is law in regards to the estate. She does not take shit, be it from five-year-olds or middle aged manchildren. She takes her job very seriously and has become rather attached to the Potters and those close to them. She isn't really a duelist, but she is extremely pragmatic if she has to fight - as was seen with her throwing a snake at Rabastan Lestrange. Anyone looking to threaten the estate or those who dwell within have to go through her - and she fights dirty.

Thirdly: This fic is something of a spiritual successor.
There is a fanfic called 'A Different Beginning', which can be found on both FFNet and here on SIYE. The premise of that fic is that James Potter survives and raises Harry etc. etc. It's worth a read, although I did have my gripes with it. For example the author didn't seem to quite appreciate the full scale of the island of Great Britain at times and later on it had the annoying habit of getting very-close-but-not-quite-to an unnecessary sex scene with increasing frequency. These are rather subjective criticisms, so you may disagree on these being detractions. It was also written before the final book came out, so obviously it won't get everything right. My fic is following on a similar take on the concept, but with it's own spin (and a very different late-game).

Fourthly: The manor's/estate's name
The name 'Cwpan Tân' is obviously Welsh. I asked around on SV if anyone knew any Welsh and could make a punny Welsh name. I am informed that 'Cwpan Tân' translates roughly as 'Fire Goblet'.

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Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Diagonally facing

Author's Notes: Years 1-4 are going to mostly whizz by, Most likely taking little more than 2-3 chapters per year.

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Chapter 4: Chapter 4: That Awkward Moment When Your Close Friend Is Casually Racist

Author's Notes: There are two more chapters fully written which I'll be adding over the course of the week. Chapter 6 is partially done. If you want to get involved on the writing side of things and provide more direct live feedback then please come join us on SV where the fic is listed under the same name!

[Swills tea]

As you may have noticed, there is rather a lot that is unrevealed; this is very much intentional.

In the meantime, here's an Addendum on Susan Bones:

You may be wondering why Susan is one of Harry's friends.

Or, if you are feeling less charitable, you may be thinking 'Who is this bitch and what is she doing as one of Harry's friends?'.

I wanted an extra friend in Harry's friendship group. I considered Cedric but decided it would be too conveniently contrived. So why did I pick Susan? Quite simply she won the raffle. I picked several non-muggleborn people from Harry's year and numbered them each. I then hopped onto the random number generator and Susan won. The other candidates were Ernie Macmillan, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbot, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Mandy Brocklehurst, Terry Boot and Blaize Zabini. Functionally, she's going to serve as the most minor friend of Harry's, but a friend none the less.​

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Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Half-Life Three Confirmed!

Author's Notes: I officially hate writing Dumbledore. Absolute pain.

Not stisfied with his dialogue, suggestion on how to improve it would be appreciated; as would the usual grammar, flow checking and reactions

So, without further ado:

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Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Points For Not Being Mary Sue

Author's Notes:

SURPRISE TWIST! Bet none of you saw THIS coming!

As always, feedback appreciated and if you want a more interactive role in the writing then come see us over on SufficientVelocity - search for 'Harry Potter And The Marauders Of The Phoenix' in the user fiction section.

Harry saw a golden glint — a sparkle or glimmer, if you will. It was hovering above him. All else was a foggy mist. What was it?

The Snitch!

He couldn't move; he was dead weight.

He mustered his strength.

And was mildly surprised when his hand raised, quick as a flash, to clench around the glimmer.

“Oof!”

Harry blinked.

It was not the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. A now-broken pair of glasses. His surroundings returned to him suddenly. He was lying in a bed in the hospital wing; in front of him was a doubled over Professor Dumbledore, clutching his face. To his left stood Sirius, roaring with laughter, accompanied by a stunned Remus and Mabel. Mabel regarded Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow before setting her face rigid and turning to Harry.

“Potter, I told you at the start of the year that if you came back in anything less than pristine condition that I would hold you personally accountable for it. This is anything but pristine condition!”

Harry chuckled nervously.

Mabel's nostrils flared.

“Oh, you think this is funny do you? Do you have any idea how worried-” she coughed, “-er, Sirius and Remus have been?”

“Alright, Mabel, that's quite enough,” chipped in Dumbledore as he stood up and took his hand away from his face, which now sported a small blotch of purple about the nose. “Harry here has been through a trying ordeal. It would not do to be thrown out by Madame Pomfrey for... overexciting him.”

Everything rapidly came flooding back to Harry.

“QUIRRELL! THE STONE! PROFESS-”

“Calm yourself please, Harry. Quirrell does not have the stone,” said Dumbledore firmly. He placed the cracked-open gem onto Harry's bedside table, which was almost overflowing with confectionery. The stone was now a dark grey; the vivid red colour drained from it.

“Nobody will have it now.”

Harry stared at the ruined jewel.

“But- but your friend; Nicholas Flamel?”

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in pleasant surprise.

“Oh! You found out about Nicholas! You did do this properly didn't you? We have had a discussion and come to the agreement that it is fully for the best. They have stored sufficient elixir to settle their affairs; but after that, they shall die.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore in shock.

“It might seem hard to fathom for the young,” Dumbledore continued with a kindly smile. “But when one has lived as long as Nicholas and Perenelle, it is very much akin to going to bed after the longest day of work one has ever performed.”

“But... what happened? Quirrell was screaming and then... nothing.”

“The events that took place down in the dungeons are an absolute secret-”

“Meaning everyone in the castle knows about it,” put in Sirius.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Sirius, who quickly fell silent.

“As I was saying... You and your friends did very well, I must say, but I thankfully arrived in time to pull Quirrell off of you. Your friends are unharmed — yes, even Mr. Weasley. I was rather afraid I would be too late; but fortunately, 'twas not the case-”

“It was closer than you think, Professor,” cut in Harry, “I don't think I could have kept him off the stone any longer!”

Remus frowned at that.

“Not the Philosopher's Stone, Harry,” he said in a pained manner. “He's talking about you. You matter far more to us than any magic stone and you nearly got yourself killed! None of us knew until we got you to Madame Pomfrey if you were going to wake up!”

Harry looked down at his bedsheets as Remus's words sank in.

“The stone was not really so wonderful,” resumed Dumbledore, “All the wealth and life as one could ask for — but we as humans seem to have the alarming tendency to choose exactly that which is worst for oneself. Make no mistake however; even with the stone's destruction, Voldemort is not fully defeated. He is still out there, somewhere. But all it will take is for but one good person to stand against him; and he shall be thwarted again, and again, and again. But I expect you have questions for me; ask away and I shall answer unless I have a very good reason not to. If I do, then you shall have to trust me.”

Harry considered his words carefully before speaking.

“Voldemort said he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me... but... why did he even want to kill me?”

Sirius, Remus and Mabel all shot each other looks. The kind of look adults exchange when they know something that they don't want to tell a child. Like that their pet has died, or that a massive innuendo just happened.

Or that they have been prophesied to kill or be killed by an evil, murderous, racist, megalomaniacal cult-leader with Nazi undertones.

But that would be somewhat far-fetched.

Dumbledore sighed.

“My apologies Harry, but alas, I cannot answer. Not today. One day you will be told, but for now please put it out of your mind.”

Harry frowned but, seeing he was going to get nowhere, moved on.

“When I touched Quirrell... it hurt him. Why?”

“Lily.” It was Sirius who answered this time. “She died to save you; old magic can be very powerful. When you mum sacrificed everything for the son she loved, it created a... a barrier that hurts anyone who tries to harm you. As long as you live in the home of your relatives for at least one day a year, you will have this protection until you become an adult. It's the reason that you have to go see the Dursleys once a year.”

“Whoa...” breathed Harry.

“Yep. 'Whoa' indeed.”

Harry composed himself for his next question. Not wanting to clue the others in if he could help it, Harry gestured Dumbledore come close to him. Raising an eyebrow, Dumbledore leaned his ear in close.

“Do you know who sent me the invisibility cloak?” Harry whispered.

Comprehension dawning, Dumbledore leaned out again.

“Ah, that was me. But I am afraid to tell you that Sirius, Remus and Mabel already know you have the cloak. I thought the cloak would serve you well; it certainly served your father rather well over the years.”

Harry looked a little put out over the news, but recovered quickly.

“And the mirror? How did I get the stone out of it?”

To his surprise, Dumbledore gave what could best be described as a smarmy chortle.

“Ah, yes. That. If I may say so myself, it was possibly one of my best ideas — only one who wants to find but not use the stone would be given it.” He tapped his nose smugly, “I challenge you, or any of your friends, to come back to me at the end of your schooling here and tell me how I managed that. I am so good at magic! But enough questions for now. Your friends and admirers have seen fit to send you trinkets — by which I of course mean excessive, decadent edibles. I would encourage you to begin your campaign against them. Do you mind if I?”

He hovered his hand over a packet of Bertie Bott's every-flavour beans. Harry nodded. Dumbledore opened the pack and plucked out a bean.

“I was unfortunate enough in my early years to happen across a bean that tasted of vomit and have rather lost my liking as a result. However, perhaps luck will out and give me toffee...”

The others, Harry included, all took a bean each and ate it.

Remus seemed to enjoy his.

“A cup-full of diamond juice; freshly squeezed!”

Sirius appeared to be rather dazed.

“John Jones Monrovian Moonshine.”

Mabel grimaced.

“The English.” Then she whispered, “Period blood,” behind her hand to the adults.

Dumbledore scrunched up his mouth in distaste, “Guilt... and Regret.”

“Nachos,” said Harry, appreciatively.

There was a melodious call and a magnificent red and golden bird fluttered into the ward to perch on Dumbledore's forearm. He chuckled merrily and stroked it's plumage.

“Fawkes,” Dumbledore elaborated, “A Phoenix. Splendid creatures; many magical properties. He must have gotten impatient.

Harry spoke up again as he saw Dumbledore was turning to leave. “Wait, Professor; can I ask you one last thing?”

“Very well, Harry. Fire away.”

“Why do you look so young?”

The other three adults were now looking awkwardly at Harry.

“Um, Harry,” said Remus warily, “Nobody asks Dumbledore that.”

“It's quite alright.” Dumbledore smiled wryly, his red hair almost seeming to flutter in a non-existent breeze as he continued stroking Fawkes. He gazed over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry mysteriously; his smooth, youthful, boyish face almost seeming to glow for an instant.

“I am afraid, Harry, that is something I have a very good reason not to answer. Content yourself with the mystery for now; if you wish.

And then he left Harry to be both scolded and fawned over by Sirius, Remus and Mabel.

'A curious tale, Harry. So, you are functionally untouchable until you turn 17... That is indeed a powerful gift.'

'I know right! Apparently it won't help me against accidents and stuff, but it should be pretty good against Voldemort or any of his old supporters.'

'Well, I must say that Ginny is certainly in for a story when we get back.'

'She sure is! And next year she'll be coming to Hogwarts too! All I have to suffer through is one day with the Dursleys and everything is going to be glorious!'

“Harry, would you give me a hand?” called Neville as he tried for the fifth time to shut his trunk without it's contents spilling out everywhere. Harry sighed and shut the diary, securing it in his own trunk before getting up to aid in the lost cause.

“Well, well,” began Dumbledore, “Another year has been and passed. If you would endure a little prattle on my part just one last time before attending to your no doubt whetted appetites; I would be rather appreciative. I trust you all know considerably more than you did when you arrived and I very much trust that you will make good use of your holidays to forget as much of that as possible... Now, I believe there is the small matter of the House cup. In fourth place: Hufflepuff, with three hundred and two points.” Susan hung her head in shame at this, even as her fellows shot her annoyed looks. “In third place: Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve. Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty six; but in first place, with four hundred and forty two points, is Slytherin house.”

A roaring cheer erupted from the the Slytherin table.

“Yes, yes, very well done indeed Slytherin. However. Certain recent events must be properly accredited.”

The entire room fell silent.

“Firstly — to Mr. Ronald Weasley — for possibly the best played game of chess that Hogwarts has seen in many, many years — I award fifty points.”

Ron had turned almost as red as his hair, as the Gryffindors erupted in cheers. He looked somewhat as if he had recently vacated Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Percy was now boasting to all within earshot rather smugly.

“Second — to Miss Susan Bones. It is not an easy thing too accept one's own limitations; but it shows a great deal of growth. For this and demonstrating true loyalty to her friends, I award Hufflepuff house fifty points.”

It was Susan's turn to look like an escaped pumpkin as the Hufflepuffs erupted in jubilation.

“Third — to Miss Hermione Granger. For the use of cool logic in the face of fire; fifty points.”

Hermione squeaked and hid her face in her arms as Gryffindors began to lose all sense of reason again.

“Fourth — to Mr. Draco Malfoy. Friends can be foolish and often reckless — especially Gryffindor friends. Often they need someone cunning and clever to keep them from bringing ruin to themselves. For this, I award Slytherin house fifty points.”

The Slytherin cheers were back; but Dumbledore was far from finished.

“Fifth — to Mr. Harry Potter. Nerves of steel and frankly monumental bravery have earned him sixty points.”

Those who were keeping score knew that Gryffindor had now thoroughly buried Ravenclaw, but was still shy of Slytherin by twenty points. They currently sat at four hundred and seventy two to Slytherin's four hundred and ninety two. As the news circulated, the Gryffindors began to groan; so close, yet so far.

Dumbledore called silence.

“Courage is found in many forms,” he continued, “It takes a great deal to stand up to your enemies and a great deal more to stand up to your friends. But by far one of it's greatest forms is when you put yourself on the line for the sake of another, or others. For this reason, I shall sixthly award fifty points to Neville Longbottom-”

His remaining words were crushed under the deafening cheers from the Gryffindor table, soon joined by those of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore tried several times to bring order, but eventually gave up and sighed. He settled for simply clapping his hands, changing the Slytherin banners to those of Gryffindor.

“Harry!”

Harry looked around as he set his trunk down on platform 9¾. Standing next to her mother and Remus was Ginny, waving fervently.

On the way out of the station, he personally regaled her with the tale of the trapdoor. Harry had never seen Ginny's eyebrows raise so high.

“I'm sorry,” she cut across him. “I lost you at 'the back of his head'! Umm... one more time?”

And so Harry had backtracked and finally completed his story just as they neared the Weasley's Ford Anglia.

“This... this is a lot to take in. Can you send me a letter?”

“Sure,” he replied, “I might even be able to get Sirius to have you and Ron over next weekend.”

As the various families said their goodbyes, none of them noticed a short gangly figure standing on a nearby rooftop. It appeared to have its gaze intently fixed on them.

It also seemed to be wearing a pillow case.

It happened two weeks later.

Harry was alone, lazily reading in the drawing room, when there was a cracking sound. He looked up.

“Kreacher?”

There was no answer.

He shrugged, then turned back to his book.

“Harry Potter?”

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. There was a house-elf right behind his ear — an especially ragged elf at that. It gazed at the startled boy with cavernous, glistening, bulbous, green eyes that swiftly fixed on Harry’s scar. He had the vague impression of two tennis balls right in front of his face.

“Wh… what the-”

“So long have I wished to meet you, sir!” the elf gabbled in a hushed voice, casting occasional glances towards the open door to the entrance hall. “Such an honour! A great honour… legendary, you are — even among house-elves!”

“Thank you…” Harry uttered, beginning to slowly edge away from his personal space invader. The elf did not appear to be versed in body language however and only peered closer to him.

“So noble, so humble-”

“Er…” Harry cut in, “Not that I’m not pleased to meet you or anything… but… um… why exactly are you here? And what’s your name?”

The elf hesitated before speaking this time.

“D- … I would… wish not to tell you my name, Harry Potter. If Harry Potter would not mind.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at that.

“So what should I call you, then?”

The elf frowned, thinking.

“Er… um… D- I hadn’t thought of that…”

“Sméagol?” suggested Harry.

“‘Sméagol’?” pondered the elf, “Yes... that will do… ‘Sméagol’. ‘Sméagol’ has come… come to help Harry Potter! There is… danger… a plot!”

“Plot?” started Harry, blinking rapidly. “Who’s plotting? Does it have something to do with Volde-”

A loud hiss sounded from ‘Sméagol’ as he covered his ears and fell off the back of the chair with a thud. Harry took the opportunity to get out of the chair and hesitantly edge away.

“Speak not the name!” ‘Sméagol’ hissed painfully, “Speak not the name! Spea-”

“Okay, I get it,” said Harry, “But is it about him?”

“‘Sméagol’ cannot say,” came the response as the elf picked himself up and turned his glistening eyes on Harry again. “But D- ‘Sméagol’ can say that Harry Potter is in grave danger.”

Then, without warning he threw himself off the chair, leapt up, seized Harry’s abandoned book and began hitting himself viciously over the head with it.

“What the-”

Harry’s mouth hung open for a few seconds as he morbidly stared at the elf’s flagellation, before snapping back to his senses and wresting the book from ‘Sméagol’.

“Stop! What are you doing that for?”

“Not supposed to talk about… can’t reveal! Mustn’t reveal!”

“Calm down ‘Sméagol’,” said Harry, earnestly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to-”

But ‘Sméagol’ must. Must. Harry Potter is in danger and ‘Sméagol’ is here to help him!”

“O-oookay…” stammered Harry, “how are you going to help me?”

“‘Sméagol’ must get it away from Harry Potter!”

“Get what away from me?”

‘Sméagol’ was now shaking heavily, he grasped Harry’s hand and leant close to Harry.

When he spoke, his voice was very low — almost a whisper. It might have been a ghost, barely a phantom.

…

“Does Harry Potter have a diary?”

Harry started at that, backing away abruptly.

“My diary? You’re saying my diary is dangerous?” he said, incredulously.

“Yes! Where is it?” gabbled ‘Sméagol’.

“You’re not getting my diary,” Harry said firmly.

Unfortunately, this appeared to be the wrong thing to say. A pained scowl broke out on ‘Sméagol’s’ face. He seemed to shift in posture, almost hunkering down. He fixed his eyes firmly on Harry’s own. Something told Harry that ‘Sméagol’ was not going to take no for an answer. There was however, something ‘Sméagol’ did not know — the location of Tom. All Harry had to do was keep it that way.

“‘Sméagol’ must. For Harry Potter’s own sake. Where is the diary?”

“I’m not telling you.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. A standoff.

And then they were interrupted.

“Harry, have you s-” Mabel’s voice died as she took in the complete stranger. Her eyes widened.

“HARRY! GET DOWN!” quick as a flash, her wand was out.

But ‘Sméagol’ was already gone in a crack. His foot slammed out of nowhere into Mabel’s wand arm with another crack. Remus was running into the entry hall when a tiny fist collided with his head at break-neck speed, sending him careening into the fireplace. Sirius never even got further than the second floor of the ballroom before he was slammed in the gut. He collapsed against the marble bannisters. Harry pulled out his wand as Mabel vanished in another crack. She reappeared flying into an armchair.

Breathing heavily, Harry ran — only to see green as ‘Sméagol’ cracked into view in front of him. He seized Harry’s wrists and in another crack Harry found himself dangling from the chandelier. A flurry of cracks fired off across the mansion — like a discording fireworks display. Papers scattered, drawers ripped open, furniture turned over — chaos reigned across Cwpan Tân Hall. Punctuated with screeches as Kreacher joined the calamity.

Then it was over and Kreacher materialised unconscious in the ballroom. Silence fell across the manor.

A final crack sounded and the chandelier swayed slightly. The tennis-ball eyes were back, once again inches away from Harry’s face as ‘Sméagol’ hung from the chandelier with Harry.

“Where. Is. It?”

“I’m not telling you!”

‘Sméagol’ clicked his fingers and the chandelier jerked.

“‘Sméagol’. Must. Save. Harry. Potter. Tell me!”

“Locomotor Mortis!”

With a stunned screech, ‘Sméagol’s’ legs seized up. He tugged at them momentarily, then vanished in another crack.

After a short silence, Harry looked down to see Remus with his wand out looking furtively around the hall.

“Is… is it over?” groaned Sirius from the balcony as he hauled himself up, nursing his abdomen. “Is everyone alright?”

“Hang on Harry, I’ll get you down,” called Remus.

They were crowded into the drawing room with an Auror trainee. Mabel looked thoroughly sour, Sirius was still complaining about his aching stomach despite being told he was healed, Kreacher was muttering darkly to himself, Harry was trying not to look at anyone and Remus was actually making an attempt to act presentably.

“So you’re saying that an elf did all this?” asked the trainee in amazement, casting her eyes across the ransacked room. “What did it take?”

“Nothing, as far as we can tell,” said Remus, “did he elaborate to you, Harry?”

“No,” grunted Harry. The adults all glanced at each other.

“I don’t know who that was,” put in Kreacher, “but I have found someone I like less than the boy…”

“Well, I can try me best, but there really isn’t a lot to go on,” said the trainee, folding her notebook up. “If you think of anything else to tell me, send me an owl.”

“To do that, Madame, we shall need to know your name,” said Remus, “I doubt ‘Charming, helpful lady’ will reach you.”

Sirius’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, silly me! I forgot!” she replied, turning red. She quickly scribbled her name and work address. Then she sighed, “What am I like, eh? Prime dunce at work here…”

After she had left, Mabel and Kreacher set about fixing and restoring the hall while Harry stalked off to write a long letter to Ginny detailing the events of the day and asking her to hide Tom — just in case. Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus.

“And what, exactly, was that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” hummed Remus innocently.

“Last time I saw something like that happen, the end result was James and Lily drinking each other’s saliva.”

Remus snorted.

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic, it’s not as if I’ll see her again.”

“Harry are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he called and shut his bag. He hurried out of his room, into the ballroom, down the stairs and skidded into the hall. Then he noticed Mabel also had a bag with her.

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yes,” she replied, “after that berserk elf yesterday, I think it’s best if you had company this year. Kreacher can’t fit in — The Dursleys would lose their minds over him. Remus is on the full moon and we both know that Sirius will end up punching someone. So you get me.”

Back to index

Chapter 7: Chapter 7: A Game At Dinner

Author's Notes: Gah! This took longer than I wanted it to!

Number 4, Privet Drive was as it was on any Tuesday evening — quiet, but well lit. Its front lawn was neatly trimmed, the freshly-painted front door and garage was immaculate. Mabel rapped hard on the front door with Harry in tow. After a moment it opened, revealing the long face of Petunia Dursley. She scowled as she took in the sight of her guests, as if their very presence was somehow devaluing her family in the eyes of the neighbours.

“Ms. Baines. Harry,” She said curtly, nodding to each of them in turn before turning and leading them in. Mabel hoisted her and Harry’s bags over the threshold and placed them by the stairs.

“May I take your coat?” came a youthful voice from behind her. She turned to see the twelve-year-old Dudley Dursley beaming at her from his round face. Petunia shot the boy a look, but it was too late.

“Well thank you, Dudley,” replied Mabel casting off her coat and handing it to him. Over the boy’s head, she smirked at Petunia and strode into the living room, where the beefy form of Vernon sat reading a muggle newspaper. He looked up at her and surveyed her choice of attire — a white button-up shirt, green waistcoat and beige khakis.

“I’m glad to see you at least have the decency to disguise yourself properly,” he muttered, “Welcome, I suppose.”

“Dinner will be served momentarily,” announced Petunia over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen. The others all settled down at the dining table and began eyeing each other up in some sort of strange stand off.

“So,” Harry began, “Err… how are you?”

It was a non-starter, Vernon only grunting an “Okay,” from behind his bushy moustache and Dudley both ignoring him and sitting as far away from him as possible. Darting eyes followed. Beady pupils from each occupant of the table were flitting nervously from person to person. The peculiar standoff was mercifully interrupted when Petunia brought in the shepherd’s pie. The slight tap as she set it down on the placemat was like a starting pistol.

The spell was broken, Dudley fixed his eyes greedily on the pie as Petunia began to serve, Vernon began to offer Mabel wines and Harry took the opportunity of distraction to breathe out.

“Draco, dinner,” called the voice of Narcissa Malfoy. Draco set down his quill and surveyed his letter one last time.

Father had been pushing him to write to Susan often — something about ‘forging ties’ with her family. This wouldn’t necessarily bother him if Father didn’t also insist on scrutinising each and every letter he sent to and received from her, making ‘suggestions’ in direction and topic that were anything but. As far as he could tell however, Father had yet to notice the secret, true letter written in invisible ink between the lines of the ostensible one. He rather liked the idea of literally reading between the lines. It was a rare thing to have an aspect of his life not at least partially influenced by one of his parents. Frankly, Draco couldn’t care less why father kept pressing him to get information on Susan’s aunt.

Satisfied with both his farce letter and his hidden one, he charmed the green ink — feeling more than a little satisfaction as it seemed to dissolve into the page, leaving only the bog standard black writing. Rising to his feet, he took a long breath and left his room, pulling the door to behind him. As he began to head downstairs, he stopped and turned back to properly close the door. If Mother found it, she would only harp on about it.

He descended the stairs, past portraits of his ancestors. Each of them politely inclined their heads as he passed. He stopped briefly at the foot of the staircase and lingered on the portrait of Father, aged seventeen. Each of the portraits had been painted when the Malfoy heir came of age. Draco gazed into his young father’s eyes — light grey, so like his own. But there was a warmth to them, a humour he had never seen in the real life version of his father.

“They’re waiting for you.”

It took Draco a moment to realise it was the portrait that had spoken.

“Go on,” the young Lucius continued encouragingly, a friendly smile on his face.

Draco nodded and entered the great hall of Malfoy Manor. At the far end of the long table, Father sat, with Mother beside him. Father gestured from his winged back chair, his cold, cold, grey eyes gazing across the room at Draco.

“Draco, good of you to join us at last,” he indicated the seat farthest from him by the door.

“So Vernon,” said Mabel as Petunia finished serving. “How is your work going?”

“It’s going swimmingly,” Vernon began, beginning to relax more into the situation. “Might well be on the verge of making the largest deal of my career. The Masons — yes, the building firm Masons — will be coming to dinner on the thirty first. If all goes well, Grunnings stands to have its financial future secured for the next decade.”

“Well that sounds good. An elf wrecked the mansion yesterday — took ages to clean up.”

Vernon visibly twitched at the mention of ‘elf’.

“Thankfully,” Mabel continued, “We had spares of everything that couldn’t be fixed. We keep our spare decoratives mostly in the cupboard under the kitchen stairs. By the way, what do you use your cupboard under the stairs for?”

“Bits and bobs mostly,” said Petunia, through now-gritted teeth. “Old toys, the hoover…”

“Children?” asked Mabel, icily.

“No.” Petunia sipped her wine through rather pursed lips.

“Well that’s good. People can get in trouble over that, after all.” And all of a sudden, her voice was all sweetness and sugar. “And how are you finding Smeltings, Dudley?”

Dudley’s eyes flicked nervously between Petunia and Vernon — as if waiting for permission — before swallowing and opening his mouth.

“It’s... going alright, I guess.”

“Not getting into too much trouble?”

“No Ma’am. Not me.”

“Dudley is a good boy,” cut in Petunia, “Absolutely no trouble at all. Isn’t that right?”

She inclined her head to her son, who nodded fervently. Mabel chuckled at this.

“All kids get up to something sooner or later. I don’t believe for one second that Harry has only got up to just what I’ve heard about,” She replied, “And believe me, Harry gets into trouble a lot.”

“Perhaps Dudley has simply been raised better,” sniffed Petunia.

“Oh I can only imagine the world of good that must result from the inability to say ‘no’,” retorted Mabel, her former icy tone returning. Harry began to feel the overwhelming desire to shrink into nothingness. However this was going to end, it probably wasn’t well.

Vernon puffed himself up, in a manner somewhat akin to a tropical bird. Petunia’s horse face was turning red. Neither could say what they so very much longed to, however. Mabel was their guest. And the English are not rude to their guests. Well, not to their faces.

“Have you considered that Dudley simply does not need to be told ‘no’ often?” Petunia sweetly forced out.

“Yes, briefly,” Mabel said, “But I dismissed it after finding it to have little grounding in reality. It’s admirable that you care for your son so much, but I have to ask…” she fixed a gaze of steel on her hosts. “How well do you actually know him?” She paused to sip her wine before continuing. “I have had the questionable privilege of watching two generations of Potter children grow up and I ceased deluding myself of any of their perfection a great deal of time ago. Harry gets into trouble a lot, true. But at heart he’s a good kid and that’s all that matters. I can say with complete honesty that I know Harry extremely well. His favourite q-… sports team, favourite food, pet peeves, his penchant for mischief. How well do you know Dudley?”

Vernon made to speak, but Mabel held up a hand and continued.

“And how much of what you ‘know’ about Dudley is simply what you are imagining him as?”

Draco sat and gazed across at his parents, patiently waiting as he always should for them to start. They did promptly and Draco followed suit.

They ate in silence.

As usual.

Occasionally, Father or Mother would ask hollow questions, again as usual. How his friends were, what he got up to today, things of that ilk. One might expect these to be conversation starters in a family meal. Not here. In the Malfoy house, such parental inquiry was little more than a report. When he was around Harry, Lucius was kindly, doting… parental. Not here. Not with Draco.

‘Never with Draco. Only Harry.’

‘Stop it.’

This was a line of thought that was… best left alone.

“So Draco,” began Mother in an… unusual tone. “Tell us more about this new friend of yours… this Hermione.”

Draco started. What on Earth was Mother up to this time? What corner of his life did she now deem fit to deign to ‘improve’?

“I would hardly call her a friend,” he said awkwardly. “She’s my friends’ friend. That’s all.”

“I heard she earned nearly top marks in her exams,” continued Narcissa, “I don’t recognise the Granger name — presumably they must be of a dilute bloodline. Unfortunate, but somebody of her intelligence would make a formidable associate. Perhaps even more… I would of course prefer one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but one has to make do with one’s options.”

Draco fought back the urge to snigger. If only they knew. Still, wasting Mother’s time should keep her from making too many ‘improvements’ in the meantime.

Lucius frowned.

“Narcissa dear, Draco is twelve. Is it not a little early to be sorting such matters?”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

“Lucius, may I remind you just how much time you squandered in your childhood? Just take a look at your portrait in the hall — no sense in his head! A little work now will save Draco a great deal later. And this Granger girl sounds like a rather useful addition to the family.”

Draco was by now biting his lower lip to keep his mouth firmly clamped.

No, he would not spill the beans now — this was too good to pass up. They were going to find out the hard way. And it was going to be fucking superb to watch. All he had to do was keep a straight face.

“Touché,” conceded Father, “Even so, darling, I think it is a tad too early for such things. We haven’t even met the girl yet.”

The silence returned, no sound save for that of consumption.

When they had finished, a crack sounded and Dobby, the family house-elf, appeared at Father’s side.

“Ah, Dobby,” said Father, “Return after you have dealt with the dishes. There is a matter that I need to address.”

Dobby nodded silently and in a flurry of cracks the table was cleared. His task completed, Dobby returned to Father’s side.

“Kindly tell me where you were yesterday,” Father coolly whispered to the elf.

Dobby nearly seized up.

“Dobby… Dobby had important errands to run. Dobby has already punished himself for his absence.”

“I never gave you permission to leave the manor,” he said, shrewdly.

Dobby blanched.

“It was… too urgent, master…”

Father seemed to think for a little.

“Draco, you may leave the table.”

Draco gulped. He knew that tone.

Quickly (but not too quickly, to avoid rudeness) he stood and walked out of the dining hall. From the entrance hall, he headed straight for the stirs. He knew what was coming and wanted to be as far away from his parents as he could get.

Bang!

Draco stopped at the foot of the stairs. He rested his shaking hand on the bannister, fighting for calm.

‘Shit, too late.’

Taking a deep breath, he put one foot onto the first step.

Bang!

A pained screech accompanied this one.

Draco forced his other foot onto the second step.

Bang!

“Could you take me with you?”

Draco started. It was the portrait of his seventeen-year-old father. The picture’s eyes were struggling to meet Draco’s. His earlier cheeriness was gone, his face gaunt. He looked almost-

BANG!

Louder this time; a long drawn out scream to go with it.

Draco and the portrait both flinched.

Quickly, Draco nodded and lifted the painting down from the wall — mildly surprising himself as dexterity returned to his hands, seemingly for this feat only. Clutching it to his chest, he plodded up the ornate grand staircase. Shuddering as more banging sounds crashed out from the dining hall.

His oh-so-heavy breaths panted out in bursts as he trudged ever upwards, hollow-sounding and panicked.

Suddenly there came a great crashing sound. Draco let out a small squeak as what sounded like crockery smashed on the other side of the thick wooden doors.

As if triggered by a pistol, Draco suddenly found his speed and flew up the steps to the landing like a bullet. Haring down the hall on the right, he bolted through his bedroom door, locked it shut behind him and threw himself under his covers. All the while the portrait was clutched firmly against his chest.

Shouting and wailing now drifted up from below, seeping through the cracks in the door. They coiled around him as he dove deeper into his duvet — trying in vain hope to block it out. But to no avail.

'Something make it stop! Please, just make it stop!'

The fabric against his face rapidly moistened as he prayed for it to just please end.

But he was not the only occupant of his room who wept.

The Burrow was as it was on any Tuesday evening — warm, noisy and full of merriment. The family was gathered in the kitchen enjoying a meal together, beds all throughout the house were made, light burst from every room.

Scabbers the rat had other things in mind as he scurried along one of the many landings. Namely he was in search of a warm, comfy place to sleep and not be bothered. His quest was of course of great importance.

He sniffed around the doorway he’d come to. Ginny’s room — and it was left ajar. He was somewhat fond of the youngest Weasley, he mused as he darted in and to the foot of her extremely appealing bed. Much more interesting than Ron at least — her sense of humour matched his. But then again, Ron never bothered him — unlike everyone else.

He leapt up and grabbed onto the bedsheets, swiftly scaling it to pull himself up onto the bed proper. Quickly gazing around for the comfiest, warmest place, he settled on the space under the pillows. Wasting no time, he burrowed under.

He wasn’t especially surprised to find a book there — he used to do as such himself back in the old days. He slumped up against it and settled down.

Wait.

That feeling.

That familiar feeling. He knew that feeling — the creeping dread that had only filled him when-

No. It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Terror flooded him.

“Hello, Peter.”

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Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Elbowing Your Teenage Dad In The Face!

Author's Notes: Aaaaaand I completely forgot to upload this chapter. Whoops. Sorry about that. This has been done since April and posted over on SV.
If we're lucky, I may have the next chapter finished by the end of August. O_O

“Now,” the book continued, smugly — as if it were perfectly natural for a book to speak in a cold whisper. “When dear, little Ginny relayed the story of Lord Voldemort’s fall to me, I was taken greatly by surprise. I have been even more surprised to sense a rat animagus snuggling up next to me. But I was most surprised by the fact that, upon reading said animagus with legilimency, the animagus is in fact one Peter Pettigrew — legendary Death Eater spy.”

Scabbers was by now quivering in what could only be described as abject terror as the book continued.

“But fear not, I think this timing is simply too good to miss. I need you to do something for me.”

‘No… not again. Never again.’

“I heard that,” the book sharply said. “I am afraid to say, Peter, that you do not have a choice in the matter. There is no end for you that does not involve me. There is only a lifetime of servitude to me or death. If you do not capitulate, I shall force you to revert to human form — I wonder how you intend to sneak out of this hovel undetected with no wand, no mouse form and no ally in sight…”

After a few seconds of nervous twitching, Scabbers finally curled up and resigned himself to his fate.

“Very good. When your owner returns to Hogwarts, along with you, you need only do some very simple tasks. Firstly: Find the abandoned girls’ bathroom on the second floor…"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him. The toilet had merely been an excuse, an escape from the tense shadow-war that was Mabel Baines and The Dursleys interacting.

As fun as it was to watch Mabel give the Dursleys the run around, this was way too tense for his liking. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Mabel, but it definitely wasn’t this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small crack.

‘What the-’

The house elf from the previous day stood before him. And beside him, hovered some sort of pudding. Aunt petunia’s pudding. Harry froze.

“What are you doing here?” Harry whispered in a hushed voice as he glanced nervously at the door he’d just closed.

“The Diary,” ‘Sméagol’ snapped in a low voice. “Where is it?

Harry couldn’t help but stare - ‘Sméagol’ seemed to be in pain. Ugly, red sores peeked from under the pillow case he wore and his face was sporting several cuts. The elf was even grunting as he spoke.

“What happened to y-”

“Not important. Diary. Now.”

“But-”

“Diary. Or I will drop this.”

As if for emphasis, ‘Sméagol’ bobbed the floating pudding up and down.

Harry bit his lip. This wasn’t going to end well. He sighed.

“I can’t.”

‘Sméagol’ vanished — the pudding dropped. Harry threw himself forwards to try and catch it. But he was too late.

It hit the floor with a crash, spilling its contents into the carpet. In but a moment, the door behind Harry was yanked open to reveal the Dursleys and Mabel. Mabel took one look at the mess, then fixed her eyes firmly on Harry.

“What did you do?”

The morning sun woke Draco, still curled up. He lifted his head and squinted in the bright light that creeped in through the window. Groggily coming round, he thought briefly about just laying here for ages. Unfortunately, he had things to do — for one thing, he’d not finished addressing the letter to Susan. A pale hand brushed hair from eyes before the boy groaned and began to slowly lift himself up.

“Ow.”

Draco looked down and realised the portrait of his father was under his elbow, wearing a pained grimace. He pulled it away and picked up the slightly disgruntled image.

“Sorry!”

He set the picture against his pillow and got up, stretching. Glancing at the sunny view briefly, he sat down at his desk, took up a peacock quill and began addressing the envelope for Susan’s letter.

“So,” said the picture, slightly awkwardly. “How’s school?”

Draco shrugged.

“Fine, I guess. What’s it to you?”

The younger Lucius frowned, smoothing his hair back.

“I have been hung in the entrance hall for over twenty years. I don’t really get updates. I’d like to know how things are going outside this house, if you would like to share?”

Draco paused to think.

“I suppose I could talk for a while.”

Putting down his quill, he turned in his chair to regard the portrait, which smiled at him.

“Well then, in that case, I’d like to know about my son. What sort of people are you friendly with? Who are your chums?”

“Well, there’s Ron, Susan, Neville and Harry, I guess — first and foremost. Hermione hangs around too. There’s… others I’m supposed to be friends with… but, they don’t get me.”

“Good friends, are they, these five?”

“Four. Hermione’s… she’s… around, I guess. It’s like…” He cast his mind around, trying to come up with a suitable way to sum up the Granger situation. No real avail, just floundering.

“She is their friend more than yours?” The picture supplied.

Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“And what about the others? Tell me about them.”

“Ron’s fun to hang around with; if a bit grumpy sometimes.” Draco sniggered at the thought. “Hermione keeps telling him to take his school work more seriously. He doesn’t and he won’t.”

“Content in himself first and foremost?”

“Yyyyyep. Granted, he’s basically the only person who is actually a challenge in chess. Hm, now that I think about it, he’s slightly ahead in wins… you’d think he’d be thicker, given he’s a Gryffindor. But I suppose Crabbe and Goyle have never been especially cunning despite their house, so...”

“Well, he certainly sounds like fun — doesn’t lead you too astray, I trust?”

“Not by himself, he doesn’t. Anyway, then there’s Susan. She’s nice, but my God can she second-guess herself.”

He felt himself relaxing somewhat, easing into things. This was nice.

“Da- you- … Older-you keeps trying to get me to write to her — and reading the letters for approval.”

The younger Lucius cocked his head to one side curiously.

“Hmm… my mother did the same thing with one or two of my friends. Does this Susan have any relatives who are… important?”

“Yes,” Draco slowly said, “I think her aunt’s pretty big in the ministry.”

“Ah,” young-Lucius said with a nod of understanding. “I see, that explains a lot. I’m likely fishing for information, then.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Draco tugged his fingers through his hair, grimacing. Time to switch topics. “Neville’s… a walking calamity. Don’t get me wrong, he’s kind and fun, but his magic’s atrocious… and you can’t trust him with anything breakable.”

“Oh, I know the type,” the portrait replied with a rather knowing smirk. “And this Harry fellow?”

“Harry’s a classic Gryffindor through and through,” Draco said with a smug little grin. It was a fairly punchable grin.

“Reckless idiot?” The portrait was matching Draco.

“Without peer. I swear he needs me around to keep him from ruining himself.”

The evening had been uncomfortably silent; the morning after, even more so. Harry could tell, plain as night and day that Mabel was not happy. It practically seethed off her at the breakfast table, continuing all through to the afternoon. She spoke not a word to Harry and only terse, Spartan exchanges with the Dursleys when necessary. It was more than a little mercy when evening finally closed in. As it drew near to the 24-hour point, Mabel bid her thanks and farewells to their hosts, taking a last sweep around the house to ensure nothing had been left behind. Stepping up to the front door, she took out her pocket watch and began counting down the seconds. Just before the hour, she swung open the door.

“3… 2… 1…”

No sooner had the hour stuck, did she march out of the house, Harry in tow.

“You have some explaining to do, young man.”

It seemed Mabel was not planning to wait to have this discussion. Ah well.

“It was that house elf again!” Harry uttered without hesitation as they started down the driveway, turning into the street. “He showed up here, threatening to drop the damn-“

“Harry,” Mabel cut in, dangerously.

“Oh, sorry… Um, anyway, he was threatening to drop it if… um… ah…”

“If what?”

Her only answer was the sound of their shoes clapping along, down the pavement. After giving him a more than suitable amount of time to provide an answer, she scowled.

“Harry, if you’re going to use that elf as an excuse, at least have the decency to think up your full story.”

“Wha- no! I’m not lying… I… just can’t tell you what he wanted.” His answer didn’t seem to satisfy Mabel much.

“… Harry, you are not making it easy to find faith in you.”

“But Mabel! Can’t… can’t my word count for something?”

“I don’t know — you tell me. You don’t exactly do yourself many favours, you know. There’s always something — you’re always up to something and you aren’t exactly the most forthcoming. From what I’ve heard from Hogwarts, that hasn’t changed. Sneaking around in the middle of the night, flying off like a maniac in your flying lessons, playing detective, a dragon for pity’s sake!”

Harry had no answer to that. They marched on in silence, leaving him to ruminate. Looking back… was he… untrustworthy? He was certainly keeping things from her and Sirius — Remus too. But then again… what if they wanted him to get rid of Tom? And his escapades with his friends had foiled a theft, hadn’t they? And the troll incident would have gone horribly if he and Ron hadn’t managed to step in… but she hadn’t mentioned the troll.

His thoughts were shelved when he realised Mabel had started talking again.

“Tell you what, Harry. I will meet you in the middle today — I do not especially believe your tale, but if you are willing to be a bit more straightforward with me or Sirius from now on… we’ll say no more about it — no punishment. I am not asking you to divulge your personal secrets or anything. Deal?”

They stopped at the entrance to Wisteria Walk — a small, dark alley that made excellent cover for disapparition. His eyes widened. Really? Somewhat unable to believe his luck, he nodded fervently.

“Uh… yes! Definitely!”

“Good; I’ll hold you to that.”

She offered him a small, rare smile before beckoning him into the darkness of the cut through.

The morning of the Hogwarts letters was a dry summer day. Ron and Ginny had been staying over at Cwpan Tân and for the most part, they and Harry had spent the morning thus far lounging around. Ron had systematically disassembled Kreacher in a game of chess, while Harry and Ginny watched on in horror at the massacre, but otherwise it had been an uneventful day so far. That changed in the mere seconds it took for three owls to dart into the drawing room.

“Aha!” proclaimed Ron, hopping up, his copy of Which Broomstick? flopping down to the ground in a neglected heap. “Finally! Took long enough!”

“Agreed. I suppose this means Dumbledore found his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at last.” It was Remus, speaking as he poked his head in to see to the commotion. He ducked out again to search for Sirius, returning shortly with him.

“Trip to Diagon Alley again, it seems then,” Sirius said, “Grab your things, kids. Remus, care to join us?”

“Certainly; it’s not as if I have much else do today. Perhaps Mabel too...”

As it transpired, Mabel too seemed up to come with them this time. Remus did ask Kreacher, but the elf had had no desire whatsoever to go out. Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron proved the most expedient method of travel and the group rapidly spilled onto the cobbles. As they were trotting up the steps to the bank, they bumped into Hermione, along with her parents.

“Good to meet you at last,” Sirius jovially greeted the Grangers, wringing each of their hands. “You’re lucky Arthur isn’t here, though — he’d want to know absolutely everything and anything about your lives.”

“I might actually pay to see that encounter,” Hermione mused. Then she started and seemed to remember something. “Oh! I almost forgot! Harry, Ron, he’s here! Today! In Diagon Alley! We can meet him and he’s doing signings and-”

“Err… who?” Harry asked, taken aback — though not as much as Ron appeared to be. Ron was slightly struck dumb by Hermione practically bending over him in manic excitement. It was rather akin to that one time she’d slipped up in potions and her relaxing draught had triggered some kind of minor sugar-high.

“ONLY GILDEROY LOCKHART!”

“Ah,” said Ron, full comprehension dawning on his face. “You heard about him.”

“I most certainly have! I’m going to try and get an autograph! He’s so brave to do all the amazing things he does!”

“We are eleven and we literally wrecked a bunch of our teacher’s best efforts at magical defence.”

“That,” said Harry, looking at Ron like he’d grown an extra head. “Is… a good point.”

Heading into the bank, they quickly made a round trip of the vaults and were soon just inside of Flourish & Blotts. The rest of the Weasley family was present here — greetings exchanged before the offensively handsome form of Gilderoy Lockhart, writer of all their new DADA textbooks and renowned wizarding hero, drew every eye to the back.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. So glad all of you could come — now if you could all please remain as orderly and charming as you are and I’ll be able to sign a copy for all of you-” His speech was drowned by the sheer crush of heterosexual women pressing forward, jostling for position. The few shopkeepers dotted about were managing to maintain a semblance of order, but it was a straining lid at best.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered, “It’s going to take us ages to get all your books at this rate.”

“Oh quit complaining,” a photographer to their left snapped between snaps, “you’re getting to meet Gilderoy Lockhart!”

Sirius darkly grumbled something Harry didn’t catch. And then the photographer’s eyes landed on Harry.

“Oh bugger,” Sirius muttered, his wand coming up to try and silence him before-

“IT’S HARRY FREAKING POTTER!”

Every eye was on the boy now — even Lockhart’s. He felt rather surrounded by carrion birds. They’d lost Mabel, Remus and the Grangers in the crowd and his remaining companions seemed rather insufficient to hide behind. Before he could even open his mouth, he was carted off, up to Lockhart, who proceeded to subject him to the torment that was publicity. Hermione, who was further up the queue and supporting a stack of books, raised an eyebrow as the poor boy sailed past her. To her side, she caught the sounds of a suppressed snigger. Her head turned.

Sitting in a dark alcove between the shelves, with a hand on his mouth to try and suppress is laughter, was Draco.

“Oh, it’s you.” Hermione sniffed. “What on Earth are you doing in there?”

Draco waved his hand a little, trying to quiet her.

“Hiding,” he said, almost whispering. “Could you keep quiet?”

He got a raised eyebrow.

“Who from?”

“Mpther and Father. Well, Mother mostly.” Draco’s eyes darted around the shop, keeping lookout for any sign of his parents.

“And you’re hiding from them because?” she replied, interest admittedly piqued. He looked rather nervous and almost anxious of being seen.

“Because Mother will not stop trying to run my life for me. I took my chance while she was fawning over the Lockhart queue and ducked in here.”

Hermione stared.

“What?”

“Look, I know we don’t really-”

“Draco? Draco?” Draco blanched at the sound of Narcissa Malfoy’s cooing through the crowd. Practically melding into the books around him, he shot Hermoine a pleading look. Rather unsure of the odd situation, Hermione shrugged and waited for Narcissa to pass by. When she had gone, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled, “So… what brings you here?”

“I need books,” came her blank reply, “And, well, Gilderoy.”

Draco forcibly clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter.

“Gilderoy? Wow, you are taken with him, aren’t you?” he chortled between sniggers, “Have you planned out how many kids you’ll have with him when he sweeps you away yet?”

“… No,” Hermione sniffed, rather affronted.

“Oh my God, you’ve totally thought about it!”

“I have not!”

“Of course, of course, Granger.” His tone of voice was more than a little disbelieving. “Still, at least you’re not being paraded around up there like Harry.” He gestured up to the front, just in time for Lockhart to announce himself as the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. “Oh. Well, this looks set to get a lot more fun.”

Unfortunately for Draco, his luck ran out shortly thereafter; his mother swooped out of nowhere.

“Draco! There you are, come along, we had better get some robes next. Now, I was thinking some nice shades of blue — to offset your eyes. And, of course we’ll need to have your dress-robes fitted for next week’s dinner… Your hair’s getting too long, too, you’ll have to have it cut.”

As he was led away, Draco’s expression to Hermione said quite plainly, ‘Kill. Me. Now.’

Harry winked at Ginny from the table as her name was called out. She tried to keep a level head, awkwardly clomping up the steps to the raised area that housed the staff table and, tonight, the stool and Sorting Hat. As she sat, nervous, Professor McGonagall perched the sorting hat upon her head.

‘Oh, hello. What do we have here? Another Weasley?’

‘AAH! Er, yes. Um. Are you in my head?’ Somehow, she managed to not fall off the stool.

‘Yes, indeed I am. Shall I just put you in Gryffindor with all the others, or do you have an objection to that?’

‘Oh, um, no, no, Gryffindor’s fine!’

‘Oh good. Ever since the Lovegood child earlier, I’ve really been desperate to just get through this and sleep for a day. Or a year or two.’

‘Lovegood?’

‘She seemed to think I was something else.’

Ginny felt more than heard the hat slightly rant about something called wrackspurts.

‘Er… are you still there?’

‘Oh, apologies.’ And then the hat shouted out to the whole hall. “GRYFFINDOR!”

Somewhat confused, but nevertheless glad, Ginny felt the hat lifted away and hopped up, scooting quickly over to the Gryffindor table. She high-fived Harry, sitting down between him and Neville, earning more than a few gossiping whispers from around the hall.

The year started largely uneventfully, leaving aside Lockhart’s flat out bizarre first lesson, in which he saw fit to unleash Cornish pixies into the classroom. The resulting devastation earned him the enmity of Filch and a long, angry entry in Tom. Ginny had made a few token efforts to fit in with those in her year, but rapidly defaulted to hanging out with Harry — which meant hanging with Neville, Draco, Hermione, Susan and — to his irritation, Ron. Draco had also joined the Slytherin Quidditch team, paid for in full by Lucius Malfoy’s donation of a full contingent of Nimbus 2001s. The decision, like most of those in his life, had not been Draco’s choice. Sure, he enjoyed it, but the idea and execution had been all down to his parents. Again.

More of an issue, however, was the matter of finding a place for Harry and Ginny to talk to Tom privately. The two searched up and down the castle, before finally finding a quiet little room near the top of North tower.

Unfortunately, not all of Ginny’s life was as quiet. One early morning, in a History Of Magic lesson, Ginny found her mind-numbing stupor interrupted by a “psst”. Glancing to her side, she saw a curly-haired boy with a wide smile and a camera around his neck looking rather eagerly at her.

“Uh… what’s up?”

“You’re Ginny Weasley, right?” he rushed out excitedly.

“Yes, yes, I am. Why?”

“You know Harry Potter, right?”

She stared at the boy, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Yes. What’s it to you?”

“Well, um, could you, um, maybe get me a picture of him signed? I can’t seem to find him as much anymore.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. Ooooh no.

“You’re Colin Creevey?”

“Oh, has Harry mentioned me?” Colin leaned forward, earnestly.

Ginny let out a pained sigh. Great, trapped in Binns’s class with Harry’s adoring fan. Lovely. She hoped she was never this awkwardly obsessed over anyone.

‘I have a fan.’

‘A fan?’

‘Yes. His name is Colin and he keeps following me around. Then he found out Ginny’s a friend and he’s now finding excuses to sit near her in lessons.’

‘Oh dear. He’s not too much of a problem, is he?’

‘Thankfully, no — he just annoys Ginny a little. He’s… weird.’

‘Well, I can safely say I’ve never had a fan, so I’m afraid I can’t really offer much advice to you. Now, have you decided about this Death Day party? Do you want to go?’

‘Yeah, I think so — Nick seemed like he could use the companie.’

‘Company, Harry.’

It wasn’t until Halloween that Peter finally got his cue.

That evening, sweat trickled down his forehead for the first time in over a decade as he gingerly lifted the paralysed cat by the tail. It looked wrong the way it was all stiff. He felt horrible, even as he hung it from the torch bracket. Honestly, the rooster blood had been more bearable — they had at least been dead. Mrs. Norris was just… staring, frozen, uncanny.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of voices. Panicking, he took one last look at the unpleasant display before morphing back into his mouse form, scurrying from the scene. As he slipped into an alcove, he heard a shriek of alarm behind him. Queasy and tired, he hobbled off to find somewhere to be sick.

‘Ginny. Ginny. GINNY! Slow down please. Mrs. Norris is petrified, you say?’

‘YES! Professor Sprout reckons she can have her cured by the end of the year — something about Mandrakes — but everyone’s freaked. Hermione’s trying to find anything on the stuff all over the wall. I’m not sure if Neville or Susan screamed louder.’

There was a long pause, Tom presumably thinking hard. She was lying on her stomach on one of the comfy sofas in the little hidey hole she and Harry had found. She kicked her legs up impatiently - come on, Tom!

‘What was on the walls?’

‘Something about the “Chamber of Secrets”, whatever that is.’

‘Chamber of Secrets? You’re sure that’s what it says?’

‘Yes, why, do you know it?’

‘Of course I do — I’m the one who caught Hagrid.’

Ginny froze, staring at the page. That couldn’t be right. Not their Hagrid, surely. Putting quill back to paper, she responded.

‘What do you mean Hagrid?’

She waited, tensely. Finally, Tom’s writing faded into view.

‘It’s probably best if I show you.’

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Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Hell March Of The Cupids

Author's Notes: So I did actually get this written before August... I just completely forgot to post this here on this site. On the plus side it's meant you've been spared for 4 years The Event that happens here. I make no apologies. Following chapter up within the week.

A knock sounded at the office door.

“Come in,� replied the kindly voice of Albus Dumbledore. The door revealed Professor McGonagall, with Harry and Ginny trailing behind her.

“Albus; Potter and Weasley here are rather insistent on speaking with you and only you. It concerns the incident last night - with Mrs. Norris.�

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his twinkling smile, as always, plastered onto his face. Also present and much less pleasant was Professor Snape, standing to one side and wearing a scowl. After a moment’s exchanged glance between the two, Snape straightened up.

“I can come back later.� He swept past the three newcomers, cloak billowing behind him as he stepped onto the staircase. McGonagall left also, leaving the children to nervously enter Dumbledore’s sanctum. As the door to Dumbledore’s office closed and the staircase began moving downwards, McGonagall spoke.

“Severus.�

“Minerva.�

Witty. Elegant.

“You have been meeting in private with Albus an awful lot as of late.�

Snape sniffed.

“Yes, I have. What of it?�

McGonagall tutted, facing him properly.

“As deputy headmistress, is there anything I should know about these meetings.�

“If the headmaster has not told you, then no,� came Snape’s response, unblinking, as the stairs reached the bottom. He stepped off, swooping out of the opening wall without a backwards glance, leaving McGonagall to huff in frustration.

“What seems to be the matter?� Dumbledore asked as Harry and Ginny settled into two seats they were sure hadn’t initially been present a moment ago. Both looked very nervous - Ginny’s hands were together, fiddling, while Harry’s feet unconsciously thumped on the carpet.

“Well,� Ginny finally spoke up, “It’s, um. After what we found last night… we did some digging. About the Chamber of Secrets - and we found out it’s been opened before. Once before. By, um…� she glanced awkwardly at Harry.

“Ah,� Dumbledore finished for her, “I see. You are concerned because our dear groundskeeper was implicated, correct?� Both of them nodded, in tune with each other. The age-defying headmaster steepled his fingers and glanced pensively at them. “Well, let’s take stock of the situation, shall we? You are, both of you, familiar with Hagrid, are you not?�

The pair nodded. In unison. Dumbledore offered them a kindly smile. “And, I trust, you are reasonably familiar with both me and the existence of the Hogwarts governors, as well as the Ministry of Magic?� Another pair of nods. “Good, good. You see, all three are acutely aware of our groundskeeper’s situation and history regarding the Chamber of Secrets incident all those years ago. However, Hagrid is still permitted to remain. I am certainly not going to betray Hagrid’s trust on the matter - if you wish to hear his side of the story, you will have to ask him. What I will do is put to you a question for you to consider.� He leaned forwards in his chair, azure gaze flitting between the two on occasion, maintaining eye contact. “Do you find it likely that Hagrid would be allowed to remain at Hogwarts if me, the governors, or the Ministry believed for one second he was truly responsible for the incident?�

Harry’s face broke with understanding, while Ginny’s grew a small frown.

“Ohhh, I see Professor! No, of course not.� The boy visibly relaxed in his seat, worry falling away.

“But… but why would it be kept quiet?� Ginny asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to just tell people Hagrid’s innocent?� To her surprise, Dumbledore only chuckled in an almost fond sort of manner.

“My dear Miss Weasley, I am afraid you are being just a tad naïve. People talk, rumours about, doubts fester and gossip spreads. Innocent or not, publicity of Hagrid’s past allegations against him would not help him, only cloud his future. Best for it to stay forgotten and Hagrid be left alone, at least by the general public.�

Ginny mulled his words over in her head a little. What would happen if her mother were to hear of Hagrid being mixed up in this sort of trouble…? A vision popped into her head of her, in the middle of cooking dinner, giving a long tirade about irresponsible headmasters and why Ginny should stay away from that shifty groundskeeper. Okay, maybe shouting about Hagrid from the rooftops wasn’t exactly a very clever-sounding idea just yet. She grimaced and shook her head to dispel the all-too-real image.

“Oh, y-yes of course, Professor! Sorry, I didn’t think.� She grinned nervously, hoping she didn’t seem like a complete idiot.

“Quite alright.� Dumbledore beamed, his smooth, hairless face crinkling with warmth. He ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it a smidge, before standing up. “Thank you for coming to me with this, you two. Ten points to Gryffindor, I think, for tactful inquiry and communication. Would you care for a sugar quill?� He waved a hand to his left, where a little pot of sugar-encrusted, quill-shaped gummy sweets poked out in varying colours. Tentatively, they accepted, Harry taking a deep violet one and Ginny a golden orange.

“Alas, I am afraid I must bid you good day, now,� The gangly man said, indicating the door behind them with a hand. “I have a fair few things to mull over, if you don’t mind.� Getting up at once, the children gave yet another simultaneous nod, backing towards the door.

“Of course, sir! Thanks again!�

“Not at all, not at all,� Dumbledore insisted, clambering barefoot over his desk to perch almost like a monkey on the front, waving them goodbye. “Have a good day and a good week, now.�

No sooner had the door shut, did his smile falter, then drop into a sadness. Noticing the sudden gloom, Fawkes fluttered from his perch to roost on the edge of the desk, beside his companion. Absentmindedly, Dumbledore gave the phoenix’s back continual slow, soft strokes.

“Oh Fawkes, how am I ever going to tell him?�

The bird gave a low chirp, looking expectantly at him.

“I know I’m going to have to. He just… he’s so young. They both are.�

A soft caw.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Gellert was hardly the same thing as what’s going on now. I will tell him; the issue is when. I refuse to just rip his childhood away and have him live his every waking moment with that over him, not until I have to.�

Fawkes crooned, fluttering his feathers and resting his head against Dumbledore’s petting arm.

“His fifteenth?� Dumbledore pursed his lips, thinking. It made sense. “Yes, he should be old enough by then. Yes. If Tom does not return before it, I will tell Harry when he is fifteen. Not on his birthday itself, that would mar the festivities. When he returns to Hogwarts, a month or so in, yes. It should soften the blow. Let him enjoy life at least for a while.� He sniggered a little. “I don’t know why people call me brilliant; all my good ideas come from you.�

Three firm knocks sounded on the thick oak door of Hagrid’s cabin. It was early evening and there was something that smelled delicious emanating from the chimney. Autumn was in full swing and the nip in the air that inevitably followed was rather getting to Ginny now. Scotland was a lot colder than Ottery St. Catchpole, that was for sure. She’d have to see if she could get Mum to fork out for some tights to send over or something. How on Earth did people live up here all the time? Her inner diatribe at the climate was cut off by Fang’s excited barking and then Hagrid’s stern barking.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’, get down you silly mutt!� The door was yanked open, revealing the huge, shaggy form of Rubeus Hagrid. He beamed at the sight, deftly holding Fang back with a hand round his collar.

“Harry! Ginny! Good ter see yeh! Come in, come in!� He beckoned the lightly shivering pair inside. He handed around mugs of… tea? At least it seemed to be tea, but who was to know. Ginny took a total of one sip, which she dispensed back into its vessel when Hagrid wasn’t looking. After ensuring his guests were sat and comfy, with a plate of rock cakes set between them, Hagrid pacified fang with a slab of meat and flumped into his own chair.

“How’ve you two been? Not too shaken up about the mess last night are ye?� He squinted worriedly at them for a moment. The duo glanced at each other before Harry began.

“Well, not so much, no. But we did want to ask you about something to do with that.� He gave another glance at Ginny before he continued. “We… did some digging. Into the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened.�

The silence was palpable, but short. Hagrid coughed and mumbled something before- “Ah, records are a load o’ faff. They won’t tell you nuffin’ on the ins an’ outs or anythin’. Your mum an’ dad are all over the books here - for totally different reasons ter each other, mind you. It just doesn’t give yeh the real picture.�

Harry got a curious look on his face. “I forgot you knew my parents. What were they like? I mean, Sirius and the others have told me stuff about them, but still.�

“Aye. I did know them. Not as well as I probably should have, but I did. Your mum was one o’ the sweetest people I ever knew - but had her mean streak if yeh messed with her. Right clever, she was, too. Always a dab hand at potions.� His great bearded face was crinkled merrily. Curled up in her chair, Ginny watched with fondness as Harry leaned forwards, attention entirely on Hagrid. “Now yeh dad was a right trouble maker - always up to something he shouldn’t. Took his time growin’ up, if you catch me drift. Heheh.�

“What sort of trouble?� Harry asked slyly, a grin forming.

“Ohhh… let’s just say he had a hard time keepin’ out o’ detention. Sneakin’ around a lot, shenanigans and pranks, you can imagine.� Hagrid chuckled, taking a hearty swig of his own mug. “Hang on, I got summin’ here somewhere…� He began fishing through his pockets in search of goodness knew what.

Ginny was about to take a bite from one of the rock cakes when she caught Harry’s widened eyes at her and neck slash gesture. Gingerly, she lowered the cake and returned it to the plate.

Finally, after excavating letters, small tools, packets of seeds, keys and more, Hagrid produced a little wrapped, thin rectangle. He handed it to Harry with care. “I found that when I was sorting through a load o’ old tat in me cupboards. Been meaning to give it to yeh for a while now. I figured you’d have pictures already, but more shouldn’t hurt, right?�

Curiosity piqued, Ginny could only wait as Harry pulled away the string and brown paper. He was a slow unwrapper. Finally, she could see a corner protruding, a wooden one. Then a shiny surface. It was a photograph - fairly old by the look of it. Harry gazed for a moment, before a smile curled into his mouth and he held it up for Ginny to see. A teenage boy, about fourteen or fifteen, who looked a lot like Harry. He was decked in full quidditch gear, with his broom resting against his leg, and a huge, deceitful grin sported on his face. The backdrop was of the castle. A Hogwarts with a long, purple stain running down the astronomy tower.

“How on Earth did he do that?� she asked, incredulously.

“Look at his broom,� replied Hagrid, “See the tinted tail? An’ his boots? Crazy lad used his broom as a brush! Nabbed himself a week o’ detention. Three weeks once they realised it was mixed with a potion that made it basically impossible ter wipe off. Took us a month ter work out how ter get rid of it.�

Harry’s face was just about priceless to look at - one of his silly grins. Looking at the picture one more time, he set it down and stood up. Closing the distance, he gave Hagrid a wide, long hug.

“Thanks, Hagrid! I- thanks.� Hagrid beamed and gave Harry a pat on the back that looked like it near enough knocked the stuffing out of him. Ginny had to hide her wince at the sight of it. Disentangling himself, Harry sat back down and took a long chug from his mug. His face immediately went rigid, eyes watering, but hidden well from Hagrid. Had Ginny not known him so long, she’d never have seen through it.

“So, Hagrid, how’ve the grounds been of late?� she asked, shooting Harry a sidelong look that he had an opportunity. No sooner had Hagrid turned to her, did Harry discreetly deposit his mouthful into a plant pot from the windowsill.

“Ah, they’ve been comin’ along nicely!� Hagrid said, brightly. “Gettin’ a few things together fer the Christmas holidays down the road and compostin’ leftover pumpkins, mostly.�

Straightening up, Harry gave Ginny back a look of gratitude as Hagrid regaled them of the condition of Hogwarts and its coming needs over the next few months. All in all, they had a nice, cosy talk. A few hours and many dodged nourishments later, Hagrid was bidding their farewell with a broad smile.

“Great ter have you two! Come again some time - and don’t forget to bring the others either then.�

Stepping out into the snow, Harry nodded.

“See you, Hagrid!�

Ginny followed him, drawing her cloak tightly around herself and trying to keep her knees from knocking. No sooner had the door shut, did it hit them. At once their heads snapped to look at each other intently.

“… We just got completely deflected,� said Ginny, frowning. She had half a mind to turn right back around and knock again, to demand answers. But she had homework to do and she knew Harry wanted to meet up with his friends.

Harry too, looked annoyed. “Yeah. What was that about?�

“And we’ve got to get going, too. Drat!� Irritably, the pair began their long trek back to the castle, Ginny shivering incessantly. About a quarter of the way back, Harry stopped and glanced at her, apparently thinking. “Wh-what?� she blurted out, kicking her feet to preserve a bit of warmth. To her surprise, Harry started digging through his pockets, quickly pulling out an empty potions flask. Pulling out his wand, he unstopped the flask and poked the quivering stick in.

“Uh, let’s see… how did Hermione do this? Uh… Right, right.� He stammered out an incantation, the cold making him fumble it and produce only a few sparks. He tried again, managing to say it properly enough to sputter out a decent volume of bluebell flames, which clung to the shape of the flask’s bottom and remained. Harry quickly corked it, held it up to her hands and wrapped them around it with his own. It was warm to the touch and spread the heat quickly through her, though not really reaching her feet at all. “B-better than n-nothing at least.� He said, giving her a small smile.

Ginny breathily returned her own, icy condensation erupting in front of her face. She clutched tight to the bottle. “Thanks!� Wasting no more time, the pair set off again, trudging up to the castle. If there was some secret hidden sauna room somewhere in this place; Ginny was now determined to find it.

“I hate Moaning Myrtle,� Susan grumpily announced, sitting down with a huff at the library table. Eyes glancing up from his book, Draco raised an eyebrow in question, but otherwise didn’t move at all from his slumped reclining in the armchair. “Me, Hermione and Ron were poking round the first-floor corridor, you know where last night happened,� she elaborated at maximum speed, giving the boy’s feet a sharp shove off the table. “You remember all that water? It came from the girls’ toilet, you know the one Myrtle makes impossible to go in. So, we had a look in - well me and Hermione dragged Ron in since he was being a wuss over spiders and girls.�

“Bet Ron enjoyed that~,� he replied with a smirk, propping his feet on another section of table.

“I’ve never seen someone fuss so badly over nothing,� Susan asided, giving a grumpy prod at his shoe. It did nothing to make him move.

Raising his other eyebrow, Draco said only one word: “Screamer.�

She looked highly affronted. “Oh, I’ll admit to being terrified of trolls, giant three-headed dogs, being pushed into long falls-� She gave him an extra stern glare. “- killer plants and creepy frozen cats hanging up, but come on. It’s just spiders and girls.�

Draco made a mental note to not inform Susan that Acromantula were a thing he had learned existed, according to a bestiary he’d read a fortnight ago.

“Anyway,� she continued, as if there had been no interruption, “We tried to ask Myrtle if she’d seen anything, but all she did was whinge about herherher and how nobody cares. And then she flooded the damn floor again, so my cloak got all damp and my shoes need some serious scrubbing.� Pouting, she crossed her arms, nudging his feet with one of hers, trying to get them off the table. She was met with stern, but passive resistance. “So where have you been, anyway? I know Neville’s been held up by Snape all week, but what’s your excuse for ducking out so much?�

The pale blond lowered his book and gave a sigh. It was a very drawn out sigh indeed.

“Mother has decided I am joining the Slytherin Quidditch team. Father has assured it by buying the squad a full set of 2001s. So, I’ve been in practice. A lot of practice.� Susan’s foot shoving stopped dead at his words.

“Oh. Um. Do you like it?� she tentatively asked.

Draco gave a shrug. “It’s fun. Not that that matters, but it is.�

Susan gave him a shrewd look. Her mouth scrunched one way, then the other, before finally. “You like being up in the air and the feeling of freedom. But you hate that it’s not your choice.� It wasn’t a question. Draco only grunted in response. Groaning, Susan put her hand on her chin. “What are you going to do, then?�

He shrugged. “Just do it, I guess. Not like there’s much point trying to say no-�

“Hey, Susan!�

They both looked over to see Justin Finch-Fletchley, a boy from Susan’s house, waving as he approached. Susan waved back, offering him a seat.

“Oh, hello… Malfoy.� Justin’s expression became rather reserved as he saw Draco. He sat nonetheless, rifling through his bag to pull out a roll of parchment; probably Snape’s latest essay. “Sorry to bother you, Susan, but I was just wondering, when you said about the leeches-� He unravelled the roll and pointed to what looked like some part of a recipe. “Did you mean to stew them or pickle them or neither?�

Taking a look over the essay, Susan read a few lines, before her brow furrowed a little. “Hmm, there’s a few things not right here. Hmm. Hang on, I’ll need to have a think.� Pulling her own roll out of her satchel, she had a quick scan and comparison. Draco returned to his book once more, largely losing interest in the newcomer. “Right, right. I think I see; Harry had a similar thing going on, we could ask him about-�

“Oh!� Justin’s eyes shot wide and he suddenly yanked his parchment away, stuffing it back into his bag. “No need, no need! I think I see; thanks anyway!� And all of a sudden, he was gone. Susan blinked at Draco, both of them taken aback.

“Well goodbye then. I guess,� she muttered.

“Who was that?� asked a familiar nosy voice from behind Draco’s ear. He started. “Granger, did you have to do that?�

“Do what?� she replied absentmindedly, sliding between him and a bookshelf and taking a seat by Susan. “Neville finally got out of detention.� She smoothed out her jumper before excavating a colossal tome from her bag and landing it on the table with a heavy thunk. “Feet off,� she added, shooting Draco an irritated look. He did no such thing.

“And I could not be gladder to be free!� Neville chimed in, again, from right behind Draco’s ear.

“AH! Go around, go around!� He hissed in annoyance. “Hasn’t anyone heard of personal space?�

Mercifully, Ron at least had the good sense to do so, sitting between him and Hermione. Grouchily, Draco got back to his reading again, barely noticing the arrival of Harry and Ginny. A peaceful sort of quiet reigned for a time. Harry, Hermione, Susan and Draco were homework free, with Ron and Neville busying away at Snape’s doomscroll and Ginny on whatever she’d been set. Draco and Hermione read while Harry idly practised at catching random things Susan levitated at him. However, the peace came to a predictable end when Ron finished his essay. It started harmlessly - he and Harry struck up a conversation over quidditch, which immediately sent Ginny into procrastination mode to join in. Aaand then…

“Tut!� Ron glanced at the source - Hermione.

“What?� he demanded with a small scowl.

“What is it with you all and Quidditch?� came her curt reply. Ron and Ginny’s nostrils flared in unison, while Harry gave a small groan.

“It’s amazing is what!� Ginny blurted. Ron took a much more measured approach.

“Hermione, Quidditch is not just a game! It’s a culture! A way of life!� Well, a relatively more measured approach. “Damn sight more interesting than being shut home reading all day, too!�

“Yes, Ron, you’re such a cultured person.~�

Draco did not laugh at Hermione’s quip. He did, however internally recognise that it was apt. That was all. Both Weasleys were riled into full fighting mode now, though. Identically flushed, they leaned over at their opponent, while Harry could only look on in pessimism. Neville and Susan consciously ignored it all, the former focussing on his work and the latter grabbing a random book off the shelf behind her to bury her nose in.

“Oi! Don’t get smart with my brother!� Ginny stuck out her tongue in protest while Ron compiled his rebuttal.

“But there’s so much to Quidditch, though! The plays, the brooms, the player transfers, the ins and out of the league! It’s the single best game in the world.�

Hermione gave a pronounced sniff. “Yes, I’m sure there’s such elegant thought at play. It’s so intellectual, I don’t doubt. No wait, I do doubt. Highly.� Her nose actually looked pointed upwards, too. Draco could only roll his eyes.

“Granger, we don’t come into your world and complain about all your mudblood things,� he drawled. The atmosphere shifted at once.

Susan’s head drooped slowly onto the pages of the book she had held in front of her face.

As one, the heads of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny swivelled in Draco’s direction, identical, foreboding looks on each countenance. Neville gave a little squeak and got up, slipping his work away and swishing on his cloak.

“Oh, I really need togetgoingguysseeyouatdinner!� And he was gone in a flash.

Draco noticed the looks, peering over his book. “What?�

Ron was flaming red in the face as he glowered ominously at him.

“Apologise.�

Draco frowned, curiously, shutting the book.

“Whatever for?� His eyes danced over the four, askance.

Hermione gave a “Harrumph!� She got up and looked down at him. She opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, but stopped short and closed it again. She spun on her heel, abandoning her effects, and fled. Ron started.

“Hermione!� Leaping up, he dashed right after her, the pair vanishing from sight between the bookshelves of the library. A fuming Ginny glanced at Harry, before mumbling something about having work to do. As she got up, Harry followed suit. He began resolutely and carefully packing Hermione’s things into her bag. When he was done, he lingered for a moment, seemingly unsure of something. But then he coughed and turned away, heading in the general direction of Hermione’s flight.

With the two now left alone, Susan lowered the book that she’d buried her face in. She gave Draco a long, fatigued look.

“Why do you make being friends so hard?�

Hermione sat, legs swaying between the bannisters. The hooting of owls surrounded her - and the smell, too. It wasn’t the most ideal hidey hole for comfort, but it was effective seclusion. Well, almost seclusion.

The creak of the floorboards heralded the coming of the ginger.

“Hermione.� He ascended quickly, circled round the railing and sat down next to her. “He’s an idiot, yaknow.� His voice was a bit gruffer than usual, as if unaccustomed to use. “I mean, sure he’s my friend. But he’s…� His nose crinkled. “He’s just been raised bad. I don’t think he can help it - at least not yet. Hope he gets there some day.�

Hermione’s only response was a throaty murmur. Ron sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“Hey, you wanna go grab a book of magical creatures and see what random things we can find?� She glanced at him oddly. He had the most peculiarly warm smile on his face. Idly, she played with a strand of hair and nodded.

“Yes. That’d… be nice.�

‘That damn elf!’

‘Again?’

‘Yep! Enchanted a bludger on Harry! It broke his arm and then Lockhart tried to fix it but just removed his arm bones! He had to spend the whole night in the hospital wing being regrown! The elf showed up to demand your handing over again.’

‘Ouch! Give him my best wishes, won’t you?’

‘I will! We’ve still got no idea why he’s after us, but he seems to know about this Chamber of Secrets madness that’s going on.’

‘Not too surprising; it’s not like it’d be easy to keep that a secret.’

‘Oh, on a related note, Harry’s little stalker got himself petrified too.’

‘Colin, correct? Oh dear, though at least he’s alive. You came across as almost… hostile though. What is the matter?’

Looking up from the book, Ginny gave her sugar quill a quick chew in thought. After some mulling over, she gave a sort of answer.

‘I don’t know. Colin’s- he’s- eh. I don’t really like him.’

‘Because of all the time he spends around Harry?’

Even more quill-chewing. Ginny gave a huffing frown and a shrug, not really finding an answer. She kicked her feet and “hmm�ed and “haa�d, but couldn’t really land on the how to describe things. Her face lolled into the sofa material and she stared at the book. Finally, not even picking up her head, she brought her quill to the page and write crookedly.

‘I dunno.’

‘Maybe something to think on, then.’

‘That’s fair. I’ll give it time. Good night, Tom.’

‘Good night, Sweet Ginny.’

She flushed a little. Sure, it sounded kind of silly, but it was goofily nice in a way. Nobody ever spoke to her like that. Humming to herself, she shut the book. She probably should get up and go to actual bed, but her lids were too heavy. She was out like a light by the warmth of the fire. A soft, sourceless breeze swept across her face, ruffling her hair, only slightly.

If one listened very closely, it might have been possible to make out a tiny, single laugh resonating from the book.

‘Okay, I might not like him… but Snape is amazing with a wand.’

‘Lockhart’s little duelling club went well, then?’

‘Not… really. Draco conjured a snake… and everyone freaked when I could talk to it.’

Tom didn’t reply for a very long time indeed.

Harry waited and waited before finally:

‘You what?’

“Thanks for the reassurance, Tom…� Harry muttered to Ginny. She sniggered and sipped her drink.

‘I’m a Parselmouth - I tried to yell the snake off, but everyone pretty much lost their minds.’

‘I am… not surprised that they did - Parselmouths are not well regarded. They are usually associated with Salazar Slytherin and dark magic.’

Harry stared, thunderstruck, at the words on the page. He wasn’t happy with that idea. Not one bit.

‘So, are you saying that I’m darc? Or something?’

‘Not at all - it is only an association born of history. You are you, Harry. That said… it is a most curious ability. You are from a noble family, are you not? It’s possible you have some relation to Slytherin. (It is spelt “dark�.)’

Harry’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. Related to Salazar Slytherin? The very idea made his blood turn to ice.

Susan tore into the circle of chairs with fury, dumping her bag with a clunk. Neville squawked and had to stop himself falling off his chair. Slapping her cloak over the back of her chosen seat, she sat, fuming. Her gloves were next, mercilessly yanked off and thrust with undue vitriol into the bag. Harry and Ron stared.

“I can’t believe Ernie!� she hissed, angrily. At their confusion, she began to elaborate. “He told Justin to hide! To crawl under a rock and hide! From you of all people!� She jabbed a finger at Harry.

“He did what?� he asked, rather flabbergasted.

“It’s because of the duelling club, you know because of the snake thing. He’s convinced you’re the terrible heir of Slytherin and are going to hit Justin next, you know what with him being Muggle-born, so he’s just been non-stop freaking out over you. Spent half the morning in the library trying to tell me how unhealthy it was of me to hang around with you. And he’s-� she put her voice into as deep and pompous a tone as she could. “-‘advised Justin strongly to remain safely in the common room where Potter can’t get to him.’ I just can’t deal with him now.� She snorted and shredded the packaging of her chocolate frog. The helpless treat found its head immediately enclosed by teeth, followed by Susan tearing its twitching body away.

Harry gave a long sigh. “I officially hate Salazar Slytherin. This is all such a mess now.� He gingerly rubbed his temple as Susan devoured the frog. After swallowing, she continued, unabated.

“Thanks Ernie! Great to hear your input, Ernie! I’m so glad for your concern, Ernie. I just love to be told what is and isn’t good for me, Ernie. I mean it’s not like I can think for myself or anything.~�

“I’m sure he means well,� Neville piped up, with an air of worry. “He just… worries too much is all.� Susan only grumbled mutinously in response.

Any further thoughts she had, however, were cut off by a strangled scream. The sound of heavy footfalls filled their corner and Ernie MacMillan burst onto the scene. He looked furious, panting for breath as his eyes fixed firmly on Harry. He pointed a trembling finger at his target.

“CHANGE HIM BACK! CHANGE HIM BACK NOW!� he roared, turning heads all around him as he towered over Harry. For his part, Harry stammered out in confusion.

“I- w-what? Change-� He was cut off by Ernie almost bending over him in rage.

“CHANGE JUSTIN AND NICK BACK! NOW! I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!�

Harry stared agape at the boy, trying to process but failing badly. From behind Ernie, the kindly blonde form of Hannah Abbot, a fellow Hufflepuff, arrived. She put her hand on Susan’s shoulder.

“There’s been another attack. Justin and Nearly Headless Nick.�

‘And then the hat said I would have made a good Slytherin.’

‘I wouldn’t call that necessarily something to worry about, though Harry. Your friend, Draco, is a Slytherin, is he not? I myself was also a Slytherin, for that matter. I fear you are allowing the views of others to cloud your own.’

‘I wish I could believe you.’

‘You will in time. There is nothing about you to ever feel ashamed of, Harry.’

‘Take your word for it, I guess. Anyway, Dumbledore doesn’t think it’s me, but Ernie’s on the warpath. Hagrid still ducks around it when me and Ginny try to bring up what you showed her, though.’

‘Very suspicious. But you said Dumbledore trusts him? There is clearly more going on than what I saw in my time.’

‘Yeah. I just wish I knew what.’

Christmas was a largely uneventful affair, with Ginny being somewhat amusing with how she “ooh�ed and “aah�ed at the splendour of Hogwarts in the Christmas season. Harry had secured for Ginny a set of enchanted mittens that warmed to the touch as her present. She had been much appreciative, wearing them all over the place. They had not seen ‘Sméagol’ again, though they remained on the lookout. The two could only suppose that his owner was keeping him occupied.

Draco had been more withdrawn, in the company of Crabbe and Goyle mostly, but occasionally Pansy Parkinson and a couple others. He’d been less and less around ever since the incident with Hermione - and when he had, he had been rather quiet. Susan, by contrast, had been constantly grumpy, supplying a constant feed of her housemates’ latest attempts to convince her to avoid ‘That Potter boy’. If nothing else, she was rather animate about her grievances. Neville had begun looking through Herbology books after taking an interest in a discarded one Hermione had finished reading. He had not been entirely lost to them, but he now spent much less time actually talking to them. Ron and Hermione were as always. They bickered.

All through January, there were no more attacks. As Febuary set in, the student body seemed on the verge of moving on. Professor Sprout was excitedly telling anyone who would listen that the Mandrakes were approaching their second repotting, meaning that the victims were not too far off from revival now. Ernie was not letting up, however, insistent on making sure as few people as possible forgot that not only was the attacker still at large, but that it was probably definitely Harry.

One morning, as they were filing into Lockhart’s classroom, they caught the tail end of what looked like a long conversation boast.

“Yes, I firmly believe that the ‘heir’ - if there ever was one - got cold feet. Realised I was on the verge of cracking down hard and decided to quit while he or she was ahead.�

Hermione’s reaction was utterly unsurprising. Her gaze misted over and she stopped dead, ogling. Harry and Ron gave a simultaneous groan and each took an arm, guiding the girl to her seat. For once, Draco joined them, sitting next to Ron. As Hermione slumped dreamily, chin propped on her hand, Draco took the opportunity to mutter quietly to Ron.

“I’m sorry for your loss.~� His grin was punchable. But alas, they were in class - and also friends - so Ron thought better of it. Instead he flicked a bent quill at him and got out a new one. At the front, Lockhart was still rambling. Poor Professor Flitwick looked more and more like he regretted ever entering the room, much less starting the one-sided conversation he was now party to.

“It’s only sensible; wouldn’t have been pleasant for this to get out of hand after all. What we need now is a pick-me-up for the students, something to cleanse the mental palette.� Lockhart swished his little cape off his shoulder and draped it over his desk chair. “I know exactly what that should entail! But let it be a surprise for now. Good speaking with you, Professor, now if it’s not too rude of me, I am afraid I have a class to teach.�

Flitwick did not need telling twice, scurrying from the classroom without a backwards look. Lockhart began the lesson in his usual fashion; a volunteer request for a demonstration. Harry tried to not be seen, but inevitably was and was brought up front for today’s pantomime humiliation. Hermione barely shifted, just idly staring at Lockhart and occasionally doodling little hearts on a scrap of parchment. Ron only got more and more of a twitchy eye. Finally, there was a tiny sound of his quill snapping. Based on his expression, it took everything Draco had to not laugh out loud. He did not seem beyond temptation, however.

“You are completely doomed, Ron.�

“Doom you in a minute,� he muttered back.

“Sssh! Gilderoy’s speaking.� Hermione whispered, irritably. Was that a slight bit of drool in the corner of her mouth? It was, to Ron’s ire.

Lockhart’s plans were made hilariously clear on the morning of the fourteenth. Pink. All of the pink in the universe. With streamers, confetti, bunting and floating signs. The great hall had been transformed into the single most garish thing Draco had ever laid eyes upon. He took it all in and started, like a deer.

“… He’s not serious.�

“Who’s no-ooh good heavens!� Susan stopped dead right behind him, her mouth hanging open. “It’s very, er… bright. I mean, I like pink and all but this is… too much.�

Draco only nodded, dumbly. At the Gryffindor table, Ron was visible forcing down his food as fast as possible in disgust. Not quickly enough, it seemed

For then came the dwarves. Neville, just behind the pair, skittered aside in alarm to escape the sudden march of dwarves that began their advance into the hall. Each one was decked from head to toe in a garish pixie outfit, and cradling little matching harps. Draco felt his entire face shrivel and curl in revulsion as he watched the abomination parade into the hall, twanging their harps. They marched in step, like some perverse military, drawing up to the staff table.

“Draco… that wasn’t what I thought it was, was it?� Neville asked, in fear.

“I am afraid, Neville, that it was.�

No sooner had they scoffed down their food as awkwardly as possible, did the group evacuate the great hall in earnest. On their way through the doors, Ron asked, or more accurately pleaded, that Hermione hadn’t sent Lockhart a Valentines. She mumbled. And mumbled. And mumbled. Draco burst into full frontal laughter at the sight. Choking over his mirth, he managed to nonetheless speak.

“Granger, you make it extortionately hard to take you seriously, you know?�

Anarchy and terror reigned across Hogwarts that day, with dwarves invading every space in the castle and enforcing their insipid, cringeworthy ditties. On the way to Herbology, Malfoy locked eyes with a dwarf making a beeline for him. Quick off the mark, he ran, vanishing for the rest of school classes. He spent his day ducking, dodging and weaving, trying to fully lose his pursuer. He managed to use the sheer crowd in the Great Hall for cover at lunch time for just long enough to wolf down a few sandwiches before his dwarf made him and the chase resumed. He travelled through dozens of previously unknown corridors, secret passages and rooms - even at one point entering a door on the seventh floor to find himself in a literal maze, which gave him a large amount of breathing room and somehow exited exactly where he’d entered, with the dwarf lost within.

Even that had not saved him in the end, however. Slippery as he was, the dwarf was some kind of master tracker and caught him in a fifth-floor storage room. His valentine was from Pansy, unsurprisingly, and was ripped straight out of an old literature book unless he was much mistaken. After he was released, he didn’t really feel like going back to classes and facing Pansy. Instead, he went to the owlery to pet the family owl and de-stress from his near-death experience.

The eagle owl was quite happy to have a visit and was eagerly gobbling up bits of bacon he’d brought, when Draco heard a thud, followed by hurried footsteps. Hermione burst into the room a moment later, shutting the door behind her in a panic. Her wand was out and she immediately charmed the door, locking it firmly. Letting out a breath, she turned and slid down it, sucking in huge swathes of oxygen. Draco blinked.

“Dwarf?� he asked.

“Dwarf.�

A sharp rattling sounded at the door, prompting Hermione to scoot up and run to the opposite wall, pointing her wand at the door.

“They’re bloody unstoppable!� she hissed, “I jelly-legs’d him and he just kept coming!�

Nodding warily, he pulled out his own wand. The door shook a few more times, before falling still. A couple seconds later, there was the shuffling of feet, the sound moving away.

A creak sounded all around them.

Hermione struggled to hold her breath in, whipping her wand around at each window in turn. Draco joined her. The memory of his own valentine fresh in his mind. This better not have been sent by Ron - even Draco drew the line at inflicting this on a mudblood.

Another creak. A thunk. The owls were becoming jittery, cawing and rustling around nervously.

Straining his ears, Draco tried his utmost to listen out. It was in vain.

In a flash, a stunted, pink barrel shape wielding a very sinister harp catapulted through a window neither were watching. Suddenly, they were both wandless and the dwarf was sitting on the back of a face-down Hermione. He began strumming a sickly tune that made Draco’s lip curl.

“‘Eremione Granger; ‘ere is your singing Valentine:

There once was a bella,

Draco’s cringing snapped into alarm at once. No. Please no.

“-Radiant beauty and brains, To match fortune and fame, So, an offer, we make, We so hope you will take,-�

As the words reached his ears, he just wanted to curl up and die. They could have. They couldn’t have.

No sooner was he done, did the dwarf hop up off Hermione’s back. “You’re welcome.� Wasting absolutely no time, he went to the window, clambering out of it and vanishing. Sitting up, Hermione looked beet red. She awkwardly coughed as she stood up, taking her wand with her.

“I am… so sorry about that,� Draco said, equally red. “My parents are. They are. Um. Yeah.�

Hermione said nothing, but nodded, seemingly trying to simultaneously scrunch and not scrunch her face up. With a flick of her wand, the door swung open. She tapped her foot, not meeting his eyes. She cleared her throat and turned to leave. As she did so, a small scrap of paper fluttered out of her sleeve.

“Hey, wait, you dropped this!� Malfoy scooped it up and held it out. Written on it, rather clearly, was handwriting: ‘His hair is as red as fire a tiger a traffic cone treacle’

Eyes widening, Hermione made a high-pitched noise and swiped it back. It was Draco’s turn to cough awkwardly. He forced his mouth to work.

“Okay, this… none of this ever happened. You okay with that?� He offered, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

“Alright,� she said, with a failing attempt to look composed. “This never happened.� And without another word, she departed, leaving Draco alone to curse his parents.

As the month wore on, excitement began mounting around the approaching Quidditch game. Susan was, naturally, not rooting for Harry, seeing as it was Hufflepuff he was playing against, but she’d wished him luck the other day, regardless. It was a fine morning for it, too. Harry was taking his time getting ready - he’d had a nice long shower and was just about done with his teeth.

“Hey, good luck, Harry!� Dean called, patting him on the back as he walked past.

“Thanks.� Harry grinned at him. He dipped his head to have a quick drink from the tap, hearing the bathroom door swing shut behind him. Wanting to check his teeth one last time, he looked up into the mirror.

And saw yellow.

Back to index

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: A Castle Dour

Author's Notes: Can't guarntee weekly updates going forwards, but we'll see what sort of pace I can manage. I might end up writing later things which don't get published yet if it helps me move past a block - I've had the whole thing overarchingly planned out in notes for years so it's fairly easy to work on what's around.

“Wormtail, all I need to know is if Harry is alive or dead.� Harshly, the voice of the book cut right across the inane babbling. “Cease your panic and be quick about it.�

The twitching rat’s heartbeat was thoroughly out of control, truly a contemptible, panicky, mangy little servant. Riddle longed to transform him on the spot and leave him to Dumbledore just to end the revulsion. Alas, he was still necessary - indeed, possibly more so than even Riddle himself realised. So much that happened in decades of being unused. “He-he is alive, Master! P-petrified!� Wormtail squeaked, visions of impending slaughter radiating out from his brain so hard that it was legitimately making it difficult to think.

A game-changer, certainly, but not one that would necessarily need uprooting of the plan. “And the target mudblood? You didn’t mention him at all, the Thomas boy?� The panic, oh the blessed fear and subservience. The opiate that it was, permeating too much. Wormtail would have to be reassured, lest Riddle completely descend into indulging in it that he could not use reason. “Stop cowering - you are not going to be smitten by me today you stupid little fool!�

“M-missed him! By the smallest window, but he left just before the-the snak-�

“The Basilisk is a great and noble magical being of more history and lineage than your pathetic, blood-traitor family and ‘friends’ all combined. It is not a mere ‘snake’ and you shall not demean it as such.� If only he had nostrils to flare, Riddle’s diary would be doing so.

“The Basilisk,� Pettigrew continued, still flakey and exuding dread, but more stable, not nearly as intoxicating, “arrived. Nobody yet knows he was the target - at least not so far as I can tell.�

Half-tempted to spring open and swat the unsuspecting minion with his cover, Riddle contented himself in processing the developments. “Thomas might as well be the next target then, we just need to wait - not long, but enough that it won’t be foreseen. This was not your failing, Wormtail.� The sensation of relief almost acted as a sobering aid, cleansing his system more. “What is important now is to watch, wait, and- Ginny is coming up the stairs.� At once, Pettigrew hopped off the bed and skittered away underneath it.

A second later, the heavy wooden door swung in a wide arc and the shaking young figure of Tom’s favourite redhead burst in. Without stopping, she threw herself onto her bedspread next to Tom, great wracking sobs filling the air. Would that he still had a body, Riddle would know exactly how to soothe the situation. A hug, false sweet words, and charming tone would have seen Ginny entirely under control.

Unfortunately, he lacked the arms and the voice to do so. And so, the book was only able to wait out the storm of anguish. The girl cried and bawled and wailed rather pitifully, before, mercifully quickly, sitting up and punching the pillow. She let out an almost strangled roar, yanking the unfortunate piece of cushioning over her head and throwing it across the room. Anger, fury. Better, Tom could sympathise with that - and it did not invade his thoughts nearly as much as a result. Whether or not it would be better in the practical sense to stoke or smother Ginny’s anger remained to be seen, but it was certainly far more tolerable.

Just as suddenly, Tom found himself snatched up, flipped open, and an extremely messy scrawl written onto one of his pages.

‘Tom! Harry has been petrified!’

Time to play the part then - or was it really such a performance? Tom confessed to be getting to find it quite engaging, having an innocent young pureblood to liberate from such treacherous upbringings. It felt like a challenge, almost. ‘What?! How is he?’

‘He’s in the hospital wing. They say he’ll be alright, but still… It has been a shock.’

‘I see - you have been very brave Ginny. You should get some rest.’

Ginny scowled at that, before replying. ‘I’m not tired. Besides, Hermione reckons she has an idea on what the monster is so we’re just waiting for some time to get everyone together.’

That could be a problem. This had better be handled rather delicately. ‘She does? How?’

‘No idea.’ A chew of the quill before she replied, no doubt still in a tizzy. ‘That’s Hermione for you. Great thinker but a horrible communicator sometimes.’

‘If you could be so kind as to keep me in the loop, it would be appreciated.’ Hmm, maybe a little too over-interested? ‘I shall worry if you are absent too long.’ There, better, more towards something more tangible. Plus it flattered her.

“We are dealing with a Basilisk!� Uttered Hermione, almost breathlessly. The table was splayed out with illustrations, excerpts, open books and even a small map of some sort. At the convergence of the grand array, she stood with her arms crossed and a small pointer in one hand, for all the world as if her four friends (and Ginny) were students at a lecture. For all intents and purposes, they may as well be, cloistered away in the quiet corner of the library and with nowhere to hide from the enforced briefing. Getting here all at the same time had not been simple to arrange, with Ginny herself having to borrow the invisibility cloak and fabricate a very hasty excuse with the help of a favour off of Harper, a boy from her year she had once lent… was it some potion ingredients? No, those couldn’t be given back.

A sharp rap of the pointer on the table and Ginny found herself on the receiving end of what she had heard Ron describe as ‘the gaze of judgement’, but had yet to experience. In her personal opinion, she would have dubbed it the ‘hawkeye of mild consternation’ - it was long-winded enough to suit Hermione.

“Pay attention.� Returning to her businesslike tone, Hermione directed her little silver rod at an illustration of what looked to be a rather monstrous snake indeed. The little person silhouette next to it for scale was pretty grim, the fang length apparently ranging from ‘only’ bread-knife all the way up to claymore. “The Basilisk’s fangs are highly venomous and will be fatal without extremely powerful healing magic.�

“Does it need that?� Pondered Ginny aloud, shooting shifty looks down at the teeth in question. It certainly looked as if one snap would be the end of anything smaller than the giant squid. Why hadn’t it killed anyone yet if it had those?!

A snort erupted from Draco, feet perched on the corner of the table despite repeated attempts from both Susan and the lecturer to remove them. “As if magical creatures ever need most of the traits they have.�

“They do tend to defy logic, but this is not the most dangerous part of the Basilisk...� A firm jab onto the corner of a sheaf and a second illustration was dragged out from under a long and apparently futile antidotes list. Immediately, laughter broke from both attending Weasleys, Ginny leaning onto her brother’s shoulder for support. The picture featured the most comically oversized eyes Ginny had ever seen, great bulbous yellow and round like a bizarre parody of Professor McGonagall’s legendary glare. The picture was made worse by the flat, forward-facing face that sported what appeared to be a fanged scowl, as well as a dangling forked tongue. Quite clearly, whoever had been responsible for this had never actually seen a Basilisk.

Struggling to get words out, Ron held up a hand in the face of Hermione’s ever-creasing frown, he huffed and puffed before finally, “W-what’s it gonna do? Stern word us to d-death?!� And then he was lost again, joining Ginny in side-clutching guffaws. It was spreading too, the beginnings of small titters making their way onto Susan’s round face.

“Wait-wait no!� Taking the opportunity of a small lull in her giggling, Ginny went next. “Maybe it’ll glare us to death! And th-threaten detenio-AHAHAHAHAHA� At least she got the gist out, she self-satisfactorily mused before she succumbed fully to her fit.

Pursing her lips somewhat irritably, Hermione strove on with her presentation. “As it happens, it can and will stare you to death.� An extra tap on those stupid eyes. “Eye-contact is fatal.�

Susan held up a hand to interrupt, despite the rather annoyed look she got for it. “Wait, why is everyone petrified and not dead then?�

“That’s what I wondered at first,� gabbled Hermione, as if afraid of being interrupted again, “But really in hindsight it is quite obvious - there has always been something in the way.� Counting on her hand, she listed. “Mrs. Norris saw the reflection from Myrtle’s flood; Colin Creevy’s camera lens saved him; Justin saw it through Nick, who is already dead; Harry was another reflection - mirror this time.� Concluding with her self-satisfied smirk Ron had a tendency to describe in more detail than Ginny felt was necessary, Hermione’s pointer tapped a map of some sort that crisscrossed with all kinds of lines. “Hogwarts has one of the most extensive plumbing systems in magical history, dating all the way back to the late first millennium and according to revised plans from the archives section, there is ample space for a Basilisk to move, within reason.�

“I’ll admit, Granger, you make quite a detective,� drawled the posse’s blond, still with his perfectly-shined shoes propped up on the corner, “But what exactly do we do with this information?�

An answer was ready and waiting. “We protect ourselves first.� Reaching down, Hermione heaved a small satchel onto the table and tipped it up, a wide array of hand mirrors tumbling out - some silver and pretty, others cheap and utilitarian, but all freshly polished. “I’ve mail-ordered a load of thick sunglasses for us, but until they arrive, use these to look around corners.� Right in that moment, the girl could’ve passed for a smug, sentient bush.

“Fat lot of good it’ll do,� muttered Susan, nonetheless snatching up the nearest one, “Just look at those teeth.� A mute gesture towards the first, much more threatening sketch. “Just chomp and, it’d be over - they’d go right through…� An idle digit played along her collar bone, the skin goosebumped as her panic heightened. Slightly unsettled, Ginny stared as the finger poked at the all-too squishy-looking flesh above the bone’s contour. “I’m too young to die, I’m not a ba-�

Plink. A terrified rook bounced off her shoulder, the armoured soldier screaming wildly as he gripped the battlements, holding on for dear life, his whole world plummeting down, down towards the floor. “Relax, Susan,� its red-headed launcher groaned, leaning back into his seat, “You’re getting crazy.�

Susan shot Ron a frown, but seemed stabilised. “You’d be singing a different tune if it was a giant spider.�

“There are giant spiders in the forest,� Hermione mumbled, as if on instinct, reorganising some of her papers to be neater, “Acromantula.�

As if he were a marionette out of a grotesque pantomime, Ron’s head swivelled to stare at Hermione, eyes almost evacuating his skull. “I did not need to know that.�

“So,� put in Neville, who had been completely silent up until now, “we can protect ourselves with these.� A wave of his own mirror to illustrate. “But what else can we actually do with the information?�

Eager to return to the topic at hand, Hermione beamed at him. “Quite simple - we pass it on. After last year’s You-Know-Who incident, I rather think we might be believed this time.�

“Well I must say, my dear,� said the dashing man as he leant back in his office chair, golden curls shimmering in the afternoon sun, “You have done very well in your detective work!� Gilderoy stretched in his seat, lavender robes of the finest silk shimmering under the dancing light. Offering a fond smile to Hermione, he continued. “To think, the school saved by the actions of such a bright young lady - I may yet need to write another book on this whole affair.�

“Pleasure to help!� Hermione gabbled, breathlessly. Fingers clutching her bag, she flushed and tried not to stammer. “It seems so obvious in hindsight, doesn’t it? But you wouldn’t know to think of it unless you had the right clues.� In all honesty, she really did try her best to not dwell on the idea of the book. But. Well, book, Gilderoy Lockhart - there were few things that went so hand-in-hand for her. “Thank you so much for listening! To be honest I was somewhat terrified you might not believe me...�

Gilderoy waved away the sentiment like it was nothing. “My dear, I’ve seen your studies and your intellect.� Wink. And she felt almost like she would melt. “Besides, your case was extremely well-made.� A bright quill with what Hermione recognised as Aboriginal patterns on it had diligently copied out notes from her presentation. Finishing, the feather utensil neatly hopped back into its inkwell and fell still. Swishing his wand, Gilderoy summoned the parchment to his hand, looking through the notes.

She’d like to see Ron or Draco make this into something to belittle her over. She waited, fighting the urge to swing her feet in her chair. Just let him absorb the information and think.

“The first thing to be done is to find the entrance to this Chamber,� Gilderoy pondered aloud, locks swaying dreamily. “Once we know where that is, this shall get a lot easier.� Glancing up at Hermione, he quirked an eyebrow. “Any nuggets on that matter?�

Jutting her jaw nervously, she hesitated. It was an idea, but lacking far too much information for her liking. Nevertheless, he had asked. “Well… I had a thought about how we could find it, yes, but it relies on some unknowns. The first thing we need to know is-� Uncomfortably, she gave a little cough. “Who, um. That is to say, the fatality fifty years ago.�

Nodding curiously, the professor’s posture changed, more serious and gentle. Sitting up and clearing his throat, he set down the sheaf of parchment. “I see, yes. I can ask to see the sealed files. Of course you yourself won’t have to look - and in any case it wouldn’t be appropriate.�

“Right, right, yes of course G- Professor!� That had very nearly been horrendously embarassing a slip. Hermione buried the near-miss and forged on. “You’ll get back to me when you know?�

Deftly, Gilderoy nodded, running his thumb down the notes, finally tapping at one line. “Of course, of course my dear.� Folding the notes, he stood with a dazzling flourish of his gorgeously tailored shoulder-cape. The gold really did look good against the purple. “In the meanwhile, I shall order in a flock of roosters. Not terribly dramatic, but perhaps we could fluff things up after all is said and done - you know how the public likes a good story!�

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione briefly pondered the ethics of embellishing. That was swiftly tossed out of her thirteen-year-old mind however, at the prospect of being at the forefront of a grand tale with Gilderoy. “Oh, that’s a brilliant countermeasure!�

With the latest attack, school security was tightening. As such, there weren’t many opportunities for standing around chatting outside of common room hours any more. Teachers haunted them, keen to get their charges into classrooms. A grim pall had cast over the castle, settling into the moods of everyone, and even the building itself, beige stonework fading to dour grey. Even her fellow Hufflepuffs, Susan had found, were decidedly sombre.

This was compounded by the fact that her fellows had also been spending much less time with her since her insistence on staying friends with Harry. Add in Justin’s (and now Harry’s) petrification, and she was beginning to run out of friends at all. That said, there were some surprising perks to the entire situation, most notably were the colossal, oversized mirrored sunglasses currently sported by one Professor Severus Snape. As always, the tall, dark, and sallow man’s expression was unreadably blank. Businesslike even. But the stoic and grim look was utterly ruined by those ‘disco’ specs (as the muggle-borns were wont to call them) from last decade.

Snape loomed over them as he shepherded Susan’s class through the halls, on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Bustling along wordlessly, he was sticking especially close to the muggle-borns, a tall black blob of sourness with bedazzled bug-eye lenses. If she hadn’t valued her house’s chances at winning the cup, Susan would’ve laughed at the sight of him.

Sweet relief came from her struggle to not dissolve into giggles, in the form of a tap on the shoulder. Looking to her left, she was taken by surprise - it was Ernie, falling into step with her. The usually prim boy scratched his blondish hair nervously, but with determined pomp. This was surely going to be... interesting.

After Ernie’s leaning on her and then ignoring her, Susan was, suffice to say, feeling very peeved with him. She would let him have a bit of a nice squirm, maybe deflect from the issue. And then she’d let him stew for a good long while before even thinking of forgiving him - let him see how he liked it.

Clearing his throat very quietly, he began. “I wanted you to know - I’m sorry about Harry.� Even in concession, he was as clear and well-spoken as ever, right down to his bluster. “I shouldn’t have doubted him - or you - and I can only apologise for putting you in the fix I did.�

It took Susan completely by surprise. Sure she had known Ernie could be very up-front about his mistakes, on the rare occasions he made them, but she had not expected this. But looking back, she really should’ve seen this coming with how damned proper he liked to be. His apology was so disarming that she stopped in her tracks, only for Ernie to take her by the arm and pull her along to stay with the pack of pupils.

“Let’s not get ourselves barked at.� A chuckle, and he pressed on. “But I really am sorry Susan.� Holding out his other hand, he looked almost shy for a moment, or as close as Ernie could get. “Can we just be friends again?�

She had let him talk, at first just to say his piece. But when she saw his eyes, and remembered her two friends over in the hospital wing, the dam just sort of broke without the slightest effort. A rush of warm, almost sunny fondness flooded through her and she just yanked him into a hug with a muffled laugh against his shoulder.

“I take it that’s a yes then?� came a small, familiar voice from behind her - Hannah. Half releasing Ernie, Susan looked around at the fidgeting other girl. Several things clicked into place in her head.

A sharp finger stuck out and she almost jabbed it at Hannah’s thin nose. “Oh, I should’ve known you’d be using Ernie as the guinea pig!� The joking accusation brought a subtle, still-skittish smile to the blonde’s face.

“I would do no such- ACK!� In a mere second, Susan had yanked Hannah into the hug, sniggering. Grim times did not have to mean joyless times. Marching along, with one arm around each, Susan just grinned her head off.

All of a sudden she noticed who was right next to Hannah. Still in his eternal loom over the students, walked Snape. Surely he must’ve noticed the whole exchange? Waiting with bated breath, the redhead could only ponder at the points this was going to cost them.

But, nothing. Not a sound or a peep, Snape just resolutely marching ahead as if he were completely oblivious to the trio. How odd. Susan was certainly thankful for whatever small mercy had been bestowed upon them. The cluster swept quickly through the corridors and up the spiral stairs of the tower, remaining in silence - especially the newly reunited trio of Hufflepuffs, keen to not press their luck. At the third floor they were ushered even more hurriedly along the corridor.

As they were almost at the classroom however, Snape threw out his arm, looking around. Presumably under the garish sunglasses, his eyes were raking over the students. Right next to him, Susan chanced a look up, catching sight of the muted realisation creeping onto his face. Quite suddenly, he barked out. “Where is Mr. Thomas?!� The question caused quite a commotion - and nobody had an answer as everyone mumbled to each other.

A spin on his heel and Snape glared back down the passageway. Susan followed just in time to see the red lining of Gryffindor robes whipping around the corner. Never in her life had she ever heard the dour potions master swear - and she suspected she never would again. And then Dean’s voice screamed.

“LOCKHART! MIND THE STUDENTS!� Leaving the baffled head of Gilderoy poking out from his classroom, Snape almost flew down the corridor, swooping along at lightning speed. In a moment he was at the junction just in time to nearly crash into Dean, who was backing back into it.

“STUPID BOY!� Water blasted from Snape’s wand, in front of Dean’s face, not a moment too soon. Before her very eyes, Susan saw the boy turn suddenly rigid and stiff, the torrent of water saving him. Barrelling forward and spinning on his foot, Snape followed the torrent and tackled the human statue to the ground as a serpentine pair of jaws shot into sight and chomped on thin air. Face firmly pointed down, Snape swished his wand in a brutal fashion.

Blood exploded out of the creature’s neck, head thrashing and vicious hisses ringing down the corridor. The head rounded on Snape, away from the children, but Snape was already moving. The man was like a blurred shadow, raining spells without looking, all finding their mark. And then one sailed over the monster to expand a black void in the corridor, blotting out all view of whatever was going on. All this in barely a few seconds.

Face white, half-stammering, Gilderoy beckoned them all quickly into his classroom, slipping on two extra pairs of sunglasses to the ones he already had. It was a tense silence that followed, punctuated only by distant sounds of magical violence, and Gilderoy sending a shimmering, ghostly parrot from his wand, out the open window. Uneasily, he sat at his desk, wand in his lap and pointed at the door. All trace of his usual dandy had vanished. The classroom was at the end of the corridor - there was no way out that did not go back towards the danger.

In silence, they waited, every shaded eye on the heavy, wooden door that did not look nearly so heavy and thick as usual. Just one little door, not at all designed to stand up to a fully grown giant snake in the slightest. Memory of the design of those fangs bubbled to the forefront of Susan’s mind - what they might do to human flesh. Great big, vicious swordlike teeth, just the right size to snap through her.

The sharp clasp of Ernie’s hand yanked her back to reality. On the other side, Hannah had done the same. Together they sat, hands clammy, huddled together in a little daze. Blood rushing through her ears, Susan gripped back, trying to quell the dizzying pirouettes churning deep in her guts. The frantic drumbeat of her heart gave a little lurch when the noises outside died. Dead? Serpent or Snape? Were they all next?

And then the spell was broken as a crackle of flames from Lockhart's office heralded the arrival of Professors Dumbledore, Sinistra and Vector - of the Arithmancy department - the latter two on either side of him. All three had their wands out and pointed at the door.

All trace of the headmaster’s usual bumble was gone, the lanky man’s knobbled fingers expertly holding his equally-knobbled wand. Something about his posture, the springy, tightness of youth moving with far more dexterity and precision than Susan had ever seen. The carefree boy-face had been replaced by authority and focus one might expect from McGonagall or Susan’s aunt. He was also sporting the largest and fanciest pair of sunglasses Susan had ever seen. Vivid pink and yellow stripes ran along the frame, clashing horribly with the magenta, reflective surface of the lenses - lenses the size of dinner-plates. And then there were the feathered wings spreading out from them! Had the situation not been quite so serious, she would’ve laughed.

A sigh ran through the entire class. Even Gilderoy looked relieved, standing and falling into step with them. A quiet word between them and they marched in formation. Sinistra edged forward first, flanked by Dumbledore and Vector, with Gilderoy bringing up the rear with a swish of his hair. Coming up to one side of the door, the astronomy mistress flicked her wand and the door shuddered, taking on an emerald glow.

Whatever it was, it certainly meant something to the teachers. Almost in unison, they visibly relaxed and another swish of Sinistra’s stone-inset wand swung the heavy door wide open. In the doorway, hair and robes matted from head to toe in thick, dark blood, stood Professor Snape. The stench was awful, like he had crawled up a morgue’s waste-water pipe, but the man grimly stood there, still in those silly mirrored glasses, like it was nothing.

“The beast lives. Five points from Gryffindor for Mr. Thomas’s severe lack of judgement.� A small pause as Snape suddenly gave a little start, as if a switch had been flicked inside him. “This is Basilisk blood,� he half-muttered, quickly whipping out a small phial and stroking his wand over his robes. As the wood trailed over, the blood moved, clumping and following, rolling into a growing ball at the tip as he siphoned the slick mohogany-coloured ooze.

At the very back of the class, drowned out amid the sudden buzzing of students, Susan let go of her friends’ captive hands and yanked them both into a rib-crushing hug.

After several seconds of nigh-hyperventilation and asphyxiating cuddling, Susan let them both go with a long breath. She took a moment to straighten out her now-thatched tangle of hair before speaking.

“P-promise me one thing, both of you - right now!� Susan gabbled, words tumbling over each other as if they were a Quidditch pileup, “Whatever stupid, braindead ways we make each other angry over the years, we’ll always be friends?� On the one hand, she hated the desperation in her voice. But on the other it was easily the most honest demand she had ever made. At least, so far.

Next morning, Professor Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Neither, it seemed, was Hagrid. In Dumbledore’s place, Professor McGonagall had been seen overseeing breakfast, though the headmaster’s chair remained empty. Earlier, the Gryffindors had suddenly found Professor Vector in McGonagall’s place, changing the fliers on the common room notice board. While she had declined to comment besides simply saying that McGonagall was extremely busy, the headmaster’s absence caused them to put two and two together.

In the Hospital Wing, Harry was stiff as a board, half-dressed in Quidditch gear, posed as if he leant over a sink. It made keeping him upright in the bed tricky, so Madame Pomfrey had arranged a series of floating pillars to follow the slight lean of the boy’s back. He was so motionless to Ginny’s eyes, it was unnerving. She’d taken Tom with her, hoping reading from him might help, but there was no change.

Harry was lost to the world until the Mandrakes were ready. The girl bit her lip slightly, watching his glassy eyes, the clean dark tangle of hair hanging over them. Worry and distaste churned in her gut. She shouldn’t be here so much. Hesitantly she reached out a hand to almost touch some of that hair, even as a nagging feeling in the back of her mind said not to-

Crack!

A house elf popped out of nowhere at the foot of the bed. With a yell, Ginny leapt to her feet. “YOU!� Nimble fingers slipped Tom behind her back before the elf could see. “Happy now?!�

‘Sméagol’ didn’t seem very happy at all, taking one look at the petrified boy and wailing.

“No! Too late too late! D- ‘Sméagol’ must punish himself severely for this! The greatest, the goodest of all Wizardkind! Gone! Gooone!�

Angry red sparks shot from Ginny’s black wand, bouncing off the elf’s potato-like noggin and showering around him until he fell over. “No thanks to you, Harry is not gone!� she shrieked, advancing on him. “Now get out!�

“N-not gone?� bleated ‘Sméagol’, blinking up at Ginny, suddenly looking like a puppy with a bone dangled over it.

Wrinkling her nose, the redhead slid Tom into her bag behind her on the bedside chair. “He’s petrified and will be back once Professor Sprout makes the cure. Now what do you keep bothering Harry for?�

“D- ‘Sméagol cannot say! ‘Sméagol’ mustn’t! Can’t can’t can’t! ‘Sméagol’ must find Harry Potter’s diary!� And just like that, the elf vanished with another crack.

Groaning, Ginny sank back into her seat, fairly sure some fresh chaos was being blighted upon the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Rubbing her face, she gave Harry’s hand a pat, before pulling herself up and shouldering her bag. She needed a walk, to clear her thoughts.

Plodding out of the hospital wing, she ambled up to the bridge corridor that spanned the gap to the clock tower. It was always loud amidst the gears, but the high platforms always gave it a solitary vibe, even when it was highly trafficked.

Circling around the clunking, heavy gears, Ginny stepped up to the glass clock face, peering out over the old courtyard. Worn and overgrown, so far below. Further out, the wooden bridge zigzagged crookedly across the valley beyond, and to the stone circle. This entire part of the castle was so particularly old. And something about it made all this waiting around seem like an age.

Suppressing the urge to grumble as she was keenly aware of Professor Vector below, tap-tap-tapping at the gears and cogs with her wand, rapping a kind of rhythm against them, Ginny quietly breathed out, breath fogging the window. With a frown, she wiped it clear and kept looking. Gradually, her eyes drifted down the far hill, following the dirt trail towards… Hagrid’s Hut. It would be empty, and it wasn’t too late in the day…

Something clicked in her mind, and a small hand patted the ancient glass. It was time for answers. Digging into her bag, she drew out the invisibility cloak she’d used to visit Harry. For a second she held it up, looking over its delicate, silvery folds. All one piece and had the vague scent of Harry on it. Gut churning, she pulled the cloak on before it overwhelmed her. Making sure she was well covered, she trailed her hand on the bannisters, and slowly crept down the righthand staircase of the clock tower.

Professor Vector was a perceptive witch, with a bit of a reputation, but the clock mechanism was loud and it had to be drawing most of her attention the way she was fiddling with it. Hermione would probably have a running commentary on exactly what Vector’s Arithmancy was doing here. Ginny simply chalked it all up as maintenance, and importantly relied on the grinding of metal to mask her shoes against the wooden steps. Round and round, back and forth the steps wound, down the floors. Holding her breath as she passed Vector, she stopped when Vector suddenly straightened up.

She was a medium-sized, slightly rounded figure, layered in red robes that rustled. Almost like a pointy tent from behind, with a tall, conical brimless hat to sit on top of her long, dark hair. Ginny’s eyes fixed on that point, tracking how it wobbled. Vector seemed to be listening.

Surely if she turned around, she would see nothing. But Ginny still had no desire for the teacher to do so.

Seconds tracked past, and still Professor Vector hardly moved.

Then, she sighed, drawing out her wand and rapping it against her thigh, murmuring an incantation - a long one. It gave way to counting. “One two three, one two three, one two three four-� All at once, the great clock pendulum lurched, the great gears turning, and the bell right at the top of the shaft began to clang.

Praying the Professor had moved on to more of her duties, Ginny chanced a step down. No reaction. Another, and she was in luck! Bit by bit, she edged down until she was definitely too far to be heard.

Slipping out into the hall at the bottom, she ducked around the pendulum - larger than she was - and bustled into the courtyard. The walk to Hagrid’s was quiet, the weather balmy. The grounds were so quiet with a curfew in place, almost haunting.

The cabin stood squat as it ever had, the door locked firm.

“Alohomora,� whispered Ginny, and the wooden door swung open with a creak. Everything looked just as if Hagrid had left for five minutes. The teapot rested on the table, a plate of food lay out, knitting was slung over the arm of Hagrid’s chair.

And yet.

It felt so empty, the small room dwarfing her. Barren in a way it never had been.

Frowning, Ginny dropped her bag into one of the cosy armchairs and set about searching - maybe Hagrid had scrawled a clue? She checked shelves, cupboards, under the chair cushions, even peeked amidst the floorboards and rafters. But there was nothing.

Taking a break, and making herself a mug of steaming tea, she took out Tom and flipped him open.

‘Say, Tom, did you ever know Hagrid to have any habit about where he hid things?’

‘Me? I am afraid not. We never knew each other that well. Why?’

For a second she wondered if it was a good idea to answer, but Tom had been truthful with her the entire time they’d known each other. So, carefully, she wrote out, ‘I’m trying to see if he might have left a clue. His monster was a spider, but Hermione’s certain the Chamber monster is a Basilisk - Hagrid must’ve picked a rotten time to raise something.’ She’d been thinking about this for a while now, and the more it seemed to make sense.

Tom took a long time to come back this time, but eventually the crimson ink did surface. ‘That makes sense. Clearly I was wrong in my assumptions when I caught him. But why would Hagrid leave a clue now? That spider must be long gone.’

‘Maybe, or maybe…’ Looking up over a mouthful of her drink, she spied a trail of small spiders, through the muggy window. The trail was thin, hard to make out in the low sun, but as her eyes followed them, they seemed to be going all in one direction. Into the dark trees.

“There are spiders in the forest,� she breathed, almost hypnotised, Hermione’s words hanging in her mind.

‘Ginny? Ginny?! GINNY?! What are you doing?’

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