Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry stands, paralyzed, as Voldemort approaches him- hand stretched out, the dark glint in his eyes the only thing visible through the darkness shadowing his hooded face. Harry can do nothing but stand there as the creature takes a step forward, then another.

“Run!” Harry isn’t sure who said that- it sounds sort of like Remus, or- or Neville? Merlin, maybe? A woman?

Regardless, there’s nothing Harry can do but wait. Wait, and hold his magic close to his chest.

He isn’t sure what he’s more afraid of- the blood soaked figure coming to kill him, or the magic flailing around in his chest.

“Harry,” someone hisses. Ah, that’s Merlin. “Harry, you aren’t breathing again.”

Harry tries to take in a breath, but he can’t- he thinks he’s already taken in as much oxygen as he can. He scrunches his eyes shut, unwilling to stare his death in the face for any longer than he already has.

Suddenly, he feels a sharp sting on his hand, and he opens his eyes as he exhales loudly as his eyes adjust to the darkness of his bedroom.

Harry sits up, feeling dizzy. He reaches a hand up and runs it through his hair- which is soaked in sweat.

“Merlin,” Harry gasps out.

“You were having another nightmare and I had to bite you,” Merlin hisses grumpily, red eyes glowing softly in the dark room. She sounds irritated, but Harry knows her, knows she’s really very worried.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says hoarsely. He clears his throat, then reaches over and grabs for the water bottle by his bed.

“Not your fault,” Merlin admits, coiling around his chest. “You need to tell Remus about this- you’ve had at least one nightmare a night since school ended.”

Harry takes another breath, trying to calm his racing heart. His head is pounding- and the smell of burning plastic isn’t helping anything. “Did I-”

“No, Harry- you didn’t light anything on fire. You never do. You did stop breathing though, which is bad.”

Harry waves her off. Better he stop breathing for a bit then turn everyone and everything into a burning inferno.

“Please will you tell Remus?” Merlin asks, tongue flicking Harry’s cheek.

“I can’t, Merlin- I don’t want to bother him,” Harry says. “It’s not a big deal.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything. She just levels a flat look at Harry and then flops off the bed and slithers out of Harry’s room.

“Merlin, where are- Merlin, where are you going?” Harry asks, peering nervously over the side of his bed. “Merlin, no.”

“Tough,” Merlin hisses back.

Harry groans and hits the palm of his hands against his forehead a couple times, then slides off of his bed.

“Merlin,” Harry hisses.

“Harry?” Remus asks, peeking out of his room. His hair is a complete mess, he has Merlin wrapped around his shoulders, and he’s clearly still half-asleep.

“Sorry,” Harry says reflexively.

Remus squints, then rubs his eyes. “Don’t apologize- are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry lies. “Just getting a late night snack- go back to bed.”

Merlin hisses furiously in Remus’s ear. She’s not even saying anything- just hissing. Remus narrows his eyes. He looks a lot more awake now.

“How about I make us some hot cocoa and you tell me what’s really going on,” Remus decides.

Harry hugs his arms around himself, suddenly feeling very small and very tired and very sad. Remus is by his side in an instant, crouched down and putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders. The look of complete and total concern on Remus’s face is what does it- Harry launches into Remus, bursting into tears.

“Hey, hey- everything is alright,” Remus says, rubbing Harry’s back as Harry cries.

Harry just shakes his head, unable to say anything through the tears. He doesn't know where this is coming from, or why it's come on so abruptly, but- there's no stopping it now. Remus lets out a little sigh, then scoops Harry up and begins to take them in the direction of the kitchen. Merlin wraps herself around Harry and Remus, licking Harry’s face.

Remus waves a tired hand and the hot chocolate starts to make itself.

Harry lets out a sniffly little laugh, and when he starts he can't seem to stop.

“What?” Remus asks, sounding bemused.

“Of c-course,” Harry says through his laughter, “Y-you can m-make cocoa w-wandless-wandlessly.”

Remus laughs softly, then moves the three of them to the living room. He sits Harry down on the couch, then sits beside him.

Harry’s laughter subsides, then turns back into crying as he sees Remus’s concerned expression again.

“Have you been having nightmares?” Remus asks softly.

Harry nods, rubbing his eyes. “I’m s-so, so t-tired,” he admits. “I don’t even- it’s o-over. Why am I still s-so scared?”

“I know I’ve talked to you about trauma before,” Remus says, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I don’t w-want it,” Harry says into his hands.

“I know,” Remus says, sounding somber again. “I don’t want you to have it either. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault!” Harry says, looking up from his hands. Remus smiles, and Harry settles back down. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Harry,” Remus says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Harry says.

“Will you talk about it?”

Harry sits silently for a moment, fingers twisting in his shirt.

“Yes,” he whispers.

And he does- he tells Remus about the nightmare, about his fear of losing control and hurting someone, about how he can’t close his eyes without Quirrell’s terrified face flashing through his mind- he even talks about the Dursleys a bit.

All the while, Remus sits and just listens, nodding encouragingly when Harry falters and sipping at his hot cocoa.

Finally, Harry is too tired to go on and Remus gathers him up in his arms and deposits him back into his bed. Merlin slithers down with Harry, coiling herself around him.

“Thank you,” Remus says. “I know that was hard.”

Harry nods, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Will you tell me if you have another nightmare?”

Harry yawns instead of answering, and Merlin nods very seriously to Remus, who laughs and shoots her a soft smile.

“Thank you, Merlin. Goodnight, Harry. I love you- the both of you.”

“Night, Remus,” Harry hisses. “Love you too.”

Harry doesn’t feel better, not exactly- but he does feel a bit lighter, and for the first time in months, he feels like maybe he can let Remus take care of things- just for now. Just while he sleeps.

Theo

Theo throws another knife, staring blankly as it spins through the air and lands solidly in the middle of the wooden dummy- right where its heart would be. He reaches down for another knife, then sighs as his hands come up empty.

Theo sits up, then swings his legs over the side of the bed and hops down, landing with a little grunt. He limps over to the dummy and pulls his various knives free. If he had his wand, he wouldn’t have to stand up at all- but no, that had been confiscated at the very beginning of the summer.

It’s only been a couple weeks, and already Theo is ready for the school year to start up again. He’s never had… someone like Ron, or Harry, before. What he has with them is mostly beneficial, but Theo’s not sure he likes the part where ‘missing’ them is now part of the equation.

Theo goes to walk back to his bed, but pauses as he hears the dinner bell ring. Well then- nothing else for it.

It takes Theo longer than he’d like to get down the stairs and into the dining hall, and when he does he sees his father sitting at the head of the table, dinner spread out before him. The old man watches impassively as Theo makes his way to his customary seat and sits down. Theo’s father nods, and the two begin to eat.

“Son,” Senior asks after his plate has been cleared. “Tell me- how was your school year?”

Theo looks up, keeping his expression in check as he stares at the old man. “It was fine. I have made powerful allies- and intend to use those connections to uphold the family name, as my forefathers have before me.”

“Hmm,” Senior hums, raising an eyebrow. Theo’s stomach flips. Does he know about Harry? There’s no way- Theo’s been too careful.

Not only that, but if Senior had found out, Theo would likely be dead already- Theo is perfectly aware that Senior considers heirs replaceable if they don’t live up to the family name.

Theo tries not to think too hard about that.

“Very well,” his father says at last. “And the- the Potter boy?”

Theo and his father both know that Harry is no Potter. Ever since that day in the shop- the only time Theo has ever seen his father be anything close to vulnerable, the only time his father had given Theo a shred of ‘friendly’ advice.

“Dumbledore’s pawn,” Theo lies easily. “As anticipated.”

“Is he powerful?” Senior presses.

“No match for our Lord,” Theo lies again.

“Good,” Theo’s father nods, then pushes his chair out. “Dismissed.”

Theo nods curtly and stands up, trying as best he can to mask the limp.

“Son,” Senior calls out. Theo freezes, heart lurching. “Report to the training grounds tomorrow morning for your lessons.”

“Yes, father,” Theo intones.

Great. Theo’s still trying to recover from the last ‘lesson’. He really can’t wait for the term to start up again.

Ron

“And then Harry lit Quirrell on fire and chased You-Know-Who off- it was wicked. I wish I’d been there to see it, but-”

“Ron, who are you talking to?”

Ron whirls around, looking over at where Percy is poking his head into Ron’s room.

“Er,” Ron says.

Percy narrows his eyes, then his face clears as he sees where Scabbers is lying asleep on Ron’s bed.

“Ah. I did that too. Carry on, then.”

“I don’t think I will,” Ron says mulishly. Scabbers lets out a little snort and rolls over.

“You should go help mum in the kitchen,” Percy decides. “You’ve been in a mood.”

Ron sticks his tongue out at his older brother, but Percy has already left.

“Prat,” Ron mutters.

Percy isn’t wrong- Ron has been in a bit of a mood the whole summer, and he knows it- he can’t help it, though. After everything that had happened, with the chess game, and then waiting for Harry to wake up, and then losing the cup like that… there’s a lot on Ron’s mind.

Worst of all, he can’t stop picturing Theo’s blank face as Ron had left the station with his family.

Theo’d warned Ron and everyone else not to write anything to him during the summer, so Ron can’t even contact him to make sure he’s alright. Ron hates it. When he’d first met Theo, he hadn’t thought he’d become friends with the boy beyond protecting Harry.

Ron had been very wrong- turns out, Theo is not only surprisingly fun to be around, but a fierce and loyal friend. Ron had had no choice but to return the favor, and now he’d even say that Theo is his closest friend- right after Harry, of course.

With nothing better to do, Ron scuffs his way into the kitchen, kicking at the floor as he goes.

“Need any help?” Ron asks his mum, who’s whirling around the kitchen. Knives, chopped vegetables, and pots are flying around everywhere.

Molly pauses, looking up from what she’s doing. Her face softens as she sees Ron. “Thank you dear,” she says, smiling. “You can come chop some carrots.”

Ron nods and goes to do as she says, deftly avoiding the flying projectiles as he does. He’s had years of practice with that- they all have. Something is always flying around the Burrow, one way or another.

Ron feels himself start to get lost in the repetitive chore, and relaxes as he lets the chaotic hustle and bustle of the atmosphere begin to take the place of the worry he’s accumulated over the last couple weeks.

Ron lets out a little sigh, then blinks as he sees that the carrots have all been chopped.

“Feel better, dear?” Molly asks, smiling.

“Yeah,” Ron says, setting the knife down. “Thanks, mum.”

“Any time,” Molly says. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Hermione

Hermione stares up at her bedroom ceiling, absently twisting an elastic band in her hands. She’s trying not to think of anything, but it’s not working very well- if there’s one thing Hermione knows about herself, it’s that her mind is always moving.

Her summer so far has been alright- although for that first bit, Harry had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet. Then he’d started responding to her letters again, and everything had gone back to being… fine. Just, fine.

The problem, Hermione reflects, is her parents. She loves them, she really does! They’re just a bit… suffocating. After the whole troll debacle, Hermione had decided to keep the whole Dark Lord thing from them- and still they’re trying to ‘subtly’ convince her into dropping out of Hogwarts. Hermione doesn’t know how much clearer she can make it that that’s not going to happen.

She’s already blown up at them once, which has turned the household atmosphere a tad frosty- it’s her fault, really. They’re trying to reach out, but she needs a little while more to cool down.

“Hermione,” her mum calls from downstairs. “Will you come down here for a minute?”

Hermione continues to lie there for a moment more, then sits up and slides off of her bed. “Coming!”

Hermione walks down the stairs, feeling her stomach lurch unpleasantly as she sees both her mum and dad sitting in the living room, looking serious. She sits down across from them, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to her chest.

“Mione,” her mum starts.

“Yes?” Hermione asks, licking her lips.

“You know we love you, and want the best for you,” her mum continues. Hermione narrows her eyes.

Her mum takes a shaky breath, then continues, “which is why we’ve decided to drop the Hogwarts issue.”

Hermione stares, then feels a grin spread across her face. “Really? What changed your mind?”

Her dad sighs heavily. “We were talking, and we realized- it’ll be much safer for our little girl to live in this crazy world of ours if she knows how to utilize the tools she has at her disposal.”

“Exactly,” Hermione says, nodding. “And I’ve learned so much already! I wish I could show you- you’d think it’s as amazing as I did in no time.”

Her mum laughs softly. “Trust us honey- we think you’re amazing regardless.”

Hermione smiles.

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus smiles softly to himself as he hears the sound of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville burst into laughter at something Neville had said.

“Your Harry is so cute,” Mrs. Granger says, raising her glass of wine to her lips. “And Neville- what a darling. Are they twins? You said that this was a double birthday celebration?”

“Neville isn’t mine. He’s another friend of Harry’s, like Ron,” Remus says, shaking his head. “That said, his birthday was yesterday. Nothing more than a fun coincidence, though.”

“Were those boys involved in the troll incident too?” Mr. Granger asks suddenly. Mrs. Granger shoots her husband a glare, and he shrugs.

Remus laughs uncomfortably. “I’m not so sure about Ron, but Harry and Neville were- damn near gave me a heart-attack.”

“Us too,” Mr. Granger agrees, looking queasy. “We seriously considered pulling Hermione from school.”

Remus nods sympathetically. “The thought crossed my mind as well,” he admits. “But Harry would never forgive me.”

“That’s what we decided too,” Mrs. Granger sighs.

“I guess we need to trust in our kids- they’re just growing up so fast,” Mr. Granger says, taking a sip from his own glass.

“Mm,” Remus hums, turning his attention back to where Harry and his friends are and fighting down the rush of guilt he feels as he thinks of Harry growing up in his Aunt’s house- with only Merlin to talk to.

“Hang on,” Mrs. Granger says suddenly, sitting up straight and shading her eyes. “Has that giant snake been real this whole time?”

Remus laughs. “That she is- she’s Harry’s familiar.”

“Should we be getting Hermione a familiar?” Mr. Granger asks, looking a bit disgusted as his eyes track Merlin.

“I don’t have one,” Remus says, shrugging and pushing aside the spike of indignation he feels on Merlin’s behalf. “I wouldn’t worry about it unless an animal shows up and starts following her around.”

“Wizards are just so odd,” Mrs. Granger says, watching the kids. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get it.”

“You will,” Remus says. “My mother managed. Give it time.”

The three lapse into a comfortable silence as they watch the children burst into another round of delighted laughter as Harry summons a couple dozen ribbons of light to chase the butterflies around.

Neville

“I’m sorry, Trevor,” Neville pleads.

The toad doesn’t even bother turning around.

“It’s too dangerous! Not to mention, you keep running away. This is for the best and you know it. You’ll have more fun staying here for the school year anyways.”

Trevor lets out a little ribbit and hops off. Neville sighs and rubs his face.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he mutters.

Neville stands up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, stretching as he does. That had been a much longer conversation than it had any right to be, considering the fact that Trevor is for all intents and purposes, a completely normal toad.

Neville checks his watch, then smiles to himself. There’s still time before dinner to check on his plants. Neville wastes no time in making his way out of the manor and over to where the greenhouses are.

Gran had given Neville free rein over one of them as a Christmas/Yule present, which Neville thinks might be the best present he’s ever received.

Neville opens the door, whistling to himself. He grins in delight as he sees his little garden- the section with muggle plants, the plot with the clippings he’d managed to forage from the forest, the pot with Hagrid’s mystery seeds (Neville thinks- he can’t be certain, of course, but he thinks they might be baby Whomping Willows), and the shaded corner where his devil’s snare is thriving.

Neville lets out a little sigh of relief as he feels everything relax. Here is where Neville can really be himself. He doesn’t have to worry about his Gran’s expectations, or his magic, or anything. He can just spend time with his plants.

A lot of his summer has been spent here. After the debacle that was last year, Neville had been in dire need of a place to relax.

Sometimes, after he gets that dream again (Harry- in the forest, covered in unicorn blood and surrounded in blinding white flames), Neville will sleep the rest of the night away in his greenhouse, and won’t have a single dream.

Neville looks over to the furthest corner of the greenhouse, the one where a beat-up cabinet lies. There, deep inside of it and wrapped in layers of old cloaks and sheets, is a jar with softly glowing moss. A part of Neville thinks that maybe its presence is what gives the space such an atmosphere of peace. It makes him sad to think about that unicorn, but Neville likes to think that it’s living on through the comfort it provides to Neville.

Maybe instead of Trevor, Neville will bring the jar of unicorn-blood soaked moss with him to school instead. Jars are, on the whole, much less likely to run off.

Blaise

Blaise gives Daphne a wide smile as he gestures her into his room with a wide sweep of his hands.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Blaise says.

“I’ve been here before, Blaise,” Daphne responds.

Blaise ignores her, instead closing the door behind Daphne.

“Please, join me on the balcony,” Blaise says, walking over to the double doors leading out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the sea. He holds the door open for Daphne, who raises an eyebrow at him.

The servants had set up a table full of refreshments. Blaise smoothly pulls out a chair for his friend, who takes her seat after a moment.

“Playing the perfect host as always, I see,” Daphne says, reaching for a finger sandwich.

“You know my mother would have my head if I was a- I can’t even say it,” Blaise says, taking his own seat.

“A poor host,” Daphne supplies.

Blaise shudders, which finally gets Daphne to crack a smile. Success.

“So,” Blaise says, settling back and crossing his legs. “How has your summer been?”

“Just grand,” Daphne says. “My lessons are really picking up. At this rate, I’ll be the perfect wife in no time.”

Blaise rolls his eyes. “Your parents need to get over themselves,” he says. As if Daphne would ever settle for the position of ‘housewife’.

“Yes,” Daphne agrees, staring out into the distance. Then she blinks and shakes her head. “How about you?”

“Oh, the usual- days spent on the beach, evenings spent being taught how to most efficiently run the various political positions I will no doubt be inheriting from my mother.”

“Most of which are supposed to be elected,” Daphne points out with a wry smile on her face.

“Most of which are supposed to be elected,” Blaise agrees, matching her smile with one of his own. He feels his smile slip as Daphne lets out a sigh and turns to face him.

“Oh, we’ve arrived at the elephant in the room?” Blaise asks, stomach flipping despite himself.

“We need to talk about Harry,” Daphne says, nodding.

Daphne

Daphne watches as Blaise lets out a world-weary sigh.

“Yes. We do,” he finally agrees. “The chances of last year being a fluke?”

“Lets see,” Daphne says flatly. “Harry Potter, in the course of one year, managed to almost die seven times-”

“Seven?” Blaise asks incredulously.

“I’m counting each of the Cerberus’s heads as one,” Daphne says.

Blaise sits back, nodding.

“As I was saying,” Daphne continues, “seven times- and we managed to sit out every one.”

It’s only because she’s known Blaise for as long as she has that Daphne catches the flicker of guilt that crosses Blaise’s face. It’s just as quickly replaced with one of disinterest.

“And so what? I quite enjoy not dying at twelve years old,” Blaise says.

“As do I,” Daphne agrees, then hesitates. “I suppose the question is- should we continue as we have? Should we try to be more involved? Or should we step back and drop Harry completely?”

Daphne honestly doesn’t know, and by the look of it, neither does Blaise. Every ounce of Slytherin self-preservation inside of her is telling her to drop Harry, but her Slytherin loyalty disagrees entirely.

The image of Harry laying there knocked out in that hospital bed, pale-faced and looking far too small isn’t one that’s going to leave Daphne alone anytime soon.

“We’d lose Theo,” Blaise finally says. “And we- we can’t lose Theo. He’s extremely useful to us.”

“And our friend, you arse,” Daphne says, kicking Blaise under the table.

“That too,” Blaise agrees easily. “Not to mention- Harry is powerful. We could use him too. That fire he was telling us about…”

Daphne hates how conflicted she is about the feeling of relief that is flooding through her. “Well, that’s that then- we stick with Harry. Should we try and be more… involved in his antics?”

“Let’s play it by ear,” Blaise suggests. “We don’t need to make any decisions right now.”

“Alright,” Daphne agrees.

Hopefully, first year really was just a fluke.

Chapter Text

The halls of Hogwarts are as they always are- cold. Empty. Hollow.

Some days, they feel neverending. Other days, they are impossibly suffocating. On those days, his only solace is the Library.

In fact, nowadays more often than not his only solace is the Library, and its shelves filled with books. There are too many books to count, and it’s not nearly enough.

Every other room feels empty, from the classrooms to the dorms: it’s been years now, decades maybe, since he’s been able to stomach the Great Hall.

It’s too bare without the tables, the tapestries, the enchanted ceiling. Some days he can even admit that, in order to feel truly filled, it needs the students. The teachers, too. No ghosts, though. Never ghosts. They remind him too much of himself.

He had tried to count the days, at first, but that is an impossibility when there is no sun to rise or fall. The light shining in from the windows is watery at best and casts everything in a sepia-sort of tone. If not for the books, he would have forgotten what real sunlight looks like.

He might have been stuck here for days, or years. What’s the difference, anyways? After a little while, it all seems the same. Everything is always the same.

He’s taken to counting his moods as days: Sometimes, he rages. He rages on and on and on and on and- and then he’s done raging, and another day has begun. Some days he spends in a melancholic haze.

Others, he’s feverishly combing through his books; certain he can squeeze some new information from them. Surely he’s forgotten something? Surely there’s another puzzle for his mind to try and solve? So far, he’s had little luck. What else is there to do, though?

He never cries.

He’s not sure he knows how. He can’t remember if he’s ever cried before. He must have. He must have at least shed crocodile tears of some sort. As a manipulation tactic against Dumbledore, maybe?

And there he is again, combing through his books- ah, yes. Four years old. Crying over the too-still form of a little serpent. It hadn’t done anything to anyone, and still the other children had thrown it against a wall until it had died.

He’d never understood the delight they’d taken in senseless violence- at least, not until he’d tried it for himself.

Satisfied, he closes the book and puts it back onto its shelf. Perhaps he’ll practice crying tomorrow. Today, he wants to see if he can find another example.

It’s later. That’s how time usually passes here. There’s only “later” and “now”. It used to be now, and now it's later. Very rarely, he thinks back on “earlier”.

It’s later and something is different. He knows this as well as he knows the halls of Hogwarts, as well as he knows the back of his hand.

For the first time in… for the first time in a very long time, he runs.

He’d been counting the stones making up the dungeon walls (5,672 so far) when he felt it. He hadn’t hesitated, just broke into a dead sprint towards the Library.

He doesn’t run out of breath, since he doesn’t need to breathe. (He still practices how to do it, sometimes, when the fancy strikes.) He skids to a stop in front of the Library doors, hands shaking slightly.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to find, and just like that another day, a new day starts: apprehension.

He pushes the doors open, and walks slowly over to the only table in the Library; in all of Hogwarts, even: it's the table he thinks of as ‘his’, in ‘his’ spot.

It is perpetually dusty, and has a couple of blank textbooks, quills, and ink pots littering its surface. He doesn't know why this is, but thinks it might be an attempt at disguising the real treasure. Disguising it from who, he isn’t sure, but the mind works in mysterious ways.

He moves a textbook or two out of the way and if it could, his breath would catch. There it is, in all of its unassuming glory: his journal.

He picks it up, flipping through its blank pages until his eyes catch on a scrawling page of text:

Dear Diary,

I felt a little silly writing that, but mum and dad must’ve gotten me a journal as a present, and I’d feel bad about not using it, so here we are.

Moving on, you’d never believe who came with us to Diagon Alley: Harry Potter!! He’s nothing like the books said he’d be: he’s better. I didn’t even recognize him at first, and we had a whole conversation before he introduced himself and, oh Diary, I’m so ashamed to say it but I ran off. I don’t know what I was thinking!! But I just got so shy all of a sudden.

Hey, what gives? Is this a trick diary? Why aren’t my words sticking? Hello? Fred, George, if this is you it isn’t funny.

He feels a grin spread across his face, the first one he’s worn in a very long time. He reaches for a quill, taps it into an ink pot, and puts the quill to paper:

Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. What’s yours?

Chapter Text

“Thanks again, Minerva,” Remus says as Harry shuffles awkwardly, readjusting Merlin. Harry’s trying not to panic, but it’s a close thing.

“It’s no trouble, Remus,” McGonagall says warmly. “You can send Mister Potter through, now. The wards should be open for him.” Remus nods, and turns to Harry.

“Okay, Harry. I know this isn’t the smoothest start to the year, but everything is going to be just fine.” Harry thinks maybe Remus is saying that more or less to himself. “Remember the rules. Write to me once a week and please for the love of god don’t get into any life-threatening trouble.”

Harry nods, eyes darting to the open floo connection.

Remus smiles. “Bye, Harry. Love you.”

“Love you too, Remus! Bye! I’ll write!”

Remus laughs as Harry gathers Merlin and his school things, closes his eyes, holds his breath, and dashes through the floo. Despite his preparations, he still ends up on McGonagall’s office floor, coughing up soot. For a kid that can summon fire without a second thought, Harry sure has trouble with flooing places.

At least this time he hadn’t ended up in Knockturn Alley. That had really given Remus a heart attack and a half.

Upon falling from the fireplace into some random store, he’d immediately run into Malfoy, who’d taken one look at his sheepish soot-covered face and rolled his eyes. Harry had scowled at him, and then was shoved into a cabinet.

“Er, Malfoy?” Harry whispered, the dark enclosed space of the cabinet giving him an uncomfortable feeling of familiarity.

“Shut up!” Malfoy hissed, glaring at him through a crack in the door.

“Okay,” Harry whispered back. He’s glad he’d left Merlin with Remus.

Malfoy had stood guard as the shopkeeper and his father haggled over some dark items that Mr. Malfoy was apparently trying to sell before the ministry could confiscate them. Harry, having a rather soft spot for the dark arts, was sympathetic all the way up until Mr. Malfoy managed to insult muggles, muggleborns, and Arthur Weasley all in one breath. Harry had to grab onto his magic hard to keep it from lashing out.

(The last time he’d had to do that, it was because a house elf had shown up out of nowhere and… threatened him? Warned him? Harry still isn’t sure. However, he is sure that Remus can’t know about any of it. Last year was bad enough, if Remus caught wind of another potential danger, Remus would take Harry out of Hogwarts and the country before Harry could blink twice. Harry’s just glad he’d managed to figure out the missing letter business.)

Eventually, Mr. Malfoy had concluded his business, and Malfoy had shot one last glare at Harry before following his father out the door. Harry followed shortly after, curiously wandering around Knockturn for a bit before running into Hagrid, who’d helped him back to a frantic Remus and the Weasleys.

A cough from an amused McGonagall abruptly brings Harry back to the present. Harry flushes, and scrambles to his feet. He tries in vain to dust some of the soot off, but it’s a losing battle.

Somehow Merlin is spotless. Harry’s going to blame the Philosopher’s Stone she had eaten. He’s been doing that a lot; they don’t know what the effects it has on Merlin are, so Harry’s just been making some up as he goes.

“Sorry for the trouble, Professor,” Harry says. “You’re a real life-saver.”

McGonagall smiles wryly at him as she casts a scourgify in his direction. “Like I told Remus, it’s no trouble at all.” The Professor casts a tempus, then turns her considering gaze back to Harry. “Well, you have a couple hours yet until the train pulls into Hogsmeade. At that point, you can accompany Hagrid. I assume you’d like to meet up with your friends?”

Harry nods furiously. Theo and Ron are going to panic over his absence, Harry just knows it. He wishes there was a way to tell them he’s already safe at Hogwarts. Oh wait!

"Could you send Ron a Patronus and tell him that I'm already at school and not to worry?"

Mcgonagall smiles and nods. “Of course, Mister Potter." With a quick flick of her wand, a shiny silver cat has been summoned and the message sent off. "In the meantime, you’re welcome to sit and read. Help yourself to some biscuits.”

Harry takes Merlin and goes to sit in the chair she’d gestured to. As Merlin noses through the biscuit tin, Harry decides that now is as good a time as any to start on his Defense Against the Dark Arts reading. He’d put it off, since Remus had taken one look at the list of required texts and actually burst into laughter.

“Sorry Harry,” he’d said, wiping away a stray tear. “But I think your teacher this year is going to be even worse than Quirrell.”

(Considering the fact that Quirrell had literally been the host of a parasitic Voldemort, this was saying a lot. At least Remus had given him some suggestions for supplementary texts.)

Then, to top it all off, after meeting with Hermione at Flourish and Blotts Harry had actually met the man: Gilderoy Lockhart. If it hadn’t been for Remus’s hand on his shoulder, Harry would have been pulled right to the man’s side, and then likely onto the front cover of the newspaper the next day.

Of course, the pompous man had gifted him a set of the ‘textbooks’ for free regardless, which was… nice of him? Anyways, Harry had just given the set to Ron, who’d stared at them with such undisguised disgust that Harry had to hold back a laugh.

After that, none other than Mr. Malfoy showed up, followed by Mrs. Malfoy and Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy proceeded to pick a fight with Mr. Weasley, brawled with the other man in the middle of the bookstore, and then left in a huff with his family. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy had spent the whole time trading venomous glares.

At least Harry knows now where Malfoy gets his ‘dickhead’ genes.

With a groan, Harry slams the book closed. It’s just the first chapter and already Lockhart has claimed to have cured a werewolf with the power of love. McGonagall looks up at him, eyebrow raised. Harry wordlessly gestures to the book, and McGonagall’s expression turns into one of understanding.

“Think I should kill this one too?” Harry jokes, pushing the image of Quirrell's terrified face from his mind. McGonagall’s face goes stern. “Right. Sorry. I’ll refrain from joking about that.”

“See that you do, Mister Potter.”

“It’s okay, Harry; it's not your fault they can’t understand true comedic genius,” Merlin hisses petulantly.

Harry smiles, but doesn’t respond.

Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey opens the door and walks in. She sees Harry and does a double take. “Mister Potter?” Pomfrey asks. “Shouldn’t you be on the train?”

Harry grimaces. “For some reason, the wards wouldn’t let us apparate in, so I had to floo.”

“That’s unusual,” Pomfrey says. Harry nods, then lights up.

“Do you need any help getting the Hospital Wing ready for the year? I could help,” Harry asks hopefully.

Madam Pomfrey gives him a warm smile, but shakes her head. “I’m all prepped, Mister Potter. Thank you for the offer, though.”

Harry nods, and sinks back into his seat glumly.

“You might be able to help Hagrid with the carriages?” Pomfrey suggests.

Harry turns to face McGonagall. “Can I?” he pleads. “I’ve already done all my other reading,” he continues.

McGonagall sighs. “I suppose,” she concedes. “Leave your trunk here, the Elves will get it.”

Harry shoots up. “Thank you Professor! See you at the feast! Bye, Madam Pomfrey!”

With that, he gathers Merlin more securely around his shoulders and dashes off towards Hagrid’s hut.

As Harry comes up to the hut, he slows. There’s a long line of carriages parked all around the grounds, and Hagrid is bustling between them; lifting them up, moving them around, and attaching harnesses to them.

“Hey Hagrid!” Harry calls as he jogs over.

Hagrid turns, and his face breaks into a big smile. “Hullo Harry!” Hagrid’s face suddenly falls, and he looks around anxiously. “What are you doing here? The train hasn’t come early, has it?”

“No, don’t worry. For some reason we couldn’t apparate into the station, so I flooed here instead.”

“Ah, well that’s a relief. Er, not that you couldn’t get to the train, mind you. But these carriages aren’t ready yet. I haven’t even called the thestrals over!”

“Thestrals?” Harry asks curiously as he peers into an empty carriage.

“Aye! Interesting beasties, they are. We have ‘em pull the carriages every year,” Hagrid explains. Harry doesn’t think it’s much of an explanation, but figures he’ll be seeing them soon enough.

Hagrid puts his hands up to his mouth and makes a haunting sort of bird call. Then, he lumbers over to a pile of crates, grunting as he uses a crowbar to level the tops off of one. Harry walks over to see what they hold, and immediately wishes he hadn’t: the crates are filled to the brim with what seem to be skinned rabbits. Merlin takes one look at them and then burrows her face into Harry’s shoulder.

“Er,” Harry says with a hand over his mouth and nose.

“Treat for the thestrals,” Hagrid clarifies. Then he furrows his eyebrows. “Or, maybe more of a payment for them pulling the carriages? Oh, here they come!”

Harry whirls around, and focuses on the forest’s tree line. At first, he doesn’t see anything at all: then, his eye catches on some movement.

Harry’s breath hitches as he watches a skeletal deer… bat… snake… thing gingerly step from the darkness of the forest. Its eyes are huge and bright, and it’s got a feathery mane of hair trailing down its neck and back. It shakes its leathery wings out, then snorts and jerks its head forward as though gesturing for the rest to follow. And follow they do, as one thestral turns into two, then four, then a whole herd.

Harry watches in wonder as the thestrals come from the forest. It was hard to tell when they were under the shadow of the trees, but in direct sunlight it’s almost as though their black leathery skin is absorbing all of the light that hits it.

“They look friendly,” Merlin hisses sincerely.

Harry nods, eyes meeting the gaze of what appears to be the herd leader. For a long moment, Harry and the thestral just stare at each other. Then, the thestral shakes its wings out again, unfurling them completely before it leaps into the air. Harry watches the beast take flight, swooping low to the ground and shooting forward… right towards Harry and Merlin. Harry barely has time to let out a startled cry and stumble backwards before it's suddenly upon him. It lands in front of Harry, and Harry sits down on the grass heavily. He’s suddenly all too aware of how sharp its beak-like snout is. It leans down, opening its mouth. Harry can only watch in horror as it reveals a mouthful of sharp black fangs, not unlike Merlin’s teeth.

Then, the thestral has a hold of a lock of his hair and is tugging on it gently.

“Hey- hey! What?” Harry protests, trying to swat it away.

Hagrid is staring in shock, rubbing his eyes as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. The thestral is unperturbed. It just snuffles against Harry’s head, and resumes ruffling through Harry’s hair. Merlin is hissing threats at it, but it just flicks an ear (or is that a horn?) at her.

Another thestral appears, then another. Soon, they’re crowded around Harry, each shouldering into each other in order to get their turn with him. Harry decides to give in, and is giving each one a couple pats as they appear in front of him. Their skin is dry and cold, and feels like what Harry thinks Merlin’s skin would feel like without scales.

“Alright, alright give the boy some space,” Hagrid grumbles as he wades through the herd.

He picks Harry up and places him on top of a carriage. The thestrals toss their heads and snort in protest, but Hagrid distracts them easily enough with the rabbits.

“Are they always so friendly?” Harry asks, trying to pat his hair back into place.

“No! They aren’t unfriendly, but they usually like to keep to themselves unless you have a rabbit carcass on hand.”

“Hm. Weird,” Harry says. Then he shrugs. “Well, I like them!” Harry declares.

“Me too,” Merlin hisses in agreement. “They have great taste in people.”

Harry thought that maybe he would be a big help in hitching the thestrals up to the carriages because of how much they like him, but it turns out he’s too distracting and Hagrid just has him sit on top of the carriage as he does the bulk of the work. Harry would feel bad, but he’s pretty sure Hagrid mostly just appreciates the company.

Finally it’s time to drive the carriages down to Hogsmeade. Harry gets down from the carriage and is then placed unceremoniously by Hagrid onto one of the thestrals- he thinks it's the herd leader, the one who had first run up to him. Hagrid walks alongside the line of carriages, and Harry’s heart starts beating faster and faster every step closer they get to Hogsmeade and by extension, his friends.

Harry and Merlin end up on the platform, waiting for the train to pull in. Hagrid watches bemusedly as Harry absentmindedly summons, unsummons, and then resummons ribbons of light as they wait.

It takes a good twenty minutes, but at last the train pulls up into the station. Harry bounces on his heels anxiously, scanning the crowds for his friends. Fortunately, Hermione is one of the first students off the train and she makes a beeline straight for him. Harry can see Neville, Daphne, and Blaise all fighting their way through the crowd towards him as well. He wonders where Theo and Ron are.

“Harry! Merlin! Oh, it’s so good to see you two again! Where were you? We were all so worried!” Hermione pauses, taking in a deep breath, before throwing herself at Harry and pulling him into a big hug.

“What?” Harry asks into her bushy hair. “Didn’t Ron tell you? McGonagall sent him a Patronus telling him that I was safe at school already.”

Hermione pulls back from him, a confused expression on her face. “Wait,” she starts nervously. “Ron and Theo never showed up on the train. We had thought they were with you.”

Chapter Text

“Harry still isn’t here,” Ron says nervously to Theo. Theo looks up from his book and out the window of the compartment.

“Let’s go wait for him on the platform,” Theo decides finally. Ron nods.

“Should we take our stuff?”

“We’ll be coming right back. There’s no need.”

“Alright.”

Ron makes his way out of the train and back over to the platform, Theo trailing closely behind him. When Ron had met up with Theo on the train, he’d instantly noticed that the boy was pale and unusually shaky. Then and there, Ron had decided to get Theo to the Hospital Wing as soon as they got to Hogwarts.

Ron knows that when the time comes, Theo wants to be the one to kill his father. This doesn’t stop Ron from daydreaming about getting a few good kicks in, first.

Theo and Ron make their way over to a couple of benches, finding some that are out of the way but still have a good vantage point over the rest of the platform. They’d both arrived rather early (a first for the Weasley family. His dad had managed to convince his mum to actually fly the flying car), so Ron watches as Neville, Hermione, Daphne, Blaise, and even Malfoy show up to the platform. But still no sign of Harry.

The train sounds a warning whistle, and Ron and Theo share a worried look. The platform is nearly empty now, save for Ron’s mum, dad, and a couple of stragglers.

“Maybe the Dark Lord got to him,” Theo suggests. His tone is flat but Ron knows a panicking Theo when he sees one.

“That’s a big leap,” Ron says. “Besides, I saw both Harry and Remus like, three days ago.”

“A lot can happen in three days,” Theo counters.

“Okay, so what do we do?”

“We go get him.” Theo’s face is filled with grim determination, and Ron knows there’s no swaying him.

“Okay. How?”

“Did you visit his home over the summer?”

“Yeah,” Ron says. “I could probably find it again if I needed to. But we don’t have a way of getting around. My parents will think we’re overreacting, and even if we did have muggle money neither of us would know the first thing to do with it!”

Theo’s face goes more and more wooden with every word Ron says, and Ron feels resolve harden in his chest. He furrows his brow, thinking hard. How to go find Harry… no floo powder or fireplace, neither of them know how to apparate, no adults to take them seriously… that leaves flying. And Ron only knows of two ways to fly.

“You don’t happen to have a broom, do you?” Ron asks hopefully. Theo shakes his head. Ron groans. “Okay. I have an idea, but there is a non-zero chance that we get arrested, then expelled, and then killed by my mother. In that order.”

“I’m all ears,” Theo says, the slightest upturn to the corner of his mouth.

Ten minutes later, Theo is sitting shotgun and Ron has one arm out the window, one hand on the steering wheel.

(Ron had had to explain seatbelts to Theo, but otherwise the pureblood boy is taking to the idea of cars without much difficulty at all.)

“All clear?” Ron asks, looking behind him.

“All clear,” Theo confirms.

“Here goes nothing,” Ron says, before tapping a series of buttons on the dash with his wand.

The car pops out of visibility, and shakily climbs a couple feet into the air. Ron wastes no time, flooring it. They climb higher and higher. Just as they push above the clouds, the engine gives a little rumble and they pop back into view.

“Hmm,” Ron says, glancing down at the dashboard. “Must be faulty. How hard do you reckon it would be to repair a car at 90 kph?”

“Depends. Is the car also flying in the air approximately 4,000 meters high?”

“Fraid so,” Ron says, glancing into the rearview mirror. He reaches up to adjust it a bit. He’s seen his dad do that before, so it must be important.

“Better not risk it,” Theo decides, leaning his head against the glass of the window.

“Hopefully the muggles decide against looking up today,” Ron says grimly.

“Mm,” Theo responds.

Suddenly, a silver tabby cat is sitting primly on the dashboard. Ron lets out a shriek he is not proud of, and jerks the steering wheel to the left.

He steadies both the car and his breathing as he hears the cat say, “Mister Potter asked me to let you know he is safe at Hogwarts,” in McGonagall’s voice before it dissipates into thin air.

Ron groans. “How hard would it have been to let us know that thirty minutes ago?”

“Classic Harry,” Theo murmurs.

Ron thinks Theo might be falling asleep. He supposes he can’t blame the boy, the weather is nice and the car is warm and comfortable. Ron gives the dashboard a gentle pat.

“What do you say, car? Think you can get us to Hogwarts?” The car gives a bit of a rumble that Ron decides to interpret as an affirmative. Ron glances over at Theo. “Right?”

“Might as well,” Theo says after a moment. “We’re already heading north. Think you can find your way there?”

“Um,” Ron says, before an idea strikes him. “Here, let me just-”

He leans over and, not taking his eyes off of the nonexistent road, opens the glovebox. Aha! Just as he thought: his dad had thrown a map in there. Magical, too, so Hogsmeade is on it.

“Wicked,” Ron grins, propping the map up.

“Okay,” Theo says, cracking an eye open. “Good. Yes. Let's do that.”

His voice is getting fainter, hands shakier, and face paler. Ron’s resolve to get him to the Hospital Wing increases tenfold.

Soon, the cloud cover dissipates, but they’re so high up that Ron tries not to worry about it. Besides, it's hard to feel anxious when the view is so spectacular. Fortunately, they’ve left London far behind them and at this point are mostly just flying over emerald fields of grass and forests. It looks sort of like a patchwork quilt.

Every half-hour or so, Ron checks on Theo. Theo gets progressively grumpier with him, but his breathing is so shallow that Ron keeps thinking that his friend has died. What exactly had Theo’s father done to him? Ron hopes it's nothing, but can’t bring himself to be optimistic. At one point, Ron finds a packet of warm, melty toffees, and encourages Theo to have a few after taking one for himself (one can never be too careful with sweets when living in the same vicinity of the twins).

The novelty of the flying car wears off after a couple hours, and the car is becoming unbearably hot. Ron’s taken his sweater off and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He has all the windows rolled down and the fan on full blast, but when he’d tried the AC the car horn had gone off in protest, startling Theo awake. Theo sank back into a drowsy listlessness, grabbing at Ron’s discarded sweater and pulling it over himself.

Ron doesn’t complain about any of it, though: the car has never gone this far before. It’s doing its best. Ron gives it another encouraging pat, checking the map again. At this rate they'll get to the castle well before the train does.

Just as Ron had predicted, he sees the castle rising up in the distance just before sunset starts in earnest.

“Theo, Theo wake up!” Ron says excitedly.

Theo looks like he’s fighting every step of the way, but he manages to get his eyes open.

“Oh. We made it,” Theo says.

If Ron had to guess, he’d say Theo sounds a little surprised.

Then, the engine gives a little shudder.

“Shit,” Ron mutters, before patting the dashboard once again. “Almost there, almost there. Just a little further,” he soothes, wiping his brow.

The engine gives a little whine, and the windshield wipers give a feeble wave. However, the car flies true, straight as an arrow towards the castle.

“Ron,” Theo says faintly. “We’re losing altitude.”

“So it seems,” Ron says tightly.

Sure enough, the car is sinking steadily towards the ground. They’re about a kilometer above the ground when the ground turns into the lake.

“So, so close,” Ron mutters. Or maybe he’s praying? He clutches his wand in a white knuckled grip, and grits his teeth. The castle gets closer and closer, and they’re only fifteen or so meters up when the lake turns back into solid earth.

“Wall,” Theo says flatly.

Ron lets out a little shout as he pulls back on the wheel and slams his foot onto the pedal. The engine makes a horrible grinding sound, but manages to clear the stone wall with a few inches to spare.

“Tree,” Theo says, so faintly Ron has to strain his ears to hear it. There’s no avoiding this one, though. The car slams right into its branches, and Theo and Ron are thrown heavily against their seatbelts.

For one beautiful moment, everything is calm. Then, the car is jostled as something hits violently into its side. The engine lets out a choked gurgle as it’s hit again, and again. The Whomping Willow, Ron realizes numbly. Of course they’d run into the Whomping Willow.

“Okay, we’re reversing now!” Ron yells, as he throws the gear back and presses down on the pedal.

The car stalls for a full horrible second, then shoots backwards, clearing out of the trees reach before it comes to a dead stop. Ron goes to grab at Theo, who he’s relieved to see is still conscious, when the car opens its doors, unbuckles the two seatbelts, and gives a great big shake; as though it's a sopping wet dog. Ron flies out of one side, and Theo goes out the other. Then, the car slams its doors, gives an offended honk of its horn, and shoots off into the forest.

Ron wastes no time. He hits the ground rolling, and is back on his feet almost before the car can even finish driving off. Ron sprints to Theo’s side, falling to his knees beside the boy. Ron goes to grab at him, but stops at the last second; Theo doesn’t appreciate being touched without permission.

“Theo!” Ron gasps. “Are you-”

Theo’s hand shoots up, smacking into his face before latching on to Ron’s shoulder.

“Ow,” Ron mutters.

Theo’s other hand scrabbles at the ground, trying to find purchase. Ron grabs his friend's arm more firmly, and helps him stand up. Theo is leaning heavily on him and panting, clutching his side. His skin has a grayish tone to it that doesn’t bode well.

Ron readjusts his grip on Theo, and starts half-dragging, half-carrying the boy towards the castle. About halfway there, Theo manages to find his footing again and the trek goes much smoother with Theo able to shuffle alongside Ron.

“So,” Ron starts conversationally despite the sweat pouring down his face and back. “The car vanished into the Forbidden Forest. I don’t know if you saw that?”

Theo grunts, and Ron keeps talking:

“My mum really is going to kill me. Especially now that my wand is broken. Oh, my wand broke, by the way. Well, it was never really my wand, more Charlie’s old wand, but you knew that already.”

Ron’s babbling, but he can’t bring himself to care. Anything to keep Theo awake and responsive.

“I don’t blame you,” Ron assures even though he knows the boy wouldn’t give a damn either way. They’ve cleared the entrance hall by now.

“I mostly blame the speed of Patronus messages,” Ron continues. “That, and whatever made Harry miss the train. The second I figure out what happened, heads are going to roll.”

“Quite right, Mister Weasley,” a cold voice from the shadows says.

Ron freezes, blood turning to ice in his veins. He’d known they were going to get in trouble, but the reality of the situation is just now sinking in. Beside him, Theo straightens up and shakes Ron off. Ron stares at him, and Theo gives him a look that Ron thinks probably means, “just follow my lead.”

“Well,” Snape continues. “I’m sure the Headmaster wasn’t planning on expelling anyone before term has even started, but even he may be able to make an exception for whatever… this… is.” Snape says, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Ron grimaces.

Snape scoffs. “What, did you think you were too good to come by train like everyone else? Fancied a nice flight instead? I might have expected as much from you, Mister Weasley, but Mister Nott? And here I was thinking you were a Slytherin.”

Ron is staring at the ground, jaw clenched. He can feel tears pricking the back of his eyes, but he’ll be damned if he lets them fall.

Ron hates this. Hates getting in trouble. Hates that he’s made such an obvious strategic mistake, one he knew was a mistake going into it. Hates that the disapproval of his head of house makes him feel so ill. He wants to protest that he’s as much a Slytherin as the others, but knows it’s pointless.

“Sir,” Theo begins tonelessly.

“I’m not really in the mood for excuses,” Snape snaps, then pauses. “No, I’ve changed my mind. Please enlighten me. What exactly was your reasoning behind abandoning the train that would take you to Hogwarts only to steal a car and use it to very illegally fly to Hogwarts?”

Ron shoots a look at Theo that he hopes Theo reads correctly as “please get us out of this.”

Theo nods imperceptibly, then levels a flat, dead-eyed expression at Snape. Snape raises an eyebrow as Theo wordlessly lifts up the bottom of his sweater to reveal a blood soaked bandage wrapping his torso. Ron’s jaw drops open in horror.

“Why,” Snape says, pinching his nose.

Ron isn’t sure who he’s talking to, but then the man whips out his wand and summons a vial of potion.

“Drink,” he says, shoving it at Theo.

Theo unstoppers it with shaky hands and downs it in one go, staring dead-eyed at Snape all the while.

“You,” Snape says, pointing at Ron. “Stay with him. Don’t let him die. I’ll be back.”

With that, Snape stalks off, muttering under his breath.

Ron thinks Snape could be moving a lot faster, but he has too many other things to worry about right now to dwell on that. Theo slowly sinks to the ground, and Ron sinks with him.

“Woah,” Theo says shakily, eyes glazing over. “What was in that potion?”

Ron’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. Are you… is it making you high?”

Theo nods, then his hand shoots out and grabs Ron’s wrist in a vice-like grip. Ron waits for him to say something, but Theo seems content to just hold Ron’s arm.

Theo’s eyes drift close.

“Theo,” Ron says softly.

Theo’s eyes shoot back open, but it takes him a couple seconds to focus on Ron.

“What happened?” Ron asks.

He normally wouldn’t ask, but that had looked like a lot of blood. Also, Theo is apparently high as a kite right now, so it’s the best chance Ron has at getting answers.

“Knife practice,” Theo says tiredly as his eyes track an invisible something just past Ron’s shoulder.

Sheesh. What was in that potion? Ron shakes his head. That’s not important.

“What sort of knife practice?” Ron prods.

“Y’know,” Theo slurs, eyes steadily closing.

Ron gives his wrist a little shake, moving Theo’s hand with it, and Theo’s storm-colored eyes open wide again.

“Spar. Sparring with Senior. Gotta be fast.” Theo’s eyes narrow at this, then he lets out a sad shaky sigh. “Knives are sharp.”

Ron’s heart breaks a little in his chest, but he has more important things to do right now than let that get to him.

Theo continues, “you gotta be so fast, when sparring. Especially when sparring with that old man. He looks old but, whew!” Theo says, shaking his head slightly. “He moves way too fast. Faster than me. Much,” he laughs, “faster than you.”

Ron stares. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Theo laugh. He’s not sure he wants to hear it again. Not like this, in any case.

Then Theo’s other hand is grabbing Ron’s upper arm, and he’s wearing an expression of unbridled terror on his face

“We have to keep Harry away from him,” Theo gasps. Then he pauses, and huffs out another laugh. “No. Wait, I forgot: fire beats knife. Harry could take him. We have to keep you away from him.”

Ron squashes a really inappropriate burst of indignation.

Theo nods firmly and closes his eyes, apparently satisfied.

Then they shoot open again. “And Daphne! And Blaise! I promised I’d protect them. And Harry would be sad if Hermione or Neville got hurt, so them also?”

Theo peers anxiously at Ron as though waiting for his response.

“Um, yeah mate. Sounds good?” Theo’s face melts into a sleepy grin and his eyes slide shut.

“We could try and keep you away from him too,” Ron hedges, still reeling a little from the grin (Theo, grinning? Surely hell has frozen over).

Theo doesn’t bother to open his eyes.

“No,” he murmurs, waving a hand dismissively. “Harry isn't strong enough for that yet. I just gotta wait another year or two- and then sometime after that I'll be strong enough to go back and kill the Old Man and everything will be good." Theo lets out a little sigh, then pauses. "Although, you can’t say that his approach doesn’t work.”

One of Theo’s knives appears out of nowhere and he smoothly twirls it between the fingers of his free hand, despite the fact that his eyes are closed and he’s drugged to high heaven.

Ron scowls and opens his mouth to respond, although with what he isn’t sure. Then, he hears the sound of running footsteps and his jaw shuts with a click. Theo’s knife disappears again.

McGonagall and Pomfrey run up, with Snape leisurely trailing behind them. With a wave of Pomfrey’s hand, Theo is wrapped in a pale blue glow and levitated off the ground. Ron follows him up, wrist still being grasped by him.

“Mister Nott,” Pomfrey sighs. “You need to let go of Mister Weasley.”

Theo stares at her flatly. He makes no move to release Ron.

“I, uh, I can just walk alongside?” Ron says, anxious to get Theo to the Hospital Wing.

Pomfrey narrows her eyes, but acquiesces as Theo shoots her a venomous glare.

After what feels like an eternity, Theo is safely ensconced in a hospital bed, knocked out cold. Pomfrey has just finished stitching up the wound, and leans back as she wipes her forehead with her clean forearm.

“It’s a very good thing you got him here when you did, Mister Weasley,” Pomfrey says. Ron swallows, looking at Theo’s pale face. “Any later and he may not have made it. That was quick thinking on your part.”

Pomfrey isn’t watching Ron, though. She’s instead glaring at Snape, who’s glowering right back.

“Fine,” Snape grits out, before he scowls at Ron. “A detention for each of you. I won’t be nearly as lenient the next time something like this happens.”

With that, he stalks off, robes flaring behind him. Ron lets out a huge sigh of relief, then looks back at Theo. His stomach flips.

“Do you have any idea what happened to Mister Nott?” Pomfrey asks.

After a moment, Ron shakes his head. Theo can deal with those questions when he wakes up.

“He really could have died?” Ron whispers, tracing circles on the bedspread absently.

Pomfrey sighs tiredly. “Wounds like these are serious; but he did well cleaning and bandaging it up himself, and you did very well in getting him here as soon as possible. He might have been fine if you’d stayed on the train,” she says. “But then again, he might not have been.”

Ron gulps.

“You’d better get to the feast, Mister Weasley.” Madam Pomfrey says kindly. “I’ll watch over him.”

Ron wants to stay, but the glint in Pomfrey’s eye tells him that he would lose that battle. So instead he sighs, rubs his eyes tiredly, and makes his way to the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The table erupts into cheers, and Harry hears a single “whoo!” come from the Slytherin side of the room. The relief he’d felt when Merlin had alerted him to Ron’s appearance had been overwhelming. He’d elbowed Hermione and Neville, and they’d both relaxed at the sight of the redhead.

Ginny makes her way over to the table, face bright red as Percy congratulates her and the twins pretend to cry. (“How could you?” “You were Ron’s last hope!”) At her glare, they stop, sheepishly grinning.

“Sorry, Gin-”

“Only joking-”

“Congrats!” They finish together, shooting off a mini firework that explodes into a shower of gold and red sparks. Ginny bursts into delighted laughter, and the twins fistbump each other. Percy rolls his eyes, but Harry thinks he looks a little fond.

“No sign of Theo?” Harry asks Merlin once the feast starts. Merlin climbs up his shoulders and onto his head, balancing precariously. After a moment, she flops back down.

“Not yet,” she says, flicking her tongue.

Harry grimaces. He can’t just get up and talk to Ron, not in the middle of the feast. Then an idea strikes him. He leans towards Hermione. "Hey, do you happen to have a parchment? And quill?" Hermione looks at him like he'd just asked an incredibly stupid question, procuring said items out of seemingly nowhere. "Do you keep those up your sleeves?" Harry asks, in mild awe.

Hermione sniffs. "Of course not," she says. "I keep them very sensibly in my pockets. Some of which may be sewn into my sleeves."

Harry didn't know what else he expected. He writes out a quick note asking after Theo's whereabouts, then holds it up to Merlin. "Mind carrying this over to the Slytherins for me?” Harry asks.

Merlin tosses her head indignantly, but takes the parchment and slithers off anyways.

“So how was everyone's summer?” Hermione asks.

“F-fine,” Neville shrugs.

“Alright,” Harry says, trying to see if he can catch a glimpse of Merlin.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Mine was fine too, thanks for asking."

"Sure," Harry says absently.

Merlin is suddenly around Harry’s legs and climbing up to his shoulders. Harry puts the roll he’d been tearing to pieces back down on his plate. He’s so anxious about where Theo might be that he hasn’t been able to stomach eating anything.

“Well? Did Ron know anything?” Harry asks nervously.

“He’s alive,” Merlin says, flicking her tongue apprehensively.

“...but?” Harry asks, heart racing.

“Hospital Wing. That’s all Ron told me,” Merlin says. “Worried about eavesdroppers. He says to meet in the Hospital Wing after the feast.”

Harry nods, grimacing. Sneaking around the very first night back isn’t exactly ideal, but sometimes these things happen.

“So?” Hermione asks, trying to get a good look at the Slytherin table. “Any news?”

“Yeah, he’s in the Hospital Wing, apparently.”

“What?” Hermione asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to go check on him after the feast, wanna come? We’ll probably have to use the cloak.”

Hermione heistates, then nods.

“M-me too,” Neville adds, determined. Harry gives him a grin, and Neville returns it in kind.

Soon enough, the feast has ended and the prefects are leading the first years to their common rooms. Harry sees an anxious Ginny wave a frantic goodbye to a little blonde girl who responds with a dreamy smile.

Harry wastes no more time in meeting with the Slytherins. On his way over he meets Malfoy’s eyes and gives him a glare. Malfoy responds with a scowl of his own. Before they can exchange any insults, though, Malfoy is dragged off by Parkinson.

“Let’s go,” Ron says in lieu of a greeting as he starts off in the direction of the infirmary. Daphne and Blaise are right behind him.

“He’s been like this all night,” Daphne says to the Gryffindors as they walk. “I’m starting to get actually worried.”

“You weren’t worried before?” Harry asks disbelievingly.

“We-we saw y-you on the tr-train, Daph. You w-were worried.” Neville says.

Daphne glares at him.

“This is their first time seeing Theo after he’s been home for an extended period of time,” Blaise reminds Daphne. “Ron’s probably just a bit jarred.”

“Oh, do I seem jarred? My bad. Maybe it’s because it was fucking jarring,” Ron snaps.

“What happened?” Harry asks desperately, twirling Merlin’s tail through his fingers anxiously.

“Stabbed,” Ron mutters.

This shuts everyone up.

Harry is the first to reach the infirmary. He pushes the doors in, followed closely by the others.

“Theo?” Harry asks, scanning the room for him.

“Here,” Theo says tiredly, waving weakly from a bed. Harry rushes over to his bedside, looking the boy over. He’s pale but otherwise seems to be alright.

“Okay,” Hermione says firmly. “We’re all here. Now you tell us what happened.”

“Harry wasn’t on the train so we ended up taking an alternate route to Hogwarts.” Theo says flatly, staring dead-eyed into the distance.

Harry raises an eyebrow, but Theo doesn’t seem to be inclined to say any more. Daphne and Blaise both sigh, being more experienced with Theo’s particular brand of unhelpfulness.

“That- that’s not an explanation at all!” Hermione explodes.

Theo shrugs. “That’s the gist of it,” he says sleepily, eyes falling shut.

Harry realizes that if Theo really has been stabbed, he must be on a lot of pain potions. They really won’t be able to get a straight answer from him. Hermione, apparently catching on to this fact as well, buries her head in her hands.

Harry just turns to Ron. “What happened,” he says flatly. It’s not a question.

Ron sighs. “I’ll tell you, but before you yell at us, keep in mind that Theo nearly died and I will die once my mother gets her hands on me.”

Neville, Daphne and Hermione narrow their eyes identically and Blaise just cocks his head.

“No promises,” Harry finally decides.

Ron groans, but launches into the tale anyways: “Theo and I realized Harry wasn’t on the train, so we went to wait for you on the platform. After we saw you were going to miss the train, Theo suggested you may have been attacked. We decided to take matters into our own hands.

“By the time I got Professor McGonagall’s Patronus, we had already stolen my parents’ flying car and were well on our way north, in the direction of both your house and Hogwarts.”

Harry blinks, then blinks again. He exchanges a baffled look with Hermione. She mouths, flying car? And Harry just shakes his head.

“We decided to cut our losses and just fly straight to Hogwarts. And it’s a good thing we did, because apparently Theo here was bleeding out the whole fucking time.”

Theo waves a hand in a sort-of “what can you do” gesture without opening his eyes.

“You didn’t know,” Harry confirms. Ron gets a hurt look on his face but Harry really wants to make sure.

“Of course not! I would have dragged Theo right to my parents. You know,” Ron says, glaring at Theo. “The ones who have apparating licenses?”

“Harry was more important,” Theo mutters.

Harry’s blood goes cold, and he has to clamp down on his magic. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ron put one hand over his eyes despairingly. One of Theo’s eyes cracks open.

“Did I say that out loud? Whoops.” Theo says. He doesn’t sound all that worried, but that might be the pain potions.

“Theo,” Harry says, voice dangerously soft. He thinks he sees Daphne and Blaise exchange a wide-eyed look.

“Mhm?” Theo asks, singular open eye rolling to focus on Harry’s face.

“If you ever do something like this again, I’ll never forgive you.” Harry says gently. Theo’s eyes shoot open.

“Do you understand? I trust you, Theo. I trust you to have my back. I trust you to take care of yourself, so that you can take care of me,” Harry continues, smiling. “Do you understand?”

Theo nods wordlessly, and Harry steps back smoothly. “Good. Feel better soon. I’m going to bed.”

With that, he stalks off, leaving his bewildered friends behind.

“What,” Merlin hisses, “was that?”

Harry grits his teeth, fuming. “Oh, don’t get me wrong: I wanted to yell at him. Well, him and Ron, but mostly him. Jesus Christ! Merlin, he could have died! And for what? Theo doesn’t usually make stupid decisions! What the hell was he thinking?”

“He was bleeding out,” Merlin says. “He wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t, probably.”

“Augh!” Harry cries, kicking a wall. “Ow,” he says, as he heals his broken toe.

A portrait glares at him, and he winces.

“Sorry- anyways,” Harry says, turning back to Merlin. “I was just speaking his language. Theo wouldn’t respond to yelling.”

“Ohhh,” Merlin hisses. “He responds to threats. I knew that.”

“Exactly,” Harry says. He arrives at the Gryffindor portrait and smiles winningly at Gwen.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and Harry sighs as she asks, “Password?”

“Look, Gwen,” Harry says. “I snuck off to visit an injured friend in lieu of sticking around to learn the password to the tower. That’s chivalrous, right? Brave? Honorable? Basically proves I’m a Gryffindor.”

Gwen sniffs. “Nice try, Gaunt.”

“I’ve told you a million times. It’s Potter. I get your name right,” Harry grumbles.

Gwen looks him up and down, eyebrow raised. “Sure,” she says flatly.

Harry throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly, before walking off in a huff. He pulls his invisibility cloak out of his satchel and throws it around the two of them as he makes his way down the many flights of stairs and out the front doors.

“Now what?” Merlin hisses.

Harry doesn’t answer her, too busy reaching his hand into his satchel again. Merlin starts to wriggle in delight as she sees what he pulls out: his shrunken Nimbus 2000.

Ever since last year, Remus had wanted Harry to make sure that he always has the essentials on hand: his cloak, his wand, a broom, assorted potions (pain, calming, blood-replenishing), some rudimentary first aid supplies (bandages, murtlap-essence, bezoar, burn paste), and his money pouch.

Harry unshrinks his broom with a tap of his wand (he’s pretty good at wandlessly shrinking and unshrinking things now, but Harry has found that using his wand helps him further focus his magic) and mounts it, adjusting the invisibility cloak so it’s securely wrapped around himself, Merlin, and the broom. He kicks off, and just like that he and Merlin are lazily circling up and up into the air.

Despite the extra hassle, a late-night broom ride above the grounds of Hogwarts really does wonders to clear Harry’s mind. He’s still livid at Theo, and to a lesser extent, Ron, but Harry can admit to himself that it's a bit hypocritical for him of all people to get mad at his friends for rushing into dangerous situations on the basis of saving people.

By the time he and Merlin have alighted on the windowsill of the Gryffindor common room, he’s just about ready to apologize to Ron and Theo. But first… he jumps into the (blessedly) empty common room, takes note of the password on the bulletin board (Wattlebird), shrinks his broom again, and pushes the portrait open.

“Please, Gwen- Oh! Harry! Thanks, we couldn’t get in.” Hermione says relievedly as she climbs through the entrance. Neville is following closely behind her. She straightens up, brow furrowed. “Wait, how did you get in?”

Harry pats his satchel. “Flew,” he adds, seeing their befuddled expressions.

“I should’ve guessed,” Hermione says, nose wrinkled in distaste. Then, she yawns. “Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, boys.”

“Night, Hermione.”

“Good-goodnight, Mione!”

With that, everyone heads off to their respective dorms. Harry is suddenly exhausted as he falls into bed, Merlin slithering in under his covers and coiling up next to his legs.

Before Harry can drift off, though, Neville pipes up.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?"

Neville is quiet for a long moment before he softly says, “I’m just-just glad we’re ba-back.”

Harry smiles, eyes closing. “Missed you too, Nev,” he murmurs just as sleep claims him.

Chapter Text

Like last year, the second Harry gets his timetable he drags Hermione and Neville over to the Slytherin table so they can compare. To his disappointment, Potions and Astronomy are the only two classes they share again.

“Cheer up, Harry,” Hermione says. “Next year we’ll start electives. That’s way more classes to share with the Slytherins!”

“Two classes is not ‘way more’, Hermione,” Ron points out.

“Two classes minimum, Ron!” Hermione says exasperatedly. Ron rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply when a bright red envelope lands right in front of him. Ron’s face goes white as the envelope starts to smoke.

Harry takes in the smoking envelope, and looks back up at Ron, who’s slowly reaching for the letter. He seems more scared now than when he was facing down the white queen. Harry doesn’t waste another second: he plucks at his magic and the envelope is reduced to nothing more than ash.

Ron yelps and snatches his hand back. Harry realizes suddenly that burning people’s letters without their permission is a little rude at best and an actual crime at worst, smoking or otherwise.

“Er,” Harry starts, unsure if he should apologize.

“Harry,” Ron says gravely. “I owe you my life.”

Harry’s heart stops.

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Ron. It was a Howler, not a nuclear bomb.”

Harry isn’t sure how he feels about Daphne knowing about nuclear bombs, but he’s too focused on getting his breathing back under control to figure it out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ron says as he shudders. “That would have been mortifying. I absolutely would have died on the spot.”

“Wait, I’m lost. What is a Howler?” Harry asks, having mostly recovered from his earlier heart attack.

“It was likely from Ron’s mother,” Theo says, appearing suddenly. “It’d have been a message vocalizing her displeasure at the actions we took yesterday. Loudly.”

Theo still looks a little pale, but carries himself as though he’s never been stabbed a day in his life. He smoothly sits between Ron and Blaise and loads a plate up for himself.

The table abruptly feels a lot more tense, with Hermione, Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Daphne all exchanging worried glances with each other and between Harry and Theo.

“Theo!” Harry says, grinning relievedly at him and resolutely ignoring his friends. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Harry sees Theo’s face relax minutely, which is exactly what Harry was going for. “How did you get Madam Pomfrey to let you out of the Hospital Wing? I’d’ve thought she’d keep you in for another day at least.”

Theo shrugs.

“...you just left, didn’t you,” Blaise sighs.

“Of course not, Blaise,” Theo says blandly.

“Wait, really?”

“I left a note.”

“Oh, h-here she is now.” Neville says.

Sure enough, a stormy-faced Madam Pomfrey is making her way over to their spot at the table.

“Mister Nott,” Pomfrey says, hands on her hips.

“How can I help you, Madam Pomfrey?” Theo asks.

Ron looks like he’s about to burst into laughter, but he does have a modicum of self-preservation so he’s holding it in.

“Hospital Wing.” Madam Pomfrey says coldly.

Theo nods and stands up again to follow her, leaving his plate behind.

“I want to be her when I grow up,” Harry whispers, eyes wide.

The first class of the week is actually potions, so the six walk there together. Snape is as acerbic as ever. Harry thinks he’s somehow gotten worse at potions and Neville isn’t much better off. None of this helps Snape’s attitude improve.

History of Magic is still mind-numbingly boring. At this point Harry has given up on paying attention entirely, and mostly treats it as a study period. Astronomy is the same as last year, mostly star-gazing and fighting sleep.

Harry spends the first five or ten minutes of each Charms class learning the spell normally (normal for him, anyways), then the rest of the class learning how to do it the gray way. He hasn’t been able to produce a Patronus at all yet, but he’s getting better at doing gray magic without lighting things on fire.

They’re starting on animate-to-inanimate transfigurations in Transfiguration, which is something Harry has already learned. Instead, McGonagall has him studying some higher-level transfiguration theories. Harry asks McGonagall if she’ll recommend books on the animagus transformation and she gets the same exact look Remus had gotten when Harry had asked him the same question. Harry drops the subject.

Herbology for Harry has officially turned into just one lecture class a week. During practical lessons, he’s to report to Madam Pomfrey to begin learning the art of healing. Harry can’t wait for his first class with her, and when it finally comes he’s almost sick with excitement.

“Hello?” Harry calls softly as he closes the Hospital Wing doors behind him. Theo had been officially discharged the night before, so the infirmary is empty.

“Over here, Mister Potter,” Pomfrey calls, waving him over to her office.

She gestures for him to take a seat in front of her desk, and he does.

Madam Pomfrey wastes no time, cutting right to the chase. “So. I know at the end of last year you demonstrated your prowess by healing a bite your familiar gave you.”

Harry nods, hoping she doesn’t ask him to do it again. Merlin had told him she couldn’t join him because of some meeting or another with the house elves.

(Apparently the elves can understand parseltongue, and Merlin has struck up a friendship with them. Well, she says it's a “court thing”. However, Harry doesn’t like the implication of Merlin being a political representative for anyone, so he thinks of it as friendship to preserve his sanity.

When Harry had first learned about the house elves, he’d been ready to go up in arms. Then Merlin had told him in no uncertain terms that, “the Elves are quite content with the state of affairs. Trust me on this one- you wouldn’t be able to do anything to change it even if you tried: Elf contracts are iron-clad.

“And if you did happen to try- well, They wouldn’t take kindly to that and believe me when I say that you do not want to be on Their bad side.”

Hermione had taken a little more convincing but Merlin had taken her to meet with one of the elves and whatever the elf had said to her had convinced her to drop it. Hermione also started to wear a ring of iron on a leather cord around her neck, but Merlin had insisted that was unnecessary.

“I’ve got it covered,” she’d hissed. “Tell Hermione that you and yours are in no danger from Them.”

Yeah, after that Harry had decided it was probably better not to think too hard about anything Merlin has to say about house elves.)

“I was wondering what else you’ve done with healing. What's the most severe wound you’ve healed? How much of Healing theory do you know? Have you only ever healed yourself, or have you healed others before?”

Harry blinks a little at the onslaught of questions, then furrows his brow.

“Er, I’ve healed a couple broken bones for myself before? I would say I have a pretty good grasp on basic theory, but from what I’ve gathered I’ve done things sort of out-of-order so I’m not confident that the stuff I think of as basic is actually basic, if that makes sense?”

Madam Pomfrey nods, so Harry continues.

“I’ve only ever healed myself, because I’m too afraid of- of hurting people.”

Pomfrey raises an eyebrow. “People other than yourself, you mean?

Harry pauses. That sounds like something Merlin would say. “I… I mean, I’ve just always kind of known that I don’t pose any danger to myself.”

“Why do you think you pose a danger to others when you don’t pose a danger to yourself?”

The smell of burnt plastic has suddenly filled the air. Harry takes a big breath in and breathes out slowly. The smell recedes.

“Let's just say that it's not an unfounded fear,” Harry finally says.

Madam Pomfrey grimaces sympathetically, but says, “let me ask you this then: have you ever unintentionally hurt someone with your magic?”

Harry opens his mouth to give her an emphatic yes, but then stops. Why is he hesitating? The answer is yes. Of course it is. Right? Harry closes his mouth.

“That’s what I thought. Did you ever wonder why it was Professor Sprout of all people to suggest you look into healing?”

“I mostly figured that it was to keep me occupied,” Harry says, relieved to be moving on from his spiraling thoughts regarding the intent to harm. “I thought she had just made a lucky guess, when I did think about it.”

Pomfrey smiles. “Not quite. You see, Herbology is all about intent. Conversely, Healing is about control.”

“Healing is dark magic?” Harry blurts out, thinking back on Blaise’s lecture.

Pomfrey’s eyes widen, then she chuckles. “You really did do the thing out of order. That’s advanced Healing theory.”

“I’ll bet it’s basic theory outside of magical Britain,” Harry grumbles.

“Maybe so. It’ll certainly make things easier when it comes to teaching you. First thing first:”

Madam Pomfrey pulls her wand out and trails it down her forearm. Where the wand touches, skin shallowly splits apart. Harry watches apprehensively as she takes her wand off of her arm, leaving a long if not very deep cut.

“Heal it,” Pomfrey says.

“What?” Harry squeaks, magic flaring. Pomfrey smiles kindly at him.

“If Professor Sprout is right, and I do believe she is, then your magical core runs dark.” Harry nods. He’d known that already. Pomfrey continues, “so you need to trust that your magic is going to do what you tell it to do.”

“But-”

“Mister Potter. Let me rephrase that: your magic will do what you ask it to do. I can tell you the incantation and wand movement if you’d like, but something tells me you won’t need it.”

Harry breathes in, looking at the cut and feeling his stomach flip. Madam Pomfrey wants him to heal her arm, but if she knew- if she knew what he was capable of… no, he can do this. Harry grabs his magic and holds it close. He can feel tendrils of it trying to push free, curious as to what might be causing Harry so much distress.

Harry closes his eyes against a sudden onslaught of dizzying anxiety. He can’t stop picturing Quirrell, picturing that army man, smelling burning plastic.

“I-” Harry says, slumping. “I can’t do it. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Madame Pomfrey grimaces, but nods. “I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Harry sits back, feeling his throat tighten up. He’s sure Pomfrey is about to ask him to leave. What’s the point of healing lessons if he can’t heal?

Instead, Pomfrey shrugs and says, “that’s perfectly alright. We’ll start on theory, and move on from there. Believe it or not,” Pomfrey adds, smiling gently, “this can be somewhat of a common problem for those trying to learn the art of healing magic.”

Harry perks up a little at this. “Really? And they get over it?”

“Not always,” Pomfrey says. “But usually. I am confident in your ability, Mister Potter. We’ll make a healer out of you yet.”

Harry smiles softly, and Pomfrey’s smile widens in return. Then, she picks her wand up and heals her cut as smoothly as she’d created it.

“Now. The theory is that interactions between different magics influence the healing process. If you ever get the chance to heal a wound created with magic, you’ll undoubtedly feel the residual magic left behind.”

“If you did that spell on me, I could heal it to see what you mean,” Harry suggests. Pomfrey hesitates, then nods. Harry holds out his arm.

As Pomfrey opens up a considerably smaller, incredibly shallow cut down Harry’s arm, she says, “I don’t enjoy causing harm to a student, mind you, but I’d prefer you had prior experience with healing injuries like this, just in case.”

It stings, but it’s no worse than a scratch, or a bite from Merlin. Harry readies his magic once more and pushes to heal the cut away. It’s slow going, much slower than healing a cut like this would usually take.

His magic keeps snagging on something, and it takes a lot of focus for Harry to keep it on track. It almost feels like how he’d felt fighting Quirrell’s magic over his broom but instead of a fight, it’s just… a passive interaction.

Finally, the cut pulls closed. Harry leans back, wiping his forehead. He feels like he’s just run up a flight of stairs.

Pomfrey nods in satisfaction. “Could you feel the difference?”

Harry nods. “It exhausted me.”

“It’ll get easier over time,” Pomfrey dismisses. “Could you feel why it exhausted you, when healing other, naturally caused injuries is as easy as breathing?”

“My magic. It, er, kept catching? On the residual magic? I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Pomfrey nods again. “Very well put. Now, I used gray magic to create that cut. Gray magic-based wounds and natural wounds are what you’ll see the most often. Natural wounds and dark magic-based wounds and spells will be the easiest to heal. Light magic wounds are the hardest to heal, with light curses being all but unhealable.”

“Light magic curses?” Harry asks. He’s heard of dark curses, of course, but not light curses.

“Your guardian suffers from one- the only one you’re ever likely to come across.”

“Lycanthropy,” Harry breathes. Pomfrey nods, smiling sadly.

“Yes. When it comes to light curses, the best one can really hope for is a good symptom management plan.”

The room falls into silence for a moment, when Pomfrey stands up suddenly. “We still have an hour or so until classes let out. Would you like to help me restock?”

Harry nods eagerly, standing up as well. Pomfrey laughs, and gestures for him to follow her out of the office and over to the cabinets.

Chapter Text

“...and then it fell asleep! Right in his arms! Of course, at that point all the other ones wanted to be held, so by the end of class Neville was cradling an upwards of twenty mandrakes. Meanwhile, mine bit me.”

Harry laughs, then pauses as he remembers just who it is they’re talking about. “Neville,” he says slowly.

Neville starts and looks up at him, a guilty expression on his face.

“Neville.” Harry repeats.

Neville looks even guiltier.

“Neville,” Harry sighs exasperatedly.

“Fine! I’ll take it back. You people are n-no fun,” Neville grumbles.

“Oh no.” Hermione says, realization dawning on her face. “Please tell me you didn’t sneak a mandrake out of the greenhouse.”

Neville smiles sheepishly. “Don’t suppose you want t-to hold it?”

“You’ve had it with you this whole time? Their cries are literally fatal.”

“Aw, it’s j-just a baby, Hermione. It can’t kill any-anyone yet. It just… maims a lit-little, is all.”

“Dear god,” Harry whispers. “He’s like a sequel to Hagrid.”

Hermione bursts into laughter and Neville rolls his eyes before jogging away, hopefully in the direction of the greenhouses.

“Think he’ll get back in time?” Hermione asks nervously, casting a tempus. The Gryffindors are waiting just outside of the Defense class, waiting for class to start.

“I still think we should ditch,” Harry grumbles.

“It’s the first class, Harry. Maybe he’s a phenomenal teacher!”

“Remus saw the course list, laughed so hard he cried, and then wrote three letters to the school’s board of governors. That is a terrible sign.”

Hermione purses her lips, but remains resolute. Harry can see this isn’t a battle he’s going to win.

Harry suddenly gets the feeling that he’s being watched. He turns around slowly, only to lock eyes with a mousy-haired first year. The boy has a muggle camera and is staring at Harry with a starstruck expression. Harry immediately gets a bad feeling about this.

“Hello! Harry, right? I’m Colin. Colin Creevey,” the boy says, sticking a hand out. Harry reaches forward and shakes it, feeling wrong-footed. Colin goes red-faced but soldiers on. “I’m a Gryffindor, too! Do you- do you think I could get a picture?” The boy asks, lifting his camera up.

“A picture.” Harry says flatly. Hermione groans quietly in dismay besides him.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” Colin explains, undeterred.

Harry watches in horror as the kid works himself into more and more of a frenzy; finishing his spiel on the boy-who-lived, magic, and photography with a big gasp of air and a plea for Hermione to take a picture of them together. Then, to top it all off, he asks if Harry can sign it.

“You’re giving out signed photos?” Malfoy crows delightedly, appearing out of nowhere. Harry can feel his face flushing bright red. “Everyone line up! Harry Potter is giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not!” Harry protests angrily, clenching his fists and grabbing his magic. “Shut up, Malfoy!”

Would it really have been so difficult to just ignore each other? Why does Malfoy insist on antagonizing Harry? It’s so exhausting.

“You’re just jealous,” Colin interrupts.

Crabbe and Goyle turn their heads to look at the slight boy simultaneously. Harry withholds a groan. Colin is much too small to be making enemies like this.

Fortunately, Malfoy just laughs. “Of what? Some ugly scar? Big deal.”

Harry puts his hand over his satchel to keep Merlin from coming out of it, in case she’s awake and listening. Harry opens his mouth to respond, when suddenly a turquoise-clad Lockhart appears.

“What’s all this?” The man asks with a smile, looking the scene over. They’ve gathered quite the crowd, Harry realizes, which is just great. “Who’s giving out signed photos- ah,” Lockhart says, gaze falling on Harry. “Needn’t have asked.”

Lockhart throws an arm around Harry and Harry genuinely thinks that it may only be due to the exhaustive nature of the healing lesson from this morning that keeps the Professor’s hair fire-free.

Harry shoots a desperate glance at Hermione, who returns it with a look he reads as “what do you want me to do about this?”

“Here,” Lockhart says excitedly, “we’ll do a double portrait and both sign it!”

Harry, frozen next to the man and burning with humiliation, watches as a smirking Malfoy and his entourage slips away. Colin takes his photo and runs off, the warning bell having just rung. Harry hopes he blinked.

Lockhart turns to face Harry with a serious expression on his face, hand still on Harry’s shoulder. “Word to the wise, Harry,” the man starts, oblivious to Harry’s attempts to will both the Professor and himself out of existence. “Signed photos are all well and good, but don’t go so far so fast! It tends to come off as big-headed.”

Harry raises his eyebrows incredulously.

“Don’t worry! You’ll get there someday,” Lockhart chordles, giving Harry’s shoulder a pat. “Now, I do believe it’s time for class.” With that, the man gives Harry one last solemn nod before turning and heading into his classroom.

Neville comes running up, huffing. He looks at Harry’s furious red-faced expression, then over to Hermione’s grimace and stops. “What did I miss?” Neville asks.

“Let’s just get going,” Harry mutters, storming into the Defense classroom after the smarmy peacock of a professor.

Twenty minutes later and Harry is ready to write Remus to ask him the best place to hide a body on the grounds of Hogwarts because between Harry and his friends there is no way Lockhart is going to make it out of this year alive.

“What’s happening?” A sleepy Merlin hisses, pushing her nose out of the satchel.

“The professor is just quizzing us on himself,” Harry hisses, pushing her gently back into the satchel. Something tells him that Lockhart won’t respond very well to a six foot long snake with glowing red eyes. “I’ll tell you more about it later.”

“Alright!” Lockhart cries, clapping his hands together in excitement. “Twenty minutes are up. Please pass your quizzes up to the front. I’ll grade them real quick. In the meanwhile,” Lockhart grins, winking, “feel free to discuss the assigned readings.”

Harry hears some of the students up in the front tittering, and struggles not to roll his eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry whispers out of the corner of his mouth, glaring at the man.

“Hmm?” Hermione asks, looking up from her book.

“Now's our chance. Let's just take Neville and get out of here. Please.” Harry isn’t above begging.

“No! We’d get in so much trouble,” Hermione hisses. “Besides,” she adds, blushing deeply. “It’s not like he’s bad to look at.”

“Hermione! What?”

Hermione shoots him a red-faced apologetic look. Harry turns to Neville desperately.

“Back me up here!”

Neville opens his mouth to hopefully do just that when-

“Alrighty! I must say, I am most disappointed in the apparent reading comprehension skills of our youth today,” Lockhart says, shaking his head. “The only student to get full points is… Miss Hermione Granger? Miss Granger, where are you?”

Hermione raises a hand hesitantly, looking like she wants nothing more than for the ground to swallow her up. Harry narrows his eyes at his classmates that are glaring at Hermione with unbridled jealousy. Hermione definitely deserves to be made fun of for this, but not by anyone who actually means it.

“Very good,” Lockhart says, flashing a shiny white grin in Hermione’s direction.

She’s too busy hiding her face behind her hair to see it, which Harry thinks is a good thing: she’d’ve probably gone blind.

“Take ten points for Gryffindor! Moving on,” Lockhart says, wandering over to his desk at the front of the classroom. He leans down and lifts a covered cage up to the desk.

Harry is too busy trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that’s under that cover to pay attention to what the man is saying now. “Hey Merlin,” he hisses, losing his patience. She pokes a nose out of Harry’s satchel. “Can you smell the magic of whatever it is under that blanket?” Merlin’s tongue flicks, and she shakes her head.

“Maybe if I was closer,” she says.

“Alright. Thanks anyways.”

Harry whips his head back up as he hears Seamus let out a snort. It looks like he’s missed the unveiling of the creature- rather, creatures. They look like a mix between bright blue dragonflies and really shrill aliens. Fairies, maybe?

“C-cornish pixies,” Neville whispers, catching Harry’s confused staring.

Harry nods his thanks to Neville despite the fact that that had cleared up practically nothing for him.

“Right then,” Lockhart says. “Let’s see what you make of them!”

With that, he unlocks the cage door and swings it wide open. Neville immediately grabs his things and ducks under his desk. Harry and Hermione exchange a glance, and follow suit.

“What are cornish pixies?” Harry asks over the sounds of buzzing, shrieking, and shattering glass.

“They’re mostly nuisances,” Neville says. “They like causing chaos.”

A desk clatters loudly onto the ground from where a group of the pixies had been trying to carry it off. The pixies let out a round of high-pitched cheers before scattering again.

“I’d gathered,” Harry says flatly.

The bell rings and there’s a mad dash for the door. Unfortunately due to having to clamber out from under their respective desks; Harry, Neville, and Hermione are the last ones out.

Or, they would have been if Lockhart hadn’t said, “well, I’ll ask you three to just nip them back into their cage. Ta!” Before rushing out the door.

Both Hermione and Neville turn to Harry, who sighs. “We could just leave them out?” He asks hopefully. “It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

Hermione purses her lips and Harry sighs again.

“Fine,” he mutters, taking a moment to grab ahold of his magic. Harry thinks for a moment, then waves his wand and freezes the pixies midair. It’s lucky that that’s the charm Flitwick had decided to open second year curriculum with.

“You could have left us some,” Hermione huffs.

“I could unfreeze a couple?” Harry suggests.

“No!” Hermione and Neville cry at the same time.

It takes an extra minute or two for them to grab the pixies and lock them all away. Not seeing a reason to leave the pixies to thaw, Harry unfreezes them with another wave, and the three leave the angrily buzzing pixies and the Defense classroom without a second glance.

“It’s just. Every s-single question, H-Hermione?” Neville says after a moment.

Hermione sniffs imperiously. “I did the reading, so I remembered the material. Is that such a crime?”

“You actually got through the reading? You have it bad, Hermione,” Harry says in awe.

Hermione turns bright red. “Whatever,” she mutters.

The three make their way to the Library to meet up with the Slytherins. Harry waits until everyone has gathered and Blaise has cast his moderately-effective privacy charm (Harry’s tried to cast one but it tends to block sounds altogether) before launching into a disgusted retelling of what had happened with Lockhart.

“And just so we’re clear,” Theo starts.

“We can’t kill him,” Harry sighs. “Yet. Once he gives us a good enough reason, he’s fair game.”

“Humiliating you is a pretty good reason,” Theo grumbles.

Harry levels a stern glare at his friend and Theo reluctantly backs down.

“At least he’s nice to look at,” Ron muses.

“See? Ron gets it!” Hermione says.

“Ron,” Harry says, affronted.

Ron’s ears go pink. “What? It’s true. And his household charms do work really very well.”

“Mrs. Weasley has swayed you to the side of evil,” Harry bemoans.

Hermione rolls her eyes and Ron’s ears go a shade darker.

“I could try and set him up with my mum,” Blaise suggests.

Theo looks up from his book, nodding eagerly.

“We just agreed we aren’t killing him.” Daphne points out.

“Y-yet,” Neville reminds her.

Harry shoots him a grateful smile. It seems as though after hearing what happened before class, Neville is almost as livid at the man as Theo is.

“We all know he's a fraud, right?” Daphne says suddenly.

“Um. Yes?” Harry says. He'd thought that had been obvious.

“Really? Surely someone has fact-checked him,” Hermione says, sounding a bit put-out.

“People say they have, but that just can’t be true. Besides, half the stuff he says he does in his books is impossible.” Daphne says.

“To be fair, you could say that about half the stuff Harry does too,” Blaise points out.

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, that is so different,” Ron protests. “Besides, from the sound of it he couldn't even take down a couple of pixies. No way he's taken on three trolls at once.”

Hermione looks at Ron, betrayed. Ron shrugs. “Like I said: nice to look at, good household charms. That's about all the guy's got going for him.”

Harry watches with a fond smile on his face as his friends dissolve into bickering. He misses Remus, but it's really good to be back at Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Severus

“I just can’t put my finger on it!” An irate Lucius Malfoy complains, pacing around the drawing room.

Severus rolls his eyes, sipping at his tea. Lucius Malfoy is a man that can occasionally be entertaining, but is mostly just tiring. Unfortunately, he’s under the assumption that Lucius and Severus are friends; which is why Severus is currently sitting through tea with him.

Severus would have disabused the man of the notion, but Albus believes it would be for the best if Severus keeps in contact with the old crowd.

“Honestly, Lucius. The boy looks familiar because we went to school with his parents. That’s all there is to it,” Severus says tiredly. This is getting old.

Lucius shakes his head. “No. I know what I saw. It’s true that the boy has that mu-” he stops himself, wincing at Severus’s raised eyebrow, before continuing, “his mother’s eyes. But that’s not the face of James Potter.”

“Children are usually a mix between their parents. Just because Draco is the very picture of his father” (Severus thinks Draco undoubtedly takes after his mother) “doesn’t mean other children will be the same.”

“The boy has brown hair!”

“Yes. A common byproduct of having one red haired parent and one black haired parent. Besides, you only caught a glimpse of the boy. I have him in my classroom twice a week. Believe me when I say he is the son of James Potter.”

Also, Severus knows for a fact that his friend would’ve died before being unfaithful to that idiot. Lily just wasn’t the type to cheat on anyone.

Lucius angrily downs another glass of bourbon. His usually perfectly coiffed hair is coming loose, and he has dark purple shadows under his eyes. Severus thinks this is the most unhinged he’s seen the man in a very long time- the ministry raids seem to be taking their toll. Severus is trying to muster up some sympathy, but mostly he’s just amused.

Lucius grumbles for a moment, and Severus takes the opportunity to finish off the rest of his tea. Just a few more minutes and he can make his excuses and then leave.

Suddenly, Lucius whirls around, clasping his hands in front of an unimpressed Narcissa Malfoy. “Please,” he begs. “Please just tell me!”

Narcissa sniffs imperiously. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to use your eyes.” She gracefully stands up from her seat, brushing off her skirts. “Now, if you two will excuse me I have a lunch date to keep with Mr. Lupin.”

Severus chokes on his tea.

“Remus Lupin?” He finally gets out, glancing at Lucius to see his reaction.

The man doesn’t look at all surprised, only resigned.

“Of course,” Narcissa says matter-of-factly. “We might not like it, but Mr. Lupin has a lot of political power right now. It’s simply prudent to stay in his good graces.

“Besides,” she adds, “you must know he’s the Black Family regent. I may not be a Black in name any longer, but it is my blood, and Draco’s. If we want to maintain any sort of sway within the family, it’ll pay to play nice.”

Severus nods hesitantly, and Narcissa says, “indeed. Well, it was nice to see you, Severus. You simply must visit again soon.” With that, she glides out of the room.

Severus had never thought this day would come, but here he is now; feeling sorry for the werewolf. Hopefully Lupin is more politically savvy than he looks, because otherwise he is going to be eaten alive by one Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione

Hermione groans loudly (but not too loudly) and kicks the blanket off of her legs.

She’s been trying to sleep for hours now, but her mind just won’t let her rest. Resigned, she slips out of bed. Hermione blindly reaches for her slippers, sliding them onto her feet before shuffling out of the dorm, down the stairs, and out the common room.

Hermione doesn’t just love sneaking around, but she’s two books and a lunar calendar away from figuring out whether or not a simplified wolfsbane-making process is feasible and she can picture exactly where in the Library those things are.

Hermione moves from shadowy corridor to shadowy corridor, trying to ignore the thunderous sound of her own heart beating in her ears. This is exactly the sort of adrenaline rush she doesn’t need or want, but needs must. She has one near miss with bumping into a tired-looking Professor Sprout, but manages to crouch behind a suit of armor just in time and avoids detection.

The halls of Hogwarts feel so much bigger at night, and Hermione shivers as a cold September breeze makes its way down the hall. The moon isn’t full, but it is big and bright, and provides ample light shining through the windows for Hermione to navigate by.

The Library doors are only about twenty meters away when Hermione hears the sound of shuffling feet and loud cursing, and turns to see the light of a lantern getting closer and closer. She freezes, looking wildly around her. There’s nowhere to hide, and she has no hope at all of making it to the Library in time. Hermione lets out a shaky breath and closes her eyes, braced for Filch’s arrival.

Instead, she gives out a muffled yelp as a hand covers her mouth and pulls her into a secret alcove.

Hermione is pressed up between the wall and the other person as the wall swings back silently into place. It’s pitch-black so Hermione can’t see who she’s stuck in here with, but that’s nowhere near her main concern at the moment. The two breathe quietly into the darkness as they hear Filch walk directly past them. Hermione lets out a sigh of relief as she hears Filch’s muttering fade into silence.

Belatedly, Hermione realizes the hand is still over her mouth. All at once, the alcove becomes overwhelmingly claustrophobic and she starts pushing at the other person in an attempt to get free. Hermione bumps up against a protruding stone and the wall swings back open, sending the two tumbling out into the blessedly empty corridor.

“Oof,” Hermione says, landing on top of her rescuer. She blinks, eyes adjusting to the moonlight, at the furious face of Pansy Parkinson. “Oh,” is all she says.

“Get off, you oaf!” Parkinson hisses, swatting at Hermione’s face.

“Sorry,” Hermione says stupidly, rolling off of the other girl and standing up awkwardly.

She holds a hand out to the girl; who ignores it as she clambers to her feet, red-faced.

“Uh,” Hermione says.

She isn’t used to feeling so wrong-footed, but Hermione really doesn’t know what to make of what just happened.

“Why…” Hermione starts, trailing off. Why what? Why is Parkinson wandering around at night? Why was she in that alcove? Why did she save Hermione? Hermione doesn’t know where to start.

Parkinson huffs, and starts to stalk off. On an impulse, Hermione’s hand shoots out and clasps the girl’s wrist.

“Wait!” Hermione says desperately.

Parkinson is staring down at Hermione’s hand like she simply cannot comprehend what has just happened.

“Why did you save me?” Hermione figures that’s as good a place as any to start.

Parkinson’s face flushes even darker than before, and she wrenches her hand free of Hermione’s grip only to flick her short black bobbed hair back.

“I just didn’t want to risk Filch catching me, too,” the girl says snottily. “The longer he stood there lecturing you, the longer I had to stay cooped up in that… that closet.”

Hermione laughs. “Yeah, right,” she says. Parkinson’s mouth opens a little in shock. “You know as well as I do that Filch would have wasted no time at all dragging me off to McGonagall.”

Parkinson scowls deeply. “Fine then. I wanted you to owe me one.”

“I don’t think that's it, either,” Hermione says, shaking her head. “Otherwise you’d be gloating right now. I think,” she continues, ignoring the girl’s increasingly stormy expression, “you accidentally did something nice for a muggleborn and now you’re trying to backtrack.”

Parkinson’s face flickers with cold fury, before going back to a more typical scowl. Wordlessly, she grabs Hermione and bodily drags her into the nearest abandoned classroom. Hermione goes along with her, bemused.

Parkinson shoves Hermione into a dusty chair before locking the door and performing a complicated looking spell. It looks like an advanced privacy charm. Hermione watches, impressed. Then, Parkinson rounds on Hermione, eyes hard.

“What do you want,” she says flatly. Hermione grins.

“That desperate to keep people from knowing that deep down you’re a good person?”

“That’s conjecture at best, slander at worst,” Parkinson says, pointing angrily. Hermione gives her an unimpressed stare and she deflates. “Look. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Hermione hums in satisfaction.

“I’m not admitting anything,” Parkinson hisses, up in arms again. “I’m a cold-hearted, calculating bitch. I had a… momentary lapse of sanity.”

“I see,” Hermione says. Parkinson huffs. “Alright, I won’t tell anyone,” Hermione decides.

“What?” Parkinson says, taken aback. “Wait, just like that?”

“Pretty much,” Hermione says, shrugging. Parkinson narrows her eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just, I’d like to talk.”

“Talk.” Parkinson says.

“Sure,” Hermione says. “We never have before. Why not?”

Parkinson looks pained, but nods. She pulls up another chair and sits. “Fine. Let's ‘talk’.”

Hermione smirks.

Ginny

Between classes, making new friends, and writing in her diary, Ginny is amazed at just how fast the first week of school flies by.

It’s getting to her a little bit, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. Besides, one of her new roommates let her borrow some foundation to cover up the bags under Ginny’s eyes.

Ginny loves Hogwarts, but the school is so big. She feels like she gets lost all the time- she’ll blink and suddenly find herself on a completely random floor, or outside some bathroom or other.

When she tells Tom this, he promises her that even though it’s hard at first, she’ll get the layout down in no time at all.

Besides, I know Hogwarts better than anyone. If you ever get really lost, just write to me and I can help you find your way again.

Thanks, Tom. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Of course, Ginny. I’m just glad to be of assistance.

Ginny thinks Luna is having a harder time adjusting. The girl has always been a little off, but she’s becoming more and more withdrawn with every passing day.

“Luna, are you alright?” Ginny asks one day, seeing the little blonde girl sitting in a window sill. She looks very small.

“Oh, yes. Hogwarts is a lot more magical than I’d ever dreamed,” Luna says in a faraway voice.

“But…” Ginny prompts.

“It’s also more… crowded than I’d anticipated,” Luna whispers. “I expect I’ll get used to it, but in the meanwhile the nargles are taking the opportunity to get up to mischief.”

Ginny doesn’t really know what to say, so she just nods. Luna turns her big blue-eyed gaze on Ginny. Ginny holds her breath, feeling vulnerable under Luna’s consideration.

“Oh,” Luna breathes. “You’ve been dealing with nargles too. Or, maybe wrackspurts?”

Ginny laughs, uncomfortable. “I think we all have, Luna. School can be a big adjustment.”

Luna hums and turns away from Ginny, and Ginny knows the conversation is over.

“Ginny! Ginny!” Colin Creevey calls, waving a paper in front of Ginny’s face.

Ginny blinks a couple times. Hadn’t she just been in the hall? With… with Luna? Ginny shakes her head, tuning into whatever it is Colin has to say.

“Look what I just did!” Colin gasps excitedly.

“Colin, I can’t see it if you keep waving it around,” Ginny laughs. “Give it here.”

Colin sheepishly hands her the paper, and Ginny gasps as she sees what it is the boy has done. The paper is actually a moving picture, featuring none-other than Harry Potter. He looks distinctly uncomfortable next to a winking Lockhart, blinking wildly and shrinking into himself.

“He’s so modest,” Ginny says in awe. Colin snatches the photo back and grins.

“I know! I only talked to him for a little bit, but I can already tell that he’s everything the stories say he is and more!” Colin gushes.

Ginny nods excitedly. “Did I tell you I had a whole conversation with him?”

“Yeah!” Colin says, stars in his eyes. “Tell me again, though!”

Ginny launches into the story, then blinks. This bathroom, again? Ginny pulls the diary out of her bag.

Tom?

Is everything alright, Ginny?

Yeah. It’s just… I think I’m lost, again.

Okay. Don’t worry. Where are you?

That same bathroom. The out-of-order one.

Ah, I see. Interesting. Well, you know what they say: all roads lead to… out-of-order second-floor bathrooms.

Tom, I don’t think people say that.

I’m pretty sure they do.

Are you going to help me or not?

Of course I will, Ginny. I’m only teasing.

I know, Tom. Don’t worry. :)

Okay. Here’s where you’re going to go…

Chapter Text

Finally, the school week is over. Harry is looking forward to sleeping in on Saturday morning. Or he was, up until he’s woken up by an excited Oliver Wood, inches away from his face.

“Ah!” Harry yells, flailing.

Oliver laughs and skips back.

Harry sits up and blinks stupidly at the older student. “...what?”

“Quidditch practice, Harry! You’re lucky I let you sleep in,” Oliver says seriously.

Harry looks at him incredulously before looking over to the window, where the light of the sun has only just hit the very edge of the horizon. Harry raises an eyebrow.

“Oh Harry,” Oliver laughs, following his gaze. “If you plan on going professional after you graduate, you’re going to need to get used to early mornings.”

Harry has never once expressed interest in going professional. He has no intentions of disabusing Oliver of this notion, though, because Harry enjoys not being badgered about quidditch for the rest of his school career.

“Trust me,” Harry grumbles as he tumbles out of bed. “I’m used to early mornings. This is outrageous. What is it, one in the morning?”

“Very funny. I’ll have you know that it is actually a very respectable five forty-five. Anyways, I’ll leave you to it! Meet at the quidditch pitch in fifteen!”

Oliver rushes off, presumably to wake the others.

Harry yawns tiredly and goes to get ready for practice.

Once he’s got his quidditch gear on, Harry pokes at the Merlin-shaped lump under the covers. “You coming?”

Merlin flops out of bed, slithering over to the satchel without a word. Harry laughs softly and swings the satchel over his chest.

Harry goes to make his way down to the common room, then pauses. Why walk when he can just fly?

Harry pulls his broom from the satchel, unshrinks it with a tap of his wand, and clambers up onto the window sill. He opens the window with a grunt, then looks down. It’s a long, long way down. He backs up, mounts his broom, and sails out the window. Harry circles the tower once, before coming back to the open window to close it with a twist of his magic.

Escape from the tower completed, Harry glides down to the pitch, beating the others by a couple minutes.

Oliver comes running up, and without pausing to slow down just waves for Harry to follow him into the locker room.

Harry sighs, shrinks his broom, and goes to follow.

Upon entering the locker room, Harry slumps onto a bench and watches Oliver unshrink a stack of boards. Harry groans internally. If he’d wanted to sit through a lecture on a Saturday, he’d just go listen to Professor Binns.

Soon enough, the others trail into the room and take their seats.

Angelina looks as awake as Oliver, but Alicia and Katie seem dead on their feet. Fred and George look so tired Harry wouldn’t be surprised if even they couldn’t tell themselves apart.

“Alright!” Oliver says, clapping. “I’ve got a new strategy this year! I’m really confident about this one, and I think you’ll like it too. I actually had help from an anonymous source, and let’s just say… if anyone knows strategy, it’s P- my source.”

One of the twins elbows the other.

“Hey George, how much do you think Oliver had to pay Percy for that?” Fred whispers.

He’s so quiet that Harry thinks he might be the only one that hears.

George rubs his eyes tiredly. “Nothing,” he whispers back. “Have you seen Oliver’s puppy dog eyes?”

Harry tunes back into what Oliver is saying, then tunes right back out again when he realizes Oliver is mostly just singing the praises of the new strategies. It’s going to be a long couple of hours.

“That was a long couple of hours,” a grumpy Katie says to Alicia as Oliver puts his boards away.

“Informative, though!” Angelina says brightly.

Alicia stares at the burly girl like she’s grown another head.

“At least we get to fly now,” Harry points out.

“I like your attitude, Harry!” Oliver says, having finished cleaning up. “Also, you are correct! Let’s fly, everyone.”

Harry walks out into the sunlight, blinking rapidly. It’s a sharp contrast from the muted lighting in the locker room. He takes off, flying in lazy circles as he waits for Oliver and Angelina to set up some drills.

“Hey Harry!” Hermione waves from a bench. Harry swings around and floats over to where she, Neville, and Ron are sitting. “We missed you at breakfast, and decided to come watch practice.”

“Think you could take Merlin for me?” Harry asks.

Hermione nods eagerly.

“Also, where are the others?” Harry continues as he hands his satchel to Hermione.

“Still sleeping,” Ron says. “I thought Theo especially could use the rest.”

Harry nods in understanding.

“Harry!” Oliver calls.

Harry gives his friends a wave goodbye before flying off to start the drills.

They run through a couple drills when Oliver flies up high, hand shielding his eyes. “Who is that?” He asks.

Harry turns, and groans as he sees a familiar looking firstie frantically clicking his camera in Harry’s direction.

“You know him?” Oliver asks, amused.

“Yeah.” Unfortunately. “He’s a Gryffindor. A first year.”

“Do you think he wants to be on the team some day?” Oliver asks.

“I don’t know,” Harry says truthfully. “I do know that he thinks I hung the moon and painted the stars, though.”

“You are the youngest seeker in a century,” Oliver muses.

Harry sighs.

“Hey!” One of the twins waves.

Oliver turns his broom to face the twin. “What!” Oliver yells.

The twin doesn’t say anything, just points.

Harry looks, and groans again when he sees a group of green-clad students walking up to the pitch. Oliver purses his lips and urges his broom into a shallow dive. Harry looks off into the distance, wondering if he should just fly home, say hello to Remus, and fly back. Surely whatever this is shaping up to be will be over by then, right?

Harry sees the others floating down to where Oliver and the Slytherin team is, and instead goes to follow resignedly.

As he lands lightly, he hears Oliver tightly saying, “...our practice time. Sorry for the mix-up.”

“Plenty of room for all of us,” the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, says. Oliver’s smile goes even more wooden.

“We booked the field,” Oliver says finally.

“I’ve got a specifically signed note from Professor Snape,” Flint counters. He pulls out a folded slip of paper, unfolds it, clears his throat, and reads, “I, Professor S. Snape give the team permission to practice today on the quidditch field owing to the need to train their new seeker.”

Oliver perks up. “New seeker?” He asks, distracted.

A smirking Draco Malfoy steps out from behind the team, smirk widening when he catches Harry’s eyes. Harry holds back a groan of dismay, but just barely.

Harry idly notices his friends making their way over to join the crowd.

“Any good?” Oliver says.

“Pretty good,” Flint concedes.

Malfoy gets a hurt expression on his face and Harry has to squash a laugh.

Oliver nods thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “Regardless, we booked specifically for today. You can train with a new seeker any other time.”

Flint pulls out a second folded slip of paper with a flourish. “I, Professor S. Snape, give the team permission to practice today on the quidditch field owing to the need to practice with their new brooms.”

“New brooms?” Alicia cuts in, narrowing her eyes.

Malfoy’s smirk is back, and mirrored on the faces of every Slytherin team member.

Flint holds up the broom he’s holding. The Gryffindor team sans Harry gasps as one.

“Nimbus 2001?” Oliver says disbelievingly.

“A generous donation from Lucius Malfoy himself. Oh, look: interlopers.” Flint says, eyes falling on Harry’s friends.

“What’s going on?” Ron asks, looking over the scene. “Why aren’t you playing-woah! Are those Nimbus 2001s? Those are brand new!”

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but Ron only has eyes for the Nimbus 2001s. Harry looks between the identical shiny new brooms and back to his team’s assorted used brooms and back again.

“Hang on,” Harry starts. “That’s allowed?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Surely you aren’t going to throw a hissy fit over a couple new brooms?”

Harry waves him off. “No, of course not. I mean, is it school-sanctioned, or are they personal gifts?”

Flint narrows his eyes. “Why?” He asks.

Harry holds his hands up placatingly. “No reason,” he lies.

Harry has a letter he needs to write, but first:

Over the last few minutes, Oliver has looked more and more like he’s about to cry and it’s making Harry feel a little panicky.

“We really could just share the field?” Harry suggests.

Oliver waves him off. “Nah,” he says, forcing cheer into his voice. “We’ll just practice another day.”

Harry grits his teeth, glaring at Flint. Flint remains unswayed.

“It’s not really very fair that you get to come in and take over the whole pitch just because some kid bought his way onto the team with some fancy bits of wood,” Hermione mutters.

Evidently, she didn’t say it quietly enough (or maybe she’d said it exactly as loud as she intended), because Malfoy whips around to face her, face going red.

“No one asked for your opinion, you mudblood."

Everything goes still and quiet, Malfoy going pale as he realizes what he’s said. Harry has to clamp down hard on his magic but through the haze he registers Hermione raising an eyebrow as though she’s saying, “seriously?”

Then, hell breaks loose.

Oliver and Angelina have to hold the twins back from lunging at Malfoy.

“What the fuck?” Alicia demands, fists clenched.

Katie is staring confusedly.

Most of the Slytherins back away from Malfoy as though he’s just stepped onto a minefield. Even Flint looks a little queasy.

Ron, a cold, blank fury painted on his face, pulls his wand out of his robes, points it at Malfoy, and shoots a wordless spell at the boy. (Harry thinks that even if Theo, Daphne, and Blaise had been here, they would have stepped aside at the look in Ron’s eyes.) Unfortunately, it’s right at this moment that Harry realizes that Ron’s wand is wrapped in a thick layer of spellotape.

He realizes this because instead of the spell shooting towards the intended target, it instead backfires spectacularly, shooting Ron backwards several feet.

Numbly, Harry reaches a hand out and slows Ron’s fall with a twist of his magic. As his magic wraps around Ron, Harry’s eyes widen as he feels the presence of Ron’s spell tangled up around Ron’s abdomen.

Unthinkingly, Harry pushes at the mess of a spell as Ron shakily stands up, dissolving it in one go.

Ron doubles over and Harry’s heart stops as he sprints over to his friend’s side. What had he been thinking?

“Ron!” Harry chokes out, grabbing at Ron’s shaking shoulders as Ron vomits into the grass.

“I’m- okay,” Ron says in between retches.

Harry notices distantly that, instead of breakfast and stomach bile, Ron seems to be throwing up… live slugs?

Finally Ron weakly coughs up a couple more slugs, then stands up and wipes his mouth. “Eugh,” Ron moans. “That was not supposed to happen.”

“You think?” Hermione says, irritated. “What spell even was that?”

“Hex. Fred and George taught me.”

“L-lets get y-you to the hospital wing,” Neville decides.

Ron shakes his head, and Harry levels such a venomous glare at Ron that he actually steps back.

“I’m really okay, now,” Ron protests anyway.

“Ron,” Harry growls.

“Actually, that hex should have had me throwing slugs up for hours. I guess my wand really is well and truly broken.”

Harry stares at the boy disbelievingly, magic flaring uncomfortably in his chest. He can’t decide who he’s the most angry at, himself or Ron.

“Be right back,” Harry grits out before summoning his broom and mounting it. He shoots into the air without looking back.

Harry grabs his magic, struggling to bring it back under control. Of all the stupid, impulsive, reckless things to do! Harry levels out, high above the grassy pitch below and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

Instead of dwelling on the thought of Quirrell and the smell of melting plastic, Harry shoots back and forth over the pitch and tries to focus on the feeling of the wind flying though his hair and the familiar polished wood texture of his Nimbus 2000.

Feeling considerably calmer, Harry circles the pitch for a minute.

He notices that the Slytherin team seem to have disappeared. Fred and George look like they are checking in with Ron; Oliver, Angelina, and Alicia are talking to Hermione and Katie; and Neville seems to be keeping an eye on Harry.

Harry spirals back down, landing a short distance from Ron. Ron runs up to Harry, worried.

“Look mate, I’m really fine, but if it means that much to you I can check in with Pomfrey no problem.”

Harry gives him a tight smile. “Sorry Ron, but it really would make me feel better. I accidentally panicked and pushed your spell from you.”

Ron gets an impressed look on his face and Harry grimaces.

“It’s not a good thing. I’ve never done anything like that before. What if you’re bleeding internally? Or, or what if I vanished your stomach?” Harry is getting more and more worked up.

By this point, Hermione and Neville have joined them, both of them looking a little sick at Harry’s words. Ron lays a hand on his arm.

“Okay,” is all Ron says.

Harry puffs out his cheeks and lets the air escape slowly before giving Ron a relieved smile.

“Thanks.” Harry says. “Let's go.”

Chapter Text

Ron is given the all clear by Pomfrey, who lets the four go with nothing more than a “it’s better to be safe than sorry, but don’t be afraid to trust your magic, Harry. This is a really big step in the right direction.”

Now that Harry doesn’t have to worry about his friend dying, he can focus on some of the more important revelations from the morning.

“Library?” Harry suggests.

Hermione nods, and Ron shrugs.

“Sure, meet you there? I’m going to grab the others.”

Harry gives him a thumbs up, and Ron jogs off.

Soon enough, the seven are gathered at their usual table.

Ron is looking put-out, him and Theo having received notice of their detention taking place that night. Harry decides against pointing out that they flew a car into a tree and really have gotten off rather lightly.

Blaise goes to put up his privacy charm when Hermione stops him.

“Here, I want to try one,” she says, waving her wand in a complicated looking pattern. She sits back, looking satisfied, and Daphne narrows her eyes.

Blaise, on the other hand, nods. “Impressive! Will you teach me?” Blaise asks.

Hermione looks like she’s about to launch into an impromptu lesson, so Harry hastily cuts in.

“Wait,” Harry says, giving Hermione an apologetic look. “We need to talk about your wand,” he says, turning to Ron.

Ron’s face twists into a scowl. “What about it,” he says.

Harry knows he’s treading on thin ice here, but some things need to be addressed.

“You need to get a new one,” Harry says. “Yours is so broken it literally does not work. It’d probably be more effective to just use a normal stick!”

“Watch it,” Ron warns.

“Harry is right,” Theo says. Ron shoots him a betrayed look, and he shrugs.

“Sorry, Ron,” Blaise says. “But enough is enough. When a wand is backfiring like that, it’s more or less a ticking time bomb. You don’t really have a choice.”

Daphne nods, and Hermione looks at Ron’s wand curiously. Neville is suspiciously quiet.

“And how am I supposed to get a new wand?” Ron says. “My mother is mad enough about the whole car thing. She’d think a broken wand is some cosmic justice.”

“She’d really make you go a whole year without a wand?” Daphne asks disbelievingly.

Ron’s ears go an angry shade of red. “Wands are really bloody expensive, alright? And the car thing is bad enough: my dad was fined 50 galleons because of me!”

Daphne looks away, uncomfortable. Blaise and Hermione share a grimace. Neville won’t meet anyone’s eyes. Theo, on the other hand, looks as impassive as ever.

Even though Harry privately thinks Theo is more at fault for the whole situation than anyone else, Harry also knows that there’s no way in hell Theo regrets his actions in the slightest.

Looks like it’s up to Harry, then.

Ron is scowling furiously, daring anyone to meet his gaze. Harry does so unflinchingly, and Ron finally looks away.

“Ron,” Harry says. Ron clenches his jaw. “It’s my fault.”

Ron’s head snaps up. “What-”

“No, listen! If I’d just remembered to have Remus send you a Patronus as soon as we couldn’t get onto the platform, none of this would have happened!”

And Theo may or may not have died, but Harry tries not to think about that.

“The very least I can do is pay for a new wand for you,” Harry continues.

Ron’s face twists into a grimace.

“Please, Ron,” Harry pleads. “We can say it’s an early Christmas present!”

Ron still doesn’t look convinced, so Harry reluctantly pulls out all the stops.

“A wand like yours isn’t just a danger to you, Ron. It could hurt anyone. Your brothers, your sister, your teachers, your friends…” alarm flashes across Ron’s eyes and Harry knows he’s won.

“Fine,” Ron grits out. “Fucking fine. But no Christmas present.”

Harry grins delightedly. “I’ll write to Remus, I’ll bet he can take us!”

Ron shoots him a narrowed-eyed look, before turning suddenly to Neville. Neville jumps as Ron directs the full force of his glare at him.

“Why are you acting so shifty?” Ron accuses.

Neville looks like he wants to bolt, but slumps into his chair. “W-wands are-are a s-sore sub-subject for me,” Neville finally says.

“Why?” Hermione asks. Neville shoots a betrayed look at her and she shrugs. “We just put Ron on the spot. Seems only fair.”

Harry isn’t sure he agrees with that logic, but he does want to know what’s going on with his godbrother.

Neville looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up. “Well. My w-wand. It-it w-was my-my dad’s,” he says haltingly.

Harry hears a gasp from, surprisingly enough, both Blaise and Daphne. Even Ron and Theo look grim. Hermione and Harry exchange confused looks. Harry knows about Neville’s parents, but he doesn’t know why the wand thing is such a big deal.

“Neville,” Daphne starts. “Forgive me, but your dad is still alive, isn’t he?”

Neville nods jerkily.

“And I don’t, um,” Daphne is uncharacteristically hesitant, but forges on. “Sorry Neville, but I don’t suppose he’s been able to formally relinquish his wand to you?”

Neville shakes his head again.

“Does that matter?” Hermione asks curiously.

“Does that matter?” Blaise explodes. “Does that matter?”

Blaise actually has to get up and start pacing. Harry is taken aback by the boy’s outburst, up until he remembers the passionate spiel Blaise had given about magic theory back in first year.

Blaise rounds the table and puts his hands on Neville’s shoulders, before giving him a little shake. Neville looks as though he’d like to be anywhere but where he is.

“Neville! Neville. Tell me you don’t still think of yourself as magically inferior.”

Neville glances away uncomfortably, and that seems like more than enough of an answer for Blaise who sighs exasperatedly.

“My friend- you have somehow -miraculously- been able to make someone else’s wand work for you. For years. That is a magical feat in and of itself. You are a powerful wizard.”

Neville stares at him in disbelief.

Blaise smiles. “Get a new wand. If you don’t believe me now, you will when you work with a wand that wants to work with you.”

Neville’s face falls. “I c-can’t. My-my Gran w-won’t let me. Sh-she’d never agree to-to take m-me to get one.”

Blaise’s face goes stormy and he starts to mutter in Italian under his breath.

“You’re good at Herbology,” Harry points out. “Can’t you just make one? A new wand, I mean. It’s just trees, isn’t it? Trees and some extra stuff.”

Ron bursts into laughter and even Theo snorts.

On the other hand, Hermione, Blaise, and Daphne immediately launch into a lecture on how impossible of a task that would be and how “wands are really more than just trees and some stuff, Harry”.

Harry isn’t listening, though. He’s looking at Neville, who has a sudden spark of determination in his eyes. Harry shoots Neville a smile, and Neville gives him a fierce grin in return.

That whole debacle being checked off of Harry’s list, Harry sets out to write a letter to Remus.

Dear Remus,

My first week of school was great! I really missed my friends.

Ron and Theo stole a flying car to get to Hogwarts; so it was a bit of a rough start for them.

Harry wants to tell Remus about what Theodore Nott Senior did to Theo. He really, really wants to tell Remus everything, and let Remus fix it.

Unfortunately, when Harry had suggested this to his friends; Theo had said that assuming Remus tried to do anything at all (which he would, Harry knows he would), Theodore Nott Senior would make Remus’s life a living hell.

Neville, Blaise, and Daphne had gone on to explain that Remus has political power, yes, but he’s only Regent and Consort- and a werewolf to boot.

On the other hand, Harry would be a much more difficult target- not only is he Harry Potter (Harry had rolled his eyes at this) but he’s also an Heir to three different powerful families- one of which hasn’t been in play for hundreds of years.

Harry can risk his own life and safety for Theo, but he can’t risk Remus’s. He just can’t- not after everything Remus has done for him.

That decided, Harry proceeds to detail the rest of his week, spending a good portion of the letter on Healing lessons and how terrible Lockhart is.

Oliver dragged the whole team down for quidditch practice at like four in the morning today, which was awful. Then, Malfoy (who’s the new Slytherin seeker) called Hermione that bad word for muggleborns. Everyone went crazy, and Ron tried to shoot a hex at him.

It backfired though, because it turns out Ron’s wand broke when they crashed the flying car into the Whomping Willow (by the way they crashed the car into the Whomping Willow) and it’s been held together with tape this whole time. Anyways, I convinced Ron to let me buy him a new wand, so do you think you could take us to do that sometime soon (preferably without letting Mrs. Weasley know, because she’s probably already mad at me for burning up her howler before it could reach Ron)? If it’s too much trouble that’s fine too.

Harry taps the end of the quill against his mouth, thinking hard. What if Remus says no? Oh! He puts the quill back to the parchment.

In fact, I’ll bet Hermione could break us into the headmaster’s office again, and we can floo on our own. But I figured you’d appreciate me asking you first before we do something like that.

Speaking of Malfoy, it turns out his dad donated brand new Nimbus 2001s to the entire Slytherin team! I was thinking maybe (depending on how expensive it is) I could not have my allowance for the next few months and instead buy brooms for the rest of the teams too? So that way, everyone has a new broom! I think I might just stick with my Nimbus 2000, though. I like it best.

Love,

Harry and Merlin

Harry seals the letter up and heads off to the owlery. When he gets there, he lets out a low whistle and Hedwig glides up to him, landing on his shoulder.

“Hey girl,” he whispers.

Harry isn’t sure, but he thinks he might accidentally slip into parseltongue when he talks to her (it all sounds like English to him, unless he’s really focusing on hearing the difference). She seems to understand it just as well as English, though, so he doesn’t bother to worry about it.

Hedwig trills and nips at his ears. Harry laughs, pushing her back. She just turns her attention to his fingers instead.

“Okay, okay,” Harry says, pulling out a couple owl treats. “Here you go.”

Hedwig shakes out her feathers excitedly and plucks the treats from his hand eagerly.

“Can you take this to Remus?” Harry asks, holding the letter up. Hedwig gives him an imperious look. “Right, of course you can. Sorry for doubting you,” Harry says as he ties the letter to her leg.

Hedwig gives him another affectionate nip before launching from his shoulder and soaring off. Harry watches her fly with a soft smile on his face until she’s nothing more than a speck in the distance.

“Rip…” Harry’s head whips around. “Kill…”

“Hello?” Harry asks nervously. “Who’s there?” He is suddenly regretting leaving Merlin with Hermione.

“Hello,” Harry hears, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he sees the little blonde Ravenclaw girl Ginny had waved at at the sorting poke her head around the corner.

She has wispy hair so blonde it’s almost white, and huge blue eyes. The girl also seems to be wearing a pair of acorn earrings, which somehow clash with the standard Hogwarts uniform she’s wearing.

“Was that you? Saying that stuff?” Harry asks.

“I haven’t said anything but ‘hello’ today,” the girl says matter-of-factly. “To you, just now.”

“Er,” Harry says, caught off-guard. “Really?”

“Oh, yes,” the girl says seriously. She seems to be intently staring at the air directly above Harry’s head. Harry notices that she’s barefoot, for some reason.

“Is… is everything okay?” Harry hedges.

“That’s a really very big question,” the girl says after a moment.

“I mean,” Harry backtracks. “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” the girl says, thinking. “I don’t know. The nargles have been a real hassle lately.”

“I’m… sorry,” Harry says dumbly. “Er. I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” The girl says dreamily. “I’m Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

Harry thinks she might be gently teasing him about how he introduced himself but would prefer not to risk laughing.

“Nice to meet you, Luna,” he says instead.

It’s true, too. As off-kilter as this odd little girl has made him, she reminds him of the grass snakes he would run into at the Dursley’s occasionally. Not bad, just different. Different and refreshing, in a way. He’s content to just sit with the girl for a while, and she doesn’t seem to mind either.

“Where are your shoes?” Harry asks, suddenly.

“Nargles,” Luna sighs. “Everything is so busy that I’m too distracted to properly watch out for them.”

“Hmm,” Harry says. “Could someone watch out for them for you?”

“I don’t think so,” Luna says sadly. “Ginny has offered before, but it never seems to help. I think I have to manage them myself.”

“Okay,” Harry says.

They sit in silence for another moment, when the girl turns to look Harry in the eye for the first time.

Harry feels an unpleasant shiver, and wonders if Luna is a legilimens. He’s probably just being paranoid, but either way her gaze is uncomfortable and Harry decides to avoid eye contact with her as a general rule.

“Harry Potter,” Luna says.

“Er,” Harry says, trapped under her considering stare.

“I would like to be alone now. You should leave.”

“...Right.” Harry says, tearing his eyes away from her face. Luna would definitely get along with grass snakes. “Well. See you around, Luna. Er, let me know if you, uh, need anything, alright?”

Luna just hums, and Harry wanders off, feeling curiously light after the whole interaction. It’s not until much later, when he’s wrapped up under his blanket and falling quickly into sleep, that he remembers the odd voice he’d heard.

“Probably nothing,” Harry mutters sleepily.

Merlin hisses in agreement, despite the fact that she definitely has no idea as to what Harry’s talking about.

Chapter Text

Neville swears, stumbling out from the underbrush. He’s caked in mud and covered in little scratches. His robes have been ripped to shreds, and he’s going to need to ask one of his friends to mend a couple of the tears later. At least he’s narrowed his list down by a whopping eight trees.

Neville sighs. Eight down, one thousand million to go. Merlin, the wood was supposed to be the easy part! How on earth is he going to get his hands on a core?

It’s been a month and a half since the conversation about wands in the Library, and Neville is tempted to cut his losses and take Remus up on his offer to take Neville for a wand as well (he’d done the same for Ron only a week after Harry had proposed the idea).

Well, except for the fact that Neville’s actually having a lot of fun. The Forbidden Forest during the day is even better than the Forbidden Forest at night.

Sure, so far Neville has almost been shot through the heart by a centaur three separate times; nearly been eaten by a giant spider; and has had a few close calls with what seems to be a car of some sort; but everything just feels so right out here.

“Ah!” Neville says, tripping over a root he was sure wasn’t there before. He spits out a leaf, then glares up at the tree.

“Fuck you too,” he grumbles.

Another four leaves fall onto his head. Guess he can cross willow off, too.

Finally Neville manages to clear the border of the forest. He’s sure he looks like some horrible mud creature, thanks to the on-and-off rainstorms that had plagued the whole day. Neville tries in vain to shake some of the mud off but gives that up pretty much immediately. He’s just spreading it around.

Neville trudges up to the castle, grimacing at the mud he’s tracking all over the place. He has half a mind to ask the first person he sees to cast a scourgify on him.

Unfortunately, the first person he runs into is a ghost.

“H-hello, Si-sir Nick,” Neville says.

Nick looks up from the parchment he’s somehow holding. “Oh. Hello, Neville,” Nick says glumly.

“I-is every-everything alright?” Neville asks.

“Yes, yes.” Nick says dismissively. Then, he stops. “No! You know what? Everything is not alright! My five-hundredth death day is coming up and those idiots in the Headless Hunt continue to maintain frankly absurd standards!”

“Wh-what standards?”

Nick deflates a bit. “Well. Mostly that one needs to be headless to join.”

Neville grimaces. “I’m s-sorry, Nick. You-you’re t-ten times the ghost any of-of them are.”

Nick smiles warmly. “Thank you, Neville.”

Neville gives him a wave and Nick floats off, looking slightly cheerier.

Neville looks sadly down at his ruined clothes. Maybe the next person he meets will be able to scourgify him?

“What the hell?” Filch says, appearing suddenly. Shit.

Neville is dragged unceremoniously to Filch’s office, where the man seems content to rant on and on without input from Neville.

That’s a good thing, because Neville couldn’t get a word out right now if he tried. He hates being yelled at, because of course he does. Who doesn’t?

Neville rubs his chest absently, trying to sooth the claustrophobic panic he’s feeling build up in there. It’s like it clogs his throat up, making it harder and harder for him to speak at all.

With his other hand, he reaches into his bag and feels for the jar of unicorn blood he’s taken to carrying around with him.

Filch continues his tirade, seeming especially irate today. The man looks as though he’s fighting seven colds at once. Neville wonders why he doesn’t take a sick day. Does Filch even get sick days? Neville hopes so.

Filch is just about to give Neville a detention of some kind when a loud crashing sound echoes through the hall.

“Wh-Peeves!” Filch yells, limping out into the hall.

Neville sits and waits, uncomfortable. After a couple minutes, Filch comes stalking back in, muttering to himself.

“Just go,” he says, sounding exhausted. “Get out.”

Neville can hardly believe his luck and runs off, not daring to give the caretaker a chance to change his mind.

Neville is nearly to the tower when a worried Nick reappears. “Did it work?”

“D-d-did wh-what work?” Neville asks.

“I got Peeves to lure Filch out of his office. Did you get away?”

Neville’s face splits into a grin. “Th-that was you? Thank you!”

Nick returns the smile. “Glad I could help! Hey,” he says, suddenly a bit shy. “You, er, wouldn’t be interested in coming to my death day celebration the night of the thirty-first, would you? Maybe tell the others how, uh, scary and what-not you find me?”

Neville thinks hard. On the one hand, he really, really, really doesn’t want to. On the other hand, Nick had just done him a big favor.

Neville sighs internally then shoots a slightly forced smile at the spirit. “S-sure! I’d l-love to!”

Nick does a loop-de-loop in delight. “Wonderful! It means more to me than you know. You’re more than welcome to bring a friend or two!”

With that, Nick floats off and Neville’s smile slides off of his face. Great. As if Halloween isn’t bad enough already.

Just a week later and Halloween has arrived. The great hall, as per usual, looks like it’s been thrown up on by the holiday. Neville knows that Harry is begrudgingly impressed by the decorations, but Neville just thinks it’s overkill.

Like last year, Neville and Harry spend the whole day together, holding hands or sitting close. Because Halloween falls on a Saturday this year, there are no classes.

Neville, Harry, and Merlin spend most of the day holed up in their dorm room, just sitting in Harry’s bed. Harry works idly on homework and Neville goes over his wand research.

Neville grimaces. There were some he could cross off right off the bat (fir, yew, and spruce, to name a few) and some that he’s crossed off in his field research. But even after that, there’s still so many options.

Eventually, the time for the feast rolls around. Neville sighs and stands up, and Harry turns a pleading look towards him.

“Let’s just skip it,” Harry says.

“I am,” Neville admits.

Harry sits up. “Really?”

Neville nods. “Sir N-Nick invited m-me to his death-day p-party an-and I ag-agreed.”

Harry wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Like a birthday party?”

Neville shrugs. “Th-that’s what I assume. I d-don’t really w-want to go, but he did-did me a fav-favour, and I’d like to-to return it.”

Harry sighs, and slides off the bed, taking Merlin with him. “Let's go, then.”

Neville gives his godbrother a soft smile. “Thanks. But y-you don’t have to come with m-me.”

Harry levels a flat stare at Neville. “We’re coming with you.”

One hour later and Neville is freezing cold and miserable. Harry doesn’t look that much better off, standing shivering as countless pearly ghosts swoop around and through him. Merlin has long since crawled into her satchel to sleep the rest of the night off, and Neville can’t blame her in the slightest.

“S-sorry,” Neville whispers, for the fourth time.

“Stop apologizing. I could have left at any time- oh, hello Sir Nick! Nice, er, celebration? Very, uh, very scary and respectable!”

Nick gives the two of them a solemn nod and drifts away.

“Peeves,” Harry hisses suddenly, pulling Neville to the far side of the room.

They nearly walk directly through a silently weeping ghost. Neville pulls Harry up short just before he can stumble through her. Harry stares stupidly at the ghostly girl, and Neville elbows him. It’s too late. The translucent girl looks up at Harry angrily.

“It’s rude to stare, you know-” The ghost’s face goes from angry to perplexed as her eyes flicker over Harry’s face.

“Do I know you?” The girl asks confusedly.

“Er,” Harry says. “I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Harry. This is Neville.”

The ghost doesn’t spare a single glance at Neville and Harry narrows his eyes.

“Myrtle,” the girl says slowly, translucent eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

“It’s rude to stare,” Harry says mulishly.

The girl’s face screws up and she bursts into another round of tears. Harry rolls his eyes and grabs Neville’s arm, dragging him off.

“S-sorry,” Neville says to the girl as he’s pulled away. This just sets her off all over again.

Just then, a parade of headless ghosts ride in on their ghostly steeds. “Here we go,” Nick mutters.

Neville starts. He hadn’t noticed the ghost sneaking up on him.

“Ah, if it isn’t Nearly-Headless-Nick,” the ringleader crows from where his head is precariously balanced on his hand.

“It’s Sir Nick,” Nick mutters.

Neville has no idea why Nick had wanted to join these pompous idiots so badly.

“How have you been? Head still hanging in there?” The ghost says, jamming his head back onto his neck. The crowd howls with laughter.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to be booing?” Harry whispers, elbowing Neville.

Neville looks at him confused. Harry sighs and mutters something about Hermione getting it. Ah. Muggle thing, then.

Suddenly the ringleader gasps in delight. “Live-uns!” The spirit says, head falling off in shock.

Everyone laughs, and the ghost bows with a flourish (head safely in his arms). “Sir Patrick, at your service.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Neville stares at Harry. What is he doing?

“Not impressed?” Patrick says, raising an eyebrow. It’s extremely disconcerting to watch a man raise an eyebrow from his torso.

“Not really,” Harry shrugs. “The only ghost that’s ever scared me is in this room, but he’s certainly not you.”

“Ah,” Patrick says, tapping his nose (which is also very disconcerting). “Nick put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Harry gives him an unimpressed stare.

“No,” he says flatly. “He didn’t. You know, maybe you should take advantage of the fact that you can maneuver your head around and get it out of your ass.”

The crowd roars with laughter, and Patrick’s face flushes a deep blue. Nick has to stick a fist into his mouth to keep himself from laughing. Harry turns to face the Gryffindor ghost and nods.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Harry says. “We’re going to head out now. See you ‘round, Sir Nick.”

With that, Harry grabs onto Neville’s sleeve and pulls him out the door, leaving the room full of cackling ghosts behind.

Neville and Harry look at each other before bursting into laughter.

“Th-that was hil-hilarious,” Neville says, gasping for air. “I’m sure Sir Pa-Patrick will think twice before crashing another of Sir Nick’s parties af-after that.”

Harry grins, and goes to respond when he suddenly stops, head cocked. “Do… Neville, do you hear that? That voice?”

Neville strains his ears, but can’t hear anything over the sounds of the pipes. “N-no,” Neville says apprehensively. He’s got a bad feeling about this.

Harry’s hand is suddenly gripping Neville’s tightly. Neville looks at Harry, confused. Harry’s eyes are wide and his breathing is a bit shallow.

Neville goes to ask Harry what’s wrong; but then Harry takes off and they’re tearing down the corridors, Harry pulling Neville bodily behind him.

“This way!” Harry calls. “It’s going to kill someone!”

Neville’s blood freezes, and he starts running in earnest as Harry pulls him this way and that, up and down the halls of Hogwarts, pausing occasionally to listen for something only he can hear.

Neville is glancing behind his shoulder when he slams into Harry, who’s come to a sudden stop. “Harry- What-” Neville gasps, when he sees it too. There, painted on the wall just below a wall sconce are some blood-red letters, reading:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

“Oh. Oh no,” Neville whispers. Harry nods wordlessly.

“What’s th-that- hanging over the-the words, there?” Neville asks, pointing.

Harry steps forward, paying no mind to the pools of water he has to splash through to get closer to the scene.

“Oh god,” Harry says hoarsely. “It’s Mrs. Norris.”

Neville’s hand shoots up to his mouth in horror as he sees that yes, that’s exactly it- Mrs. Norris, stiff as a board and hanging upside down from her tail.

“Is she-” Neville starts, before trailing off.

What a stupid question. Of course she’s dead. Harry nods anyway, a grim expression on his face. Neville takes a couple halting steps towards Harry, stomach lurching at the sight of those dull yellow unseeing eyes.

“Who- Who would-”

Harry shakes his head, wide-eyed. “I- I don’t know. We need, need to find someone, tell- tell Filch, I-”

“Harry,” Neville says firmly, tugging at the frozen boy. “Wh-what we n-need to do is get out of here.”

He’s having flashbacks to that night in the forest -Harry trembling on the ground, blood pouring from his face, silver-blood-soaked figure stalking towards them-

“Harry,” Neville says, more insistently.

It’s too late. The sound of happy chattering and laughter fills the air as footsteps thunder closer and closer, coming from both ends of the passage. It sounds like the feast has just let out.

Students and teachers alike pour in, stopping suddenly at the same horrible sight that had stopped Harry and Neville. The crowd presses in closer, crowding Harry and Neville against the words on the wall. Neville is uncomfortably aware of how close the hanging body of Mrs. Norris is above them.

Just then, out of the silence comes the sound of somebody gleefully shouting, “enemies of the heir beware! Get out while you still can, muggleborns!”

Chapter Text

Malfoy, because of course it’s Malfoy, steps back, smirking nastily. What had he even meant by that?

Harry wants nothing more than to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face (possibly with a well-placed fireball) but his magic is already lashing around wildly around in his chest.

This day has really just gone from bad to worse. Harry’s starting to think he’d prefer a repeat of last year to whatever this mess is. At least Harry could throw magic at a troll until it goes away. He can’t throw magic at a dead cat to bring it back to life.

Harry sees the worried faces of his other friends push their way to the front of the crowd. Hermione looks like she wants to run right up to the two to make sure they’re okay, but Daphne and Blaise are holding her back. Theo is staring at Malfoy, eyes dead and hand surreptitiously on his forearm where Harry is pretty sure he keeps one of his knives.

Harry does not envy Malfoy, but, well, it’s not like the boy doesn’t deserve Theo’s ire. Besides, Harry mostly trusts Ron to keep Theo from causing any lasting harm. He had the last time; after the quidditch incident, anyhow.

Speaking of Ron: he’s quietly comforting a distraught Ginny, who’d burst into tears at the sight of Mrs. Norris. Harry doesn’t blame her one bit- he sort of feels like bursting into tears himself.

Filch (likely drawn to the crowd by Malfoy’s proclamation) pushes his way through the crowd, takes in the grisly scene, and lets out a horrible howl. Harry shudders as he tries and fails to not to think of what he’d do if he saw Merlin in such a state.

Filch’s gaze falls onto Harry, and his face goes stormy- “you! You’ve murdered my cat! How could you!”

Filch advances and Harry automatically shrinks backwards. Neville steps in front of him, but Harry’s too busy trying to keep his magic from lighting everyone on fire to truly appreciate the gesture.

“Argus!”

Dumbledore has arrived on scene, and Harry feels a rush of relief he would usually never associate with the headmaster. The man sweeps past Harry and Neville, detaching Mrs. Norris from the wall sconce with a wave of his hand.

“Come with me, Argus,” he says sternly.

Harry relaxes as Filch backs off, glaring at Harry through his tears; but tenses up again as Dumbledore then says, “you too, Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom.”

Lockhart steps forward eagerly, because of course he does, and says, “you can use my office! It's the closest, just a couple floors up. It’s no trouble, no trouble at all.”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore says, walking through the crowd of students that stand aside to let him pass easily.

Harry and Neville follow closely behind. Harry sees Snape and McGonagall pushing their way through the crowd as well, trailed by an excited Lockhart and a quietly crying Filch.

Theo, Ron, Hermione, Daphne, and Blaise make it all the way to the door of Lockhart’s office before they are told in no uncertain terms to go back to their dorms by a stern McGonagall. Harry watches morosely as the door is closed on the indignant faces of his friends and Neville tugs Harry over to a couple of out-of-the-way chairs.

Lockhart wastes no time in lighting the candles on his desk, illuminating the dark corners of the Defense office. Harry thinks he can smell a whiff of garlic and it’s quickly replaced with the smell of burning plastic. Neville squeezes his hand reassuringly, pulling Harry from his reverie. Harry gives Neville a shaky smile.

Harry’s gaze catches on the portrait- or, portraits Lockhart has hung up on his walls. They’re all of… Lockhart.

Is this man real? Surely not. Surely no one is that conceited. He tears his eyes away from the walls, looking over to where the professors and Filch are gathered around Mrs. Norris.

Dumbledore has his wand out and is muttering under his breath, face inches away from the cat. McGonagall is quietly whispering to a stony-faced Snape.

Filch’s shoulders are heaving with sobs as Lockhart confidently assures the man exactly how his cat had died and how preventable it would’ve been had Lockhart been there. Harry reaches for Merlin.

“What’s going on?” Merlin hisses sleepily.

“Shh,” Harry hisses softly. “Can’t talk much now.”

Merlin shifts and Harry knows she’s wide awake all of a sudden.

“We’re safe,” Harry assures her. “Just… I need to know you’re there, is all.”

Merlin settles around Harry’s hand, coiling around it. Harry relaxes slightly.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” Dumbledore announces finally, cutting Lockhart off.

Harry’s head whips up and Filch bursts into another round of tears.

“B-but h-how?” Filch says through his tears. “She’s s-so stiff, and c-cold, and-” he sniffs, unable to go on.

“She’s been petrified,” Dumbledore says gravely. “But for how, I cannot say.”

“Ask him!” Filch shrieks, rounding on Harry.

Neville tightens his grip on one of Harry’s hands, and Merlin tightens on the other. Harry thinks if it weren’t for his friends, Hogwarts would undoubtedly be a lot more on fire than it is usually.

“No second year could have done this,” Dumbledore says, shaking his head. “It would take dark magic of the most advanced-”

“He did it, I know he did it!” Filch growls.

“I didn’t,” Harry denies hotly, resolutely ignoring the sharp spike of irrational panic Dumbledore’s words on dark magic had provoked. “I wouldn't! I never touched Mrs. Norris!”

“H-he was wi-with me all-all day!” Neville protests at the same time. “He-he didn’t have th-the chance!”

“Why were you there in the corridor then? Missing the feast for kicks and giggles, were you?” Filch accuses angrily.

“We got invited to Sir Nick’s deathday party! Ask literally any ghost, they all saw us,” Harry says.

“Why go to the corridor afterwards? Surely you’d want to rejoin the feast,” Filch says, eyes narrowed. Harry’s mind blanks.

“W-we just wan-wanted to-to go to b-bed,” Neville says after a tense moment. Harry shoots a grateful look at him.

“Likely story,” Filch says.

“Loath as I am to point it out,” Snape cuts in smoothly. “Mister Potter and Mister Longbottom both have ample reason not to fully embrace the spirit of the holiday.”

Harry exchanges a disbelieving look with Neville. Had Snape just defended them? Even McGongall looks surprised.

Filch won’t be swayed. “My cat has been, been petrified. I want to see the boy punished!”

“Honestly, Argus,” McGonagall says tiredly. “We have no proof that Mister Potter is involved at all. It’s all just circumstance.”

Dumbledore turns his gaze to Harry. Harry tries not to look suspicious as he simultaneously avoids the man’s gaze. He really needs to find a way to learn occlumency.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Dumbledore agrees, finally.

Filch looks furious.

“We will be able to cure Mrs. Norris,” Dumbledore assures Filch. “By a stroke of luck, Professor Sprout has a nursery full of mandrakes right now. As soon as they’ve matured we’ll be able to create a restorative draught from the roots.”

Neville gives a sad little sigh but Harry is just relieved that Mrs. Norris will be okay.

“Of course, I would be happy to make the draught,” Lockhart says importantly. “I’ve had experience making a variety of restorative medicines, and am quite proficient at it, if I do say so myself!”

Someday Lockhart will leave Hogwarts and the halls themselves will rejoice, Harry decides.

“Hm. Interesting,” Snape says, sounding distinctly uninterested. “However, seeing as I am this school's potions master, I daresay I will be the one making the draught. It’s in my contract, you see. A shame, really, but I’m sure I’ll be able to make do without your expertise.”

“Oh, Severus, I’d be more than happy to give you some pointers,” Lockhart says, smiling and winking.

“I apologize. Let me rephrase: I will have to be cold in the ground before you have anything to do with a potion under this school’s roof.”

Lockhart splutters.

It’s times like these that make Harry wish that Snape could be a likable person. Unfortunately, Harry has sat through one too many potions class for that to ever become a reality. Neville is looking similarly conflicted.

“You may go,” Dumbledore says, nodding to Harry and Neville as Lockhart tries in vain to recover.

Neville stands up and tugs Harry with him, and they walk out of the office together.

As Harry had expected, Hermione, Ron, Theo, Daphne, and Blaise are all sitting directly outside the hall. Hermione starts as the door opens and looks up with a guilty expression on her face that vanishes when she sees it’s just Harry and Neville.

“It is past curfew, you know,” Harry points out. He’s immediately on the receiving end of five flat stares. “Okay! Jesus. I just thought I’d point it out.”

“What happened?” Blaise asks.

Harry grimaces. “Not here,” he decides. “Let's go find somewhere to talk.”

Hermione nods. “I know a really good spot nearby,” she says. “Follow me.”

Hermione leads the way, going back down the stairs and just past the scene of the crime. Harry takes the opportunity to brief Merlin on what had happened. The other six walk in silence until they stop in front of what seems to be… an out of order bathroom?

“Hermione,” Harry says as he follows Hermione in through the door. “This is a bathroom.”

“An out of order bathroom,” Ron adds, looking pointedly at the sign.

“Even worse, if I’m not mistaken then this is Myrtle’s bathroom,” Blaise says, looking disgustedly at the puddles of water pooled on the floor.

Daphne swats the back of his head. “Don’t be rude! Myrtle is just sensitive.”

“That,” Blaise laughs, “is a massive understatement. She floods this hallway every day.”

“Wait, are we talking about the ghost?” Harry asks. He hopes not. Harry’s a bit sick of ghosts.

“Sh-she’s probably s-still at-at the party,” Neville says reassuringly, obviously picking up on Harry’s distaste.

“You two didn’t show up at the feast because you were at a party. With ghosts,” Theo states.

It’s not a question, but Harry nods anyway. “Neville got invited to Sir Nick’s deathday party, and I went along. We left a couple minutes before the feast ended when I…” Harry trails off, grimacing.

When he what? Heard a murderous voice only he could hear, then followed it right to the scene of the crime?

Neville reaches over and gives Harry’s shoulder a reassuring pat. Harry sighs, then continues.

“I heard a voice. Neville couldn’t hear anything, but I heard it saying it was going to kill someone. I followed it right to Mrs. Norris.”

“Did you tell the professors?” Ron asks worriedly.

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t want to sound crazy. Or accidentally tell Dumbledore anything he doesn’t actually need to know.”

Ron gets a relieved look on his face.

Blaise nods thoughtfully. “That does sound crazy.” Daphne smacks him on the head again.

“Hey!” Blaise protests. “I didn’t say I didn’t believe him! Come on, this is Harry we’re talking about. He’s probably hearing the voice of Hogwarts herself or something equally ridiculous.”

Harry lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He hadn’t actually thought his friends wouldn’t believe him, but the confirmation is still a relief.

“Thanks, Blaise. I, uh, don’t think it was that, though.”

“Should we tell the professors?” Hermione asks.

Harry leans against a wall, thinking hard. In all honesty, they really probably should tell someone.

Except… if Remus were to hear of something potentially dangerous happening at Hogwarts again, Harry would no doubt be pulled for the rest of the school year.

“No,” Harry says, making up his mind. “It’s probably just some sort of… awful Halloween prank, or stupid scare-tactic. If it happens again, we tell someone.”

Harry really, really, really doesn’t want it to be anything. And maybe if they ignore the problem, just this once it’ll go away.

Both Neville and Daphne look uncertain, but Blaise, Ron, and Theo agree easily enough.

“What about the voice? I’m not sure we should just be brushing this off.” Hermione says, undeterred.

“Oh!” Neville says suddenly, eyes lighting up. “M-maybe the voice w-was a trick! Sir Patrick getting revenge on-on you for humiliating h-him!”

Harry hums in consideration. “That… that could actually explain it.”

“What are you talking about,” Theo asks flatly.

Harry gives the others a quick rundown of what had happened at the party.

“So what, this ghost gets pissed off and then… petrifies a cat?” Ron asks, unconvinced.

“If it wasn’t a coincidence, I’ll bet it was a coordinated attack- Patrick doing the voice and Peeves doing the writing and petrification.” Harry says excitedly.

He’s becoming more and more sure that the whole thing really is just a stupid prank- the elf at the beginning of the year and the voice a month ago were probably just… build up. For the prank. Maybe Malfoy is in on it too?

“Well,” Ron says. “Hopefully that’ll be, uh, the last of it, then.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and Harry’s other friends look a bit doubtful, but Harry decides not to worry about it. Not this time. The adults can figure this one out. Besides, it’s not like anyone actually got hurt.

Chapter Text

“It’s been two days,” Blaise groans, slumping into the library chair. “Don’t people know there are things to talk about other than some half-dead cat?”

“Oh, have people been talking about that? I hadn’t noticed,” Harry says glumly as he tries to ignore a group of older Hufflepuffs glaring at him.

“It’s a mystery,” Daphne says, shrugging. “People love a good mystery.”

“I don’t think people think it’s a mystery,” Ron says. “I think people think Harry pulled a dick-move on Halloween.”

“And then they spend every waking hour being unable to talk about anything but that? Harry is interesting, but he isn’t that interesting.” Blaise says.

“People are st-stupid,” Neville says, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe if Malfoy were to be taken out of the picture, everything would go back to normal,” Theo says idly.

Ever since that quidditch thing, Theo’s been ‘subtly’ trying to convince Harry that Malfoy is at fault for everything and it would really be a very good thing to just kill him off- and he's redoubled his efforts after Halloween. It’s not working.

“Theo,” Harry sighs. “Not helping.”

Theo shrugs, unbothered.

“Where’s Hermione?” Blaise asks, looking around.

“Still combing the Library for a book on whatever the Chamber is, I’ll expect.” Daphne says.

Sure enough, Hermione comes stalking over to the table in a huff. “I knew I shouldn’t have left my copy at home. The Library copies are booked out for weeks. This is bollocks. Why can’t I ever remember the things that really count?”

“Copy of what?” Harry asks.

“Hogwarts a History,” Hermione, Neville, Ron, Daphne, and Blaise all say at the exact same time. Hermione says it matter-of-factly, and the others say it in disbelief.

“H-haven't you ever met Hermione?” Neville asks.

“Honestly mate, you need to pay more attention to things,” Ron says. “I’m starting to think you have a problem.”

“Remember how Harry only learned that Ron is good at chess, like, halfway through first year?” Daphne says, a glint of amusement in her eye. Ron grins.

“Quick!” Blaise says. “Everyone reintroduce themselves to Harry! We have to make sure he knows our names!”

Ron, Hermione and Neville burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Harry says, feeling his face redden. “Shut up.”

“Shut up Blaise,” Blaise says mock seriously. “My name is Blaise.”

“Back me up here, Theo,” Harry says desperately.

“Let me kill Malfoy,” Theo suggests.

“For the last time, no!”

“You’re on your own,” Theo shrugs.

Later, Harry is trying very hard to stay awake in History of Magic, which is as dull as ever. Professor Binns is droning on about something about sorcerers and Harry idly wonders how hard it would be to get a Muggle priest on scene to do an exorcism. Would that even work?

“Hey Merlin,” Harry hisses, about to ask her her thoughts on the subject when suddenly-

“Excuse me, Professor Binns?”

Harry whirls around to look over at Hermione. She’s staring at the ghost, a determined glint in her eye. That’s the look of a Hermione who won’t be taking a dismissal for an answer.

“Yes, Miss…”

“Granger. I was just wondering what you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Professor Binns sniffs. “Nothing more than a myth. Now, back to the subject matter…”

Hermione waves her hand in the air, and Professor Binns raises an incredulous ghostly eyebrow. “Yes, Miss Grant?”

“It’s Granger. Aren’t all legends based on fact?”

Professor Binns squints. Harry can almost see the wheels turning in his head- or, see through the wheels turning in his head?

“That may be true… very well,” he decides.

Harry thinks it may have something to do with the fact that the students, for the first time ever, are hanging onto his every word.

“Let’s see… the Chamber of Secrets…”

Professor Binns proceeds to launch into an impromptu lecture: the original founders of Hogwarts had disagreed over the issue of muggleborns. Slytherin, apparently in an attempt to ‘cleanse’ the school, installed a fail-safe: a monster only the heir of Slytherin could control to wipe out those of ‘impure blood’.

With every word that falls out of the ghost’s mouth, Harry sinks lower and lower into his chair. With any luck, no one will remember that he’s technically the heir of Slytherin-

“So Harry definitely did it then,” Seamus interrupts.

“I did not!” Harry says, hurt. “Come on, Seamus!”

“I-I’ve said it b-before: Harry was w-with me the whole day!” Neville says exasperatedly.

“It was probably just a targeted prank!” Hermione says, glaring daggers at the boy.

“Merlin! Sorry! But you can’t say it’s not a little suspicious.” Seamus says.

“That’s why it’s a targeted prank,” Hermione says flatly.

Seamus flushes bright red.

“Settle down, students!” Binns says. “This is why I don’t go off on tangents, everyone always loses their heads. Now, back to the actual lesson…”

The class groans as one and sinks back into the typical history class induced stupor.

Hermione and Neville both shoot worried glances at Harry, who’s hiding his head in his arms in dismay.

Maybe if Malfoy could have kept his big mouth shut, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But he didn’t, and now the fact that Harry is the heir of Slytherin is common knowledge. Harry doubts that pointing out the fact that it’s by conquest will do anything to stop the inevitable tidal wave of gossip and glares that’s heading his way.

By the very next day, the whispers and dirty looks sent Harry’s way have more than doubled. People are literally avoiding him and his friends in the halls.

Colin Creevey had asked him point-blank if he was the Heir, to which he’d said that he was but had nothing to do with the Chamber. Harry isn’t sure if Colin believed him, but either way it didn’t seem to affect the hero worship at all- which Harry thinks is unfair.

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione says again, looking like she’s on the verge of tears. “I didn’t know- I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known-”

“It’s fine, Hermionie. You just wanted answers,” Harry says tiredly. “It’s just more of the same stuff I’ve been dealing with since day one of Hogwarts, anyways.”

Hermione still looks dismayed, but Harry has nothing he can say to reassure her. He’s already spending most of his energy trying to keep Merlin from biting everyone.

“I think the whole Chamber thing is a load of bull,” Ron decides at lunch. “The idea that Salazar Slytherin threw a monster into some secret chamber to cleanse the school of muggleborns? That sounds like something a storybook villain would do. Real life doesn’t work like that.”

“Even if there was a monster,” Daphne adds, “it’s dead now, or moved.”

“And there’s no way a whole secret Chamber has gone undiscovered for a thousand years. Your brothers alone would have totally found it by now,” Blaise says, nodding towards Ron.

“Great! Tell everyone else that,” Harry says.

At least the Slytherin house all seem to be on Harry’s side. Either they believe him, or they think he’s doing the work of Salazar Slytherin himself. Unfortunately, Harry is a Gryffindor. He doesn’t need Slytherin to be on his side; he wants his own house to back him up.

Well, that’s not quite true. The whispers and stares get to him a bit but like last year's point debacle, the people Harry cares about mostly seem to be on his side.

Percy seems a little more distant than usual, and Ginny seems to run and hide from Harry at every turn, but Harry thinks that might just be them being them.

What he does care about is that Neville and Hermione are in danger of becoming social pariahs right alongside him. He’s touched that they defend him so staunchly, but he still worries.

Harry is taking an afternoon walk in the forest (because even the terrifying nature of the forest is preferable to the atmosphere in Hogwarts right now) when he comes across the herd of thestrals.

Rather, they come across him- soon he’s swarmed once again by the curious deer-like things. He laughs as he pats their faces and wings and sides and they get their fill of him. It’s too bad Merlin is off doing whatever it is she does around the school, she loved the thestrals- she’s really missing out.

“Hello again- ah! Hey! Don’t put your mouth in mine!” Harry splutters, disgusted.

The offending thestral makes a chattering sound and tosses its head back. Harry gets the feeling it’s laughing at him.

“She’s laughing at you,” a dreamy voice says.

“What- who’s there?” Harry says, shooting to his feet.

He sees a little girl with leaves in her hair and carrot-shaped earrings. She’s wearing a huge multi-colored scarf that’s been wrapped around her neck so many times it’s nearly covering her face. She has a basket of apples, and is barefoot.

“Oh! Luna, hello,” Harry says, relieved.

“Hello Harry Potter.” Luna doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, as she just stands and stares.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Harry says after a moment, gesturing to the apples.

“Oh. It’s alright. I don’t think they care for apples.”

“They like rabbits,” Harry says. “Dead ones, I mean. I think they’re, er, carnivorous?”

Luna nods sagely. “They are. I was testing a hypothesis.”

Harry smiles. “Science experiment, huh?”

“Oh yes. Mummy was a scientist, and my other Mum says I’m just like her. Mummy died,” Luna says matter-of-factly. “That’s why I can see the thestrals.”

“Oh,” Harry says, unsure of what to say. “Do you… do you need to know someone who died to be able to see the thestrals?”

“No,” Luna says. Harry is beyond confused, until she continues, “you need to see someone die to see thestrals. That’s part of the reason people don’t like them. They’re afraid of the things that remind them of death.”

Quirrell’s terrified face flashes through Harry’s mind, and he grimaces. Then he shakes his head, and says, “what’s your science experiment?”

Luna shuffles from side to side. “The unicorns enjoy fruit. I wanted to see what thestrals think about them. They don’t seem to care either way,” Luna says thoughtfully, looking down at the apples.

“Unicorns?” Harry says nervously, magic irrationally flaring a little bit. “You’ve- you’ve seen the unicorns?”

“They’re very easy to find,” Luna says seriously. “You just need to follow the dabberblimps. That’ll take you right to the herd. Or, sometimes to the forest boy.”

Harry has decided that maintaining a conversation with Luna Lovegood means just going with a lot of what she has to say. Try as he might, though, Harry’s not going to be able to let that slide.

“Forest boy,” Harry says, disbelief creeping into his tone despite himself.

Luna laughs a little tinkling laugh. Harry is distinctly reminded of a windchime. “Don’t play silly,” Luna admonishes.

Harry is well and truly lost now.

“He’s your brother!”

“Brother- oh! You mean Neville? We aren’t really brothers.” Unfortunately. “Just godbrothers.”

“Yes! That’s his name, I’d forgotten,” Luna says. “And I don’t care about any of that. I’m just saying what I see.”

“O…kay…” Harry says. “Still dealing with your nargles?” Harry asks, gesturing to her bare feet. Luna kicks at some leaves instead of answering.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it,” Harry says. “Be careful out here.”

Luna nods, not looking up from the ground.

Harry would be worried about leaving the slight girl in the Forbidden Forest alone, but something tells him she’s far more comfortable here than she is in the halls of Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Fortunately, the gossip dies down just in time for the first Quidditch game of the year, one week after the events of Halloween. Harry is especially nervous, because it’s the first time he’s facing off against Malfoy and the Slytherin team’s technically superior brooms.

When Remus had taken Ron and Harry to get Ron a new wand, Remus had also insisted on buying the other three teams new Nimbus 2001s. Harry had protested, saying he was more than happy to use up his allowance for the year, but Remus would hear nothing of it (the quidditch supply store-owner had watched the whole exchange in delight).

Then, Remus had suggested to Harry that he should get a Nimbus 2001 as well and Harry flat-out refused. He knows it’s silly, but that feels like too much of a betrayal to his broom to even consider.

Harry’s been able to hold his own against the 2001s during practice, but now that he actually has to play a game against them, Harry’s beginning to wonder if he’s made a massive mistake (Oliver is quick to reassure him that he has nothing to worry about, but Harry can’t shake the feeling that Oliver is also trying to reassure himself).

“You have until next year to figure out how to take me with you during games,” Merlin warns as Harry hands her off to Hermione during breakfast, tongue flickering in annoyance.

“Or what?” Harry asks, amused.

“I’ll eat Hedwig,” Merlin decides after a moment.

Harry snorts. As if. Merlin loves Hedwig and they all know it.

“Try not to light anyone on fire this time,” Harry says to Hermione instead of responding to Merlin’s bluff.

“Don’t worry Harry,” Theo says without looking up from his book. “I won’t let her.”

Harry narrows his eyes.

“Not without me,” Theo continues.

There it is.

Blaise sighs heavily as Harry turns a pleading expression towards him. “It’s bad enough that I have to watch the game at all. Now I have to babysit a couple homicidal maniacs?”

“Watch it,” Theo warns.

“No problem, Harry, is of course what I meant to say,” Blaise amends hurriedly.

Ron and Daphne crash into the benches suddenly, apparently having spent the morning getting ready for the game.

“Damn,” Harry whistles, staring at the little snakes and snitches painted on Ron’s face. “Are those moving?”

“Sure are,” Ron says proudly. “I think Daphne should go pro!”

“Please,” Daphne says, rolling her eyes. Her face is similarly painted. “I have grander aspirations than that.”

“Sorry for the compliment, I guess?” Ron says, confused.

“Anyone know where Neville is?” Hermione asks suddenly.

“Oh, he’s not making the game today,” Harry says. “Something about the weather bringing out the best in trees, whatever that means.”

Harry knows exactly what that means, but his friends have made their thoughts clear on Neville’s foray into wandmaking and Harry doesn’t want to sit through another wand lecture if he can help it.

“Harry!” Oliver calls, and Harry hurriedly shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth as he gathers his things and stands up.

“Gotta go! See you guys after the game!”

His friends all chorus their goodbyes and well-wishes as Harry leaves to follow the rest of the team down to the pitch.

The weather is muggy and damp, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if thunder rolled in at any moment. Still, the weather isn’t anywhere close to how bad it would have to be for the game to be canceled, so Harry and the others head to the locker room to get ready.

“Alright,” Oliver starts. “Thanks to an extremely generous benefactor-” here he winks at Harry and Harry goes a bit lightheaded “-we’re as evenly matched to the Slytherins as before- the only wildcard is Malfoy. Harry, you have my full confidence: Malfoy’s got nothing on our youngest-seeker-in-a-century.”

Angelina gives Harry a hearty pat on the back as Alicia and Katie cheer. Harry feels his face go bright red.

“Hey Harry,” one of the twins leans in. “Are you sick of that one yet?”

“Or should we all start calling you that too?” The other twin suggests, eyes twinkling.

“I’ll set Theo on you,” Harry mutters.

“Oh no, George, what’ll we do?”

George (presumably) shakes his head sadly. “Against a twelve-year old of his caliber? Nothing to be done, Freddy.”

“If you’re all done,” Alicia cuts in flatly, “we have a game to get to.”

As if on cue, a piercing whistle sounds from outside of the locker room.

“We’ve got this one in the bag!” Oliver says, ushering everyone up and out. “Play hard out there!”

As per usual, the stands are full of a hearty mix of cheers and boos as the two teams stride forward to meet in the middle. Malfoy scowls as his eyes catch on the Gryffindor team’s brooms (according to a gleeful Ron, he’d really thrown a tantrum when he’d heard what Remus had done) but his scowl turns into a smirk as Harry catches his gaze.

Harry resists the urge to glare, and instead turns his attention to Madam Hooch and the two team captains. They shake hands, and Madam Hooch holds up a hand.

“On my count! Three… two… one!” She whistles, and the two teams take off.

Harry gets up high as fast as he can, resolutely ignoring Malfoy who seems to be content circling the pitch. He watches as his teammates and the Slytherins dash around each other. It’s a damn good thing he’d written to Remus: the Nimbus 2001s are insanely fast. Harry can hardly follow the game, the chasers and beaters flying around looking more like blurs than people.

“Alright there, scarhead?” Malfoy jeers, zipping up to Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes. He’s not planning on responding but even if he had wanted to, he’s suddenly too busy ducking and rolling his broom to avoid the bludger that had missed him by inches.

“Watch it!” One of the twins yells, zooming by with his bat at the ready.

He gives the bludger a solid thwack and sends it careening towards a Slytherin chaser.

“That was a close one-what the hell?”

The bludger has turned midair, and is rapidly building up speed as it shoots towards Harry again.

The twin gives it another whack and Harry wastes no time in flying off. The weather has gone from muggy to straight up rainy, fat raindrops pelting Harry’s face and arms as he dives to avoid the bludger which has come around again.

By this point, the other twin is next to Harry, expertly twirling the beater’s bat to keep the bludger from leaving a bludger-shaped hole in Harry’s skull.

“What- is- going- on?” The twin pants as Harry dodges and weaves.

“I don’t know! I can’t look for the snitch like this, though!” Harry grits out.

“Your priorities are messed up!” Says the other twin, flying next to Harry as well.

“Slytherin scores! 60-nil!” Lee’s amplified voice announces.

“Shit!” Harry yells. “You need to do your jobs!”

“Oliver!” One of the twins screams, ignoring Harry. “Call a time-out!”

Oliver seems to catch on and flies down to Madam Hooch, who blows her whistle and brings the game to a stop. The crowd mutters and the Slytherin side especially boos and hisses, but Harry is too busy bringing his broom down to the pitch to pay them any mind.

“What’s going on up there?” Oliver asks, clearly frustrated but trying not to show it. “Alicia was fighting for her life out there!”

Alicia scowls and nods, shaking her shoulder out.

“Alicia was fighting for her life?” One of the twins says. He has George’s number on his jersey. “What about Harry?”

“What about Harry?” Katie asks, landing heavily; Angelina following directly behind her.

“What’s going on? That bludger was being super weird,” Angelina says.

“Exactly! One of the bludgers is trying to kill Harry!” George says.

“The Slytherins must have done something to it!” Fred agrees.

Oliver looks worried, but shakes his head. “Impossible. We checked before the game- they were all tamper-free.”

“That is not what an un-tampered bludger looks like,” George assures.

The crowd is starting to get impatient, and Harry decides it’s time to get back into the air.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry says. Fred and George stare at him incredulously. “We have to start the game up again or we’ll be disqualified. You two do your job, leave it to me to dodge. I can’t look for the snitch with you two around anyways.”

“Harry,” George says. “You can’t be serious.

“That bludger is out for your blood!” Fred says, waving his arms around like that’ll somehow change Harry’s mind.

“Trust me,” Harry pleads, looking Oliver right in the eye.

Oliver worries his bottom lip, but sighs and nods. Fred and George turn and look at him as one, betrayed expression painting their faces.

“If Harry says he can do it, then he can. Fred, George, help where you can but don’t focus too much on the rogue bludger. Harry, you need to get up there and finish the game, okay? I’m talking last year’s game against Hufflepuff level speediness, alright?”

Harry nods determinedly and remounts his broom as Oliver signals for Madam Hooch to restart the game.

The twins both shoot glares at Harry, but do as their captain had said. The rain is falling heavier than before now, but Harry pays it no mind as he shoots off, keeping his ears peeled for the sound of the bludger whooshing behind him.

On the bright side, the wayward bludger makes it so Malfoy steers clear of Harry. Harry can’t blame him, as the bludger narrowly misses him for the seventh time.

Harry gains height, wheeling his broom around and around, scanning for the snitch. The lack of sunshine makes it difficult to clock the golden ball. The bludger swings around again and Harry does a complicated sort of vertical twist to avoid it.

“Practicing for the ballet?” Malfoy sneers, floating nearby.

Apparently the draw of mocking Harry outweighs the risk of the bludger after all.

Harry goes to roll his eyes when they catch on the snitch- floating right by Malfoy’s ear. Malfoy isn’t a bad flier, not at all; but Harry thinks he might not be cut out for the seeker position.

Harry tries not to be obvious about it as he swings his broom back into prime position to chase after the snitch. He’s so focused on keeping Malfoy from noticing the snitch that he doesn’t pay enough attention to the bludger.

With a wet-sounding crack, Harry’s arm is suddenly broken.

Harry’s vision whites out in pain, but he has the presence of mind to do a quick flip to avoid the bludger coming back for round two. He manages to sort of spiral in the direction of Malfoy and the snitch, holding his arm close to his chest. He’ll heal it in a second- for now, his priority is the snitch.

“Wh-” Malfoy starts, swooping away from Harry.

Harry grits his teeth in pain. It hurts so bad he’s starting to feel nauseous, but the snitch is… right… there!

Gripping to his broom tightly with just his legs, Harry’s uninjured hand clasps around the snitch. Snitch secured, Harry is suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness that has him sliding halfway off his broom.

He shifts his weight so his broom is angled towards the ground, but he’s spending so much effort on not passing out that he can’t manage to land any more gracefully than sort of dropping from his broom and onto the muddy pitch from a couple meters up.

He lands on his bad arm and the pain is so blindingly sharp that Harry passes out.

When he wakes up, he sees the bloodless and muddy faces of his teammates crowded around him. Oliver especially looks horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Harry slurs, waving the snitch. “Got it.”

“I am not even a little bit concerned with that right now,” Oliver says, eyes darting to look at Harry’s arm.

Oh, right. Harry makes the mistake of following Oliver’s gaze and it takes everything in him not to black out again: his arm is definitely not supposed to bend that way, and bones, as a rule, should not be visible.

He comes to again- he must have fainted after all. Now he's propped up against a worried Oliver. Harry tries to sit up all the way, but Oliver holds him firm.

“Just wait, Harry. Help will be here soon,” Oliver says. He sounds sort of like he’s trying to reassure himself.

“No, no,” Harry mumbles. “I got it.”

He grabs for his magic, missing a couple times (Harry really should’ve grabbed onto his magic the second he realized he’d be going up against a bloodthirsty bludger, but had been more preoccupied with winning the game) before he manages to snag it. He shakily readies it when-

“Clear out of the way! Let me through!” A self-important Lockhart cries, wading through the gathering crowd.

Harry tightens his hold on his magic as Lockhart falls to his knees and readies his wand.

“Do not-” Harry grits out, but it’s too late.

Lockhart, with a wave of his wand and some nonsense spell, manages to vanish the bones in Harry’s hand and forearm.

Harry stares disbelievingly at his now floppy arm for a moment before the pain hits. It’s much worse than it had been before. Harry barely manages to roll over enough to keep from throwing up on Oliver.

“Whoops,” Lockhart says, grinning sheepishly. “At least it’s not broken any more!”

Oliver looks like he’s on the verge of going for the man’s throat, which is all sorts of surreal.

“Harry!”

Oh, good. His friends are here. Harry looks up, squinting blearily. He can’t tell which friends, is the only problem.

“Ron- or who… whoever you are…” Harry says, blackness edging around his vision. He distantly registers Merlin climbing up to his shoulders.

“Yes?” One of them says.

Sounds Ron-like enough, Harry supposes.

“Dont… don’t let Theo kill him… not a good enough reason…” Harry gasps. “Not… Yet…”

“I mean- I’ll try?” Probably-Ron says.

“What?” Lockhart chuckles nervously. “What does that mean?”

Harry, seeing that his message has been received and acknowledged, slips into unconsciousness once more.

Chapter Text

“...enervate.”

Harry’s eyes shoot open, and he immediately wishes they hadn’t. At least when he’s out, he doesn’t have to feel the hole where his bones used to be.

“Sorry for the rude awakening, Mister Potter, but I need you to drink this.” Pomfrey says, holding a vial to Harry’s lips.

Harry opens his mouth and allows her to pour the potion down his throat. It takes everything he has in him not to spit it right up again.

“Burns,” Harry coughs out after the vial is emptied.

Merlin, who’s been coiled around his legs, flicks her tongue worriedly.

Pomfrey grimaces. “I know. No part of regrowing bones is fun, up to and including the potion. Here,” she says, holding up another potion.

Harry downs this one as well, sighing in relief as what seems to be a pain-potion kicks in.

“Couldn’t you have given that one to me first?” Harry complains, wiping his mouth. Pomfrey raises her eyebrow. “Alright, alright, I know we just went over potion interactions. Doesn’t make it feel better.”

“Even with the pain potion, I’m afraid you’re in for a long night. Lots of aches and growing pains as your nerves reconnect to where they’re supposed to go. Why didn’t you just heal yourself when you got hit?”

Harry grimaces. “Well, you see, the snitch… okay, it was right there. I thought I’d just grab it really quick, and heal my arm later?”

Pomfrey sighs. “Most of the time you’re all Lily. I can even see a little bit of Remus in you! And then you go and pull a move like this, and I remember you’re also most definitely James’s son.”

Harry smiles sadly, reaching out a hand to pet Merlin’s scales. Pomfrey sighs again and pats the shoulder of his uninjured arm.

“Your friends are just outside. I’ll let them in for a couple minutes, but then you need to try and sleep. Regrowing bones is going to really take it out of you,” Pomfrey warns.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry says tiredly.

Sure enough, the second the Hospital Wing doors open, Harry’s friends have tumbled into the room.

“Harry!” Hermione cries, rushing towards his bed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m down a couple dozen bones, but can’t complain other than that,” Harry says, smiling wryly.

Theo narrows his eyes at Harry’s lifeless arm. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s at two strikes,” Theo says.

“Theo. Until Lockhart actively tries to hurt one of us, we cannot justify murder,” Harry says firmly. “We have been over this.”

“No, Theo is right,” Daphne says, eyes cold and hard. “That man is a danger to himself and others.”

“At least let me introduce him to my mother,” Blaise pleads.

Ron nods vigorously in agreement.

“Can we not do this right now?” Harry says desperately. “Please.”

Neville puts a reassuring (if muddy) hand on Harry’s arm. “O-of course. Sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry sighs. “I get it, I’m mad too.”

“What happened?” Hermione bursts out, seemingly unable to hold it in any longer. “We all saw the bludger. That’s not how they’re supposed to work, right?”

“No. I don’t know what that was,” Harry says, yawning widely. “Oliver said it hadn’t been tampered with, though.”

“May-maybe we’ll look into it,” Neville suggests. “An-and let you rest.”

Harry smiles gratefully at him, and his friends leave after a quick goodbye. Harry closes his eyes, buries his face into Merlin’s coils, and lets sleep claim him.

…Only to wake up again, mere hours later.

“Augh,” Harry grits out, clutching at his arm. “Fuck!”

It looks like the sun has only just set, and if anything, Harry just feels more exhausted. However, the pins and needles dancing up and down his arm are bad enough that he’s not sure how to fall back asleep again.

Harry reaches out, wordlessly summoning a glass of water into his hand from his bedside. He downs it all, then puts it back onto the table.

“Merlin,” Harry gasps, closing his eyes tight against the pain.

“Yes?” Merlin says, sounding worried.

“Tell me about your week?” Harry asks, forcing himself to relax.

“Um, okay, well on Monday I spent most of the day swearing at the Giant Squid because I could just tell it was shit-talking about me…”

Harry falls asleep again by the time Merlin gets to Thursday.

…and wakes up again. The moon is high in the sky, and if Harry was to guess, he’d say it’s closer to one or two in the morning.

This time, though, the pain isn’t what wakes him up (although it is definitely still there). Instead, it’s the sound of Merlin’s long and low warning hiss, and heavy breathing coming from just beside his pillow.

Harry whips his head to the side and nearly shrieks, catching himself and his magic only just in time: there, inches from his face, are two huge luminous eyes staring unblinkingly at Harry.

Harry sits up, good hand clutching at his chest.

“Dobby!” Harry hisses. “What the hell!”

The house elf dances back, hands anxiously twisting in his white linen tunic. Dobby rocks back and forth on his heels, smiling widely at Harry. He has yet to blink. Are Dobby’s teeth sharper than they were last time?

“Dobby warned you,” Dobby says. Harry can’t decide if he sounds regretful or gleeful. “Dobby warned you not to come back to school and did the Potter boy listen? No! No, the Potter boy did not listen!”

“Dobby, I’m not just going to drop out of school! Besides, I have friends here, if it really is as dangerous as you say it is, I need to keep them safe and I can’t do that from home!”

A single tear rolls down Dobby’s cheek despite the grin (grimace?) still frozen on the elf’s face.

“Yes. The Potter boy is noble,” Dobby admits. “Very noble. And yet! Who is to look out for the Potter boy while the Potter boy does his saving?”

“My friends look out for me, too! Look, Dobby, why are you here?” Harry asks, desperately ready for this whole interaction to be over.

Dobby cocks his head to the side. “The Potter boy should have gone home when Potter missed the train,” he says slowly. “The Potter boy did not. The Potter boy cheated.”

Harry grimaces. That all but confirms his suspicion that the wayward house elf had been behind the apparition issue.

Dobby continues, “Dobby thought the bludger might do the trick, but the Potter boy is wily.”

Dobby leans forward, hands clasped behind his back.

“Dobby tells the Potter boy one last time: the Potter boy must go home. If Potter ignores Dobby’s warning, then the Potter boy is in great danger.”

“The bludger was you?” Harry asks disbelievingly. “You know what would keep me out of danger? You not trying to kill me! Fuck!”

Dobby’s lamp-like eyes grow brighter in the darkness, and his bat-like ears twitch.

“Dobby warned the Potter boy, and Dobby is beholden to the rule of three,” Dobby whispers cryptically.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before. History will repeat itself, the Potter boy will die, and Dobby will do no more meddling.”

With that, the elf snaps his fingers and blinks out of existence.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harry says, willing his heart to calm. “Why you like to hang out with house elves is beyond me, Merlin.”

“Shush! Someone is coming,” Merlin hisses, ignoring Harry.

Harry lies down hurriedly, trying to slow his breathing.

“You should be nicer to that Elf,” Merlin berates quietly as Harry listens to the footsteps making their way towards the Hospital Wing. “You don’t need to heed his warning, but he also didn’t need to go out of his way to warn you at all.”

“That’s on him, then,” Harry hisses grumpily, then shuts up as the doors to the infirmary swing open.

Harry watches through narrowed eyes as Dumbledore and McGonagall stride into the room, levitating what looks to be a statue behind them.

Dumbledore is wearing a very cartoon-y nightcap and dressing gown, which would be funny in any other circumstance, and McGonagall looks as though she’s come from a nightly patrol.

“Get Madam Pomfrey,” Dumbledore says grimly.

McGonagall nods, going into Pomfrey’s office. Harry tries to make out what (or, more likely, who) is laying on the bed, but it’s too hard from his laying down position.

Harry hears a sharp intake of breath from Madam Pomfry. “What happened?” She asks quietly.

“Another attack,” Dumbledore says. “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

“We think he was trying to sneak in and visit Mister Potter. There was a plate of grapes next to him.”

Harry’s heart has been sinking further and further with every word the adults utter. Someone’s been petrified, that much is obvious, but who? And why? Harry hadn’t heard a voice this time, but he was also out cold until Dobby had woken him up.

Harry can’t take it any more: he needs to know who’s laying in that hospital bed.

“Merlin,” Harry hisses quietly, so quietly he’s not sure he hears her. “Who is it?”

Merlin lifts herself up carefully and quietly, angling her head so she gets a good look (or maybe smell?) at the student.

“The annoying camera boy,” Merlin says, lowering herself back down onto Harry’s chest. “He’s still holding the camera up.”

“Okay,” Harry breathes out. He hates himself just a little bit for the relief flooding his chest.

“Petrified,” Madam Pomfrey confirms.

Dumbledore leans down and wrenches the camera from the boy’s stiff hands.

“You think he got a picture of the attacker?” McGonagall asks, surprised.

Dumbledore pops the camera open, and Harry doesn’t need to see to know the camera is broken beyond repair: he’d recognize the smell of burning plastic anywhere.

“Or not,” McGonagall says tiredly.

“Melted…” Pomfrey says, sounding baffled. “What…”

“What does it mean?” Dumbledore prompts. “It means the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again.”

Pomfrey clamps her hand over her mouth, horrified. McGonagall just stares at Dumbledore.

“Albus,” she starts. “You cannot possibly think…”

Dumbledore sighs. “I do not know who else it could have been.”

“He’s been in the Hospital Wing, asleep, all day!” McGonagall says, disbelievingly.

Harry’s heart stops.

“Nevertheless,” Dumbledore says. “The alternative is impossible.”

Harry is totally lost. Alternative?

“Well,” Pomfrey says finally. “You’ll have to wait to conduct your interrogation,” Harry’s stomach flips uncomfortably. “My patient needs to rest, as he’s currently regrowing around thirty bones.”

Harry feels his chest fill with warmth- Pomfrey clearly thinks Harry is innocent.

“Very well,” Dumbledore says after a moment. He nods to the two women. “Poppy, Minerva.”

“Goodnight, Albus,” McGonagall says.

With that, Dumbledore turns and leaves the room. Harry lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“It’s not Potter,” Pomfrey says firmly.

“No,” McGonagall agrees. “But it is someone. You know what happened the last time the Chamber opened…”

“We all do,” Pomfrey says.

Harry doesn’t, but it’s not like he can say that. He does know one thing, though: he needs to talk to his friends as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Harry is let out of the Hospital Wing just after lunch the next day, and can’t seem to find any of his friends.

So far, it seems like the news of Colin being petrified hasn’t quite gotten out (Pomfrey had erected a curtain around the poor boy’s hospital bed), and Harry is becoming more and more desperate to make sure his friends hear it from him first.

Preferably before Dumbledore summons Harry in for questioning.

Through a combination of snooping, eavesdropping, and just asking, Harry manages to find out where most of them are: Apparently, the Contessa and Blaise had invited Ron, Theo, and Daphne on a lunch outing of some kind.

Harry is happy for Ron especially (Harry gathers that knowing the Contessa gets you instant access to a truly comprehensive networking system), but thinks that this is really very bad timing on their part.

Harry assumes Neville is out in the woods, but Hermione is just nowhere to be found. Having exhausted all other options, Harry reluctantly turns to the most reliable source he knows: the twins.

Or, he would if he could find them either.

“Hey Percy?” Harry asks, walking up to the older student. He’s at his usual study table in the Gryffindor common room.

“Hello Harry. Good to see you up and about after yesterday. How can I help you?” Percy says, smoothly sliding a slip of parchment under one of his textbooks and turning his attention to Harry.

“Er,” Harry says. “I was wondering if you know where the twins are?”

Percy looks like he wants to roll his eyes but catches himself just in time. “Last I saw, they were hanging around the Entrance Hall. Do try to discourage whatever mischief it is they’re getting up to when you find them, alright?”

“Sure thing,” Harry says, backing away. Percy turns back to whatever it is that he was doing. Suddenly, Percy looks up again.

“Say, Harry,” Percy starts.

“Er, yeah?” Harry says hesitantly.

“If you see Ginny will you let her know to come talk to me?”

“Er, sure?”

Percy nods, and Harry leaves hurriedly, pausing in an empty corridor to slip his invisibility cloak on. He does not want to risk running into the Headmaster before he finds Hermione.

Harry gets to the Entrance Hall and pauses, looking around. There are a few students milling around, but no twins. Harry narrows his eyes. If he were the twins, he’d want to be in a place with a good vantage point, great visibility, and hidden. That means…

Harry turns his eyes towards one of the higher windows, and his gaze catches on a bit of movement. Yep, that’s them. Somehow the twins have climbed or flown up there.

Harry sighs as he pulls out his broom and awkwardly unshrinks it, keeping it under the invisibility cloak. He mounts it, flaring the cloak out so it covers everything, and pushes off the ground.

“Smooth,” Merlin hisses tiredly. The cold weather is starting to get to her, like it does every year.

“Shut up,” Harry says, floating gingerly up to the window.

He precariously lands, balancing on the edge. The twins are writing a couple equations on a simple spiral-bound notebook, cross-referencing with what seems to be an advanced arithmancy textbook. Instead of quills, they’re using ballpoint pens. Harry should ask them where they get their supplies.

Harry suddenly realizes he’s made a tactical error. Oh well, nothing for it. He whips the cloak off, and both of the twins have their wands trained on him.

“You guys have great reflexes,” Harry says, impressed. The wands vanish. One of the twins (Fred, Merlin helpfully points out) looks sheepish whereas the other (must be George) grins.

“Good to see you-”

“Out of the Hospital Wing-”

“With all your bones-”

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” The twins say together.

“If you want us to prank Lockhart I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.” Fred says, sighing.

“Our mother made us sign a legally binding contract that says we can’t touch a single golden hair on his head,” George says, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t find Hermione anywhere ,” Harry says, breezing past the Lockhart stuff. “And it’s super important that I find her as soon as possible.”

The twins look at each other, eyebrows raised. They seem to have a bit of a silent argument, then turn to face Harry again.

“No problem-”

“Easily done-”

“We just need to borrow that cloak.”

“Now?” Harry asks, uncomfortable. The twins shake their heads.

“On a future date. No longer than one day, no less than an hour. No questions asked, none answered.” Fred surmises.

“Er,” Harry says.

He hates owing things to people, but he really really needs to find Hermione.

“I need to be able to refuse if it’s life-or-death,” Harry decides.

The twins look at each other and George shrugs.

“Sure,” George says. “If by giving us the cloak for the day consigns you or another to death, you can refuse and we’ll collect another day. That’s reasonable.”

“Reasonable for Harry Potter,” Fred mutters grumpily. George elbows him.

“Deal, then,” Harry says. The twins give him identical grins.

“Alrighty, Harry-”

“Just close your eyes-”

“Turn around-”

“Your snake, too-” (At this, Merlin slithers into her satchel, saying something about taking a nap.)

“And we’ll have your answer in no time!”

Harry well and truly hates having to resort to the twins, and this is exactly why. Their methodology is mysterious and they want to keep it that way, which is fair, but Harry doesn’t like to do what the twins say on general principle. He’d learned that lesson early on- if you trust the twins, you’re getting pranked ninety-five percent of the time.

Fortunately the twins are good on their word.

“Alright, Harry-”

“Nothing to worry about!”

“Hermione is just in the bathroom-”

“The haunted one, on the second floor.”

Harry wastes no time swinging the invisibility cloak back on and jumping off the window sill. He’s about a quarter of the way down when a thought strikes him, and he floats back up. The twins have already gone back to their notebook.

“Do you know where Ginny is? Percy wanted to know.”

Fred jumps at Harry’s disembodied voice, but George doesn’t look up from the notebook.

“If Percy wants to know where Ginny is, he can ask us himself,” George says.

“Alright. Thanks, bye!”

“See you around, Harry,” the twins say as one.

Harry thinks about flying the whole way there, but would prefer not to risk the invisibility cloak falling off. Flying at a slow pace with it on is awkward enough. Instead, Harry dismounts and shrinks the broom as he speedwalks to Myrtle’s bathroom.

What is Hermione doing in there? On Halloween she seemed familiar with it, maybe she and Myrtle are friends? Harry hopes not. He’d prefer not to interact with the off-putting ghost girl today. Harry has enough to worry about.

Harry suppresses a shudder as he walks past the scene of the crime. The words are only half-scrubbed away and Harry wonders why they haven’t just been vanished.

Maybe Filch wants to clean it himself? As a sort of… revenge cleaning?

Harry gets to the door with the out-of-order sign on it and notices the floor is dry. Myrtle’s either out, or in a good mood. He hopes it’s the former. Harry takes a deep breath and pushes the door in.

“Heremione, are you in-”

Harry freezes at the scene before him. There, sitting cross-legged in front of a bubbling cauldron, is Hermione.

Her hair is tied back and she has three open books spread out around her. In one hand is a bubbling beaker and in the other is a big wooden spoon. Next to her is a basket full of assorted potions ingredients.

Hermione doesn’t even look up from whatever recipe she’s reading, just continues to slowly pour the contents of the beaker into the cauldron, tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration.

None of that is what has Harry pausing. No, the most baffling part of the whole scene is a wide-eyed Parkinson who looks to have been in the process of dissecting a mummified frog.

Parkinson’s short black bobbed hair is held out of her face with some bobby pins, and the sleeves of her button-up are rolled up. She has a smudge on her cheek and one of her immaculate eyebrows looks a tad singed. Parkinson is staring at Harry with an expression of shocked outrage.

“Uh,” Harry says again, unsure of what else there is to say. At least Myrtle doesn’t seem to be here.

Parkinson breaks out of whatever stupor she’d been in and smoothly pulls her wand out as she stands up, leveling it at Harry.

“I really am sorry, Hermione,” Parkinson says, eyes not leaving Harry’s face. “But you do understand why I have to kill him, right?”

Hermione doesn’t move or say anything as she continues to concentrate, just blows a puff of escaped hair out of her face.

“I mean,” Harry says, going a bit cross-eyed as he stares at the wand-point in his face. “You can try?”

“Excuse me?” Parkinson says, lowering her wand slightly. She sounds offended.

“Oh, no,” Harry says, backtracking. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of killing just about whoever you want when you put your mind to it. It’s just that, well, I’m sort of like… like a cockroach.” Harry explains.

Parkinson’s expression goes bewildered.

“No you aren’t,” Hermione says absently. Harry waits, but that seems to be the extent of her contribution to the conversation right now.

“I kind of am, though! People keep trying to kill me and it just doesn’t work. We’re up to, what; five, six murder attempts?”

“Bludger?” Hermione asks absently, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Sort of,” Harry says. “I’m counting it and the troll as one.”

“Okay,” Parkinson decides, pocketing her wand. “I’m only counting four, so I’m not killing you until you tell me everything.”

Harry supposes that’s fair.

“Done!” Hermione says triumphantly as the potion goes a brilliant blue color.

“Good one!” Harry says. “With what?”

“Experiment,” Hermione says, waving him off. She closes the books. “Anyways, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“I don’t know what this is,” Harry assures her.

Hermione snorts before clambering up to her feet. “So, you figured out the bludger thing?”

Harry abruptly remembers why he’d been so desperate to find Hermione and gets a twisty feeling in his stomach.

“Uh. You should stay sitting actually, I think.”

Hermione narrows her eyes and sinks back to the ground. Harry sits as well, leaning against a stall door.

Parkinson hesitates, then sits down too. Hermione raises an eyebrow at her and Parkinson glares at her.

“He knows about this thing.”

“No I don’t,” Harry interjects. “I have no idea what this is.”

Parkinson turns her glare on him. “It's an unofficial potions club. And I wasn’t talking about that , I was talking about the… the friendship .”

She whispers the last word and Hermione lets out a loud laugh. Parkinson flips her the bird.

“Oh! Cool,” Harry says happily.

“ Anyways , as I was saying, he knows about our thing so I get to know about his thing.”

“Pansy, you know everything about everyone all of the time,” Hermione points out.

“Obviously not,” Parkinson says plaintively. “ Six murder attempts?”

“I don’t mind,” Harry shrugs. “If Hermione trusts you, I trust you too. Also,” he adds, “you’re probably just missing the dead unicorn one. I only count six if the troll and the bludger are their own attempts.”

“Gryffindors,” Parkinson mutters.

Harry isn’t sure if she’s referring to the murder attempts or the trusting thing.

“You can call me Harry,” Harry adds. “And don’t worry, I can keep a secret.” Probably.

Parkinson rolls her eyes. “Pansy,” she mutters. Then she points threateningly at Harry. “We are not friends. The first-name thing is for convenience only .”

Harry grins and Pansy groans.

“Okay!” Hermione says impatiently. “Bludger?”

“House elf,” Harry says grimly.

Hermione and Pansy stare.

“That explains nothing ,” Pansy says after a moment.

Harry sighs. “Daphne is going to be pissed,” he mutters.

“Sounds like it,” Hermione agrees.

“So, there’s this house elf that’s been trying to keep me from coming to school.”

“Ohhh,” Hermione says in understanding. Harry really appreciates how quick she is on the uptake.

“Yeah, the train thing was him. He also kept me from getting my letters at the beginning of summer. The bludger was his last attempt to get me out of Hogwarts.”

“But why?” Hermione asks.

“He insisted there’s some danger here at Hogwarts. I brushed it off as a prank of some kind, but then. Well. Remember Mrs. Norris?”

“You mean the thing that happened one week ago? The other thing you brushed off as a prank,” Hermione asks flatly. Harry cringes. “I do remember that, yes.”

“No one had gotten hurt yet! I just wanted a normal year,” Harry protests.

“Who got hurt?” Pansy jumps in.

“Harry,” Hermione tells her. “Lost thirty-three bones, remember?”

Pansy shakes her head. “Harry doesn’t count himself.” She looks at Harry, eyebrow raised. “Right?”

Harry grimaces and Hermione smacks his arm, furious.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Harry says. Hermione backs off, fuming.

“So? Who got hurt?” Pansy insists.

“Colin Creevey,” Harry says.

Hermione’s hand shoots to her mouth in horror.

At Pansy’s confused look, Harry elaborates, “first-year Gryffindor. Muggle-born.” Harry darts a glance at Hermione. “He’s alive. Just… petrified. Like Mrs. Norris.”

“Oh,” Pansy breathes. “The Chamber really has been opened, then.”

Harry nods grimly. “That’s what Dumbledore thinks.”

“You talked to Dumbledore?” Hermione asks, somehow even more horrified than before.

Harry shakes his head hurriedly.

“Overheard him in the Hospital Wing. The house elf woke me up at around one in the morning, told me the bludger had been my last warning, then left right before Dumbledore and McGonagall showed up with Colin.”

“Oh,” Hermione says, relaxing. “That’s good you didn’t talk to him.”

“Well,” Harry starts. “Kind of. Turns out I’m suspect number one in Dumbledore’s head. I expect I’m going to be called in for questioning the second he realizes I’ve been let out from the Hospital Wing.”

Pansy looks delighted. “How exciting,” she gushes.

Hermione shoots a glare at her.

“This is bad ,” Hermione says, before burying her head into her hands. “I knew we should have told someone about the voice! Now we might not have time!”

“Voice?” Pansy asks, perking up even more.

“Priorities, Pansy,” Hermione mutters.

“My priorities are fine, thanks,” Pansy says snootily.

Harry points at Pansy. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he warns, suddenly worried.

“I know,” Pansy scoffs. “I won’t! I just like to be in the know.”

“I’m trusting you,” Harry says seriously. Pansy looks a little taken-aback, but she nods. “Okay. Back at the beginning of the year, I heard a voice saying ‘rip’, and ‘kill’. I didn’t think much of it,”

Hermione groans loudly, head still in her hands. Harry ignores her.

“Then, I heard it again on Halloween and it led me straight to Mrs. Norris. I was with Neville, and he didn’t hear anything.”

“Did you hear it last night?” Hermione asks.

Harry shakes his head. “But I was stuck in the Hospital Wing, asleep. Colin had been on his way to visit me, apparently,” Harry says, feeling a pang of guilt.

“So,” Pansy starts. “We have a monster at Hogwarts that’s supposedly controlled only by the Heir of Slytherin. We also have the known Heir of Slytherin, who is hearing voices no one else can hear. Found either at or near the scene of the crime both times.”

“Pansy. It is not me,” Harry says firmly.

“I’m not saying it is,” Pansy assures him. “Just that Dumbledore’s suspicion isn’t necessarily coming out of nowhere.”

“Does Remus know?” Hermione asks suddenly. “About any of this?”

Harry gives her a sheepish smile.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Hermione grumbles.

“I didn’t want to be taken out of Hogwarts, and then the country! Can you blame me?”

“Remus is more reasonable than that, Harry. You can trust him!”

“It’s… I’m trying,” Harry says quietly. Hermione huffs. “It’s hard for me. To trust adults all the time.” Hermione rolls her eyes, but she softens.

Pansy looks like Christmas has come early and she’s trying really hard not to be excited about it.

“Pansy,” Harry says tiredly. Pansy gets a guilty look on her face. “If I ever need a biography written about me, I’m coming to you. Until then, none of this gets out.”

This time it’s like Christmas has come early only Pansy isn’t bothering to pretend to be ambivalent about it.

“I’m holding you to that,” Pansy says seriously once she’s done being elated. Harry nods.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Hermione says abruptly. “We’re going to go to Snape, right now. Tell him what we know.”

“What’s that going to do?” Harry asks. “I doubt Snape knows any better than us as to who the culprit is.”

“It’ll make me feel better,” Hermione says firmly as she packs her bag. Harry can’t really argue with that.

“One more thing,” Harry says suddenly after a moment. The two turn to look at him; Hermione apprehensively, and Pansy excitedly.

“Can I join your potions club?”

Chapter Text

After wheedling Pansy and Hermione into agreeing to let Harry sit in on a few of the “club” meetings; Harry, Merlin, and Hermione say goodbye to Pansy and start the trek down to the dungeons.

Harry still doesn’t think that telling Snape will accomplish anything, but Hermione points out that it would be good to have a teacher both on Harry’s side and in the know. Harry just isn’t sure that Snape is going to stay on his side after being told the truth (assuming Snape was ever on his side at all, of course).

They’ve only just hit the first floor when Harry and Hermione run into McGonagall near the Entrance Hall.

She sees them, sighs, and says, “Mister Potter. The Headmaster has asked that I escort you to his office.”

Harry feels his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He wants to kick himself: how could he have forgotten to put on the cloak?

“Now?” He squeaks out.

McGonagall purses her lips and nods.

Hermione shoots Harry a worried look, then says, “can I come with him?”

McGonagall shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Granger.” Hermione’s face falls. McGonagall gestures for Harry to follow her.

Harry doesn’t want to follow McGonagall, but doesn’t see what other option he has. He shoots one last desperate look at Hermione (who gives him a grimace in return) before turning and following the professor.

They walk in silence. Harry chews on his bottom lip worriedly.

“Mister Potter,” McGonagall says finally. “You have asked me no questions as to what this is all about. I must say that is very out of character.”

Harry grimaces. Whoops.

“I already know,” he finally says.

McGonagall raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I was awake last night,” Harry admits. “My arm hurt so bad it woke me up right as you and the Headmaster walked in with… walked in.”

McGonagall says nothing, and Harry is suddenly worried that this makes him even more suspicious.

“It wasn’t me, Professor,” he says desperately. “I would’ve said something then but then the Headmaster said that thing about it having to be me and I panicked and-”

“I believe you, Mister Potter,” McGonagall assures, interrupting him.

“Madam Pomfrey assures me you were in bed all day prior. Besides,” she adds, a wry smile on her face. “Miss Granger is your best friend. I doubt very much that you’d willingly put her in any danger.”

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, but that gets cut short as McGonagall stops suddenly in front of a very ugly stone gargoyle.

McGonagall turns to the statue and says, “Lemon Drop.”

Harry blinks, first in confusion and then in amazement as he watches the statue slowly turn up and into the ceiling, revealing a spiral stone staircase.

Harry goes to step onto the stairs and starts as he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up into McGonagall’s face, which looks as stern and severe as ever.

She says, “it’ll be alright. Just tell the truth.”

Harry nods and begins to climb the stairs. As he does, he thinks that McGonagall would make a great headmaster.

Harry cautiously looks around as he exits the stairwell. Dumbledore’s office is huge and circular, stone walls mostly covered by assorted portraits, bookcases, and all sorts of marvelous trinkets. The visual effect is so overwhelming that Harry has to do a double-take to make sure that he isn’t seeing things- but no, the Headmaster really isn’t here yet.

Harry looks dubiously at the cushy chair sat in front of the desk, then at everything else. He decides it wouldn’t hurt to look around. Harry gives the room another once-over, and his gaze locks on to the old, ratty, and unmistakable sorting hat.

“Merlin,” Harry hisses excitedly.

Merlin pokes her nose out of the satchel.

“What?” She asks grumpily.

Harry must have woken her up, but doesn’t care all that much.

“Want to be sorted?” Merlin is fully awake now.

“Yes, obviously,” she says, then pauses. “Why are we in Dumbledore’s office?”

Harry is too busy snatching the hat off of its pedestal to respond. He belatedly realizes that he probably should have checked for alarms or traps, but nothing happens so he figures they’re in the clear.

“Oh,” Merlin realizes. “Questioning, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says as he sticks the hat onto his head. “But the Headmaster isn’t here yet, and this might be our only chance!”

“Only chance at what?”

Harry shudders as the voice of the hat trickles into his head. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable that had been. The sooner he asks, the sooner he can get the sorting hat off of his head.

“Would you sort my familiar?” Harry asks hopefully. The hat chuckles and Harry shudders again, resisting the urge to rip the hat off.

“I can’t say I’ve been asked to do that before,” the hat muses. “I suppose I could give it a shot, but no promises.”

Harry wastes no time in plucking the hat off of his head and depositing it right on Merlin’s head. Her head is too small for the brim, but Harry holds it up. He’s pretty sure that counts. Merlin hisses in indignation, then goes quiet.

Harry stands for a moment, idly wondering what their conversation is sounding like. Can the hat even speak parseltongue? Wait, does Merlin think in Parseltongue or English?

Suddenly Merlin slithers out from under the hat.

Harry puts the hat back on its shelf as he asks, “could it not sort you, then?”

Merlin’s tongue flickers. “It said that calling it out would confuse Hogwarts magic.”

Harry takes this to mean that it would have enrolled Merlin as a student, and wonders how hard it would be to get the hat to do it anyways.

“Did it give you a house, though?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says smugly. “Surprised it, too.”

“Not Slytherin?”

“Hufflepuff.”

Harry’s not surprised in the least, and says as much.

Merlin bites him and he heals it with a fond smile. Suddenly, a gurgly sort of cough sounds from behind him and Harry whirls around, grabbing tight onto his magic.

He relaxes as he sees that, instead of the Headmaster, it’s just a previously unnoticed bird sitting like a gray lump on an ornate golden perch. Harry goes over to it, thinking that surely it can’t be as sickly-looking as it looks from afar.

He’s right. It’s worse, up close.

What feathers it does have are gray and greasy looking, and its beak is chipped. Its eyes are bloodshot, and one of them has so much gunk on it that it is practically sealed shut. The poor thing looks seconds away from death. Harry thinks about trying to heal it, but wouldn’t know where to even start.

“Hey,” Harry whispers. The thing does its best to look up at him, head moving jerkily. Harry winces. “You’re, er. You’re okay.”

Harry is going for comfort, but he thinks he mostly just sounds doubtful.

The bird wheezes. Harry hopes it can last another couple minutes at least. The last thing he needs is for Dumbledore to suspect him of killing his pet bird. Although, honestly, by the looks of it Dumbledore should have put the thing out of its misery ages ago.

Merlin slithers further out of the satchel, reaching her snout towards the bird.

“Careful,” Harry warns. “You might scare the poor thing to death.”

Merlin flicks her tongue irritatedly at him, then does so again in the direction of the decrepit bird.

“Um, Merlin? Does it really smell that good?”

“Shush,” Merlin says, tongue flickering rapidly. “Huh, that’s weird,” she says after a moment.

“What’s weir-ah!” Harry yelps, simultaneously grabbing Merlin and his magic and jumping back as the bird bursts into flames.

“That- was that me? No. Was it? That wasn’t me,” Harry decides, pulling his magic close.

The bird is rapidly becoming a smoldering orange fireball. Orange- not white.

In what might be the worst possible timing ever, the door behind Harry opens and he whirls around to see none other than the Headmaster.

“Your bird-” Harry says, pointing. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know- I don’t know what happened, suddenly it was on fire and, and-”

The Headmaster has the audacity to chuckle as he holds his hands up, cutting Harry off. Harry stares at Dumbledore, dimly registering the bird giving one final shriek as it crumbles into ash.

“No need to worry, my boy,” the Headmaster says. “Although, he is a bit ahead of schedule,” Dumbledore adds thoughtfully.

“Wh- ahead of schedule? What do you mean?” Harry is so lost.

Merlin is back to sniffing the air around the perch.

Dumbledore goes to sit down, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

“Fawkes is a phoenix,” he explains. “Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die, and are reborn from the ashes. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes; they can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets. Ah, see, there he is…”

Harry peers over and sure enough, a wrinkled little baby bird pokes its head out of the clump of ashes under the perch.

“He’s really a very handsome bird, most of the time.” Dumbledore remarks. The baby bird chirps indignantly, and Harry’s heart melts a little. “I’m afraid Burning Day is not a flattering look for poor Fawkes.”

“I think he’s cute,” Harry says absently, staring at the sooty little creature as Fawkes tries and fails to free himself from the ash.

“That he is, in his own way,” the Headmaster agrees.

Harry starts and turns to look at the man, abruptly remembering why he’s been called here in the first place. Harry feels his stomach twist anxiously as the Headmaster steeples his fingers together.

“Mister Potter,” Dumbledore starts. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Harry feels a slight tug on his magic and suddenly has the urge to look the man in the eyes. Merlin hisses quietly in warning and Harry jerks his face down, looking at his hands.

Shit. If Dumbledore didn’t know that Harry was actively avoiding his gaze before, he does now.

“Mister Potter,” Dumbledore says quietly, a warning tone in his voice.

The compulsion gets stronger. Harry grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Please stop!” Harry says desperately as the compulsion gets even stronger.

The compulsion drops and Dumbledore sighs tiredly. Harry cracks an eye open.

“I apologize,” Dumbledore says. “But you must understand: the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a student died.”

“What?” Harry croaks. “Died?”

Dumbledore nods solemnly.

Harry sits in silence, reeling. Definitely not a prank, then. And Harry really ought to write to Remus. But first…

“Okay, but it wasn’t me: my best friend is muggleborn, I’m not even pure-blooded, and I’m a Gryffindor!”

“Only the heir of Slytherin can open the Chamber,” Dumbledore says, as if Harry needed a reminder.

“I’m only the heir through conquest, and I have alibis!” Harry protests.

Dumbledore raises a bushy white eyebrow.

“Be that as it may,” Dumbledore says after a moment. “Surely you can see the position I’m in. I want to believe you, I do. However, I can’t risk the lives of students over the word of one boy.”

“It. Wasn’t. Me,” Harry grits out. “Is there a way to know for sure I’m telling the truth? Without looking in my head?”

“There is… a truth potion,” Dumbledore says, slowly. “I’d prefer not to resort to that, though. It is incredibly rare and difficult to make, and the legality of using it would be dubious, to say the least.”

“But mind-reading is okay?” Harry asks disbelievingly.

“I’d simply be skimming surface-level thoughts,” Dumbledore explains. “I wouldn’t be doing any rifling at all. I’d ask you a question, and see if your thoughts match what you tell me.”

Harry feels sick. “What if I don’t want any of that? What if I say no?”

Dumbledore sighs again. “At that point, I would have no choice but to suspend you and see if the attacks stop.”

Harry sits, holding tight to his magic and clutching his stomach. Merlin is hissing in his ear comforting and slightly violent nonsense.

His options are: open his head up to the Headmaster; drink a potion that’ll likely put his secrets at risk just as much as Legilimancy would; or go home for god knows how long until another attack happens, leaving his friends alone and unprotected at Hogwarts.

Wait.

“Would Professor Snape brew the potion?” Harry asks.

“I believe he has an emergency store, but yes, Professor Snape would administer the potion.” Dumbledore says.

Harry takes a steadying breath. “That one, then. I’ll take the potion.” Dumbledore grimaces, but recovers quickly.

“This particular potion, Veritaserum, is a very powerful truth serum. Just one drop would have you answering any and all questions posed to you truthfully until it wears off or an antidote is administered. A surface-level scan of your thoughts would be much less invasive.”

“I don’t see how it would be,” Harry disagrees. “Just ask me if I’ve ever directly or indirectly opened the Chamber, if I ever plan on opening the Chamber, and if I’ve ever set Slytherin’s monster on anyone. Three questions, and you can see I’m telling the truth.”

“I see you won’t be swayed.” Dumbledore gives a world-weary sigh as he stands up. “Very well.”

Dumbledore goes over to his fireplace and throws a pinch of floo powder into the blaze, turning the flame green. “Severus Snape,” he calls.

Snape’s head pokes out from the flames after a moment. “What,” he says flatly.

“I must ask you to bring forth a vial of Veritaserum and its antidote, then come through to my office.”

Harry sees Snape’s eyes narrow, but the man gives a curt nod and vanishes momentarily, before reappearing and climbing through.

Snape sees Harry, who gives him a queasy little smile. The professor stares flatly at Harry before turning his glare to the Headmaster.

“You cannot be serious,” Snape says.

“Mister Potter requested it himself,” Dumbledore says tiredly.

Harry thinks that he’s leaving out a few pretty major details.

“Unprompted?” Snape asks, raising an eyebrow. Oh, good. Snape thinks so too.

Dumbledore sighs, and says, “the Chamber has been opened again. The last time, a student died. Mister Potter is the most obvious suspect, and would prefer to prove his innocence via Veritaserum.”

“As opposed to?” Snape says.

Harry once again thinks how unfair it is that it’s impossible to like Snape.

“I considered suspending him until another attack occurs, if one should occur, but thought surface level Legilimancy would be preferable. Mister Potter thought differently. If you can think of another option, I am sure both myself and Mister Potter would appreciate it.”

Snape rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds like “the wolf is going to have our heads,” before walking over to where Harry is seated. He holds up a tiny vial of crystal-clear liquid.

“This is Veritaserum. While under its influence, you will only be able to speak the truth. I will put one drop onto your tongue, ask you a list of pre-decided and agreed-upon questions,” here Snape glares at Dumbledore as though daring him to argue.

When he doesn’t, Snape continues, saying, “after you have answered those questions, I will administer the antidote and I can go get my affairs in order.” Harry doesn’t think he was supposed to hear the last bit.

“Very well,” Dumbledore says. “The questions?”

“Like I said earlier,” Harry says, pulling his magic in closer than before. It’s just on the edge of hurting his chest, but he doesn’t want to risk losing control.

“Have I ever directly or indirectly opened the Chamber, do I plan on opening the Chamber, and have I ever set Slytherin’s monster on anyone.”

“Those sound reasonable enough,” Dumbledore says. “What do you think, Severus?”

Snape looks at the Headmaster like he can’t believe Dumbledore would dare try to implicate him in this whole mess more than he has already.

“I suggest,” Snape says finally. “Instead of asking Potter if he plans to open the Chamber in the future, you ask if he was behind the attack on Mister Creevey specifically.”

Harry nods after a moment, and Dumbledore inclines his head. Snape sighs again before uncorking the vial and dropping a single drop on Harry’s tongue.

Harry isn’t sure what to expect, or if he’ll notice the potion taking hold. Then, his brain goes slippery. He doesn’t know how else to explain it.

He’s so focused on trying to catch a thought, any thought at all, that when he’s asked questions he only very distantly registers them. He has no idea what they asked, or what he said. The truth, presumably.

Suddenly, there’s a bitter taste on his tongue and his thoughts have traction once more.

Harry has only a moment to feel relief when he’s suddenly very aware that he’s holding his magic so close he can hardly breathe. He relaxes his grip and takes in a shuddery breath.

Dumbledore is looking at Harry consideringly and Snape is as impassive as ever.

“Did- what did they ask me?” Harry gasps out, grasping at Merlin’s coils.

“Exactly what they said they would,” Merlin assures, tongue flicking in Harry’s ears.

“And what did I say?” Harry asks, feeling his racing heartbeat slow a bit.

“You just said no to every answer. Everything is alright,” she says soothingly. “We can light them on fire now.”

“I’m not- Merlin, I’m not doing that.”

Harry would very much like to do that. Dumbledore’s beard especially looks flammable.

Merlin huffs and slithers into her satchel.

“I apologize for doubting you, Mister Potter,” Dumbledore says.

“Can I go now?” Harry asks, ignoring his apology.

Dumbledore can apologize all he wants, Harry won’t be forgiving the man any time soon. Or ever.

Harry thinks he sees a glint of satisfaction in Snape’s eyes, but can’t bring himself to care. The magnitude of what he was just subjected to is beginning to hit.

“You are excused,” Dumbledore says finally, and Harry stands up and leaves the office without looking back.

Chapter Text

Neville blinks in the sudden sunlight of the forest clearing he finds himself in, holding his hands up over his face.

It’s been a long day: he’s been in the forest since eight am, and based on the position of the sun it’s getting close to two or three.

Neville is starving, aching, and if he never sees a bowtruckle again it’ll be too soon. (They think they’re being helpful, but they mostly just get in the way.)

Despite being such a long and tiring day, Neville has also been reasonably successful. He has a couple branches from some potential trees, and has high hopes for the apple wood especially.

Neville’s vision finally clears enough to actually see the clearing. Neville gasps as he takes in the sight before him, other wood options suddenly forgotten.

There, in the middle of the clearing, stands a single tree. It’s small and a little overgrown looking, but the sight of it has Neville’s breath catching all the same. He moves towards it as though he’s in a daze.

Neville is further into the woods than he’s ever been before, but instead of feeling lost he’s just been feeling more and more at home. He’s been trying to follow that feeling, ever since he’d run into the forest girl earlier (Luma? Luna?) and she told him to trust his gut.

Or, that’s what he thinks she said. In retrospect, Neville isn’t sure she was talking to him at all. She may have been talking to the bowtruckles. Neville shudders. So many bowtruckles.

Despite the dreary early November weather, the tree is glowing golden warmth from its yellow and pale orange fall foliage. It has bushels of bright red berries hanging from nearly every branch. Neville reaches out gingerly to touch a branch, and the softer twigs curl gently around his fingers.

“Do you… can I have a branch? I’d like very much to use your wood in my wand,” Neville asks.

The tree doesn’t respond (as it is a tree), but Neville doesn’t need an answer: he knows as well as the tree does that it’s going to be a part of his wand. Neville goes to pull away from the branch in order to look at other branches but the twigs curl in even more. He laughs.

“I can’t stay,” Neville says.

A breeze blowing through the clearing makes it sound like the tree is sighing.

“I was going to look at other branches, but I could take this one?” Neville muses, tugging a little at the branch.

On his third tug, the branch comes away with him.

“Oh! Okay, then,” Neville says. “There's your answer, I guess.”

He looks down at his prize. It’s a branch of about thirteen inches long, and is already reasonably straight and tapered. It would make a good wand as it is if not for the branching twigs and leaves dotting its length. Neville thinks that with a little targeted carving and polishing, it’ll make a fine wand indeed.

“Well then. Wood acquired, I guess,” Neville says to himself. Great. Now all he needs to do is find a core.

Neville thinks hard as he begins the trek back to the castle, idly picking the leaves and snapping the twigs off of his branch. He’s been putting the core off, as he knows how difficult it is going to be to acquire. Traditionally, wands use one of three cores: phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, or unicorn hair.

Harry’s wand has a phoenix feather, and Hermione has a dragon heartstring. Assuming that a wand core is best suited to a caster’s magic, it would stand to reason that Neville should start tracking down the unicorn herd.

Neville doesn’t especially want to see the unicorns, is the thing. He’s not sure he’s ready to confront the family of the one he’d held in his arms as it died. Neville knows it’s irrational, but a part of him worries the herd will blame him for their loss.

Oh well. He’s going to have to get it over with eventually. Maybe he’ll ask that girl next time he sees her. She seems the type to know where the unicorns live.

Neville is so lost in thought that he almost runs himself through with the arrow that’s suddenly pointed at his chest.

Neville’s blood freezes in his veins and his gaze follows the arrow up and up until he’s staring directly at the stormy face of a centaur. Bane, if Neville is remembering correctly.

This is bad. Neville is in a lot of trouble. He’s encountered the centaurs before, and would in all honesty prefer to deal with the giant spiders again.

“We have given you warning after warning. Tell me now why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand,” Bane says, voice shaking with fury.

Neville would love to do that. Only, if the panic climbing up his chest and throat is any indication, Neville won’t be able to speak at all, much less give an explanation, Still, he opens his mouth to try and respond when-

“Bane! Have you no honor?”

Bane jerks his head to the side, face going even stormier. “Firenze,” he growls. Neville almost collapses in relief.

“I ask again, have you no honor? Threatening a young one with death?”

“I have warned the young one three times now, and my patience grows thin. At some point, the child must be held accountable.”

“To the point where he forfeits his life? You offer leniency to the other time and time again, why does this one not deserve the same treatment?”

Bane scowls. “That is different. The other is wise, and knows the stars better than any human I have met before. She can hardly be counted amongst their numbers. He,” Bane gestures at Neville, disgust evident on his face. “Is weak, and small. He holds no use for us.”

Neville tries to muster up some indignation, but he mostly just feels resigned. After all, that’s just more of what he’s been told his whole life.

Firenze doesn’t seem to agree, though, as he laughs right in Bane’s face. Bane looks as taken aback as Neville feels.

“Explain yourself,” Bane says in a tone that brokers no arguments.

“I do not need to. Child,” Firenze says, turning to Neville. “Show Bane your prize.”

Bane narrows his eyes.

“Uh, th-this?” Neville asks, fumbling to hold his tree branch up.

Bane snorts.

Firenze shakes his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Not the rowan wood.”

Neville waits, but the centaur doesn’t seem to be any more forthcoming. Neville furrows his eyebrows in confusion when realization hits.

“Oh! This,” Neville says, pulling the jar filled with unicorn blood-soaked moss out of his bag.

Bane jerks backwards, bow and arrow held taught once again and ready to be let loose right at Neville’s face.

“You dare?” Bane asks disbelievingly.

Neville clutches the jar and the branch close to his chest.

“N-no, y-you do-don’t under-understand,” Neville gets out.

Bane’s arrow doesn’t waver. Fortunately, Firenze steps forward, pushing Neville gently behind him.

“The blood was given freely.”

“That’s… that’s impossible,” Bane says, arrow wavering.

“I saw it myself, Bane. You know it to be true. The boy is as much of the forest as the girl is of the stars.”

Bane stares, but lowers his bow. He glances between Neville, Bane, and the unicorn blood.

“Fine,” Bane spits out.

He looks like he wants to say more, but his gaze flickers back down to the unicorn blood and he turns and gallops off without another word.

Neville lets out a long sigh of relief and turns to Firenze.

“Th-thank y-you. I’m s-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I would h-have steered cl-clear of the ter-territory oth-otherwise.”

Firenze nods. “See that you pay more attention in the future. I will not always be there to intervene, and we have been very patient with you.”

Neville swallows hard and stares at the ground, nodding. Firenze places a hand on Neville’s shoulder and he jumps.

“Life would not be living if mistakes are not made. Learn and grow from them, as the forest does.”

Neville isn’t surprised in the least that that girl and the centaurs get along so well. Oh! Neville’s head jerks up.

“If y-you don’t mind me asking,” he starts.

Firenze raises an eyebrow, and Neville forges on.

“Do you know where I can find the unicorn herd? I’ve been trying to make a wand and I need a core.”

“Your core is closer than you think,” Firenze says.

Neville sighs. At least that means the herd isn’t far, then.

“You should go back to the castle,” Firenze continues. “It grows late and not all of the residents of the forest are as reasonable as we centaurs are.”

“Th-thanks again,” Neville calls as Firenze turns and gallops away in the same direction Bane had gone.

Neville looks up at the sky, trying to ascertain the sun’s position through the dense foliage. He winces. It really does seem to be getting late. But he also doesn’t want to miss his chance at finding the herd.

Decision made, Neville takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, feeling for that same feeling of ‘home’ he’d followed to find the rowan tree.

He furrows his brow. He doesn’t feel any pulling. The feeling just hovers around him.

Maybe his branch is interfering with the signal? He opens his eyes again and goes to put the branch in his bag when he realizes he’s still clutching the unicorn blood. Oh, that would be interfering with the signal too: it gives off the same feeling the branch does.

Neville puts both objects away and closes his eyes again, prepared to focus. Then, his eyes snap open.

They both give off the same feeling.

Neville sinks to the ground, pulling the jar and the branch out again. What had Firenze said? He had said the core was closer than he thought. He hadn’t said anything at all about the herd.

Neville looks at the moss, then to the branch; and he just knows. In his hand he holds his wand.

True, most wand cores are either hair, feather, or heartstring, but there’s no rule saying it has to be one of those three. Neville is already going about this unconventionally, why not go the whole nine yards?

Now he just needs to figure out how to put it all together.

Neville sighs. That’s probably going to be another month or two of research, then the actual woodwork and polishing.

He’s loved exploring the forest, but now he’s going to be spending the foreseeable future cooped up in his dorm. This wand had better be worth it.

Neville shakes his head. What is he talking about? Of course it’ll be worth it.

Neville looks down at his branch fondly, despite the work he knows he’s going to have to put into it. At this point, thanks to his idle fidgeting, it’s been stripped of most of its bark, its twigs, and its leaves. Now it’s just a smooth pale yellow-ish green-ish wood with some knots and streaks of bark, with more bark clinging to the wood towards what will be the base of the wand.

Neville purses his lips. He actually quite likes how it looks. It’s nothing special, but it looks sturdy, and natural. Different, but good different. Maybe…

Trusting his instincts, Neville gingerly unscrews the lid to his jar and places the jar firmly on the ground. With his other hand, Neville grabs the base of the branch and gently presses the tip of it into the blood-soaked moss.

Despite the fact that it’s been months since that fateful night, the blood hasn’t dried at all, and the moss has remained lush and green (where it isn’t glowing silver).

As Neville presses the branch in, however, the blood begins to slowly climb upwards, clinging to the branch and leaving the moss dry and brown. Neville watches in amazement as an impossible quantity of mercurial blood sinks into the wood, emphasizing its natural texture with silvery glowing lines.

Neville distantly registers a growing feeling of exhaustion, of pulling, but can’t bring himself to stop whatever it is he’s doing. In fact, he wouldn’t know how to if he tried.

The last of the blood drains from the moss and Neville is suddenly shielding his eyes against a blinding glow as the blood sinks fully into the wood. Neville blinks a couple times, trying to clear the afterimage away from his retinas. Finally, his vision clears to the point where he can see the final result:

It looks a hell of a lot like a stick.

Neville loves it.

Chapter Text

As Harry had predicted, the news of Colin Creevey’s petrification had spread by Monday morning.

If he’d thought people had been distrustful of him before, that was nothing compared to now. Harry can’t go anywhere without being subjected to whispers, glares, and hisses. Harry’s just managed to get through classes and is spending the afternoon hiding in the Library.

“You’re not even saying anything, you know,” Harry snaps at a hissing Hufflepuff third year.

The Hufflepuff glares. “You’d know, wouldn’t you!”

“Yes! I literally would know!”

The Hufflepuff flips Harry off and stalks away. Harry sinks his head into his hands.

“You could give them something to really be scared of,” Merlin suggests from around his shoulders.

“Don’t you have any house pride?” Harry asks grumpily.

Merlin bites him and Harry heals it with an eye roll.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, I’m going to go to sleep,” Merlin hisses, put out.

“Fine.”

“Fine!” Merlin slithers into her satchel.

Harry wants to go back to bed and hide under the covers for a million years. Maybe he should have let Dumbledore suspend him. At least then he wouldn't have been subjected to that potion. Harry had spent the whole rest of the day yesterday in his bed, trying to forget the whole ordeal.

Neville had come into the dorms at around six last night and Harry had pretended to be asleep. Then, Harry had snuck out early for classes, skipped breakfast and lunch, and had sat himself away from his friends (and everyone else) during class. Hermione and Neville had spent most of class time exchanging notes and worried looks, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.

If he tells his friends, they’ll want to tell an adult about the voice. Harry wants to tell someone, he does. Remus, especially.

The thing is, the thought of doing so makes him feel sick to his stomach. What if the professors make him do Veritaserum again, or force him into Legilimancy? And between the monster, the attacks, and the truth potions, telling Remus would only result in him being taken out of Hogwarts for good, no doubt about it. And that is not an option.

Harry looks up as he hears someone slide in next to him.

“You need to work on your hiding spots,” Daphne says idly, setting her things on the table. She slides an apple Harry’s way.

“Go away, Daphne,” Harry says, sinking his head back into his arms and trying to ignore the apple.

“Absolutely not,” Daphne says firmly. Harry groans.

Daphne continues, “what happened yesterday? Hermione says you were called in for questioning and she didn’t see you till class this morning.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry says glumly, giving up and pocketing the apple. (Even after living with Remus for over a year, Harry still loathes to waste opportunities to eat when the option is presented to him.)

“Tough. Theo is about to kill the headmaster with his bare hands, and the rest of us aren’t far behind. You need to give us proof that he didn’t hurt you, or we’re going to Remus.”

“Jesus, Daph! He didn’t hurt me. Everything is fine.”

“Yeah, okay.” Daphne says, shrugging.

“Really?” Harry asks, looking up at her in surprise.

“No!” Daphne cries, slamming her hands on the table.

Harry jumps, grabbing reflexively onto his magic.

“Come on, Harry! Do you understand how unlike you all of this is? You’re scaring us!”

Harry looks at Daphne, really looks. The end of her braid looks chewed on, her tie is crooked, and she’s tapping her quill against the table erratically. Her leg is bouncing up and down. Harry feels his heart sink.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he says. Daphne rolls her eyes. “Where are the others?”

“Great Hall, probably. I slipped away and called in a favor with the twins to get your location.”

Despite himself, Harry grins. “So my hiding spot isn’t so bad after all?”

“Harry. Tell me what happened.”

Harry’s grin slips off of his face. He inhales deeply and then, in one breath, says, “Dumbledore used a compulsion spell to try to get me to meet his eyes so he could read my mind, I resisted it so he threatened to suspend me, and we compromised on Veritaserum.”

Daphne leans forward, staring at Harry in shock.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “Theo is going to try and murder the headmaster and I don’t know if we’ll be able to stop him.” She sits for a minute, jaw clenched, eyes hard. “I don’t know if I want to stop him.”

“I can’t…” Harry swallows thickly, suppressing a shudder as he thinks about how he’d felt under the potion’s effects.

“Daphne, this is part of why I didn’t want to tell you guys. I don’t want this to be a big deal. It’s something that happened and was- was not good, but I just… well I just want it to go away, and it won’t if you guys freak out about it. We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Bigger things,” Daphne says flatly.

Harry sighs tiredly. “The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a student died. So, yeah. Bigger things.”

Daphne starts to rub her temples. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters.

Harry is struck momentarily by how absurd it is to hear the pure-blooded witch take a muggle god’s name in vain.

“Well, we need to tell everyone else,” Daphne says finally. “I know you don’t want to, but if we’re going to protect Hermione then everyone needs to be caught up on what we do know, and that includes the fact that the Headmaster knows you’re innocent- I assume that is the result of yesterday’s questioning?”

Harry nods.

“Yeah. Think he’ll release a statement saying so?” Harry asks; watching idly as a pair of Ravenclaws anxiously hurry past where Harry and Daphne sit. “Oh, Snape was also there, so he knows that I’m telling the truth as well.”

Daphne grimaces. “Theo’s going to want to kill him, too.”

“No, he… he was helpful. I’m glad he was there, he did what he could to keep, uh. Keep things from spiraling.”

“Have you told Remus any of this?”

“No,” Harry says forcefully. Daphne looks taken aback. “Remus can’t know. Any of it. He’ll take me out of Hogwarts.”

Daphne winces, but doesn’t argue, which Harry appreciates. Then, she gathers her things up.

“Come on, then. Let’s go find the others.”

Contrary to what Daphne had said, the others are just sitting at their usual Library table, looking worried. Hermione sees him first and lights up, and Harry feels the curl of guilt in his chest get stronger.

“Harry! We were so worried, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says.

Neville looks relieved, but Blaise, Ron and Theo are glaring daggers at Harry.

“You sure?” Ron asks frostily. “Because people who are fine don’t usually avoid their friends.”

“I’m really unpopular right now, and I didn’t want to drag you guys down with me,” Harry says, meaningfully jerking his head in the direction of the group of firsties that had just fled the Library as they’d caught sight of Harry.

“That is such a bullshit excuse,” Blaise says, folding his arms and scowling.

Harry blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong: I believe you mean it,” Blaise explains. “I just think it’s a monumentally stupid line of thinking. I thought we’d already made it clear that we’re anything but fair weather friends.”

Ron and Theo nod, expressions still stormy. Harry looks at the others, but Daphne just raises an eyebrow and Neville and Hermione shrug apologetically.

“You should let us support you,” Hermione says. “You’d do the same for us. We were really worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says quietly.

His friends don’t respond, but he does think they soften a little bit. Well. Everyone but Theo.

“What happened,” Theo says flatly.

Harry sighs deeply, then launches into an explanation: he tells them all about the house elf, the conversation he’d overheard in the Hospital Wing, Colin Creevey, and the questioning. By the end of it all, his friends are all wearing expressions of barely concealed rage.

“... but I don’t want anyone to make this into a big deal, and I don’t want any of it to get back to Remus. He’ll take me out of Hogwarts.”

“You might be safer out of Hogwarts,” Theo points out.

Harry shoots him such a venomous glare that Theo actually pales, which is a feat in and of itself.

“Alright then,” Theo says.

“I know you don’t want us to make a big deal of-of what happened,” Neville starts, looking queasy, “but th-that is seriously messed up.”

Harry sits back, tracing circles on the surface of the table. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “And I want to deal with it myself.”

Surprisingly enough (or maybe not surprisingly at all), Theo is the first to nod. The rest of Harry’s friends hesitantly follow suit.

“Okay, so do we tell someone about the voice?” Hermione asks. Harry’s heart sinks. He knows they should, but…

“No,” Ron growls.

Harry starts, looking over at the boy. Ron’s eyes are flinty and cold, and his jaw is set determinedly.

“The adults have proven time and time again that they’re not capable of helping Harry in any meaningful way. The Veritaserum was the last straw.”

Harry feels a huge swell of warmth in his chest for Ron, and shoots him a smile. Ron returns it in kind.

“It’s up to us again, th-then?” Neville asks.

“When is it not,” Blaise grumbles, then winces in pain.

Harry assumes someone kicked him under the table. His bet is on Daphne.

“What is the plan, then?” Hermione asks.

“Wait,” Harry says, realizing something. “Hermione, you’re arguably in the most danger here. Do you really think we should tell someone?”

Hermione furrows her brow, sitting back. Then she sighs, and shakes her head. “Ron is right. Telling an adult won’t do anything but get them to try and keep us out of things.”

“S-so what do we do?” Neville asks.

The table falls into silence for a moment. Then, Hermione pulls out a quill and parchment.

“We should figure out what the monster is: how it moves around, how it attacks, why it hasn’t killed anyone yet. We should also find out who’s unleashing it, and why: why now? What’s the goal, besides ‘cleansing the school’?”

“Maybe it can turn invisible?” Harry suggests.

“Or disguises itself, somehow,” Blaise agrees. “Otherwise, it probably would have been seen wandering the halls at some point.”

Ron nods, sliding the parchment over to him and taking out his own quill. “We might want to try and find the Chamber too,” he says, writing it down.

Hermione goes to protest, and Ron hurriedly adds, “not to explore, or anything! It just might give us context. Also,” Ron says as he looks at Harry. “You said the Chamber has been opened before?”

Harry nods.

“We should find out more about that. If we can figure out what happened last time, maybe we can use that to stop it this time.”

“Do we know when it was opened?” Daphne asks.

Harry thinks back. “No, Dumbledore didn’t mention it. But he had to tell Snape it had been opened before, when McGonagall and Pomfrey seemed to both already know. So, probably a while ago, but not, like, a hundred years.”

“D-did You-Know-Wh-Who go to Hogwarts?” Neville asks suddenly.

The table falls into silence as everyone thinks.

“Yes?” Ron says finally. “He had to, right? Famously a Slytherin and all.”

“No, he definitely did,” Daphne agrees. “I just can’t imagine the Dark Lord as a student. Why do you ask?”

Neville cocks his head. “Well, h-he was the last known Heir of-of Slytherin, and hated mu-muggles. I’ll bet h-he opened the Chamber.”

Everyone stares at Neville, who flushes.

“Okay,” Daphne says finally. “In retrospect, that’s really obvious.”

“Little bit,” Harry agrees.

“My father knew him during school,” Theo says suddenly. “I don’t know anything more about it though.”

Hermione nods. “Great. There’s our time-frame. We just need to go through all the student records during all seven years Theo’s father was at school.”

“Easy-peasy,” Ron says glumly.

Chapter Text

Hermione, Daphne, and Blaise decide to tackle the research project. Ron, Harry, Neville, and Theo all agree to look around the castle in their free time to see if they can find any clues.

Harry insists that no one go around the castle alone, and Hermione especially needs to be accompanied by a pure-blood at all times. Hermione looks like she really, really wants to argue against this but can recognize a good idea when she sees one.

The rest of November passes without another attack. The hostility towards Harry fades with each passing day, but his and his friends’ progress towards cracking the mystery is frustratingly slow-going.

Blaise had resorted to writing the Contessa about Voldemort’s school days under the guise of a History project, but she had admitted that she had no idea- apparently the few people who would have known are either dead, would rather die before giving that secret up, or are Dumbledore.

According to the Contessa, it’s a source of great frustration that she doesn’t know and if Blaise or one of his ‘delightful little friends’ should find out, they’d have her gratitude.

Ron spends a lot of his time taking turns with his brothers to comfort Ginny. According to Ron, Colin had been one of her best friends and she’s taking his petrification really hard.

“Really it’s just up to me,” he complains to Harry as they are exploring the castle one day.

They’re looking down the same corridor that Mrs. Norris had been found in.

“The twins are trying to scare her out of her misery, and Percy isn’t exactly what you’d call emotionally intelligent.”

“Mhm,” Harry says, staring at the windowsill. “Hey, Ron.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t come over here.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Ron is instantly at Harry’s side.

“Why, what- Merlin’s saggy tits!” Ron yells, jumping back a good five feet. He’s gone very pale and shaky.

“Sorry, but I did warn you,” Harry says, trying not to laugh at the expletive.

“You could’ve told me it was spiders first!”

“It’s weird though, right? Spiders don’t act like this, not usually.”

“Know a lot of spiders, do you?” Ron snaps.

Harry thinks back to his cupboard days.

“I’d say so,” he says, shrugging.

“... right. Sure, why not. Look, can we get out of here? I fucking hate spiders.”

As November ends and December begins, the temperature plummets even more than it had last year. Merlin is pretty much always sleeping in her heated satchel, and Harry is starting to miss her company despite the fact that she’s technically with him most of the time.

He spends a couple Sundays in Myrtle’s bathroom with Pansy and Hermione.

Harry was hoping that the potions club would help him get better at potions, but to his disappointment it really is mostly just experimentation.

However, he does genuinely come to enjoy Pansy’s company (despite the fact that she brings out a really scary side of Hermione- Harry had no idea that Hermione had such a comprehensive plan for taking over the Ministry of Magic.)

Fortunately, Myrtle is usually absent from these meetings. When Harry remarked on this, Pansy and Hermione exchanged a glance.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Well, she… she’s avoiding you,” Hermione admits. “I don’t think she likes you much.”

“Good, I don’t like her much either,” Harry responds mulishly.

Pansy rolls her eyes and Harry goes back to reading about mice anatomy. In order to help Harry overcome his mental block, Pomfrey had started him on healing earthworms with the intent on going from there.

The problem with the gradual approach, Pomfrey had explained, is that it’s time-consuming: with each animal he heals, he needs to have a comprehensive understanding on how their bodies work (Harry could reconstruct a beetle’s digestive system with his eyes closed). He’d just managed to heal a little frog’s broken leg, so Pomfrey is having him move up to mice. (Harry isn’t sure, but he thinks McGonagall might be the one providing both the animals and their injuries in her cat form).

Harry’s hopeful he can get it by Christmas, but is worried, too: a mouse feels like a big step up, and if he succeeds, they’ll be moving on to birds and rabbits. The goal is eventually to get to a snake, and then a person. Pomfrey is optimistic, but Harry is mostly just trying not to think about it.

A week into December and McGonagall takes down the names of those staying at Hogwarts.

Harry doesn’t put his name down. He hates that he’s potentially leaving Theo to deal with Slytherin’s monster alone, but he can’t ask Remus if he can stay at Hogwarts without being suspicious. Theo assures Harry that he’ll be alright.

“I am very pure-blooded,” Theo says. “I’m safer here than I am at home.”

“That makes me feel, uh, not better at all,” Harry says.

Theo rolls his eyes. “It’ll be fine, Harry. Go home for Christmas. You deserve a break.”

A week and a half later, Harry and his friends go together to see what everyone is excited about by the Great Hall notice board.

“Dueling club?” Harry asks excitedly. “We should go!”

His friends all turn to stare at him as one.

“Harry, no offense, but what do you need to learn dueling for?” Blaise asks incredulously.

The image of Quirrell’s terrified face flashes in his mind, and Harry shrugs.

“Seems interesting,” he says.

“I, for one, am all for it,” Ron says.

“Who do you think is going to be running it?” Daphne asks.

“Flitwick used to be a champion dueler,” Hermione muses. “Maybe it’ll be him.”

Eight o’ clock can’t come fast enough, but eventually it does roll around. Harry meets with his friends in the Great Hall, which has been utterly transformed.

The ceiling is a velvety matte black color, and the room is lit by dozens of torches. The tables have all been moved somewhere, and now there is just a single raised platform in the middle of the hall.

Apparently the idea of a dueling club had been a popular one- most of the school seems to be here, crowded around the platform and whispering excitedly. Finally, the bell chimes the eight o’ clock hour, and the smarmy face of Gilderoy Lockhart parades out on the platform.

“Well,” Daphne says, turning to leave. Hermione holds an arm out to stop her from leaving.

“Wait-”

“You can’t seriously tell me you still have a crush on this idiot,” Daphne says flatly.

Hermione rolls her eyes.

“Obviously not. But look,” she says, jerking her head in the direction of the professor.

Harry cranes his head to look and can’t help the grin that spreads on his face as a surly Snape stalks out to stand besides Lockhart.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Ron says gleefully.

Blaise and Neville are both smirking. Even Theo has a glint of dark satisfaction in his eyes.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” Daphne concedes.

Lockhart introduces the concept of dueling with as much flourish and pomp as Harry had expected. When he faces Snape to begin the duel, he bows with so much grandiosity that Harry is momentarily worried that he’s going to fall right off the platform. Snape, on the other hand, just jerks his head.

Then, the duel begins. As quick as a whip, Snape has his wand out and is sending an expelliarmus at Lockhart, who crashes into the far wall. Lockhart’s wand goes sailing out into the crowd.

The whole thing is over in less than a blink of an eye, and Harry exchanges wide-eyed glances with his friends.

Snape is good. In fact, Harry’s pretty sure the only reason Snape verbalized his spell was for the benefit of the audience.

As Harry is still reeling over that dueling exchange, Lockhart gets back up on the stage, regains his wand, and says some bullshit about letting Snape win that round. Harry barely represses a snort.

Then, (Harry assumes it's to save face), Lockhart ends the demonstration and begins pairing students off.

Harry grabs his magic just in time as the man bodily grabs Harry’s arm and deposits him next to a gleeful Draco Malfoy. Harry does his best to ignore the boy and instead looks around to see who his friends have been paired with.

Theo and Ron have been paired together, Daphne is paired with Pansy, Hermione with Blaise, and Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley; a Hufflepuff boy that Harry recognizes as one that still hisses at Harry in the halls.

“Shame I’m paired with Longbottom,” Finch-Fletchely says loudly to Ernie McMillan, another Hufflepuff boy. “I was hoping for a challenge.”

Neville flushes and Harry has to grab tight to his magic.

“Face your partners!” Lockhart calls from the platform.

Harry and Malfoy do so, standing a fair distance apart- not far enough, for Harry’s taste.

“And bow,” Lockhart continues.

Harry jerks his head as Malfoy does the same.

“Wands at the ready!” Lockhart says, and Harry has to hold back an eye-roll.

Can’t he get on with it?

“On three, attempt to disarm your class-mates. Disarm only, we don’t want any accidents! Alright, one… two… three!”

Harry goes to fire a spell, but Malfoy has started on ‘two’ and his spell hits Harry hard, making him feel like he’d been hit over the head with one of Petunia’s frying pans. Harry stumbles forward, but blinks and shakes his head as the pain recedes.

Malfoy goes to shoot another spell, but Harry doesn’t give him the chance: Harry had been planning on just trying to disarm the other boy, but now he’s mad.

Not really thinking about what he’s doing, Harry feints with his wand, and waves his other hand to wrap his magic around Malfoy’s ankles. When Harry has a secure hold, he grits his teeth and tugs forward so the boy falls flat on his back.

Malfoy shrieks in indignation, then shoots another spell at Harry from his prone position. Harry can feel the spell hit and his legs go all wobbly.

Harry stumbles around for a moment, pulling his magic back towards him and trying to disentangle the spell from his legs. He gets it cleared off after a second or two, and retaliates with a gray-magic based tickling hex. Malfoy, who’s still on the ground, curls up laughing.

Lockhart yells, “I said disarm only!”

Harry is about to dismiss the spell on Malfoy when Malfoy gets him with some sort of knock-back jinx (casting through his gasps of laughter), and Harry feels himself go flying backwards. Harry reflexively uses his magic to catch himself, and he lands with a smooth roll.

Harry springs to his feet just as he hears Snape yell, “Finite Incantatum!”

The great hall falls into silence as most everyone’s spells are canceled all at once.

Harry sees Malfoy clamber up to his feet, but is quickly distracted by how chaotic everything had become in the last two minutes.

There’s a haze of green smoke floating above the crowd, and students are helping each other stand up all around the hall. Harry scans the crowd, looking for his friends.

Ron is pinned to the wall via a knife thrown through his robes, Theo is sporting a bright pink eyebrow, Hermione is glowering at Blaise who is hiding behind a hiccuping Daphne, Pansy’s hair is sticking straight up, and Neville…

Neville seems completely unscathed. Harry looks for Finch-Fletchley, who’s up and laughing with McMillan (who has a bloody nose) and Millicent Bulstrode (who is apologizing to McMillan).

“Dear, dear,” Lockhart says, moving through the crowd and surveying the damage. “I think I’d better teach you how to block offensive spells. Here- let's have a demonstration. Any volunteers?”

“Me, professor!” Finch-Fletchley calls, waving a hand.

Lockhart sees the boy and smiles, gesturing for the boy to join him on the stage.

“Good, yes, and where is your partner… ah, Longbottom! There you are, come on up!”

Harry grabs his magic and holds it close, watching as Neville’s face pales and he begins to walk up to the stage.

Snape also looks like he wants to say something, then shrugs almost imperceptibly and leans against a wall.

“Neville-” Harry tries as the boy passes him.

“I’ll be f-fine,” Neville whispers before getting to the platform and climbing up to join Finch-Fletchley.

“Now, Mister Longbottom, when Mister Finch-Fletchley points his wand at you, you do this-” Lockhart wiggles his wand around in a nonsensical pattern, before fumbling it and dropping it to the floor.

“Er, bit excitable- thank you, yes,” he says, reclaiming his wand from a snickering Ravenclaw.

Harry sees Snape roll his eyes.

Neville nods his head jerkily and Lockhart claps him on his shoulder. “Good man!”

Lockhart jumps easily from the stage, then turns to face the two students. “Alright, three… two… one… go!”

Finch-Fletchley leisurely raises his wand, pointing it directly at Neville. Harry tightens his hold on both his magic and his wand, ready to step in at a moment's notice.

Neville doesn’t do anything- he just stands and watches Finch-Fletchley, his own wand held loosely at his side. Harry trades a worried look with Hermione, who’s moved to stand by Harry.

Finch-Fletchley strides forward and opens his mouth to cast, and Harry sees Neville idly flick his wand. It’s still being held at his side, and isn’t pointed anywhere near Finch-Fletchley. Harry furrows his brow in confusion, and then his jaw drops.

One of the wooden slats making up the platform suddenly juts out slightly. It’s subtle (Harry doesn’t think anyone else sees it), but it’s enough: as Finch-Fletchley casts his spell and steps forward, his foot catches on the board and he pitches forward.

He catches himself with a stumble, but it’s enough to make the spell he’d cast go wide, missing an unflinching Neville by inches.

Finch-Fletchley looks up, scowling deeply at Neville. Neville just smiles apologetically and gives a little shrug as if to say, “what can you do?”

Finch-Fletchley straightens up quickly and sends two spells at Neville in succession.

Neville does raise his wand now, and makes a downward slashing movement. It erects a clear shimmery barrier just in time to catch the spells, which shatter into colored fractals as they hit.

The audience gasps as one, and Harry elbows Hermione and points excitedly.

“Hermione!” Harry whispers excitedly. Hermione is busy staring in shock at Neville. “That wand! That’s a new wand!”

Hermione just keeps staring, but Harry can see Blaise shaking Daphne back and forth in excitement. Theo is raising an eyebrow and Ron looks like he’s going to burst into cheers at any moment. Snape is wearing a rare expression of absolute shock.

Finch-Fletchley’s expression is truly stormy now, but before he can try to cast again, Neville slashes his wand upwards, dismissing the shield and turning to Lockhart.

“Like that?” Neville asks.

“Uh,” Lockhart says, then shakes his head and grins. “Exactly correct! Very good! All thanks to my tutelage, of course,” he adds.

“Sure,” Neville agrees easily, before jumping down from the stage and going to stand with Harry and Hermione.

“H-hey guys. How’s it g-going?”

Hermione smacks Neville on the arm. “You should have told us you got a new wand! How did you get it? Did Remus end up taking you after all?”

By this point, Blaise, Daphne, Theo, and Ron have all gathered round as well.

Up on the stage, Lockhart seems to be trying and failing to recreate the shield that Neville had conjured so easily. In mutual silent agreement, the seven slip out of the Great Hall and begin to make their way to the Library.

“Well?” Hermione asks as they walk.

“Oh,” Neville says, scratching the back of his head. “I got it th-the day Harry got out of the Hospital W-Wing.”

“That was ages ago!” Hermione protests disbelievingly.

“It must h-have slipped my mind to-to tell you guys. S-sorry,” Neville says.

Harry grimaces, sure that Neville would have told them if they hadn’t been so preoccupied with Harry’s drama.

“If Remus took you Harry would have known, and would have mentioned it to us,” Daphne points out as they sit at their usual table in the Library. Harry reckons they still have a good twenty minutes before they need to worry about curfew.

“Did your Gran finally see sense?” Daphne asks hopefully.

Neville laughs bitterly. “No, of course not.” He pauses, expression going sheepish. “I just, uh, m-made it. The wand, I mean.”

Blaise buries his face in his hands and lets out a muffled scream. Daphne and Hermione stare. Harry and Ron exchange grins. Theo raises both eyebrows.

“Well,” Harry says excitedly. “What are you waiting for? Show us!”

Neville’s face flushes, but he obligingly holds up his wand.

“That is a stick,” Hermione says flatly.

“Most wands are,” Harry reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, that is literally a stick. Is that a leaf?”

Neville shrugs. “I keep p-picking it off but it just gr-grows back. It’s stubborn.”

“Grows back,” Hermione says disbelievingly.

Neville shrugs again.

“Wood type?” Daphne asks, eyes glittering with unbridled fascination.

“Rowan,” Neville says.

Blaise snorts. “Of course it is. Of course. And let me guess, you used unicorn hair for the core.”

“Uh,” Neville starts. “Basically?”

Everyone stares at him.

“What. Could you possibly mean by that.” Theo asks finally.

Neville flushes even darker.

“Oh!” Harry says, realizing what he must have used. “Oh! Neville, you’re a genius!”

Neville looks down at the table.

“Someone needs to please explain,” Ron says, looking between Neville and Harry. “I think Blaise is about to have an aneurysm.”

It’s true, Blaise is beginning to look a little crazed; staring at Neville’s wand with narrowed eyes and muttering to himself.

“I used unicorn b-blood,” Neville says finally, rolling his wand around on the table. Then he looks up, worried look on his face; and hastily adds, “ethically sourced!”

The Library is dead silent for just a moment, and then Harry bursts into laughter as his friends begin to yell at Neville, who buries his head in his arms.

Chapter Text

Hermione

“Hello Theo,” Hermione says glumly as she steps out of the Gryffindor common room. Theo wordlessly nods and they begin to make their way to the Library.

It’s been two days since Harry, Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Daphne left for Christmas break, and already Hermione is feeling claustrophobic.

The constant hovering of her friends had been bad enough before the holidays, but this is ten times worse. Theo and her are friends, sure, but mostly it's in that awkward "friend of a friend" way.

Hermione’s parents had sent her a letter three days before the break, saying that they’d be going on an unexpected vacation/dentist conference in America and Hermione needs to stay at school. Harry had not taken the news well, and only calmed down once Theo had promised to keep watch over Hermione.

Apparently ‘keeping watch’ means never ever leaving Hermione alone outside of (thankfully) the bathroom and the Gryffindor tower.

At least this way, her and Theo might be able to make some headway on their Chamber of Secrets research project.

The petrification of Justin Finch-Fletchley had been a solemn reminder as to just how serious this whole ordeal is, and Hermione genuinely believes it's up to them to find the culprit and then hopefully stop them, too.

The two arrive at the Library and silently begin researching, slipping into the routine they’ve established over the last two days. Read, take notes, gather material, read some more, and take breaks for eating (neither of them are very good at the last one, but an irritated Madam Pince keeps ushering them out every four hours or so and telling them to grab a bite and something to drink).

Hermione doesn’t think she’s said more than eight words in the last two days. She sighs, scribbling down yet another student’s name. Hermione loves research, but it’s going to be a long holiday break.

Neville

“Hi mum,” Neville says softly.

Alice sighs sadly, but otherwise doesn’t move from looking out the window. Some visits are like this; Alice in a despondent mood that nothing can pull her from it. It hurts Neville like nothing else to see her like this, but he always puts in an effort.

“School’s been really… well, I was going to say great, but there’s a monster running around petrifying students which isn’t ideal. But I’ve been having a great time!

“I made myself a wand. My friends were all very impressed. Apparently making a wand is a big deal, but I don’t think it was too hard. Maybe wand making is just… really advanced Herbology. I don’t know.

“I’ve been trying to keep it hidden from Gran because… ha, you know how she gets about dad.”

Neville looks over at his Gran, who’s whispering softly to Neville’s dad.

“Anyways, I brought it with me. I thought you might like to see it?”

Alice doesn’t move her head, and Neville shrugs.

“That’s alright. I’ll show you another time. My new wand has helped me recognize my magic. Turns out I’ve been using a lot more magic than I’d thought, but it’s just usually really subtle and scattered all over the place.”

Alice starts crying softly and Neville furtively wipes his eyes.

“Sorry. I wish… I wish I could make it better, mum,” he whispers.

His Gran stands up softly and blows her nose.

“Neville, I’m going to see if I can get another blanket for Frankie. I’ll be right back.”

Neville nods and his Gran leaves.

“Oh!” Neville says after a moment of thought. “I have another thing I can show you, and I think you’ll really like this one. It’s a pretty neat trick.”

No response, but he hadn’t been expecting one.

Neville closes his eyes, furrows his brow, and reaches out for that feeling of home and warmth and safety he’s come to recognize as the feeling of magic. He locates what he’s come to think of as the handhold without too much trouble (it’s right behind his heart today), and pulls the warmth down to his fingertips.

He can feel it moving through his veins, flowing from his heart and pooling at his fingers. Once the warmth builds up and becomes almost unbearably hot, Neville holds his hands up and blows on them, as though he’s spreading a handful of dandelion seeds.

As he does, his magic manifests in the air, looking first like a shimmering heat wave before coalescing into the shape of a massive silver lion. It shakes itself out, then turns to look at Neville. Neville sits back heavily, nodding towards Alice and focusing hard on the feeling of warmth that’s flowing from him to the Patronus.

The lion nods and trots over to the weeping woman. It leans its massive head on her shoulder, pressing into her. Alice takes a shuddery gasp, then to Neville’s amazement, reaches a hand out and begins stroking the lion's mane. The lion closes its eyes and leans even more into Alice and begins to purr.

They sit like that for a long moment, watching from the window as the snow falls onto the street below.

Daphne

Daphne sits next to her mother, back straight and without a strand of hair out of place. She’d prefer to be sitting with her friends, but her mother had insisted that she’s old enough to sit with the adults.

The women have all gathered in one corner of the game room, talking politics. The men, meanwhile, are busying themselves watching a ‘friendly’ game of pool.

The dinner part of the annual Malfoy Yule Dinner has yet to officially begin, so Daphne is passing the time by paying rapt attention to what the older women have to say. For a group of women that tend to meet every other week, they sure have a lot of gossip to share.

Daphne is trying her hardest to stay unentertained (to spite her mother) but can’t help but perk up when Lady Parkinson turns to Lady Malfoy with a mischievous grin and says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lucius look so flushed. Is he coming down with something, do you think? Poor dear.”

Daphne looks over to the group of men and notes that Lord Malfoy is indeed looking particularly pink. Daphne, feeling lost, turns back to see what Lady Malfoy says.

Lady Malfoy curls her lips into a little smile and takes a sip of her wine.

“If he is, it looks to me that your husband is coming down with the same thing.”

Lady Parkinson raises her glass in Lady Malfoy’s direction, eyes glinting in amusement.

Daphne turns to look at Lord Parkinson and yes, there he is, face red. Daphne knows there’s a veiled barb here, but she can’t for the life of her figure out what it could be.

The women all lean back, content to observe the game for a moment.

Daphne tries to see what they’re seeing but it just looks like a run-of-the-mill game of pool: Lord Malfoy is evidently one of the two players and it seems to be his turn. He takes careful aim with the cue before making his shot. Daphne can’t see the results of the shot, but Lord Malfoy steps back and looks satisfied, so it must have been good.

Then Lord Malfoy steps aside to allow the other player to take his turn. To Daphne's mild surprise, none other than Remus Lupin steps up to the table, expertly twirling his cue.

He’s discarded his suit jacket, and the sleeves of his white dress-shirt are rolled up to his elbows. Remus has an expression of intense focus and as he leans over to take his turn, several of the pureblooded lords conspicuously look away, faces flushing darker than before.

Daphne blinks as the other women titter.

Lady Parkinson sighs. “It’s a damn shame he’s such a radical. Those forearms should be criminal.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Daphne’s mother laughs, raising her glass.

The other women follow suit and Daphne commends herself on not both bursting into laughter and tears. Who knew? Half of the pureblood elite apparently have it bad for Remus Lupin.

Daphne knows one thing for certain: Harry can never know.

Blaise

Blaise picks at his food, less interested in whatever bland cuisine Lord and Lady Malfoy think is acceptable for their Yule Dinner than he is in the conversation his mother is currently embroiled in.

“Explain to me again the purpose of your proposed bill,” the Contessa says, food sitting untouched in front of her.

“Which one?” Remus asks tiredly. “I have three active proposals, and another four in the works.”

“Any,” the Contessa says eagerly, leaning forward. “All. You’ve been making political waves of the like that haven’t been seen coming from Britain for decades.”

Blaise would be worried as to how flirtatious his mum is acting towards (essentially) Harry’s dad, except for the fact that this is just how she is and Blaise has long since become used to it.

Remus laughs, a tad awkwardly. “You flatter me, Contessa Zabini. They aren’t very interesting, I’m afraid.”

“From what I’ve heard about you? I doubt that very much, Mister Lupin. Your proposed amendment that intended to further integrate a more modern democratic system into the Wizengamot was a masterpiece, plain and simple. It’s nothing short of a tragedy that it didn’t pass.”

Remus opens his mouth to respond, but Blaise’s mum continues, “and don’t get me started on the many other programs you’re trying to implement that are dragging Magical Britain kicking and screaming into the future.”

Remus blushes hard as he looks down at his scarred hands. “You really do flatter me. I must remind you that none of those have been successful. Also, please, call me Remus.”

“Remus, then. And none have been successful yet. Give it time,” the Contessa says, smiling gently. Then, as she raises a forkful of carrots to her mouth, she conversationally adds, “also, you simply must call me Juno.”

Blaise grins into the glass of water he’d just raised to his lips to drink. The conversation is definitely more interesting than the food.

His mum and Remus Lupin becoming friends doesn’t bode well for the infrastructure of any magical governing body, and Blaise for one can’t wait to see the fallout.

Harry

“What are you doing here, Potter? Don’t tell me you’re snooping.”

Harry groans, turning around to face Malfoy.

“I’m not snooping,” Harry scoffs. “I’m… looking around. In a very normal and non-snooping way.”

He doesn’t want to admit he’s trying to find and catch the peacock he’d accidentally let in through the kitchen entrance.

Harry had been excited for the Yule dinner up until he found out that the whole thing would just be his friends and Remus spending the whole time schmoozing with a bunch of stuffy pureblood lords and ladies. And then to top it all off, he’d found out it would be held at Malfoy Manor.

Harry had managed to slip away rather early on, claiming to Remus that he has a headache and needs to lay down.

Instead he’d spent the last few hours dismantling, then reconstructing suits of armor; missing Merlin (who’s at home); and running around the gardens chasing peacocks.

“Likely story,” Malfoy spits.

He’s looking particularly stuffy today. Harry is pretty sure his hair is a solid mass of gel.

“Believe it or not, Malfoy,” Harry shrugs. “It’s what I was doing.”

“Well, stop doing it,” Malfoy says angrily. “You can’t just be wandering around in my home.”

Harry shrugs again, and goes back to opening and closing doors, peeking into each one in the hopes of finding a certain albino bird that couldn’t have gotten far.

Malfoy’s face goes red and his wand is suddenly out and pointed at Harry. Harry freezes, and grabs onto his magic.

“You’re really going to hex a guest?” Harry asks disbelievingly.

“I’d argue that you’re an intruder at this point,” Malfoy says, eyes narrowed and wand unwavering.

Suddenly, a house elf in a plain linen tunic appears and Harry jumps. Malfoy just glares at the elf.

“Heir Malfoy is not to use magic on the guests of Malfoy Manor. The Lord and Lady would be very disappointed, and Heir Malfoy knows better.”

Malfoy glowers at the elf, but pockets the wand.

The elf turns to Harry and Harry has to clamp down hard on his magic as he realizes he recognizes the elf. Harry hopes desperately that his expression stays neutral, but he can’t be sure it does.

“Mister Potter needs to stay away from the places he doesn’t belong,” Dobby says.

There isn’t so much of a flicker of recognition in Dobby’s flat expression as he looks at Harry impassively.

Harry swallows, stomach flipping uncomfortably.

“Er, yeah. Sorry,” he says. “Uh. There may or may not be a peacock loose somewhere in here.”

Dobby nods once, then disappears without a sound and Harry represses a shudder.

Malfoy irritably jerks his head and a reeling Harry wordlessly follows the boy through the maze of halls until they reach the sitting room where everyone has gathered after dinner. Harry tries not to feel the stares of the older purebloods, but can’t help it. He hadn’t actually had a headache, but he feels one developing now.

Malfoy blessedly splits off from Harry as soon as they walk in, and Harry goes to join Remus where he’s sitting with Mrs. Malfoy and the Contessa.

Harry likes the Contessa well enough, but Mrs. Malfoy looks at him as though he’s a puzzle to be solved and it makes Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

“Hey, Harry,” Remus says. “Feeling better?”

“Er, not really,” Harry says. “Can we, uh, can we go home?”

Harry isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of relief in Remus’s eyes as he nods, smiling softly.

Remus inclines his head, first to the Contessa and then to Mrs. Malfoy. “It was wonderful to meet you, Juno. And Narcissa, thank you for the lovely evening. Give Lord Malfoy my regards. We’ll see ourselves out.”

The two women bid Remus farewell and Remus and Harry make their way to the apparition point.

“Ready?” Remus asks, holding out an arm.

“Ready,” Harry nods, and they apparate home.

Ron

“Oh, I’m so happy my family is all together for the holidays,” Ron’s mum cries as she bustles around, waving her wand and sending assorted sugar cookies, ornaments, wrapped presents, and strings of popcorn flying around.

Christmas at the Burrow is always chaotic, but Ron usually loves it. To him, chaos is where he feels the most at home.

Of course, this year Ron is mostly just worried about whether Theo and Hermione are safe, which puts a bit of a damper on the whole thing. He’s pulled out of his reverie as the twins suddenly run past, chased by a furious Charlie who is lobbing hexes left and right at the two. Charlie seems to be… completely bald?

Bill walks in holding a couple mugs of cocoa, expertly side-stepping the twins as they run by and avoiding a collision by mere inches. He hands their dad a mug (who takes it gratefully) and goes to sit heavily in a lumpy armchair, squashing Ginny.

“Good to be home, eh Gin?” Bill teases as he plops his mug onto a side-table.

“Get off Bill,” Ginny mutters, shoving Bill off.

“Oh! Oh! You got me,” Bill cries as he falls slowly to the floor, clutching his chest.

He hits the floor and lies still, tongue poking out of his mouth.

“If you’d really died your tongue would be sticking in the opposite direction,” Percy says idly from his place on the couch without looking up from the parchment he’s scribbling on.

Bill hastily switches it so the tongue is obeying the laws of gravity and Ron rolls his eyes.

“Don’t pretend to die, Bill,” Molly chides. “I can’t bear to even think about it.”

Ginny nods furiously in agreement. She’s been especially sensitive since Colin, and doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping very well.

Bill sits up. “Sorry, mum,” he says sheepishly.

“No worries, dear,” Molly says warmly before hurrying off again.

“How’s school?” Bill asks suddenly from the floor, leaning against the couch.

Ron, Percy, and Ginny all exchange a glance.

“Fine,” they say at once.

Bill blinks, then laughs and shakes his head. He turns to Arthur. “Teenagers, am I right?”

Arthur stares at Bill, eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you a teenager?”

Bill stares at Arthur, looking like he's trying to figure out if Arthur's being serious or not.

Arthur manages to keep a straight face for approximately four seconds before he bursts into loud laughter. He wipes away a tear, saying, “I’m so glad you’re all home for Christmas.”

Theo

“Hermione!” Theo calls out, before grunting in pain as another of the cat-sized matte black colored creatures latch onto his leg.

He dispatches the one that had been going for his face before turning around and stabbing at the one on his leg until it falls off, dead. Theo shoots off a blasting curse, knocking back another two.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off!

Truth be told, their numbers seem to be waning. But Theo has been at this for what feels like hours, and he’s fading fast.

“I’ve almost got it,” Hermione grits out, balancing precariously on a make-shift tower made out of assorted books, chairs, charms, desks, and hope. She’s stretching her hand out, grabbing blindly at the books on the highest shelf.

“You just need to keep them back- for another- thirty- seconds!”

Theo takes a moment to wipe his forehead, arm coming back covered in blood and dust.

Theo grimaces, then ducks as a wailing shadow creature flies over him and crashes into a bookshelf. Theo turns and sends another knife flying, pinning a particularly large monster against a bottom shelf.

Shit. he’s down to two knives- and none of the hexes he's tried so far has worked on the things in any meaningful way.

Theo rolls to the side and out of the way of a group of advancing monsters before standing up in one fluid motion, slashing out around him as he does. Another four monsters fall to the ground, bleeding ink.

“Got it!” Hermione yells, waving her prize.

Then she shrieks as she slips and the already precarious tower comes tumbling to the ground. Theo wastes no time dashing to where the girl had fallen, stabbing wildly at the ink monsters in his way and resolutely ignoring the pulsing pain in his leg.

Hermione coughs and sits up, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the dust.

She dislodges a chair or two as she stands up, clutching a huge blue book to her chest. Hermione’s hair is covered in a fine layer of white dust and coming almost entirely loose from the ribbon she had tied it back with. She turns to Theo, grinning crazedly.

Theo returns the grin with a nod, then flings another knife at a creature that had been trying to sneak up on him.

Hermione whistles in appreciation as she takes in the scene before her: dozens of dead or dying inky monsters strewn around; some in pieces, others pinned to the shelves and twitching weakly.

“I think you actually got most of them,” she says, turning to get a better look at Theo. “Oh, you’re bleeding.”

“You are too,” Theo points out, looking meaningfully at a particularly long gash on Hermione’s arm.

Hermione and Theo look at each other for a moment, and then Hermione nods.

“Can’t argue with that,” she decides. “Anyways, let's get out of here.”

Hermione starts picking her way out of the fallen tower, shooting the occasional knockback jinx at the brave (or suicidal) stragglers that try to attack. Theo hurriedly gathers up what knives he can, then goes to limp after Hermione.

“You do know the way back,” Theo confirms.

Hermione scoffs. “You have your knives, I have my memory. I know the way back.”

“That book had better be worth it,” Theo says.

“No kidding,” Hermione grumbles, blowing a tuft of hair out of her face. “The restricted section takes itself really seriously.”

“You think?” Theo says, pulling Hermione out of the way of another leaping ink creature, all teeth and fangs and snarls. “What triggered that enchantment?”

“I know some of the bigger wizarding libraries have built-in protections. These,” Hermione says disgustedly as she pointedly steps on an oozing creature, “are probably a version of those.”

“So you’re saying that next time we get a pass from a teacher.”

“I am absolutely saying that, yes.”

Hermione and Theo lapse into a companionable silence. At one point, Hermione fully rips the already torn sleeve off of her sweater and hands it to Theo.

“Bandage,” she says, gesturing at his leg.

“Thank you,” Theo says, pausing to wrap it around his leg.

Finally they get back to what Theo has begun to think of as ‘domesticated’ Library.

“Slytherin or Gryffindor?” Hermione asks.

“Gryffindor. I left my supplies there.”

Hermione nods and they exit the Library and head through the halls and up to the tower.

“When did you say Madam Pince would wake up?” Theo asks, curious.

A part of him still can’t believe that Hermione had so readily suggested drugging the librarian. Another, larger part of him is more than able to believe it: come to find out, Hermione is genuinely ruthless when she forgets not to be.

Theo is kicking himself for not getting to know Hermione better before now. Theo never really understood why Ron likes her so much- and now he does.

Hermione casts a quick tempus. “The potion should wear off any minute now.”

Theo nods, then stops in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and says, “augurey blooms.”

Gwen side-eyes him, but the portrait slides open regardless and Theo nods his thanks.

They head immediately up the stairs towards Hermione’s dorm room.

At first, Hermione had been worried about Theo being able to climb the stairs into the girl’s dorms. However, after a quick discussion on just how little Theo cares about the concept of gender or having a gender at all, Hermione figured it would probably be fine. Indeed, Theo had been able to climb the stairs with no issue.

They enter the dorm and Hermione sets the book down before flopping into her bed, groaning. Then, she turns and looks at Theo.

“You first,” she decides, gesturing at his face. “That cut looks bad.”

“Fine by me,” Theo says, and begins to methodically clean and dress his wounds.

Hermione goes to read their prize, muttering occasionally.

“Pipes,” Hermione finally says, looking up from the book. Her eyes are shining with excitement. “It’s definitely the pipes. We were right.”

Theo limps over, looking down at the page she has the book open to.

It’s a comprehensive diagram of Hogwarts’ admittedly archaic plumbing system. Based on the measurements, most of the pipes are more than big enough for a monster of considerable size to be sneaking around in, and there are more than a few surprising places the pipes let out.

“Definitely worth it,” Theo decides.

Hermione grins toothily, and Theo lets a smile spread across his face as well.

Thanks to Hermione, this has hands down been the best holiday Theo’s ever had.

Chapter Text

It’s been sixty-seven days since Mrs. Norris was petrified, and Percy Weasley is no closer to catching the monster. The days weigh on Percy’s shoulders. The moment Mrs. Norris had been petrified, Percy had resolved to put a stop to whatever might be going on.

For one, he’s a prefect and keeping the halls of Hogwarts safe is his duty. If he fails, he fails the school, the students, and himself. For another, Ginny had been nothing short of inconsolable.

The twins would never believe it in a million years, but Percy does care about his family. He just… shows it in a different way than other people might.

Admittedly, Percy hadn’t taken it as seriously as he should have at first, allowing for things like school and friends to take priority. Then, Colin Creevey had been attacked and Percy realized just how easily the monster could have gone for Ginny (or Ron or the twins) instead.

Sure, the Weasleys are technically pure-blooded, but what if Slytherin’s monster doesn’t discriminate between muggle-borns and blood-traitors? It is absolutely not a risk Percy is willing to take.

All this leads to mornings escorting scared younger students to their classes, afternoons spent in the Library researching, and nights spent patrolling the halls.

Percy has resorted to doing homework during mealtimes. Penelope is mostly indifferent towards Percy’s new routine, but Percy really is going to have to do something about Oliver at some point. He's just been getting more and more worried.

“Please, Percy! Can’t you just drop it?” Oliver pleads during lunch, grabbing one of Percy’s hands in his own.

It’s the first day back from Christmas break, and apparently Oliver has had enough.

“I know you’re single-minded, I get it. I do! I’m the same way. But we haven’t talked, really talked in a month.”

Percy looks up from his essay and into his friend's shiny brown eyes- those eyes that are always alight with one thing or another, passion or excitement or happiness. They’re particularly shiny today, and Percy idly wonders if Oliver is about to cry.

Percy blinks, realizing he’s been staring. He jerks his hand away and looks down, stamping down on the guilt that’s curling in his stomach.

“I can’t drop it, Oliver. I have to figure this out.”

“You don’t! Let the professors take care of it, that’s their job. It’s your job,” here Oliver jabs a finger at Percy’s chest, “to be a kid. Come on, let's… let’s go on a walk. I’ll even listen to your fifty-two step plan to become Minister of Magic!”

“Would you really?” Percy asks, momentarily distracted.

Oliver grimaces, then his expression goes determined. “Yeah,” he says resolutely, “I really would.”

Percy looks back down to his book, smiling softly.

“Thanks,” he says. Then he thinks of how terrified Ginny has been lately and winces. “But I really can’t. I’m sorry, I have to keep my family safe.”

And be the best prefect Hogwarts has ever seen, and also possibly slay Slytherin’s monster.

Oliver sighs, sitting back. “Alright,” he says. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Percy thinks that might be the last of it… up until Oliver is there waiting for him at the portrait hole as Percy goes to start his nightly patrols.

“Oliver?” Percy asks, confused.

Oliver grins. Percy would like to say he’s immune to Oliver’s grins after practically living with him for six years, but he really isn’t. Percy goes a little light-headed, then bites the inside of his cheek to ground himself.

(Some nights Percy can’t sleep because he’s too busy marveling over the fact that the Oliver Wood seems to genuinely enjoy and seek out Percy’s company. Oliver has a million friends, and Percy really only has Penelope and his ambitions.

Nevertheless, from day one Oliver has made it a point to spend time with Percy. One night during dinner in fourth year Oliver had casually referred to Percy as his best friend for the first time and Percy had nearly choked to death on an asparagus.)

“I’m coming with you, remember?”

Percy stares at Oliver. “What,” he says flatly.

“Oh,” Oliver says, brow furrowing. “I actually, uh, might not have made that clear. I’m helping you catch the monster.”

“You are absolutely not doing that.” Percy says with finality.

Ten minutes later and Percy is walking resignedly next to a bouncy Oliver. Oliver keeps accidentally walking faster than Percy, then doubling back.

“So,” Oliver whispers as he jogs back to Percy. “Give me the facts. We won’t be able to work together if we aren’t on the same page, you know.”

Percy sighs heavily. “I don’t have much. From what I’ve been able to gather, the Chamber has been opened before. When and what happened, I’m not sure. I think it was bad, though.”

Oliver nods thoughtfully. “So the Chamber is real, then?”

“That’s the general consensus. There still isn’t any hard proof, though. It’s possible the whole thing is just a really twisted prank.”

Oliver turns to Percy, eyebrow raised. His golden eyebrow piercing glints distractingly and Percy has to tear his eyes away from it.

“Let me stop you right there,” Oliver says. “You don’t think it’s Harry, do you?”

Percy grimaces. “I personally do not think it’s Harry. That said, I can’t rule out anyone, and Harry does… well, he is the known heir and has discovered two of the three attacks.”

“Okay? And?” Oliver asks.

“Look, I don’t want to believe it’s him, but I can’t let my emotions cloud my judgment,” Percy says tiredly.

Oliver kicks at the ground as they walk in silence for a moment, then looks up. “You don’t think Dumbledore hasn’t already thought of all this? If Harry really is that suspicious-”

“Which he is,” Percy cuts in.

“Right. As I was saying, don’t you think he’d be at least suspended by now? Just to see if the attacks stop?”

Percy narrows his eyes, thinking. That would be smart, if a bit ruthless… Dumbledore might be letting his emotions cloud his judgment?

Percy’s line of thinking trails off. That doesn’t sound at all like the Dumbledore he’s heard stories about.

“Just something to think about I guess,” Oliver shrugs. “Any idea what the monster is?”

“No,” Percy grumbles. “I know frustratingly little. Right now I’m just trying to get more information on the last time the Chamber opened.”

“How do you know it opened last time?”

“I heard Professor McGonagall talking about it with Professor Sprout- I didn’t hear much, just enough to confirm that it had been opened before and it was bad.”

“And you’ve been looking for information on it ever since, right? Without any luck?”

Percy nods, unsure of where Oliver is going with this.

“Sounds like they covered it up, then.” Oliver muses.

“Yeah,” Percy says, then his eyes widen. “... so the only way for Professor McGonagall to know about it is if she was there!”

“Hey! Yeah!” Oliver says excitedly, brown eyes lighting up.

“How long has she been a teacher?” Percy asks. “Oh, wait. I guess you probably don’t know that off the top of your head.”

“Just hit 36 years,” Oliver says absently. Percy stares at him, and he shrugs. “We meet for tea sometimes.”

“... alright,” Percy says, then continues, “so: our timeline is the last 36 years.”

“Plus when she was a student,” Oliver reminds him.

“... don’t suppose you know how old she is?” Percy asks after a moment.

“No,” Oliver says through a poorly-concealed yawn. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. Let’s call it a night,” Percy says, checking the time.

It’s harder to find out Professor McGonagall’s age than Percy had thought it would be, but after a couple hours in the Library and a few subtle questions posed to Professor Sprout, Percy figures it out: Professor McGonagall is sixty-two, so she’d have started Hogwarts in 1941. This leaves Percy with a pretty solid timeline. It’s a lot, but much less long than the entirety of Hogwarts history.

Wait.

“Oliver!” Percy calls, waving frantically to get his attention.

Oliver is flying, because of course he is, but he sees Percy and dives down to meet Percy on the edge of the pitch.

“Percy! Is everything alright?” Oliver says as he skids to a stop, unmounting his broom in one fluid motion.

Percy is doubled over, trying to catch his breath. He’d run all the way to the pitch from the Library.

“I’m so… out… of shape…” Percy gasps.

Oliver pats his back gently. “Take your time,” he says.

It should be patronizing but Oliver doesn’t seem to be capable of sounding anything less than one-hundred percent genuine.

Percy finally recovers to the point where he can form full sentences, and says, “we should talk to the ghosts. They’d know, right?”

Oliver’s eyes widen and he actually jumps up and down a little in excitement. “Percy! You’re a genius!”

Percy feels himself go bright red and Oliver bursts into delighted laughter, which doesn’t help anything.

“You need to learn to take a compliment, Perce,” Oliver says, calming down after a moment.

“Uh, right,” Percy mutters, then immediately changes the subject. “Anyways, I thought we could start with Sir Nick and then go from there? Or, should we split up?”

Percy is excited now. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think about the ghosts as a source before- although most everyone just takes them for granted.

“Let's go together,” Oliver says without hesitating. “Splitting up never ends well. Plus,” Oliver adds with a wink, “we’re a team.”

“Cool! Yes, sounds good!” Percy says, trying not to sound flustered. He can feel his ears burning. “Well, no time like the present!”

Oliver laughs, swinging his broom over his broad shoulder. “Sure,” he agrees.

Despite their best efforts, they can’t find Sir Nick. Or, for that matter, any ghost at all.

“Are they usually this hard to find?” Oliver asks, scratching the back of his head.

“No idea,” Percy says. “I guess it never really occurred to me that ghosts might have a life outside of haunting students- stop, you know what I mean.”

“You said ‘life’ and they’re dead,” Oliver gasps through his laughter.

Percy rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that funny. Any idea what to do next?”

“Binns is always in his classroom, right?” Oliver asks, sobering up. “We could ask him.”

“He’s got a class right now. I already checked.”

“Oh. Uh, we could try that one ghost that never leaves the bathroom,” Oliver suggests.

“Hmm.” Percy hums noncommittally. He really doesn’t want to deal with Myrtle right now, but… “yeah, she’s probably our best bet.”

“To the bathroom!” Oliver cries, firmly grabbing Percy’s hand in his and breaking into a sprint.

“Oliver- I can’t- please don’t make me run again-” Percy gasps out, trying in vain to tug his hand free.

They don’t stop running until they get to the out-of-order bathroom. Percy doubles over again, panting.

“Five… Points… from Gryffindor…” Percy says as he tries to get enough oxygen to his lungs.

Oliver gasps in indignation. “You’d take points from me? Your best friend? And for what?”

“Running in the halls,” Percy says, breathing easier now. “Also, I like Penelope better. She doesn’t make me run.”

“Clearwater,” Oliver growls, raising his fist and shaking it at the sky. Then, he looks at Percy and with a serious look on his face, says, “one day I will surpass her. Just you wait.”

Percy shakes his head and rolls his eyes, going up to the door and knocking. “Anyone in here?” He calls.

No answer. He looks at Oliver, who shrugs. Percy pushes the door open. “Hello?”

“This is the girl’s bathroom, you know,” a sniffly voice says.

Percy sighs wearily. That’s not even true- it’s more of an arbitrary label then anything else.

“Just thought you ought to know,” Myrtle adds, floating primly through a stall door. She, as per usual, looks like she’s been crying. “What do you want?”

“We wanted to talk to you,” Oliver steps in helpfully. Myrtle’s face lights up, then goes suspicious.

“Do you really? Or do you just want to make fun of me,” she asks, eyes narrowed.

Oliver gives her a disarming smile. “We would never,” he assures.

Myrtle softens, and she sits down. Well, she’s floating. But she goes into a sitting position above the ground.

“Oh, alright,” she says. Then she flutters her eyelashes “I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you asked the questions.” Oliver chuckles, a tad uncomfortably.

Percy rolls his eyes again. At this rate, they’re going to get stuck looking towards the back of his skull.

“Go on then,” Myrtle says. “Ask away.”

“Well,” Oliver says with an encouraging nod from Percy. “We, uh, wanted to know if you were there when the Chamber of Secrets last opened?”

Myrtle stares at them for a second, expression of disbelief on her face. “Was I… was I there? You wanted to know if I was there. Me?”

“Yes?” Oliver says, eyes darting between Myrtle and Percy. Percy is just as baffled as he is.

“Yes,” Myrtle says slowly. “I was there.”

Percy’s heart leaps.

“Would you tell us about it?” Oliver asks, trying and failing to sound casual.

“It was exactly fifty years ago,” Myrtle says, eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “And a student died.”

“That’s… gruesome,” Oliver says. He sounds uncertain.

Percy mostly can’t believe their luck. The first ghost they ask, and she seems to know all about the last time the Chamber opened.

“Ooh, yes, dreadfully!” Myrtle agrees, grinning. “Very dramatic. A real tragedy, shook Hogwarts down to its very foundations.”

“How did they die?” Percy asks, unable to help himself.

Myrtle narrows her eyes at him, but eventually stands up and floats over to the stall she’d been crying in when they’d first come in.

“I was sitting right in here when it happened,” she says smugly, pointing down at the stall.

Percy and Oliver exchange a wide-eyed look. Myrtle had been the student? This is huge!

“I was crying,” Myrtle continues.

“Shocker,” Percy grumbles. Oliver elbows him. Fortunately the ghostly girl doesn’t seem to have heard him.

“Olive Hornby was being a horrible bully, you see. She’d insulted my glasses, my face, and my family- in that order. I haunted her until the day she died,” Myrtle says, satisfied. “That’s why I decided not to move on, you know. Vengeance.”

“Very, uh, reasonable,” Oliver says, looking a little queasy. “Then what happened?”

“Oh, after she passed on I came back to Hogwarts to live in the bathroom I’d died in,” Myrtle says simply.

“No, sorry, I meant what happened after you were crying in the stall?”

“Oh! Well, I heard the door open, and someone came in. Then I heard a funny sort of sound, like a made-up language or code of some kind, and realized it was a boy speaking. Of course, as this is the girl’s bathroom,” Myrtle says looking pointedly at the two, “I opened the door to tell him to GO AWAY!”

Percy and Oliver both jump a little as she shrieks those last two words, then Oliver says, “and then what?”

Myrtle cocks her head. “I died,” she says.

Percy goes to roll his eyes again, but catches himself just in time.

Oliver flounders for a moment, saying, "oh, uh, I mean, how?"

Myrtle starts sniffling. “I don’t know,” she says pitifully. “I would have said if I had known.”

“Right! Of course you would have,” Oliver says hurriedly, trying to stave off the inevitable breakdown. “But, uh, do you possibly remember anything at all? Maybe the light of a spell, or being hit by a potion?”

Myrtle hiccups a little, and shakes her head. “No, no.” Then, she goes perfectly still, brow furrowed in thought. “I do… I remember a great big yellow circle…” she trails off, seemingly lost in thought.

“Er, alright then,” Oliver says, backing away towards the door. “Thank you for answering our questions.”

Percy and Oliver walk slowly back to the Gryffindor Tower.

“So,” Percy says, then stops, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees. “What do we do now?”

Percy looks at him disbelievingly. “We research. Obviously.”

Oliver sighs and kicks at the ground dejectedly. “Obviously,” he repeats glumly.

Chapter Text

Harry is having an intense bout of deja vu, mixed with a healthy dose of rapidly mounting anxiety. It’s been around two weeks since the end of Christmas break. Harry had spent most of the holiday worrying about Hermione (and to a lesser extent, Theo).

Thanks to the nearly constant correspondence from Theo, Harry had known logically that the two were fine, but he hadn’t truly relaxed until he could see his friends again in person. On the bright side, Hermione and Theo did appear to become closer as friends over the break.

On the not-so bright side, the constant worrying must have done something to his brain because now he’s twice as worried as ever for his friends; needing to know where they are at all times.

And right now, he doesn’t know where Hermione is.

Trying not to panic, Harry forgoes going to Percy or the twins this time, and instead heads straight for Myrtle’s bathroom.

Knowing Hermione, she’s either in the bathroom working on potions, or at the Library. Harry’s trying the bathroom first because if she’s working on potions, she’s definitely working on them alone (the Slytherins are in class, so Pansy is otherwise occupied).

Harry arrives in front of the bathroom and can already tell that Hermione probably isn’t in there- the bathroom has flooded, and Hermione doesn’t put up with Myrtle’s antics very well. Regardless, it can’t hurt to check, so Harry opens the door and walks in. Myrtle is crying loudly in a stall, and all the faucets are running.

“Hello?” Harry asks, gingerly stepping over a particularly large puddle. Hermione definitely isn’t in here, but maybe Myrtle has seen her?

“Go away,” Myrtle says miserably. She sounds really, really upset.

“I, er, sorry,” Harry says uncomfortably. “I just wanted to know if you’d seen Hermione?”

“No! Go AWAY!”

Harry would love to do nothing more. Unfortunately, he can’t bring himself to just leave the girl to her wallowing, no matter how much he dislikes her. Harry sighs, and walks further into the bathroom.

“What’s wrong? Is there, uh, anything I can do?” Harry asks.

Myrtle bursts into another round of tears and Harry groans internally.

“You’ve,” Myrtle sobs, “just come to throw more things at me, haven’t you.”

“No!” Harry protests hurriedly. “I wouldn’t! Who’s been throwing things at you? It wasn’t Hermione or Pansy, was it?”

“I don’t know who it was,” Myrtle sniffles, floating out of her stall and wiping her eyes. “All I know is that it was someone who thinks it's fun to throw books at poor, helpless, innocent, ghosts!”

“I’m sorry Myrtle,” Harry says, studiously not looking over at the torrents of water flooding the room. Helpless. Sure.

“People can be cruel,” Harry continues.

“Cruel and unforgiving,” Myrtle agrees before dissolving into tears once more. Harry doesn’t think he’s helping all that much.

“Maybe, uh, the book will help us figure out who did, er, this to you? And then you could, um, flood… their… room?”

Myrtle flies towards Harry, hope shining on her face. Harry manages just barely not to flinch backwards as she stops just in front of him.

“You’d do that? For me?”

Harry hesitantly nods. “I can definitely try,” he says.

“It’s just over there,” Myrtle says, pointing. “It dropped right on my head and I was so upset I immediately tried to wash it away.”

Harry splashes over to where she had pointed and leans over to pick up the book. It’s surprisingly dry for how much water is flooding the room. Harry turns it over in his hands, furrowing his brow.

“It’s a journal,” he says.

“Oh, good!” Myrtle says gleefully. “That should tell us who it was!”

“Maybe,” Harry says, unconvinced. “I don’t know a T. M. Riddle, though. Ring any bells for you?”

Myrtle goes still, head cocked to the side. Her eyes are distant. “I… that… I might,” she says softly, trailing off.

“Right,” Harry says as he pockets the journal. Myrtle doesn’t move from her floating position. The ghostly girl isn’t crying anymore, though, so Harry figures that his job here is done. He slips out the door, splashing all the way. He still needs to find Hermione.

Harry goes to the Library, and is relieved to see Hermione sitting and studying. The Library is busy, too, so she isn’t alone at all.

“Hermione! I was worried,” Harry says.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Harry. I know better than to go places alone. Percy walked me and a couple other Gryffindors to the Library. I’m fine.”

“I just want you to be safe,” Harry mumbles.

Hermione softens, and smiles. “Study with me?”

Harry nods and pulls out the potions essay he’s been working on, diary forgotten.

Later, Harry is in the dorms and reading up on the founders in the hopes of learning something about the Chamber. He’s already read through this book twice, but maybe he’s missed something?

The dorm is empty save for Merlin, who’s spent most of the day asleep under the covers of Harry’s bed- Seamus and Dean are out doing who knows what where, and Neville is with Hermione in the Library.

Merlin wakes up now and sleepily noses Harry’s arms out of the way, going into her satchel. Instead of slithering in, though, she pauses and flicks her tongue in and out a couple times. Harry turns to look down at her, worried.

“Merlin? What are you doing?”

“Why do you smell so… magic-y?” Merlin asks, confused.

“I have no idea. What do you even mean?”

“Your magic. It smells normal, but more. It’s almost doubled in strength.”

That is the last thing Harry needs, so he panics for a moment as Merlin sniffs the air around him.

“It’s all concentrated on whatever is in that pocket,” Merlin decides.

Harry’s hand shoots to the pocket and pulls out the diary.

“This?” He asks dubiously.

“Yes,” Merlin says firmly. “What even is that? Did you supercharge a random book?”

Harry shakes his head and picks the journal up again. He looks closer at the cover and sits up straight.

“Huh, look at this date- this book is fifty years old. Looks like it was bought in a muggle store, too.”

“So what? You still haven’t told me where you got it,” Merlin hisses grumpily.

“I just found it,” Harry shrugs.

“Well? What’s in it?” Merlin asks.

Harry leafs through the pages again, but after that first page with the faded words ‘Property of T. M. Riddle’, everything is just as blank as they had been in the bathroom. Harry closes the journal.

“Nothing,” he says.

Merlin flicks her tongue at it again. “It’s uncanny,” she says wonderingly. “It smells so much like your magic. You really haven’t done anything to it?”

Harry shakes his head again. “Not that I know of, anyways.”

Merlin coils around Harry’s shoulders. “What are you going to do with it?”

Harry sits back, thinking. “You say it smells magic, right?”

Merlin nods vehemently. “Big time,” she agrees.

“But not… not evil, or anything?”

Merlin flicks her tongue out irritatedly. “It doesn’t smell rotten, if that’s what you’re asking. But it’s not exactly possible to smell moralities, you know.”

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Right, I knew that.”

Merlin bumps her head into Harry’s affectionately. “That said, I’m inclined to trust it. It smells so much like your magic.”

Harry considers the unobtrusive journal for a second, chewing on his lips.

It’s nothing much, really: just a mysterious journal that smells exactly like his magic, that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a haunted bathroom, and fits right into the timeline they’d constructed for when the Chamber had last been opened.

Harry sighs. It would probably be smart to bring his find to the others. Let them investigate it, cast diagnostic spells on it, theorize where and who it came from… but on the other hand, Merlin had said the magic didn’t smell rotten, and Harry doesn’t really want to go all the way down to the Library.

Decision made, Harry pulls out a self-inking quill and puts it to the first page.

Testing, testing…

Harry sits, staring at the words for a few minutes. He isn’t really sure what he’s expecting. Harry’s about to write another few words when, to his surprise, his words sink into the page and disappear. Harry stares for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should write some more.

Hello? Who is this?

Harry stares wide-eyed at the words that have appeared in place of his writing.

“What? What?” Merlin asks, hissing.

“It responded,” Harry says, putting his quill to paper again.

My name is Harry. Who are you?

Nice to meet you, Harry. I am Tom Riddle. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come by my diary?

I found it.

Harry chews on the end of his quill, before writing:

I think someone was trying to flush it down a toilet.

It’s a good thing I recorded my memories in a more lasting way than ink, then. I always knew that there would be those who don’t want my stories told.

What are you? What stories?

What am I? Memories, mostly. It’s… complicated. What stories? Stories of things that happened at Hogwarts. Terrible things.

Harry nearly snaps the tip of his quill in his excitement as he hurriedly writes:

Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? I’m at Hogwarts right now and it’s been opened again.

Ha! Do I ever.

Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest.

Could you tell me about it?

Sure, I’d love to. They told us all it was just a legend. This is a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students until one finally died. The person who’d opened the chamber was caught and expelled.

Headmaster Dippet was ashamed of what had happened at Hogwarts while under his care and decided to cover it up- saying the girl had died in a freak accident.

Harry furrows his brow. Expelled? Was Voldemort expelled from Hogwarts? Harry supposes it’s not impossible, but definitely not something any of his friends had considered.

Do you know who opened it last time? His name, I mean?

I should hope so- I was the one who caught him. However, I was threatened into keeping quiet about it and given nothing more than a little trophy for my troubles.

The writing stops, and Harry is just about to ask for a name again when it starts up again.

Has the Chamber truly been opened again? I should have come out with the truth anyways, consequences be damned. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this mess. I apologize.

It’s not your fault. Tell me what you know and maybe I’ll be able to stop the culprit before it’s too late.

Harry taps his fingers on his legs anxiously as he waits for a reply. This could be it- the key to everything.

Tom might know who Voldemort was before he became Voldemort. Hell, if Tom caught him in the act, he might even know where and how the chamber was opened in the first place!

Finally, words begin bleeding onto the page again.

I can show you, if you’d like.

Harry leans back.

“What?” Merlin asks again. “Tell me what’s happening!”

“This Tom guy apparently caught the last person to open the Chamber, and when I asked him who it was, he said he could show me,” Harry says.

“Show you? Also, this is amazing! We might crack this thing once and for all,” Merlin says.

Harry nods leaning forward again to write a response, but pauses as he sees that new words have already formed:

Let me show you.

Harry pauses, looks at Merlin, shrugs, and then writes:

Okay.

The pages of the diary begin to flip, slowly at first but then more rapidly, until the book itself is blurring. If Harry squints, he can almost see a moving image from within the pages, almost like a scene from a movie. Unwittingly, Harry leans closer to get a better look.

Merlin hisses in warning, but it’s too late: Harry has leaned too far and pitches forward, falling into the pages.

As Harry falls, he grabs tight to his magic. He doesn’t know what would happen if he tries to burn the book while he’s inside it, but he certainly doesn’t want to find out.

Harry doesn’t fall for long, but even still he expected to land heavily. Instead, one second he’s falling and the next he’s just… standing. Harry tries to get his breathing under control and makes sure he has a good grip on his magic.

His breathing calmed, Harry looks around only to feel his heart skip a beat- he knows exactly where he is: Dumbledore’s circular office.

Only, it’s not Dumbledore’s office. Other than the portraits, everything is different. Different furniture, different books, less clutter. Everything is oddly sepia-toned as well, including Harry himself. Merlin, Harry notices, didn’t fall through with him.

Worst of all, the office is occupied. The man sitting behind the desk is old, older than Dumbledore. He’s almost completely bald other than a few wisps of white hair.

“Oh, uh,” Harry says. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

But the wizard doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. Harry blinks in confusion, then walks forward.

“Hello?” Harry asks again.

Nothing. Harry waves a hand in front of the wizard, and still he gets no response. The old man turns a page and continues reading. Harry steps back, thinking hard.

This must be the Hogwarts of fifty years ago: the Hogwarts Riddle knows, not the one Harry is familiar with. Harry is nothing more than an invisible watcher.

Harry tries not to panic. Harry is no stranger to being invisible. All he needs to do is pretend he’s under his cloak.

With that thought, Harry relaxes.

The man at the desk stands up, sighs heavily, and goes over to the window. He pulls the curtains back to look out the window- the sky is red, stark against the bland tones of everything else. The sun must be setting.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Both Harry and the man turn.

“Enter,” says the man in a feeble voice.

Just as the door is swinging open, Harry feels a painful pressure on his magic. He gasps and clutches his chest as he doubles over. Around him, the scene freezes and the room goes staticy.

Harry hears a high pitched sound and can’t tell if it's the ringing in his ears or if the diary itself is shrieking in pain. It’s growing louder by the second and Harry desperately moves his hands from his aching chest to his ears, trying in vain to block the sound out.

Harry tries to breathe through the pain as tears stream from his face. He’s holding tight to his magic, but the pushing is becoming unbearably strong. It feels like he’s stuck in a black hole.

Harry closes his eyes and grits his teeth, able to do nothing more than hold on as the scene around him shudders and dissolves into bright white nothingness.

Just as Harry can’t take it any more, the pressure stops and Harry opens his eyes to find himself on the ground of his dorm.

Apparently he’d been flung so violently from the diary that he’s fallen out of his bed.

Harry sits up slowly, clutching his head. It’s pounding, but the pain is receding fast. Merlin slithers up to him, hissing frantically.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry, one second you were normal and fine, and the next your face was stuck in the book and you weren’t responding and I thought it might be suffocating you to death so I did the only thing I could think of!”

Merlin is babbling and twisting around Harry’s shoulders over and over again, periodically licking at him as though to assure herself that he’s alright.

“What… what did you do?” Harry asks, dazed.

“I don’t know,” wails Merlin. “I followed my instincts! I sort of… bit the book? And then, I don't know, pushed?”

Harry is about to ask what she could possibly mean by that when his gaze falls on something and he realizes that there is a much more urgent question he needs to ask her.

“Merlin,” Harry starts. “Who is that boy, and why does he look like me?”

Chapter Text

“What boy- oh. The one lying dead on the ground over there? I don't know. His magic smells like yours, though. Anyways, are you sure you're okay?”

Merlin is obviously still a little panicky, but Harry isn’t listening. Instead, he’s going over to kneel by the boy’s side.

The boy does indeed look like Harry- an older version (around fifteen or sixteen). His dark brown hair is cut shorter than Harry’s, and he’s wearing an old-fashioned looking Hogwarts uniform.

Most pressing, however, is the fact that he isn’t breathing.

Harry doesn’t know what to do- should he heal him? Should he even try? Should he call for Madam Pomfrey? Pick out a nice plot in the forest and dig a shallow grave?

The boy’s lips are going blue, and Harry panics and does the only thing he can think of to do: he slaps him.

“Wake up!” Harry half-shouts in his ear.

The boy’s eyes burst open and he shoots up into a sitting position, taking in big gulps of air. Harry jerks backwards, giving the boy some space.

Harry had thought he’d imagined things until he got another look at the boy’s eyes, but no: instead of a typical eye color, the boy’s irises are a crimson red.

Harry stands up slowly, wondering if he should go for his wand. Merlin isn’t helping, either: she’s just hissing a repeated warning. Before Harry can fully decide on a course of action, the boy turns to him.

“Did you…” the boy gasps, then coughs. “Did you slap me?”

Harry looks at him disbelievingly. “Should I… not have?”

Harry and the boy stare at each other for a moment. The boy, seemingly having noticed that Harry and himself share a face, flashes through a myriad of expressions- confusion, rage, and despair, to name a few. Harry has no idea what the boy could possibly be thinking. Hell, Harry doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“Er,” Harry says finally. “Uh. Who are you?”

“Who- who am I? Who are you?”

“Harry. Uh, Harry Potter,” Harry says.

The boy closes his eyes briefly and takes a big breath in.

“Right. Okay. Give me a second,” he says.

Then he promptly lies back down, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. He’s muttering quietly, but Harry can’t catch any of it.

Harry stands for a moment, reeling at how surreal his day has become. Who knew a diary would cause so much havoc?

Wait. The diary.

“Hang on,” Harry says. “Are you… you’re not Tom Riddle, are you?” As he says it, he knows down to his bones that he is right.

Tom further confirms it with a muffled “yes,” and Harry goes to sit heavily down on his bed.

“I am so, so confused,” Harry says.

At least Merlin has quieted down. She’s now watching the two with a cocked head, tongue flicking out every so often

Tom very unhelpfully explains nothing, just continues to mutter to himself. Harry is starting to wonder if he should get Madam Pomfrey after all.

Then, Tom rolls over and props himself up, going to stand up. He’s shaky, but he manages to get up and walk over to Neville’s bed, sitting down as heavily as Harry had sat on his own bed.

Tom’s not-so-subtly using the bed frame to help himself remain upright. In a way, Tom reminds him of Theo: he carries himself as though showing the slightest sign of vulnerability would be the end of the world.

“Well,” Tom says after a moment. He flashes Harry a tired but friendly grin. “Hello. My name is Tom. Nice to meet you. Who are your parents?”

Harry blinks, then bursts into laughter.

Tom looks a bit taken aback. “I’m… missing something,” he decides.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says as he calms down. “It’s just… I’m not used to wixen not knowing everything about me. This is a nice change of pace."

Tom opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks confused and frustrated, and Harry softens.

“My parents were Lily Potter and James Potter. My mom used to be an Evans, though.”

Tom’s mouth twitches, and he nods. “Well. I’m certainly not related to the Potters, so it must be the Evans side.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Tom says, raising an eyebrow, “but we look the same.”

“I did catch that, yes,” Harry says, laughing again- although it sounds a bit high-pitched to his ears. He’s beginning to think he’s a tad hysterical. “Are you saying you’re related to the Evans family?”

Tom shrugs. “I don’t actually know. My mother died shortly after she had me, and I was raised in an orphanage. The Potters are a well-known family line, though, and wouldn’t have abandoned a part of their family to a muggle orphanage. It makes more sense for me to be related to you through your, I’m assuming, muggle or muggle-born mother.”

“So, what? You’re some kind of- some distant relative of mine, and the family resemblance just… decided to pop up again with me? Is that how genetics work?”

Harry is trying not to get his hopes up just yet- but having a blood relative, one that isn't Petunia or Dudley? That would be just… incredible.

“I just don’t know what else it could be,” Tom sighs. “That said, I’m… well, it is 1993 now, right? I’m a little out of touch. A lot can happen in fifty years.”

Harry closes his eyes. “Are you saying- please don’t tell me you’ve been stuck inside that diary for fifty years.”

Tom gives him a sheepish smile. “What can I say? Cursed books can be a real kick in the- er, how old are you?”

“Twelve,” Harry says. “But don’t censor yourself on my account. If I’d been trapped in a book for fifty years I’d be swearing like a goddamn sailor.”

“Kick in the ass, then,” Tom finishes.

“Sounds like it,” Harry agrees. He can hardly imagine it: fifty years of isolation. How is Tom still sane?

The two sit in silence for a moment as Harry tries and fails again to come to terms with the situation he’s found himself in. Merlin is still coiled around him protectively, not looking away from Tom. Tom is staring at the ground, brow furrowed and obviously thinking hard.

“I have absolutely no idea what to do now,” Harry admits. “Are you… uh, are you okay?”

Tom huffs out a laugh. “I expect the shock will set in soon. We’re at Hogwarts, yes? Uh, Gryffindor tower, if I’m not mistaken?” Harry nods. “That’s what I thought. Who’s the headmaster? Not Dippet still, surely,” he says.

Harry winces, and Tom raises an eyebrow. “It’s Dumbledore,” Harry says. “Er, I don’t know if you know him?”

“Oh yes,” Tom says bitterly. “I know him. You're not a fan, I take it?”

Harry shrugs, then shakes his head. “He’s a very powerful wizard, who’s done a lot of great things but… well. He hasn’t always made the best choices in regards to, uh, me. I guess.”

Harry isn’t sure how much he wants to admit to Tom, but something about the boy is incredibly disarming.

“Maybe we hold off on going to him, then?” Tom suggests.

“That’s pretty much my usual strategy,” Harry agrees easily. “What do we do instead? I could contact my, uh, guardian? Or my friends?”

Tom cocks his head. “I wouldn’t want to be an imposition…” he trails off.

Harry shakes his head. “Remus would be thrilled to meet someone related to my mum, even if you never met her. Plus, he’s really, really rich. You wouldn’t be imposing at all.”

Tom puffs out his cheeks in a way Harry has done countless times himself, then exhales.

“Let’s wait. Maybe until right before the next break,” he concedes. “What would that be, Easter?” Harry nods, although he has no idea how Tom would know that.

“Alright. Until then, I think I know where I might be able to, uh, hide out. Maybe read up on the last fifty years. By the sound of it, I’ve missed a lot.”

Harry grimaces, dreading Tom’s reaction to the whole ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ thing. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Tom sighs, then stands up. He’s still a little shaky. “Let's go, then.”

Harry jumps up. “Merlin, do you want to stay or come with us?”

“I’m coming with,” Merlin hisses. She seems suspicious of Tom, which Harry thinks is fair enough.

Harry isn’t too worried himself- Tom seems alright, and if it comes down to it, Harry is pretty sure he could take the older boy in a fight.

Harry looks back at Tom, who is watching the exchange with a bemused expression.

“Oh!” Harry says, “I’m a parselmouth. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. But, uh, I’m not stopping.”

Tom smiles warmly, then shakes his head. “After spending fifty years in a diary I think I have more important things to worry about than some kid talking with snakes.”

Tom genuinely seems unfazed, which Harry appreciates.

Suddenly, Tom pauses, then cocks his head. “Do you still have that diary?”

“Uh,” Harry says, turning to Merlin. “Do we?”

Merlin nods her head towards Harry’s bed, and Harry goes over to grab it.

“Here it is,” Harry says, waving it in the air. Tom holds his hand out for it, but Harry hesitates. “You said it was cursed?”

Tom nods firmly. “Can I please have it? I’d rather not subject a twelve-year old to it any longer than I already have.”

“I’ve probably dealt with worse,” Harry says, a tad indignantly. Tom looks dubious. “Any reason we need to hold on to it?”

Tom cocks his head, thinking. “It’s a pretty unique magical object,” he muses. “But it is also extremely dangerous.”

“What’s it do? Other than trap people, I mean.”

Tom winces. “Remember how Slytherin’s monster has been terrorizing the school this year?”

Harry nearly drops the journal. “That was this?”

Tom nods grimly. “It’s what happened last time too. As near as I can tell, it’s a cursed object that manipulates people into letting it possess them, draining them of their power until eventually they take the place of the poor sap that had the journal before them.

“At that point, it changes itself to look like it belongs to the trapped individual. All the while, the possessed person is going into trances and unleashing some kind of monster on the school.”

Harry stares. “Holy shit,” is all he can think to say.

He feels sick. It’s taking a lot of his control to not burn the journal to nothingness right there and then.

Tom has an equally queasy expression. “Yeah. It’s a damn good thing you managed to get away when you did- it was starting the process over with you and I would’ve been helpless to stop it. I have legitimately no idea as to how you managed to pull yourself, much less me from it; but you have my thanks. I’d all but given up.”

“My snake ate the Philosopher’s Stone at the end of last year, and I think she bit the journal and threw some of that power at it,” Harry says off-handedly.

Merlin is radiating smugness from around his shoulders.

“Ah,” Tom says after a moment. “Ah. I see. Yes. That would probably, uh, do it.”

Harry looks at Tom. He’s holding it together surprisingly well, but Harry thinks a breakdown is imminent. “How about I destroy this, then we can get you settled into your hiding place?”

Tom smiles sadly. “I’ve tried to destroy it, believe me. I don’t think it’ll be all that easy. Best to just hide it away somewhere, I think.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, looking at the little black journal. His magic is flailing wildly in his chest. “Let me try,” he says.

Tom narrows his eyes. “Okay,” he says slowly, then shrugs. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

Harry sighs in relief and flicks a tendril of his magic at the book. He urges his magic to float the journal as it ignites with a white flame that manifests very clearly as a little white snake, not unlike Merlin. Harry tries his best not to think of Quirrell as he watches it wrap its fiery coils around the book and squeeze until the book has disintegrated.

Harry looks at Tom smugly, who is staring ashen-faced at the dust that is drifting slowly to the ground.

“Tom?” Harry asks, abruptly worried.

What if the journal had been irrevocably tied to Tom’s life-force? Maybe they hadn’t thought this all the way through.

Tom swallows, and then shakes his head.

“Right then. Of course. I suppose that makes sense. Well,” Tom says. “Good. One less thing to, uh, worry about. Okay. Let’s go now. I think I need to eat. Or sleep. Or lay down, or something.”

“Okay, Tom,” Harry says softly, pulling his cloak out of his satchel. Looks like the older boy is okay: it’s just the reality of the situation finally hitting him.

“Let’s go- here, we’ll use my invisibility cloak so we don’t need to worry about being seen.”

Tom closes his eyes and nods weakly, and Harry swings the cloak over the two of them.

Chapter Text

“This is amazing!” Harry says, staring in awe at the room around him. “Hogwarts really just made this for you?”

Harry had, for a moment, thought that Tom had actually lost it as he’d paced back and forth in front of a wall, muttering that he needed a place to stay. But to his amazement, on the third pass a door had materialized and had opened up to reveal a room that looks to be like a mix between a dorm room and a miniature common room.

Tom yawns as he nods, gathering up a couple blankets and pillows from the couch and bringing them towards the unmade bed in the corner of the room. “Figured it out in second year,” he says sleepily.

Merlin’s tongue flicks the air, and she says, “smells like Elf magic- remember that room I told you they’d been talking about? This must be it.”

Harry nods in response to Merlin, then turns to Tom and asks, “can it make food or water?”

Tom shakes his head. “I’ll sneak to the kitchens later and grab something. For now, I need to sleep. I haven’t slept in what feels like fifty years.” He laughs a little at his own joke,then flops face-first heavily onto the bed.

“You really do need to sleep,” Harry mutters, then in a louder voice says, “okay! I’ll, uh, see if I can find you some food, then leave it for you? Sounds good?”

Tom waves his hand in a gesture Harry interprets as “yes. Now go away.”

Harry does so, closing the door softly behind him. The door vanishes again, and Harry tries not to worry about him having accidentally locked Tom in.

In a stroke of good luck, the bell for dinner rings just as Harry starts to head down to the Great Hall.

“Over here Harry!” Hermione yells, waving him over to the Slytherin table.

Harry takes a big breath and steels himself. On the walk up to the room, he’d promised Tom he wouldn’t say anything about the older boy to his friends until Tom had felt ready.

Harry hates not being able to tell his friends that the Chamber of Secrets issue has been solved, but needs to respect Tom’s wishes- Harry doesn’t think the antidote to fifty years of solitary confinement is immediately being confronted by a big group of curious twelve- and thirteen-year olds.

Somehow Harry makes it through dinner without spilling any major secrets. He also slips a couple rolls and apples into his pockets. His friends don’t comment- they all know that sometimes Harry can’t help himself but to squirrel away food for later.

Later, after Harry is sure that Neville is sleeping, he slips out of bed and wraps the cloak around him. It might be more efficient to lend Tom the cloak, but Harry is loath to lend it out: it’s a Potter family heirloom, and makes him feel close to his dad. Plus, well. Tom seems like a decent fellow who’s just had a fifty plus year long run of bad luck, but Harry knows better than to trust the guy with one of his most prized possessions right off the bat.

Harry walks quietly through the corridors. It’s freezing cold, so he’s wearing two sweaters. Merlin, despite the cold, is trying her best to stay awake. She’s mostly in her warmed satchel, but is poking her head out. Harry arrives at where he remembers the door being, and begins walking back and forth.

“I need a place to sleep, I need a place to sleep,” Harry mutters over and over, like he’d seen Tom do. Just as it had before, a door manifests on his third pass and Harry quietly cracks it open, looking inside.

As he’d hoped, Tom is still in there, just asleep on the bed. Harry smiles in satisfaction and leaves behind the little bundle of food he’d made, plus a little glass of pumpkin juice that he’d been saving “just in case”.

Harry looks down at the pile and nods before slipping away again, heading back to his dorm. He has one close call with the patrolling professor for the evening: it’s just a bleary-eyed Lockhart, so Harry isn’t really worried, but he holds his breath as Lockhart passes by anyway, just in case.

Classes move slow as molasses the next day, and the second they let out Harry slips away from his friends as subtly as possible to go check on Tom. He finds the older boy in the room surrounded by books and newspapers, and chewing absently on a quill. As Harry walks in, Tom’s head shoots up and he tenses all over, only to relax as he sees it’s just Harry.

“Did you drop off food last night?” Tom asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Yeah, sorry it wasn’t much.”

“It was a godsend,” Tom says seriously.

Harry goes to sit on the armchair opposite of the couch. “I’m glad it helped. How’s researching? Anything interesting?”

“Yes,” Tom says as he scribbles something down.

Harry waits, but Tom seems to have been sucked back into the research. Since most of Harry’s friends are the academic type, Harry recognizes that the only thing to do is wait it out. So, Harry pulls out the essay he’s been working on and gets to it.

After twenty minutes, Tom looks up. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry. I got distracted. There’s so much information.”

“Where’d you get the books?” Harry asks, curious.

“The Room,” Tom says. “I just popped outside, asked for some reading material as I paced, and it gave me a couple relevant books. I think the Elves treat it as a lost-and-found, so all sorts of things end up here, just ready to be summoned by whoever needs it.”

“How’d you even find this place?” Harry asks. He still hasn’t gotten over how cool the whole thing is.

“Asking around and a healthy dose of exploration,” Tom says. “The Elves and the ghosts especially are useful resources.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums. “Hey, you said earlier that you were going to pop down to the kitchens for food, right?”

Tom nods slowly.

“Where is that? I’ve never seen the kitchens. Merlin hasn’t taken me.”

Merlin flicks her tongue out. “You never asked,” she hisses petulantly.

Tom looks at Harry for a moment, before snapping his book closed. “I’ll show you,” he says. “Come with me.”

Harry grins and hops up, pulling his invisibility cloak out of his satchel.

The two slip through the halls in silence. There are still plenty of students milling about in the halls, so the progress is slow-going. After what feels like an hour of walking, Tom finally stops.

“Over here,” Tom says, guiding Harry over to an inconspicuous painting of a fruit-bowl. In retrospect, it’s a fairly suspicious painting: because there’s nothing weird or magical about it, it kind of sticks out like a sore thumb.

Tom slips a hand out of the cloak and inexplicably wiggles a finger over the pear. After a moment of this, the pear lets out a giggle and then transforms into a doorknob. Tom goes to open the painting-door, then pauses.

“Hang on,” he says. “Have you met a House Elf yet?”

Harry grimaces. “Yes,” he says. “I’m not sure I like them, they kind of scare me.”

Tom withdraws his hand from the door, turning to face Harry. He looks confused.

“They scare you? Why? They’re- well. They aren’t exactly harmless, but if you’re polite to them, they’ll respond in kind."

“I- um. One of them tried to kill me.”

Tom blinks. Then blinks again. “One of them did what?”

“Well, not really kill. He got my arm broken, though.”

“Were they-” Tom takes a deep breath in. “I have so many questions. Were they a Hogwarts Elf? Did you, did you offend them somehow?”

Harry shakes his head. “I think he’s the Malfoy house elf. He came to me to warn me about this school year during the summer.” Harry pauses, thinking. “Huh. Now that I think about it, it’s kinda weird that he somehow knew about the Chamber.”

“Um, yeah. That’s really weird, Harry. They usually mind their own business- Elves don’t just love dealing with the affairs of wixen kind. The fact that he came to you is… bizarre.”

Harry sighs. Just another thing he'll have to try and figure out later. “Weird things really like happening to me,” he says.

Tom lets out a laugh. “No kidding.”

“Trust me when I say that you don’t know the half of it,” Harry says seriously. “Come on, let's go in already. I’m ready to meet a normal house elf.”

Tom looks a bit hesitant, but goes to open the door anyway and the two plus Merlin slip into the kitchens.

Harry looks in amazement around the room- it’s huge, as big as the Great Hall. Bigger, even. It has a similar layout to the room as well, with set tables matching the tables of the hall. It’s nearly dinner, and these tables are about seventy-five percent filled with food.

Assorted objects are flying through the air: dirty dishes, half-made food, even pots of boiling water. At one edge of the room is a line of massive sinks, filled with soapy water. Dishes are washing themselves, and Harry abruptly remembers his life-long dream of doing the dishes exactly like that. At another edge is a line of roaring fires, stoves, and ovens. They cast the room in a cheery orange glow. The furthest wall is lined in cupboards- likely, Harry thinks, holding food and clean dishes.

Merlin is hiss-laughing in Harry’s ear.

“You should see your face,” Merlin says.

“Why have you never brought me here?” Harry asks. “This is amazing!”

Merlin stops laughing. “Well,” she says. “House Elves- they’re, uh. I wasn’t going to say anything, but Dobby is actually pretty par for the course, as far as Elves go. I didn’t know if you would enjoy meeting them.”

Tom watches this exchange with an amused expression on his face.

Suddenly, a house elf appears directly in front of Tom, Harry, and Merlin. Harry manages not to jump, but only just.

She looks very similar to Dobby- with a round head balanced on a too-long neck, huge eyes, long ears, and razor sharp teeth. She’s even wearing a similar outfit- although, her tunic is a pale blue instead of off-white. In fact, Harry isn’t sure how he knows she is a she. He just… does.

“Mister Gaunt,” the house elf greets, eyes glittering as she looks over Tom. If Harry had to guess, he’d say she was smiling.

Well. Harry hopes that’s a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, in any case.

“Reesy,” Tom says, inclining his head. “It’s been a while.”

Reesy nods in return, then turns to face Harry. She’s not looking at him, though.

“Snake,” Reesy greets. Merlin flicks her tongue out.

“Hello, Reesy,” she hisses.

Finally, Reesy turns her unblinking gaze on Harry, who fights the urge to fidget. He is reminded distinctly of Luna.

“Another Gaunt,” Reesy says. Her teeth look sharper, mouth wider. “What shall we call this one, we wonder.”

“Er, Harry?” Harry suggests.

He doesn’t know why everyone insists on calling him that Gaunt name, but it seems like Tom has to deal with it too. Maybe a distant relative of theirs?

Reesy turns her head towards Tom so smoothly that it looks like it’s on a swivel. “Presumptuous,” she sighs. Tom’s eyes are glinting with humor, but his face is serious as he nods. “To assume that we are interested in the boy’s true name.”

“Er,” Harry says again.

“Groggy will decide,” Reesy says abruptly, then disappears.

“What-” Harry starts, but then another house elf appears.

This one is a little bigger than the others, and his ears are a little more rounded. He’s wearing a reddish-brown tunic- Harry doesn’t want to know how the elf got it to be that color.

“Gaunts,” the elf says, laughing and shaking his head. The sound of the laugh sends a chill down Harry’s spine- his laugh is entirely too childlike for Harry’s comfort. “We thought the Gaunts had all gone.”

“Hello Groggy,” Tom says, smiling. “It’s nice to see you again.” Groggy laughs again and Harry represses a shudder. “Sorry it’s been so long- I was indisposed for a while. Did Reesy ask you to name Harry?”

“Reesy did,” Groggy agrees. His face is frozen in a smile- and it is definitely a smile this time, but it looks like it's carved directly into his face.

“Groggy will decide.”

Groggy turns his attention to Harry. Harry reflexively smiles back, and Groggy cocks his head to the side- just a little further than Harry had thought it was going to be able to go.

“This one,” Groggy says finally, “will be Riddle.”

Harry can’t tell, but he thinks Groggy’s frozen smile has an air of mischief to it. Harry decides then and there that, as off-putting as he is, Groggy is his favorite elf he’s met so far.

“A fine name,” Tom agrees. Harry thinks it’s nice that Tom has such a good sense of humor about the whole thing. “Where are the others?”

Groggy’s eyes light up, and his teeth shine brightly in the orange glow of the fire. “Groggy will call for them.”

Tom smiles again, and Groggy disappears.

Harry doesn’t bother trying to say anything, anticipating the arrival of the elves this time.

Sure enough, two more house elves appear mere seconds after Groggy had vanished. One of the elves is in a pale yellow tunic, and the other in green.

The one in yellow is smiling warmly at everyone and is the only house elf Harry has met that has instantly put him at ease. It helps that her teeth aren’t nearly so sharp- in fact, they look almost human-like.

On the other hand, the green-clad one is facing to the left- their head bowed and hands clasped.

“Slippy!” Tom greets, grinning at the green-clad elf. Then his gaze darts to the other- his smile goes a bit wooden. “And Hatcher, hello.”

Hatcher curtsies, and Slippy doesn’t do anything at all- just keeps watching the ground, still as a statue.

“Hello,” Hatcher says. “It’s nice to see you again, Tom.”

Tom stiffens almost imperceptibly.

Merlin hisses warningly, long and low. Harry feels a trickle of sweat roll down his back. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but Hatcher’s warm smile doesn’t seem so warm any more.

Hatcher’s smile grows wider. She has far more teeth than Harry thinks should be able to fit in her mouth. “I meant no offense,” she says. “Forgive me. I was just making a point.”

“Point taken,” Tom says after a moment.

Harry is well and truly lost now. Hatcher curtsies again, and then disappears. The other elf continues to stand, and stare. Harry realizes, as he watches, that the elf is constantly shifting- ensuring that their right side is always facing away from whoever they are talking to.

“It’s nice to see you again, Slippy,” Tom says after a moment of tense silence.

The elf nods once. Then, they vanish and a grimace flashes across Tom’s face.

Harry doesn’t bother to wonder what that’s about. Instead, he’s thinking about how Merlin had been right- apparently, Dobby is normal. Compared to other elves, anyway.

“What was that?” Harry asks Tom as they leave the kitchens behind under the cloak. “With Hatcher, I mean.”

Tom sighs. “Yeah, sorry about that. I forgot that she's like that when meeting new people.”

“But what was she doing?” Harry presses.

“Hatcher was- well, like she said: she was making a point. House Elves are incredibly powerful, and can occasionally be dangerous when wronged. That was Hatcher’s way of reminding us to watch our step around them- sometimes a student will antagonize the wrong Elf and there’s nothing anyone can do to keep the Elf from getting revenge.”

Harry’s eyes widen as a spike of alarm shoots through him and Tom hurriedly adds, “nothing fatal- it never gets further than a light maiming.”

Harry winces, arm twinging as he recalls the feeling of the bludger smashing into it.

“Anyways,” Tom says. “If you think about it, it’s actually very thoughtful of her to warn students like that. A lot of students, especially half-bloods and muggleborns have no way of knowing how to treat an Elf.”

“I guess,” Harry says.

“I like them,” Merlin reminds Harry. “And they like me. I won’t let them hurt you- not ever."

Harry smiles at her. “Thanks,” he hisses. “That does make me feel better.”

“You’re welcome,” Merlin says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to bed.”

With that, she slithers into her satchel.

Chapter Text

When Harry isn’t spending time in class, quidditch practice, or with friends, he’s with Tom. Harry’s getting a lot less sleep than he’s used to, but it’s worth it. Weeks pass like this:

Tom helps Harry with his homework, teaches him some dueling techniques, and they even fly around together in some of the bigger rooms the Come-And-Go Room can summon. When Harry and Tom are sneaking around the castle, Tom shows Harry secret passages and rooms he’d never have discovered on his own.

Even Merlin is eventually won over all the way. It helps that Tom seems taken with her in a way Harry had only seen Remus or Malfoy be. He has a real way with snakes- Harry wonders if it’s genetic.

Tom has no relatives he knows of, but never knew who his father was. Harry and Tom decide that Tom’s father must have had other children, eventually leading to Lily and then Harry. Tom lets it slip that Dumbledore dismissed his dismal summer living conditions, and Harry in turn shares about the Dursleys.

When Tom hears about this, he’s angrier than Harry has ever seen him. At this point, Tom has basically caught up with the last fifty years. They hadn’t talked about the Boy-Who-Lived stuff, not really, but apparently this had been the final straw.

“That bastard,” Tom growls. “Your late mother- my relative, sacrifices her life to save yours, single-handedly defeating the most powerful Dark Lord the world has ever seen in the process, and Dumbledore leaves you on a doorstep and doesn’t check on you for a decade. Am I getting all that right?”

Harry nods glumly. “That’s the gist of it,” he says.

“Argh!” Tom wandlessly fires off a red spell, blowing up an empty bookcase. “Does he never learn?”

“Tom, it’s alright, really,” Harry says worriedly as Tom struggles to get his breathing back under control.

“But you’re safe, now. You’re happy? Remus is nice, right?” Tom goes from furious to concerned in an instant.

Harry laughs. “Yeah, he’s amazing. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

“You still haven’t told him about me, right?”

“Nope. The sooner the better, though. My friends, too. They’re still trying to crack the Chamber of Secrets.” They’re going to be so mad at Harry when they find out how long he’s kept Tom from them, but Harry thinks they’ll see reason.

Tom grimaces. “I want to let you tell them, I’m just… I’m not ready. Once I re-register as a student, then you can tell them everything.”

Harry and Tom had decided that Tom was going to try and come back to Hogwarts to finish his education. The tentative plan right now is to somehow sneak into the Headmaster’s office right after Easter break and get the Hat to call out a house for Tom, and then hopefully Hogwarts’ magic takes care of the rest of it.

It is admittedly not the smoothest of plans, but both Harry and Tom agree that the less interactions they have with Dumbledore, the better.

Apparently Tom and Dumbledore don’t have the best of relationships- so much so that Tom is going to pretend to be the son or grandson of Tom Riddle, in the hopes that Dumbledore and him can start over with a clean slate. Harry thinks this is a great plan.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tom says one day as he is fruitlessly trying to teach Harry chess. “How on earth did your familiar eat the Philosopher’s stone?”

Harry winces. He hasn’t actually told Tom that Voldemort isn’t exactly dead. Harry has been putting it off, not wanting to make the older boy anxious.

He’s not about to outright lie to Tom, though, so he tells Tom everything- Quirrell being possessed, the troll on Halloween, the quidditch game murder attempt, the unicorn blood, the obstacle course and the confrontation in the mirror room. Tom only interrupts occasionally, and only to ask a clarifying question or two. When Harry finishes his tale, Tom sits back. His already pale face is paler than Harry has ever seen it.

“Thank you, Harry,” Tom says quietly. “I think I need to be alone for a bit. You’d better go to bed.”

Harry nods, standing up. “Night, Tom.”

Tom nods, and Harry leaves. He tries to ignore the churning in his stomach- Tom needs to know about Voldemort, and it's better he finds out from Harry than from a secondary source.

Fortunately, Tom is back to his usual self by the next day.

Unfortunately, that day is Valentine's day and Lockhart as per usual has ruined everything.

“... and then the cupid sat on me and recited a terrible poem and everyone saw! Malfoy is going to have a field day and everything is horrible and my life is over,” Harry laments. His face had gone bright red ever since “the incident” and Harry doesn’t think it’ll ever go away. This is just what his face looks like now.

Tom winces sympathetically. “Could be worse,” he hazards. “You could be the person who sent the poem.”

Harry shoots a glare at Tom and the older boy holds his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. Couldn’t be worse and your life is absolutely over.”

“What’s worse is that I think the person who sent the poem is my best mate’s little sister. How awkward is that?”

“Wow,” Tom says, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Twelve years old and already my little brother is a heart-breaker. They grow up so fast.”

Harry stares, unable to believe his ears.

Does Tom really mean that? Harry’s never had an older brother before, but from what he knows about them, Tom definitely fits the bill- he’s not perfect or anything, he’s got a hell of a temper; but he wants Harry to be safe, and cracks silly jokes to make Harry laugh when he’s feeling sad, and he just- he’d make a great older brother, is the point.

It’s not something Harry has let himself dwell on, though, because he couldn’t help but think that Tom really only just puts up with him. But if Tom thinks the same way, then…

Tom cringes as he realizes what he said. “Oh, er, sorry. I didn’t mean… well, I did mean it, but it just slipped out…”

Harry’s face splits into a smile and Tom scratches the back of his neck, returning the smile with a sheepish one of his own.

“Brothers?” Harry asks, feeling warmth bloom in his chest.

Tom’s grin widens and he nods. “Brothers,” he agrees.

Another couple weeks pass and with every passing day Harry is looking forward more and more to the Easter holidays. Theo, Hermione, and Ron have all elected to stay at Hogwarts. Normally Harry would be considering staying as well, but he has a really good reason to go home.

“I’m just glad I’m staying this time,” Ron mutters. “Christmas was hell- all that worrying. Ugh.”

“Really, Ron,” Daphne says. “As if anything was going to be able to touch Hermione with both her and Theo on the case.”

“And it was fine, remember?” Blaise adds, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Daphne elbows him, but that doesn’t stop Blaise. “Christmas was totally uneventful for them. Right, Theo?”

“Y-yeah,” Neville says, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Anything to s-say, Hermione?”

Harry narrows his eyes at Hermione and Theo, who are very carefully not looking up from their books.

“Spill,” Harry says. Ron nods his head, frowning.

Hermione sighs as she looks up from her book. “It really was uneventful,” she says.

“If you don’t count the heist,” Theo adds flatly.

“What?” Harry and Ron exclaim simultaneously.

Blaise and Neville burst into laughter, and even Daphne cracks a smile. Theo goes back to reading, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

Even though the days seem to be moving more and more slowly the closer it gets to Easter, and Oliver has been pushing the team harder than ever, the quidditch game still manages to sneak up on him. It’s only thanks to Ron’s question of “are you nervous for tomorrow?” That Harry remembers he’s got a game.

“I am now that you reminded me,” Harry says glumly.

“Mate, no joke? You say that every time I ask that question.”

“It can’t possibly be every time,” Harry protests.

Ron turns to look at Hermione expectantly and she sighs heavily before looking up from her book and closing her eyes, thinking back.

“It has been every time,” Hermione says, surprised. “Really, Harry?”

Harry throws his hands up in the air. “I can’t help that I have a busy schedule!”

That night, as Harry, Merlin, and Tom are playing a game of Uno they’d found in the Room, Harry musters up his courage and says, “Tom?”

Tom doesn’t look up from his hand, but he hums in acknowledgment and Harry forges on. “Would you want to borrow my invisibility cloak and come to my quidditch game tomorrow? You don’t need to if you don’t want to,” he adds hurriedly. “Or if you think it’s too risky, or anything.”

Tom sets his cards down face first, a smile on his face. “I would love to!”

Harry perks up. “Really?”

Tom nods. “Definitely. I’ll be there. You, uh, won’t see me, obviously, but I’ll be rooting for you.”

Harry grins delightedly. “Awesome! I’ll leave my cloak with you tonight. Also, Uno.”

Tom throws his cards down. “God damn it!”

Harry bursts into laughter as Merlin latches onto his arm in frustration. Harry can admit that second year had been shaping up into a bit of a disaster, but now? Now everything is wonderful.

Chapter Text

Percy squints, holding a hand over his eyes. It’s a particularly warm March day, and the sun is extremely bright. He zeroes his vision in on the scarlet speck that is Oliver- Oliver is darting around like a hummingbird, trying to find the best angle to watch the action from his position near the posts.

Right now, all but Harry, the Ravenclaw seeker, and Oliver are clumped together and dashing around, trying to maintain possession of the quaffle.

Percy is not all that interested in quidditch, and would ultimately rather be in the Library. Unfortunately he is interested in Oliver- Percy blinks and shakes his head. Interested in supporting his friend Oliver, so he’s at the game instead.

The audience gasps as one, and Percy tears his attention away from Oliver and looks towards where Harry is. The game has been going on for an hour and a half: it’s one of the longer games that Gryffindor has had ever since getting Harry on the team.

In fact, Harry has seen and gone for the snitch four times at this point. Unfortunately, Ravenclaw’s seeker keeps putting herself in the way, implementing some truly brilliant maneuvers that force Harry to either give the snitch up to her, or fight back and let the snitch get away.

Harry seems to have seen the snitch yet again, and instead of going for a typical dive he just drops- a move he hasn’t done since his very first game, if Percy remembers correctly. Despite himself, Percy’s heart lurches into his throat as he sees the slight boy drop like a stone. The Ravenclaw seeker urges her broom into a steep dive even though she doesn’t have a hope of catching up.

Harry’s hand flashes out and closes around something. He victoriously pumps his fist in the air a couple times, snitch glinting golden in his hand.

Oliver shoots towards the boy and even from where Percy is sitting, he can see Oliver’s unguarded delighted expression. In fact, it’s so glaring that Percy wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the sentiment was felt as far as Romania.

Madam Hooch signals the end of the game- Gryffindor won by a fair margin. If Percy is doing his math right, Gryffindor now has a real shot at the quidditch cup this year.

Percy stands up from where he’d been sitting and slips out and away from the pitch- he’ll congratulate Oliver later, after things have calmed down. For now, he wants to get back to his research.

To avoid the crowds, Percy elects to take a route that brings him under the stands. The contrast between the open, bright, and cheery pitch and the dark, damp, and dirty stands is extremely stark. It’s to the point where everything feels a bit other-worldy, but Percy doesn’t mind. It’s quiet, calm, and most importantly will get him where he needs to go quickly.

Percy is watching the ground to avoid the worst of the litter as he half-walks, half-runs. He’d been in the middle of reading up on a particularly riveting divination theory. Although even if he had been looking where he was going, he still would have run into the other boy on account of him being invisible.

“Oof,” Percy grunts as he trips to the ground, landing on something soft and flailing.

A pale hand appears out of thin air, grabbing at his face to try and push him off. Percy acts fast- he grabs the wrist of the hand and pins it to the ground, reaching with his free arm to pull at what he assumes is an invisibility cloak of some kind. Since he’s on top of most of it, the cloak isn’t pulled all the way off, but it does reveal a face.

For a split-second Percy thinks it’s somehow Harry, and he lets his guard down long enough for the boy to get the upper hand. In one swift motion, the boy hooks his leg around Percy’s and manages to flip the two over, the rest of the cloak falling away as he does so.

Percy lands heavily and wheezes as the air is knocked out of his chest. The boy uses one hand to pin Percy’s shoulder to the ground and the other arm goes over Percy’s throat and begins to press down. His face is completely expressionless.

Percy chokes and flails for a second before he manages to get both hands on the boy’s forearm and pushes against him, lightening the pressure against his windpipe.

“Who- who are you?” Percy gets out, glaring daggers at the boy.

He has blood red eyes, and Percy’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that it might just be possible for Slytherin’s monster to be wearing the face of a Hogwarts student- he really looks a lot like Harry if Harry were Percy’s age. Percy knows changelings are just myths, but that doesn’t stop the thought from crossing his mind.

The boy’s face remains blank, but his eyes narrow. He seems to be thinking.

Percy, having grown up in a household with five brothers and one Ginny, is no stranger to wrestling; so he stops pushing up on the boy’s arm momentarily. As the boy pitches slightly forward without Percy’s added pressure, Percy kicks out and shoves, effectively launching the boy off of him. Percy rolls to the side and springs to his feet, one hand going to his wand and the other absently rubbing at his throat.

The boy had been flung off of him and evidently made no move to catch himself. He lies on the ground for a moment, straight and stiff as a board as he stares up at the underside of the stands, before sitting up smoothly and getting to his feet.

He brushes some of the dirt off of his shirt and raises an eyebrow at Percy. The boy is as dirty as Percy is, but he still manages to give off an air of being in complete control- like a cat.

“Impressive,” he says. “Not many can get the jump on me.”

Percy stays tense, wand at the ready. He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t otherwise respond.

The boy smiles charmingly. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for the... extreme reaction, you startled me. Tom Riddle. And you are?”

“Percy,” Percy says slowly. “Weasley. Why were you sneaking around? Why do you look like Harry? Who are you?”

“I wasn’t sneaking around, I was watching the game-” (Percy doesn’t believe that for even one second.) “And as for your other queries-”

Tom pauses, obviously thinking. Then he seems to make a decision, and nods to himself. Then he snaps his fingers and the invisibility cloak flies into his hands.

“If you come with me, I’ll explain everything.”

Percy tries not to stare at the casual display of wandless and non-verbal magic. “How do I know you won’t just kill me? I’ve never seen you before, you could be anyone.”

Tom smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Does that matter?”

Percy stares at the boy, stomach lurching. It doesn’t matter. Percy had beaten the boy in a physical fight, but there's something about how Tom carries himself, how his lips curl at the edges even when he's not consciously smiling, and that spell- Tom undoubtedly has the upper hand here.

Tom swings the cloak over himself and then lifts an arm and beckons for Percy to join him under the cloak. Percy stiffly walks over and positions himself besides the boy. At the very least, Tom hasn’t killed Percy yet. Percy will just have to trust that if he was going to be killed, he’d be dead already.

They walk in silence up to the castle, through the halls, and then up to the seventh floor. At this point, Tom looks around to make sure that no one is around, and then pushes Percy out of the invisibility cloak, vanishing under the folds.

Percy raises his wand defensively. He doesn’t know where Tom is and he doesn’t like it one bit. Percy automatically backs up until his back is against the tapestry hanging on the wall, heart pounding.

He idly notices that it seems to be a depiction of a man trying to teach trolls how to do ballet. Percy has seen weirder tapestries, though, so he doesn’t pay it much mind. For now, he’s trying to strain his ears to see if he can hear the boy.

Abruptly a door appears, and Percy’s eyes widen. The door creaks open and Tom appears from within the room, beckoning for Percy to follow.

Percy hesitates, and Tom rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re going to wait here for Harry, and then he can help me explain. He’ll be delighted I’m meeting my… peers.”

Percy walks slowly in, keeping an eye on Tom all the while. “How long is this going to take? I need to meet with my friends soon.”

He doesn’t really. Although, Oliver will be at some point expecting him and will also probably be devastated if Percy gets unceremoniously murdered in some secret room that may or may not be the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom shrugs. “Like I said, we’re waiting for Harry. Sometimes he’s able to slip away before curfew. I wouldn’t bet on it, though.”

“That is hours from now,” Percy says disbelievingly.

“Should have thought about that before you ran into me,” Tom says.

Percy stares, unsure if the boy is being serious or not. Tom goes to sit down and pulls out a book, flipping it open.

“I’d offer you something to eat, but I don’t actually have anything. You are welcome to sit, though,” he says, smiling a bit too widely as he gestures at the chairs with the hand not holding the book.

“How about I just leave and come back?” Percy asks, not moving from his position near the door.

Tom puts a finger on his chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Oh, that’s a great idea, why didn’t I think of it? Wait, I did.” Tom shuts his book and goes to stand up, pacing.

“Unfortunately, I can’t trust that you don’t run straight to those friends of yours and tell them all about me and I really can’t afford that right now.”

Then Tom turns to look at Percy, cocking his head. “If you’d really prefer not to wait, I could resort to other measures.”

“I’ll wait,” Percy says, tone flat even though he feels another rush of anxiety. Hoping to change the subject, Percy continues, “although why not just explain without Harry?”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Would you believe anything I said without Harry here to corroborate my story? I’ll tell you right now that my story is one that isn’t particularly believable.”

Percy purses his lips. That seems like enough of an answer for Tom, who nods and goes to sit down again.

Percy briefly thinks about making a break for it, but shuts that idea down fast. That sounds like a really good way to get a curse to the back. So instead, Percy walks over to the make-shift seating area and sits down.

“That’s Harry’s chair,” Tom says idly. Then a grimace flashes across his face, so quickly that Percy decides he probably imagined it. “So,” Tom continues, “you’ll have to move when he gets here.”

“O…kay?” Percy says. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Tom was Harry’s older brother- but that’s obviously impossible.

The two sit in silence for a moment, Percy sitting uncomfortably and Tom reading his book.

“You’re in sixth-year, right?” Tom says, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Percy says after a moment.

“What electives?”

“All of them,” Percy says.

“Mhm,” Tom hums. “You’re a prefect, too?”

Percy looks down at his prefect pin, pinned neatly on his robes. “Obviously,” Percy says.

“What do you think of Hogwarts?”

Percy doesn’t want to play this game. “It’s fine,” he says shortly.

“If you didn’t want to converse, you just had to say so,” Tom says blandly as he flips another page of his book.

Percy huffs, then looks up at the ceiling of the room. “Well for one, there’s been a monster attacking students in the hall,” he says, eyes flicking over to Tom in order to gauge his reaction.

“Is that so,” Tom says in the same bland voice, not looking up from his book.

“Now who doesn’t want to converse?” Percy asks, sitting up straight again. Tom snaps his book closed.

“How about a game of chess?” Tom phrases it like a question, but Percy doesn’t think it’s a suggestion so much as a demand.

“I hate chess,” Percy says anyway. It drives Ron crazy that the one brother who can occasionally beat him won’t play the game because it’s boring.

Tom is unfazed. “Monopoly?”

“What the hell is a Monopoly?”

Three hours of near-silent playing later and Tom is staring blankly at the board. Percy is trying not to feel smug- he wouldn’t put it past Tom to lose on purpose in a subtle attempt to get Percy to underestimate him.

“And you’ve really never played Monopoly,” Tom says finally.

“It’s not exactly a difficult game to pick up on,” Percy points out as he straightens another pile of the bizarre paper money.

“I think you owe me a game of chess after that,” Tom insists.

“One game,” Percy allows.

Another (mind-numbingly boring) forty minutes pass in silence and Tom finally achieves victory. It was not a very clean fight on either side.

“You’re a Gryffindor?” Tom asks as he waves a hand and the muggle chess board puts itself away, once again showing mind-boggling magical prowess. The likelihood of the other boy being related to Harry somehow is getting higher and higher, physical similarities notwithstanding.

“I’m a Weasley,” Percy says as though that answer means anything after Ron’s sorting. “And being a Gryffindor does not automatically make someone bad at board games.”

Tom hums noncommittally.

To be honest, the hat had been fully prepared to place Percy in Slytherin. Percy had already weighed his options before school, and decided that it wouldn’t be worth it to have to work twice as hard to stand out in Slytherin. Percy doesn’t need a house to help him along the road to greatness. He needs a house that will stay out of his way on the road to greatness.

The door slams open and Percy jumps, turning in his seat to see who it is. Harry is standing in the doorway, his snake wrapped around his shoulders.

“Tom!” Harry says excitedly, then catches sight of Percy. “And… Percy? What?”

Tom smiles brightly. “Harry! Hello. You were amazing!”

Harry walks over and sits in his chair. (Percy had moved seats to play the board games.) “I was okay,” he corrects. “Those Ravenclaws have really updated their strategy from last year.”

“I’ve never seen a move like the one you pulled to catch the snitch- I thought you were a goner for a second there,” Tom says seriously. “You nearly gave me a heart-attack.”

“Sorry,” Harry shrugs, but he’s smiling. Then he turns to Percy. “Why are you here? Er, not that I’m mad about it or anything, I just thought,” he turns back to Tom. “I thought you were going to stay hidden until Easter?”

Tom sighs. “I was,” he agrees. “And then I quite literally ran into Percy. He wanted answers, so I brought him up here to wait for you. I thought we could explain together?”

Percy narrows his eyes- it’s not any one specific thing, but Tom is acting differently now that Harry is here.

Harry shrugs. “Not much to explain, but sure.” Harry looks over at Percy and launches into an explanation:

“There was this cursed diary that Tom got trapped in for fifty years. It would trick people into writing in it, then possess them and make them open the Chamber of Secrets while it slowly sucks them into the diary, piece of life-force by piece of life-force.

“I ended up finding it and got sucked in for a second. Fortunately, Merlin bit the diary and managed to use the magic of the Philosopher’s Stone to pull me out again. She accidentally pulled Tom with me, and here we are!”

Percy blinks. “That- that’s. What?”

“Oh, also I already destroyed the diary so don’t worry. Tom is going to register as a student over Easter break, so if you could just keep quiet about him until then, that would be awesome!”

Percy sits, thoughts racing. He doesn’t know what to think. One thing sticks out, though- “when did this happen?”

“Middle of January,” Tom says.

Percy feels abruptly queasy. “Tom,” he starts. “Were you conscious? Could you tell who was… who the diary was trying to possess, before Harry?”

Tom winces. “It used my name and my personality, twisting it for its personal vendetta. I was conscious of it, but helpless. I… I hope you can help me explain that to your sister, when the time comes?”

“Ginny? Ginny had the diary?” Harry bursts out.

Tom shoots an apologetic look at the boy, but Percy only distantly registers any of this.

Percy grips tightly at the edge of his chair, struggling to control his breathing. Ginny… of course. That’s why she’d been so distraught all year, so withdrawn and distant. Percy and his brothers had all been beyond relieved when, mid-January, she’d seemingly broken abruptly out of her shell and turned back into her usual self.

Percy sinks his head into his hands as the implications sink in. If Tom is to be believed, Ginny’s life was genuinely in danger. Worse, she might have been trapped in a diary, conscious and alone, for decades or more.

And what happens when a student called Tom Riddle registers for Hogwarts in a month? She’ll be terrified. Percy looks up.

“We have to tell Ginny before you register.”

Tom winces again, but Harry nods. “Absolutely,” he agrees. “She deserves to know that she’s safe now, and that Tom is a good guy.”

Percy isn’t so sure about that, but he has other priorities right now.

“Wait,” Percy says, realizing that not all of his questions have been answered yet. “Why do you look the same as each other?”

Tom shrugs. “I never knew my father, and my mother died giving birth to me so I don’t know anything about her either. I grew up in an orphanage. Me and Harry figure that I must have had an older sibling, who went on to have kids of their own and so on, until Lily Evans was born.”

Percy nods slowly and then sits back, watching the two and thinking hard.

So far, everything about their story is adding up, and Percy doesn’t think it will hurt to go along with them for now- Easter Break isn't exactly months away, after all, and Tom seems to genuinely care about Harry. Plus Tom- well. He's- he seems interesting, and Percy thinks he'll, at the very least, be able to learn things from the other boy, learn more about that Diary and what it might have done to Ginny.

That said, something feels distinctly off about Tom and the way he’s been acting- Percy can’t put his finger on it, but he can’t bring himself to truly let his guard down around the boy. There's one thing Percy knows for sure: he’s going to be keeping a close eye on Tom.

And he’ll probably tell Oliver about him, too. Just in case.

Chapter Text

“I’ve made an executive decision,” Ron announces, sitting down on the library chair.

Harry, Neville, Merlin, Daphne, and Blaise have all just left for the break- or, they had earlier that morning. Ron just finished playing chess with McGonagall. He feels pretty good- he’d won two out of three games.

Both Hermione and Theo look up at him, looking bemused.

“For the next week, Hermione is a Slytherin,” Ron continues.

“Um,” Hermione says. “Ron, I hate to say this, but I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

“We could break into Dumbledore’s office and ask the Hat,” Theo says.

Ron would appreciate the support, but he’s ninety-six percent sure that the only reason Theo is suggesting that at all is so they can also ‘accidentally’ break a couple things.

Or, if Theo has his way, all of the things.

“No, no,” Ron says, shaking his head. “No need. Like I said- executive decision. We’re not asking permission.”

“Why am I a Slytherin?” Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Have you met you,” Theo asks.

Hermione looks down, hiding a smile.

“So none of us are going alone,” Ron says, brushing over Theo’s comment (even though Theo is right). “And because you’re our friend and we love you and want you around. Come on! How often is it that just us three hang out?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Never,” Ron elaborates.

“Huh,” Hermione says thoughtfully.

“I’m not opposed,” Theo says at last. “At the very least, we can get more research done this way.”

“I suppose it’s just like what we did over Christmas,” Hermione agrees.

Ron scowls- the two are still remaining frustratingly tight-lipped about what exactly happened over Christmas, and Ron doesn’t like it one bit.

Then his scowl clears up as he realizes that they’d just agreed. Ron smiles- this is going to be the best Easter break ever.

And then all of three hours of research later and Ron is nearly asleep sitting up.

“Ron,” Hermione says.

Ron blinks, then looks over at her.

“Dinner time,” Hermione says. Just over her shoulder, Madam Pince is scowling as she taps her fingers on her arm impatiently.

Ron blinks again, then nods and goes to follow his two friends out of the library.

“Finally,” Ron says. “Honestly, what are you even researching?”

Theo and Hermione look at him with the same expression- that of disbelief.

“I meant what about the Chamber situation specifically,” Ron clarifies.

“Oh, the monster,” Hermione says.

“Any leads?”

“No,” Theo says, sounding a bit frustrated (which for him, means he’s very frustrated). “There are a surprising number of monsters that are capable of petrification, but none that fit the bill so far. They’d either be dead after a thousand years, or they don’t exist.”

“Don’t exist?” Ron asks.

“There are a lot of actually mythological creatures,” Hermione says. “Ones that are myths even to wixen.”

“Oh, I knew that,” Ron says. “Like leviathans. Or whatever Luna has going on.”

“Right,” Hermione says. “Exactly. Except I don’t know what a Luna is.”

“Family friend,” Ron says. In his experience, that’s the easiest way to explain Luna.

After dinner, Ron and Theo walk Hermione up to the tower and wait as she gathers her things.

“Think we should have gone in with her?” Ron asks.

“I think she’ll be fine,” Theo says. “Besides, you couldn’t get up the staircase even if you wanted to.”

“Like you could,” Ron counters.

“Yes,” Theo says. “I can. Because gender is a construct made of bullshit, and I’ve elected to dismiss it as a concept.”

“That’s fair,” Ron says, then pauses. “Wait, why is Gryffindor even set up like that?”

If Theo doesn’t know, Ron figures that Hermione will.

Fortunately, Theo does know. Somehow.

“A couple hundred years ago there was an assault situation, so the Gryffindors took matters into their own hands- now only members of the same gender can get up the stairs to their respective dorms,” Theo says. “With exceptions, obviously. It’s not a cure-all, but it did address the immediate issue of not feeling safe in their own dorms and the enchantment stuck.”

“Huh,” Ron says. “Neat.”

And he does think it’s neat- but he’s also glad that Slytherin isn’t set up in the same way. Otherwise Daphne wouldn’t be able to come over to their dorm, and this whole thing with Hermione would last only until any other Slytherin came into the common room and saw her.

“It’s really an interesting bit of spellwork,” Hermione says as she climbs out from behind Gwen.

“Oh, did you end up figuring it out?” Theo asks.

“A part of it,” Hermione says. “Want to hear-”

“Yes,” Theo says.

That discussion takes as long as it takes them to get all the way down to the dungeon and then into Ron and Theo’s dorm. Honestly- Ron doesn’t know how he managed to befriend so many nerds. It’s a shame he likes them so much.

Ron had been a little bit worried about sneaking Hermione in, but she obviously has practice at this. Theo and her work in tandem to make sure the way is clear, and then hurry past- somehow without looking even the slightest bit suspicious.

Ron has to hold his breath as they round a corner and walk right past an older year Slytherin- but the student doesn’t even blink.

“What was that about?” Ron asks as they finally make it into the dorm room.

“They’re too exhausted with NEWTS to notice, let alone care,” Hermione explains. “Besides, it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

“Don’t you think you’re the first Gryffindor to be in here for a thousand years?” Ron asks.

Hermione shakes her head. “No way- there’s a ton more intermingling than people think. At the very least I know for a fact that the Hufflepuffs are always having other people over, and in turn get invited into the other common rooms.”

“Huh,” Ron says. “I haven’t noticed anyone.”

“That’s because if the choice is between having to face Sprout or Snape, or Flitwick or Snape, or anyone and Snape, the answer is obvious,” Theo says.

“Ah,” Ron says.

“Think we’ll get caught this time?” Hermione asks, a bit nervously.

They’ve started getting ready for bed at this point- Hermione has at some point changed into pajamas, somehow.

“We might,” Theo says, shrugging. “But so what?”

Hermione gets a conflicted look on her face, but then sighs and shrugs as well. “I guess I could light him on fire again,” she says. “Worst-case scenario, I mean.”

“Or drug him,” Theo agrees.

“Now that is an idea,” Hermione says, smiling widely.

“It was your idea in the first place,” Theo says, a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione gets a smug look on her face, and Theo gives in- letting an actual smile spread across his face.

“Okay will someone please tell me what happened over Christmas?” Ron cuts in, feeling a bit desperate.

He loves how close Hermione and Theo seem to be now, but he wants to know why, dammit!

Hermione and Theo share a look, and then burst into laughter. Ron rolls his eyes- but then gives in, laughing alongside them.

“Alright,” Hermione says, sobering up. “We’ll tell you. But it’s not as exciting as we’ve made it seem.”

Ron, after hearing the story, disagrees entirely.

“Next time I want to be there too,” Ron says, for the sixth time that night.

“Ron, please,” Hermione says from where she’s laying next to him with an arm over her face. They’d ended up pushing Theo’s bed over to Ron’s, forming one big bed for them to all sleep in.

“It’s so late. I just want to go to sleep,” Hermione continues.

“Just ignore him and he’ll stop,” Theo mumbles from where he’s curled up into Ron’s other side. “Eventually. Promise.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Hermione must have heard the intake of breath because suddenly he has a face full of pillow. Ron tries to push against it, to no avail.

He wonders idly if Hermione knows the exact length of time it would take to put him to sleep without otherwise harming him. Probably- but Ron isn’t worried. He trusts Hermione. Besides, even if she were to try-

“Please don’t strangle Ron,” Theo says, just as sleepily as before. “We like him.”

Ron smiles into the pillow. Yep. Just as Ron had thought.

There’s the sound of a sigh, and then the pillow is removed from Ron’s face.

“That’s true,” Hermione admits, then points a threatening finger at Ron before he can respond. “I mean it though- no more. I need to sleep.”

Ron mimes zipping his mouth shut, smiling as he does.

Hermione narrows her eyes, then rolls over with a huff.

The room falls into a soft quiet- and Ron finally falls asleep to the sound of his friends breathing evenly beside him, feeling warm at the idea of them both being so close and safe next to him.

This year has been scary, and horrible, but- well, not only is Ginny back to her normal self, but it’s hard to feel worried when you’re with two of the people you care most about in the world.

Besides, as long as they keep this up and don’t get careless, there’s pretty much no chance Hermione gets hurt.

That’s what Ron’s going to be telling himself, anyways.

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Remus starts slowly. “Is there something you haven’t been telling me in your letters?”

Harry gives Remus a sheepish smile as Tom leans towards Harry and whispers, “I thought you wrote him ahead of time!”

“I did!” Harry whispers back. “I just. Might not have been all that specific?”

“Okay, who are you?” Remus asks, turning to Tom. His eyes are tinged amber, and he looks like he’s seconds away from pulling Harry to the side and apparating far, far away.

“Our best guess is a secret great-uncle.” Harry jumps in. Remus gets an extremely perplexed look on his face.

“My name is Tom,” Tom interjects. “And we can absolutely explain. Everything. But can we do this somewhere else? Somewhere muggle, maybe? I don’t… I don’t want to be seen yet.”

Tom had spent the whole train ride in an empty compartment covered in the invisibility cloak, and he’s beginning to look more and more jumpy the longer they stand on the platform.

Remus narrows his eyes but jerks his head in a nod. He holds out a hand to Harry and an arm to Tom, then apparates into an empty alley.

Tom stumbles away, face tinged green.

“Have you never side-apparated?” Harry asks worriedly.

“It’s been over fifty years,” Tom says as he leans heavily on a wall. “Give me a break.”

Remus rubs his face tiredly. “There’s a cafe across the street. Let's go get something to eat and you… you two can explain over some dinner.”

Harry and Tom follow Remus into the cafe and sit while Remus grabs them some food. He comes back carrying a couple sandwiches and some mugs.

Remus sets the food and drinks down in front of the two and sits down himself, resting his chin on his fist. “Okay. Explain.”

Harry has already started on his sandwich, so he explains in between bites.

“To preface,” Harry starts, “you are not going to be happy with me.”

Remus nods. “I’d gathered,” he says flatly, gaze flicking over to Tom.

Tom cringes, and Harry pushes down the rising tide of despair that comes with disappointing Remus, then continues:

“So the Chamber of Secrets was opened on Halloween, and Slytherin’s monster was running around petrifying students. No one died, though!”

Remus goes still and his eyes go amber. Harry watches nervously as Remus struggles to get himself under control, eyes bleeding back to brown. The full moon had happened only a couple days earlier, and it shows. Harry wishes that it wasn’t so close, but- well, there’s not really anything he can do about that.

Tom tenses up besides Harry almost imperceptibly and Harry belatedly realizes he doesn’t think he’s mentioned that Remus is a werewolf. Whoops.

Once he’s sure Remus is back in control of Moony, Harry launches back into his explanation and says, “but turns out it was a cursed diary all along.”

Harry and Tom go on to explain about the diary, the circumstances leading to Tom’s release, and some of the theories they’d come up with in regards to the diary. They’re fairly certain that the diary had once belonged to Salazar himself, or one of his heirs.

“Tom- you seem to be remarkably well-adjusted for someone who’s spent the last fifty years in complete isolation,” Remus points out.

Tom shrugs. “I kept myself busy,” he says vaguely. Harry gets the idea that Tom doesn’t just love talking about his imprisonment.

Remus leans back, looking weary. “Harry,” he starts.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about everything going on,” Harry says quickly, nervously shredding a paper napkin. “I just didn’t want you to take me out of Hogwarts.”

“Harry,” Remus says again. “I am not going to permanently pull you out of Hogwarts, not without you agreeing to it. You need to tell me these things.

“Did it occur to you that I could have helped you research? Or knew things that could help you protect your friends? I understand it’s hard for you to trust adults, but you could have died in that diary, and I wouldn’t have- if Merlin hadn’t been there-”

Harry looks down at the table, biting back tears. He feels a bit sick.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Remus sighs tiredly. Tom is looking out the window, likely pretending he’s anywhere but here.

“I think you made the best decision you could, knowing what you knew,” Merlin decides, hissing in his ear.

“Thanks, Merlin,” Harry says back. It doesn’t really help, but he appreciates the attempt.

“Let's go home,” Remus finally says, pushing his chair back and standing up. “I think we could all use a quiet night in. You too, Tom.”

Tom looks up at Remus, surprise flashing on his face. “Wh- Really?”

Remus smiles wryly. “Fifty years in a diary or not, you’re still a teenager. I’m not going to just abandon you to the streets of London.”

Tom looks like he’s conflicted between wanting to protest that he could definitely handle a week on the streets of London and wanting to thank Remus profoundly. Harry would laugh, but he still feels sort of like he’s going to throw up- disappointing Remus tends to do that to him.

Harry ends up going to bed early, giving into the urge to hide that he gets whenever he feels like an adult is mad at him. He tosses and turns for a couple hours before giving up and getting out of bed to grab a glass of water. Harry slips out from his room, intent on heading straight to the kitchen.

Despite how rich Remus and Harry are, they elected on getting a smaller two-bedroom house surrounded by lots of land (with the best ward-work money can buy, both for Harry’s general protection and for Moony). Because of this, Harry has to pass by the living room to get into the kitchen.

Harry didn’t intend on eavesdropping, he really didn’t, but ten years at the Dursley’s means he's learned to never pass up the opportunity to do so. As he hears the voices of Remus and Tom talking quietly in the living room, Harry presses up against the wall near the door and slows his breathing down so he can hear better.

“I can’t possibly take your room. Let me sleep on the couch,” Tom says desperately.

Remus sighs. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch. I’d feel much better if you took the room. We’ll figure something more permanent out tomorrow.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then Tom clears his throat.

“Permanent?” Tom finally asks.

Remus chuckles dryly. “You still have a year and a half until you graduate. I don’t suppose you have anywhere else to stay? Money? A job?”

“You’re just going to allow me into your home, just like that? I’m a complete stranger to you.”

Another moment of silence. Harry can almost picture Remus shrugging, or raising an eyebrow, or taking a sip from his mug.

“Harry went a long, long time without a family. I get the feeling it’s something you aren’t very accustomed to either. Harry cares about you, Tom, and I think you probably care for him too. I’m not going to be the one to take that from either of you. You have a place in our home for as long as you want or need one.”

Harry grins into his hands as silence falls again. If there’s one thing he knows about Remus, it’s that he’ll always put his family first.

Harry barely catches Tom’s nearly-inaudible “thank you,” before he decides it’s time to head back to his own room. He thinks he’ll be able to go to sleep now.

The next morning, Remus makes everyone breakfast, the muggle way. As he sets a plate in front of Harry, he says, “I'm revoking your flying privileges over the break and if something at school happens again I fully expect you to write to me right away.”

Harry nods, and to his relief that’s the last of it. The three spend the week playing games, going on day-trips, and helping Harry with his ridiculous piles of homework.

“I just don’t understand why the teachers assign so much over Easter,” Harry grumbles as he fights his way through yet another essay.

Tom is chewing on the end of his quill as he reviews Harry’s History paper and doesn’t bother with a response.

On the other hand, Remus puts down the Defense assignment he’d been going over with an expression of disgust. “Your defense teacher is unbelievably incompetent.”

“Believe me,” Harry says. “I know. It’s getting harder and harder to keep Theo from murdering him.”

Remus nods sympathetically and then turns to Tom. “You’re registering for Hogwarts this last term, right? What’s the plan there?”

Tom grimaces. “Uh,” he says. “You see, we’d prefer to go about it as quietly as possible so we thought… I’d sneak into the Headmaster’s office and get the Hat to sort me?”

At the tired look Remus gives him, Tom hurriedly goes to explain, “we have reason to believe that will be enough to get me registered.”

“And you don’t want to get registered normally because…”

“Dumbledore never liked me,” Tom says, shrugging. “I’d prefer not to have to deal with him at all. If we tried to go the usual route, he’d probably keep me from registering.”

“Why doesn’t Dumbledore like you?” Remus asks.

“I made it a bit of a priority to push against his anti-dark propaganda. I was a real thorn in his side,” Tom says, a note of smugness in his voice. “He’ll know that if I graduate Hogwarts it’ll be a major political disaster for him.”

Harry can believe it. Tom is smart, charismatic, and has extremely ambitious political aspirations. Harry is simultaneously excited and terrified for the inevitable Granger v Riddle election for Minister of Magic.

Remus looks pained, as though he wants to protest more but can't actually argue Tom’s point.

“You do have me supporting you, now,” Remus says finally.

Tom cocks his head. “No offense,” he starts, “but I’m not sure how that changes things?”

Harry abruptly remembers another thing he forgot to tell Tom.

Remus sees Harry’s cringe and laughs, eyes crinkling. “I see Harry forgot to mention the fact that I’m currently one of the most politically powerful men in Magical Britain.”

“Wh- you- what?” Tom sputters.

Harry has never seen him this unbalanced. It’s delightful, but he takes pity on his brother.

“I’m the heir to the Potter lordship, obviously, but I’m also heir to the Black and Slytherin lordships. I asked for Remus to take over my political duties until I’m old enough to do it myself.”

“Slytherin from conquest?” Tom asks, furrowing his brow. Harry nods. “That makes sense. How are you heir to the Black Lordship, though?”

Harry and Remus exchange an uncomfortable look, but work together to explain the Sirius Black situation anyways.

By the end of the explanation, Tom’s eyes are hard. “Good,” he says. “Black got what he deserved.”

Remus looks sad and wistful like he always does when Sirius Black is mentioned in any capacity, so Harry decides to get the conversation back on track.

“So, do we want Remus to help you get registered for school?” Harry asks.

Tom sits back on the couch, thinking. Then he shakes his head. “It’ll take too long. I’d- I would appreciate it if you could be in my corner for whatever fallout there is, though.”

Remus nods. “No problem. Just make sure to write to me so I can actually help,” Remus says pointedly. Tom hesitates, then nods alongside Harry.

Remus had offered to buy Tom an owl, but Tom had politely turned him down, saying he’ll just use the school ones. One thing Remus did insist on was buying Tom a wand.

Tom is uncharacteristically nervous as they walk towards Ollivander’s. Harry can tell because he sort of shuts down, commenting on things only when absolutely necessary.

“You two don’t need to come in with me,” Tom says as they approach the store. Remus raises an eyebrow but nods, handing Tom seven galleons.

“We’ll wait out here.”

It takes an hour and a half, but whenever Harry gets antsy and tries to get up to see if Tom is okay, Remus tells him that not everyone matches with the first wand that they try and to just be patient.

Eventually, Tom comes outside. He’s scowling, but his face clears up when he sees Remus and Harry.

“Well?” Harry asks excitedly.

Tom flicks his wrist and his new wand shoots into his hand. It’s silver and polished, and looks almost more like a rod of metal than a piece of wood.

“Aspen and dragon heart-string,” Tom says. Instead of sounding proud, he sounds almost… resigned.

“Is it bad?” Harry asks, confused.

Tom shakes his head and smiles. “It’ll work. I just… it’s not my old wand.”

Harry grimaces. Tom is so good at wandless magic that it somehow hadn’t occurred to him that Tom likely had a wand before he’d gotten trapped.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. Tom shrugs.

“Let’s get going,” Remus cuts in, checking his watch. “We have more errands to run.”

They spend the day finishing the shopping for Tom’s school supplies. Percy had very helpfully sent a list of books and materials from his own sixth year, so they knew what to buy. Some of the shop-keepers looked at them oddly, likely wondering why the three (plus Merlin) were buying school supplies in the middle of April.

Finally they’ve gotten everything, and are back at home. It’s the last day before Tom and Harry head back to Hogwarts, and Harry is getting progressively more and more nervous.

“What are we thinking?” Harry asks Merlin as he’s trying and failing to go to bed. “Are we sure that Hogwarts will even accept Tom as a student? So many things could go wrong!”

Harry sits up, working himself into a frenzy. “And sneaking into Dumbledore’s office? We’re absolutely going to get caught!”

Merlin slithers onto Harry’s shoulders sleepily flicking her tongue on his cheek. She uses her weight to try and push him back into bed, and Harry lets her do so.

“It’s going to be okay,” Merlin says.

“How do you know?” Harry whispers.

“Because there’s a good chance this ends with Dumbledore on fire, and I like that,” Merlin says as she drifts back off to sleep.

That should not be comforting, but it’s enough and at last Harry manages to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

“Severus!”

Severus groans, throwing a stasis charm onto his potion. Today is the last day he has before classes start up again, and he was really looking forward to a long and uninterrupted brewing session. If he wanted one of those, Severus supposes as he heads over to the fireplace, he should have thought twice about selling his soul to a madman.

“What,” Severus says flatly. Just because he’s now beholden to a second madman doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it. Albus’s face is peeking out from the fireplace, and he looks particularly serious.

“Would you come through to my office? Bring Veritaserum and its antidote.”

Severus feels both a strong sense of deja vu as well as a horrible feeling of foreboding, but he nods and goes to do as the Headmaster has asked.

Severus steps through, holding tightly onto the two vials. Veritaserum and its antidote are both incredibly difficult and time-consuming to brew, and he doesn’t want to lose years of work to an unlucky fumble.

Minerva is there already, standing near where Albus is sitting at his desk. Their faces are pale and drawn, but that’s not what Severus is interested in. No, what he’s focused on is the slightly smirking face of young Voldemort.

It’s a damn good thing he made sure he had a good grip on those potions.

“Hello,” says the monster. “My name is Tom Riddle. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Albus,” Severus says, trying to keep his breathing level. “What…”

“Young Mister Riddle here has taken it upon himself to enroll as a student here at Hogwarts- his sixth-year, I believe. The hat put you in Slytherin, yes?” Riddle nods, and Albus continues, “his situation, as he tells it, is uniquely remarkable. For the sake of transparency, he requested we administer Veritaserum to validate the story.”

Voldemort- or, Tom Riddle, apparently- smiles and nods again from his seat in front of Albus’s desk.

Severus is trying very hard not to have a panic-attack. Riddle is young, much younger than Severus has ever seen Voldemort, but the resemblance to the Dark Lord in his heyday is unmistakable. Same jawline, same nose, same brown hair, and most strikingly; same red eyes.

Worse, though, is his also incredibly obvious similarities to Potter. Severus abruptly and desperately wishes he hadn’t brushed Lucius’s concerns off so easily. What does this mean- what could this possibly mean?

With some effort, Severus takes his thoughts and feelings on the whole matter and shoves it deep down under his occlumency shields. He’ll deal with those later. For now, he has other things to worry about.

“I see,” Severus says at last. “And what, Mister Riddle, would you have us ask you?”

Tom Riddle cocks his head. “I’m not the one with doubts. I have nothing to hide: I’ll answer the questions you pose to me.”

“Any question?” Severus asks, eyebrow raised.

“Within reason,” Riddle allows. “I am sponsored by Remus Lupin, who likely wouldn’t take kindly to learning- well,” Riddle laughs, “I was going to say ‘learning that I was asked questions unrelated to the subject at hand’, but in all honesty he strikes me as the type that would object to this whole… rigmarole. Maybe we should keep this to ourselves after all?”

Severus is suddenly in desperate need of a drink. He turns to Albus, who is doing his damndest to keep the ‘genial old man’ act up. It’s not working very well: the usual twinkle in his eyes is dimmed to the point it may as well not exist. Minerva isn’t bothering to act at all, she looks as though she’s been carved from stone.

“I suggest,” Albus says, “we ask Mister Riddle to repeat his story under the effects of Veritaserum.”

Riddle shrugs. “Fine by me.”

Minerva purses her lips, but says nothing.

Severus walks over to where the boy is sitting. Riddle, in contrast to when Potter had sat where Riddle’s now sitting, is completely at ease as he allows Severus to administer the potion.

Severus steps back and watches as the boy’s blood red eyes glaze over and his expression goes flat. He nods to Albus, who turns to look at Riddle.

“What is your name?”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” the boy intones. Severus watches closely, but there’s no sign the boy is even attempting to fight the potion.

“Who were you named after?”

“I was told that I was named after my father,” Riddle says in a monotone.

“Where were you raised?”

“For the first few years of my life, I was raised in an orphanage. I’ve spent the majority of my life after that imprisoned within a cursed diary.”

Severus blinks in surprise. That had not been what he’d expected. He looks over at Minerva, but the woman keeps her eyes on Riddle.

“And where is this cursed diary now?” Minerva asks.

“Harry Potter destroyed it. He is a very powerful young wizard.”

“Who imprisoned you within the diary?” Albus cuts in.

“I have good reason to believe it was Lord Voldemort.”

Severus startles at the name, and hates himself for it. His left forearm twinges. Minerva does look at him now, a hint of pity behind the steel of her gaze. Severus ignores it for now- it would usually rankle, but right now they have bigger priorities.

Albus leans back in his seat, looking at the boy with narrowed eyes.

“What do you think of Harry Potter?”

“Albus,” Minerva starts, then stops. Severus gets it.

On the one hand, that question is getting dangerously close to going off-topic and turning this whole thing into an even more unethical mess than it already is. On the other hand, this is Voldemort.

“He is family,” Riddle answers easily.

Severus does not like the picture this is beginning to paint. Albus and Minerva sit in silence for a moment, thinking. Severus can almost hear the gears in their heads turning. As for Severus himself, he’s trying his best to not think at all.

“Do you know who opened the Chamber of Secrets?” Albus finally asks.

"Yes," Tom Riddle says.

"Who?"

"Ginny Weasley."

Albus furrows his brow. Severus opens his mouth, then shuts it again. What?

"Ginny Weasley was responsible for opening the Chamber?" Minerva asks, obviously as taken aback as Severus

“The diary was responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets.”

Minerva’s shoulders relax minutely, and Severus can’t bring himself to blame her for it- Ginny Weasley is a menace, but she's not exactly the type to attempt to eradicate all muggleborns from the school. That, and she's eleven. It makes much more sense for there to be a cursed artifact involved.

Plus, loath as he is to be a teacher, Severus would feel at least somewhat responsible if it had come out that one of his snakes had been the culprit.

Then Albus turns to Severus. “Severus, do you have any questions for the boy?”

Severus looks at Albus in disbelief. Does he have questions? Of course he has questions. Severus turns to Riddle. For one:

“Are you Lord Voldemort?” Severus’s arm itches, but he ignores it.

Minerva nods, but Albus looks at Severus with disappointment- as though he’d been hoping for a less blatant question. Severus doesn’t care. There is a time for subtlety, and this is not it.

“No,” Riddle answers.

“Is your father Lord Voldemort?”

“I never knew my father,” Riddle says. Severus raises an eyebrow, but apparently the potion takes this as an acceptable answer because the boy says no more. Severus racks his brain for more questions, but can’t think of what to ask. He needs context.

“What is it you told Albus and Minerva before I came in here?”

The boy launches into his story, all in the same flat monotone voice that is indicative of veritaserum. Severus listens silently, taking care to keep his expression blank and emotions in check.

Riddle says he’d been trapped in a cursed diary, been freed by Potter and Potter’s snake, hid out in Hogwarts for months, went home with Potter for easter, and then broke into the Headmaster’s office and had the hat sort him into Slytherin, thereby tricking the magic of Hogwarts to register Riddle as a student. Then, he’d waited for Albus to return and here they all are.

It’s unbelievable. So unbelievable, in fact, that it might just be true (particularly in regards to the fact that Potter is apparently involved). Severus and Albus sit in silence for a long minute, looking at the dazed boy.

“Were you conscious during your imprisonment?” Severus asks, curious.

“Yes.”

“How are you still sane?”

“Sanity is relative.”

Severus keeps himself from rolling his eyes, but just barely. Then another question occurs to him.

“If you’ve spent a majority of your life within the pages of a cursed diary, how can you hope to begin Hogwarts at the same level as other sixth-years?”

“The diary contained the means for me to educate myself. Remus Lupin has also helped to make sure I am on the same level as other students.”

“I believe that’s all the questions I have,” Severus finally says.

“I am done as well,” Minerva agrees.

“I have one last question before we give him the antidote.” Albus decides.

Severus nods in acknowledgment, and Albus turns once more to the boy and asks, “do you have any intention to harm or kill any student or faculty member of Hogwarts?”

The room itself seems to hold its breath in the millisecond it takes for Riddle to respond:

“No.”

Severus exhales and goes to administer the antidote.

Riddle blinks, eyes refocusing. “Well?” He asks hoarsely, then clears his throat. “Are you satisfied?”

Albus nods. “I apologize for doubting you, Mister Riddle.”

Minerva’s lips are back to being pursed.

Riddle smiles warmly. “Apology accepted,” he says smoothly. “It’s an unbelievable story, I would have a difficult time believing it myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me? I believe I have a dorm to get settled into.”

“You are excused,” Albus says. “Do you need someone to escort you?”

“The diary had a comprehensive map of Hogwarts within its pages. I’ll manage,” Riddle says, going to stand up.

“Mister Riddle,” Severus says.

Riddle pauses, then looks back towards Severus. “Yes?”

“The password to get into the common rooms is ‘ashwinder’.”

Riddle inclines his head. “Thank you, I’d almost forgotten to ask.”

With that, the boy exits the office without looking back.

Once he’s sure Riddle has well and truly gone, Severus rounds on Albus. “How long have you known about Potter?”

Albus sighs tiredly. “From the very moment I laid eyes on him. I suspect Minerva would give you a similar answer.”

Severus looks over to her, and she nods- although she looks discomfited. Good.

“And you, neither of you thought it prudent to mention the fact that Potter is apparently not a Potter at all?” Severus is once again having difficulty breathing as the implications continue to sink in. “Does the boy know?”

“Calm yourself, Severus. As far as I know, both Mister Potter and his friends and family are unaware.”

“We had agreed it would be for the best if it were to remain that way,” Minerva says. “Mister Potter has enough on his plate as it is.”

Severus isn’t sure he agrees, but he’s certainly not going to be the one to break the news to the boy- or, god forbid, the wolf. Albus continues:

“I admit I had trouble with the whole thing originally” Albus says.

“But Mister Potter is a child and should be treated as such,” Minerva says, looking at Albus as though daring for him to disagree.

“Yes,” Albus says. “Minerva was quick to point that out to me, and it is as she says: the child should not be beholden to the sins of the father.”

Severus levels a venomous glare at the old man. “You weren’t so quick to preach that when you subjected Potter to Veritaserum.”

Minerva rounds on Albus, and Severus feels a bitter smile spread across his face. He had thought Minerva might not know about that- and whatever is coming now serves Albus right.

“You did what?” She hisses.

Albus rubs his temples wearily. “Forgive an old man his mistakes?”

“Albus,” Minerva says, tone icy. “I’m afraid this is one of those things I don’t believe I’m ever going to be able to forgive.”

Albus gets a tired look on his face, but Severus decides that there are more pressing matters to resolve right now. Minerva can chew Albus out later- and judging by the expression on her face, she will be doing just that.

“How could this have happened?” Severus asks.

Minerva settles back, expression furious. But she allows Albus to continue as he says, “there are dozens of possibilities. We may never know. But I ask you this, my boy: does it really matter?”

Minerva lets out a scoff.

Severus stares at the Headmaster. Does it matter? Does it matter that his best friend- his only friend- apparently carried the child of a ruthless, genocidal madman to term? Somehow conceived a child with the Dark Lord?

Severus personally thinks it matters very much. He needs to know how it happened because if it’s… if the Dark Lord… Severus can’t even think it.

Severus needs there to be another explanation, because otherwise he doesn’t think he’ll be capable of going back, ever. Even to spy. In fact, he may need to cut off his left arm. (He’s considered that before, but he really would do it this time.)

Severus forces himself to think rationally about the whole thing. No, he decides- there has to be another explanation. The Dark Lord is an evil man, but there’s never been precedent for that. It would be completely out of character.

Severus’s eyes narrow. Assuming he can cross that particular unthinkable possibility off the list, then the whole thing reeks of a James Potter plan. Oh, he can picture it now: Lily and Potter want a child, discover Potter is infertile or something along those lines, and somehow decide the next reasonable step is to find a magical way to conceive with the Dark Lord.

Lily was a genius- she probably used blood magic. All Potter would have had to do is convince her that the child would be safer if it had ties to the Dark Lord, and she’d’ve been on board.

“One of my more outlandish theories was that Voldemort wanted an heir,” Albus muses, oblivious to Severus’s inner turmoil. “But in light of new information, I think it’s safe to say that Voldemort had one already lined up.”

Severus blinks. “The Riddle boy-?”

“I can think of no other explanation: Voldemort has a child, magically or otherwise, places the boy into an orphanage for a few years, and then traps the boy in a cursed object that provides him with an extremely tailored education- effectively raising the perfect heir, no actual raising required.”

The three sit in silence for a moment.

“What do you suggest we do?” Severus asks finally.

“It is as Minerva says- a child should not be beholden to the sins of the father,” Albus repeats firmly.

Minerva nods firmly, jaw clenched. Albus continues, saying:

“We try to guide him towards the light as best as we can. He may already be a lost cause, but we cannot justify taking any preventative measures against the boy.”

Severus forces himself to nod as well. He doesn’t believe for one second that Albus is going to let this slide as easily as all that, but he’ll leave Albus to his plans and secrets.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him,” he says instead.

“That’s all I ask of you,” Albus says.

Severus thinks that may be the most untrue thing Albus has ever said.

“Quite. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Severus says, standing up. “I apparently have a new Slytherin I need to make sure is settled in.”

Albus nods, faraway look in his eyes, and Severus takes his leave- trying and failing not to smirk as he catches a glimpse of Minerva rounding on Albus once more.

At least there's that.

Chapter Text

Theo races down the halls, not bothering to pretend like he’s not running. He needs to get to the dungeons, and fast. Theo hardly notices when Ron slips his hand in his own- the other boy is keeping pace with Theo, which is actually rather impressive.

Theo’s going to attribute that to Ron’s height. It’s like he can cover twice the distance with the same number of strides.

“Why the rush?” Ron asks as they run.

Theo doesn’t answer him, not at first.

The others had just gotten back from break. Theo can admit to himself that he’d been excited to see them- but then Harry had sat them down in the library and told them what it is he’s been hiding the last few months.

Theo and the others had known he wasn’t being totally straight with them about something but this- this could be really, really bad.

Tom Riddle. Stuck in a diary for fifty years. ‘Related to the Evans’- yeah, right. Tom Riddle is at best only related to the Dark Lord.

Theo isn’t optimistic.

“Just a feeling,” Theo finally lies.

Ron can’t know. If Ron finds out about Harry’s true parentage, everyone else might find out too- including Harry. That’s not an option, not right now.

Theo knows Harry, knows that if he finds out that Lord Voldemort is his father, it will scare Harry away from his own power forever. Theo can’t afford that right now- and Harry deserves better. Theo knows what it’s like to have a madman for a father and if Theo can keep sparing Harry from having to know the feeling, he will.

They finally reach the entrance to the common room. No one is around- Riddle must be inside already. Theo taps his foot impatiently as Ron gives the password and the wall slides open, and then Theo tugs Ron in behind him.

The common room is empty, too- most everyone is in the Great Hall, or the library, or on the grounds outside.

Well- mostly empty. Because there, standing near the glass walls looking out into the lake, is a boy. He’s on the taller side (although not so tall he could be considered lanky), with short dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. He turns to look at Theo and Ron, one eyebrow arched perfectly and mouth set in a slight smirk.

He looks a hell of a lot like if Harry was only four years older then he is now- except for one glaring fact:

Instead of a bright green, the boy’s eyes are glittering red.

“Ah,” Riddle says, smirk widening into a smile as he takes in Theo and Ron. “Nott and Weasley, I presume? Harry’s told me so much about you.”

Theo feels frozen. He’s not used to feeling like this- not during the school year, anyways.

How is Theo going to play this? Does he pretend he doesn’t know exactly who Riddle is? Or should he try and get Riddle to admit that he’s lying? Maybe he should just start throwing knives and hope for the best- only Theo can’t risk Ron getting caught in the crossfire, and it’s likely Riddle won’t go down as easy as all that.

Theo doesn’t know what to do. Maybe he should have waited and come up with a strategy- but Theo is pretty sure time is of the essence.

What exactly is Riddle’s plan here?

“Did he,” Ron says, stepping up. He holds out a hand, and Riddle grasps and then shakes it with no hesitation. “Ron Weasley,” Ron continues. “You can call me Ron.”

“Tom, then,” Riddle says, then turns to Theo. He just looks for a moment- Theo can almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes.

“I knew your father,” Riddle says finally.

“Did you,” Theo says, flat as he can. “Because he certainly didn’t mention you. Not by name, anyways.”

Riddle narrows his eyes.

“Wait, you were friends with Nott Senior?” Ron says, looking disgusted.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Riddle counters.

Theo thinks his father might disagree.

“I knew him,” Riddle continues. “That’s all.”

“I could write to him,” Theo suggests, watching Riddle carefully. “Maybe he’d be interested in catching up- friends or otherwise, my father is getting on in age. He doesn’t have very many peers left.”

Ron looks at Theo oddly, but that’s not what Theo cares about right now- no, what he’s interested in is the way Riddle’s smile looks suddenly very plastered on.

“No need,” Riddle says easily. “I’m sure he hardly remembers me at all.”

“Really," Theo says. Time to drive it home. “Because my father is pretty sharp- he's especially good with faces.”

Riddle’s smile goes even more wooden, but Theo thinks he only catches it because he’s watching for it. Ron is still looking baffled, but that’s something for Theo to deal with later.

“In any case,” Riddle finally says, “there’s no use dwelling in the past. I’d much prefer to look forward- I’m sure if I met up with any of the old crowd, we’d be going for each other’s throats in no time at all.”

Interesting. Is Riddle trying to tell Theo that he’s not planning on reclaiming the title of Lord Voldemort? At least he’s not trying to deny anything- or trying to kill Theo. Yet.

“If you say so,” Theo finally says, forcing himself to shrug.

“Say,” Riddle says, looking back over to Ron. “You two are pretty good friends with Harry, right?”

Ron nods, but Theo feels abruptly on edge (more on edge than he already is, anyhow). Riddle doesn’t say anything, just watches Theo’s face with those cruel red eyes.

Theo nods as well, and Riddle smiles. It looks genuine, but Theo doesn’t trust it for a second. He’s itching to go for his knives, or his wand, but he holds back.

“Good- it’s good that my brother has so many people who care about him, who want the best for him. Harry told me all about the things he got up to last year, and I shudder to think what would have happened if he didn’t have people there to protect him.

“Although,” Riddle says, then laughs lightly. “He showed me some of his tricks- the fire, the healing. So maybe- maybe he doesn’t need protection at all? Maybe he just needs… support.”

Ron nods again, although he still looks a little lost. Theo doesn’t do anything at all, just continues to watch Riddle.

He isn’t sure what the boy is getting at, but he’s pretty sure he and Ron were both just called supporters. Theo isn’t sure how to feel about that. One the one hand, that is what they are. On the other, what does that mean to Riddle?

“In any case,” Riddle continues, “I’m glad you’ve been there for him. Hopefully I can be there for him too- I know my story is unbelievable, but I really do think of Harry as family.”

Theo doesn’t scoff, but it’s a close thing. As though being family means anything at all- maybe it does to Ron, who is now looking appreciative, but to Theo? No way. Family is just another thing to exploit.

Which, by the sounds of it, is exactly what Riddle is going for. He’s seen Harry’s power- and he hasn’t tried to kill him yet. Either Riddle is too scared to try, or he thinks he’ll be able to use Harry somehow. That tracks with what Theo knows about how the Dark Lord operated- collect powerful people, and keep them around until their use runs out.

And Harry- well, Harry is extremely useful. Theo knows it, and clearly Riddle does too. Which means, for now, Harry isn’t in any danger from this- whatever Riddle is.

“I’ve never heard of something like this cursed diary,” Theo hears himself say, instead of replying to what Riddle had said.

Riddle cocks his head, smiling. “It was extremely rare, and extremely difficult to destroy. That’s all I know about it.”

“Fascinating,” Theo says. He doesn’t believe it, but he can look into what it might have been later. For now, he sticks his hand out.

Riddle’s grin widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The older boy grabs his hand (tighter than perhaps necessary), and shakes once.

“Theo,” Theo says.

“Tom,” Tom replies.

“You’ll have to tell me more about this diary,” Theo says, dropping Tom’s hand and resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his shirt. “If you find out more about it, I mean. I would be incredibly interested in learning all about it.”

“Yes,” Tom says, arching an eyebrow. “You strike me as that sort. Perhaps we can discuss what I do know about it. On a later date.”

Then, Tom clears his throat and straightens up. “As for now, however, I do believe I’m going to try and get settled into my dorm. It was nice to meet you, Ron, Theo.”

“Likewise,” Ron says. Theo just hums.

Ron waits until Tom is gone, at least.

“What the hell?” Ron asks, turning to look at Theo, freckled arms crossed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Theo says, waving him off.

“You don’t get to brush me off like that,” Ron says, bristling.

“I can do what I please,” Theo snaps, then hesitates. He needs to tell Ron something. Otherwise he’ll never hear the end of it- or worse, Ron will ask Hermione or Daphne or Blaise, and then this whole thing will turn into an even bigger convoluted mess.

“I just-” Theo starts. “I lied, just then. I have heard my father speaking about a Riddle that he knew, once upon a time. The things I heard about him put me on edge- Tom is apparently the conniving sort. I wanted to make sure that Harry wasn’t being tricked.”

Ron sighs, deflating. “Harry does tend to trust first, ask questions later.”

“More so than any Slytherin ever would,” Theo agrees.

“Let’s go find the others,” Ron suggests, checking the time with a quick tempus. “I’ll bet they want to talk about this some more. I know I do.”

Theo nods, relieved that apparently that had been enough to satisfy Ron’s suspicion.

As they walk, Theo thinks.

Tom Riddle- definitely the Dark Lord, one way or another, then. But how? And why? He’s a sixteen year old kid- and Theo can’t think of any ritual off the top of his head that would allow for the wraith to regain his sixteen-year-old body. And the story that Tom is going with- it’s too convoluted for there not to be an element of truth to it, especially assuming that Tom has talked with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore would recognize him, Theo knows he would- which likely means Tom took some veritaserum like Harry had, or submitted to a Legilimancy scan.

If Theo was Tom, he’d opt for the potion- it’s downright impossible to lie under, and incredibly difficult to trick. Dumbledore would be inclined to trust it- and Tom wouldn’t have had to risk a Legilimancer with an unknown skill level.

Assuming there is that element of truth… then there must have been a split of some kind- one Tom Riddle going on to become Lord Voldemort, and one to stay stuck in a diary for fifty years. The only thing is that Theo has never heard of anything like that.

Although if there’s a place in the world that has the information he seeks, it’s the Nott family library. Theo will just have to wait until the summer to start on his research.

Hopefully Tom Riddle doesn’t end up killing anyone Theo particularly cares about before then.

Chapter Text

Harry’s friends are livid.

After Harry and Tom had successfully gotten the hat to sort Tom, Tom had insisted that he could find his own way down to the dungeons and that Harry should go find his friends and come clean. His friends had predictably been at their usual spot in the Library.

And then Harry had told them about Tom- and Theo had stood up and left the library without another word.

Harry tries not to feel too hurt about that as he turns to his other friends.

“Harry, you’ve done some stupid things in the past,” Daphne says, voice trembling in rage. “But this really takes the cake. We knew something was up, but we didn’t push because we trusted you-”

“We should have pushed,” Blaise says, scowling. His eyes are bright. “Of course we should have pushed.”

“You should have told us,” Hermione says, slamming her book closed. “I spent months thinking I was in danger. Months doing unnecessary research. We could have been studying.”

“I-I just wished you tr-trusted us,” Neville says sadly.

Only Ron seems to be even a little bit alright with the whole thing.

“Dick-move, mate. But now you can’t be mad at me for the car thing ever again!” Of course, the red-headed boy has been in an unshakeably good mood since Ginny had made her recovery.

In retrospect, Harry realizes, it is entirely possible that Ginny might have told her brothers the second she officially met Tom (that meeting had started rough, but Ginny had been won over easily enough once she realized this was still the Tom she knew, only without all the curse magic twisting his personality).

“I’m really, really sorry, and I do trust you I swear! But it wasn’t my secret to share,” Harry tries to explain.

His friends share a look. “I th-think we just need some time,” Neville says finally. Daphne, Blaise, and Hermione nod.

With that, the four get up and leave. Harry buries his head in his arms. He feels awful- worse than awful, even. This is almost as bad as it had been telling Remus. Maybe just as bad.

Ron pats his back commiseratingly. “They’ll come around,” he says.

“You could light them on fire, a little bit?” Merlin suggests from where she’s coiled on her own chair.

Harry looks up and gives her a flat stare.

Merlin gives a snake-y sigh. “Okay fine, you caught me: I don’t actually want you to light any of them on fire.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry mutters.

“Well,” Ron says. “I’d better go see if I can catch up to Theo.”

Harry nods glumly. “That would probably be for the best.”

Harry sits at the table for a moment, unsure of what he should do now.

“Oh, did your friends finally get sick of you, Potter?”

Harry sighs loudly, electing to thunk his head into the table instead of looking up at the (probably) smirking face of Draco Malfoy. It’s been a while since Malfoy’s tried anything, so they really were due a confrontation- only, Harry really isn’t in the mood right now.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Harry mutters.

“Or,” Malfoy continues, “did you come to your senses, finally? Realize-”

“Watch it,” Harry warns, looking up from the table.

“Realize you shouldn’t be spending your time hanging around mudbloods and traitors?”

“I think you’re just jealous,” Harry says, struggling to keep both his temper and his magic under control. “That I actually have friends instead of, of sycophants and lackeys.”

Malfoy’s face goes red. “Better sycophants and lackeys than pathetic suckups and murderous maniacs.”

Harry slams his hands on the table as he stands up, glaring daggers at Malfoy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Oh, so-o scary. Whatever. What’s next? The pathetic orphan act? Merlin, you’re just embarrass-”

Malfoy is cut off by Harry tackling the boy to the ground, fists flying.

Malfoy flails for a moment as the two roll around, but gets some good hits in after a second. Merlin is hissing delightedly from where she’s climbed up onto the table.

Malofy lands a particularly solid punch on Harry’s nose and Harry grits his teeth as the pain hits, not daring to let his magic do anything- he’s got it under tight wraps right now. Harry wavers for a millisecond before redoubling his efforts.

The fight only really lasts a second or two before Harry and Malfoy are ripped apart by a wave of magic.

Harry stares at the furious face of Madam Pince, who’s holding the two suspended about a foot in the air. Malfoy has a developing black eye and looks like he wants to personally rip Harry’s throat out. Harry’s sure he doesn’t look much better as he glares at Malfoy.

Madam Pince doesn’t say anything as she walks the two to the Library doors and chucks the two out. Harry stumbles as he lands. Malfoy lands smoothly, because of course he does. Merlin slithers up to Harry and he crouches down and scoops her up before turning back to Madam Pince.

“I’ll be writing to both of your heads of houses to recommend detention.” Malfoy opens his mouth, likely to protest, and Madam Pince silences him with a look. “You’re lucky I’m not outright banning you from the Library. Do not let this happen again.”

With that, she turns and lets the Library doors slam shut behind her, leaving Malfoy and Harry out there in the hall.

Malfoy closes his jaw with a snap and then stalks off without another word. Harry stands there, momentarily stunned.

“Holy shit, Harry! That was incredible!” Merlin hisses excitedly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Harry moans as he buries his face in his hands. “That’s not- I don’t usually- ugh.”

“You were thinking that he needed to be taken down a peg,” Merlin assures him. “And you were right.”

“It was probably a best-case scenario,” Harry decides finally, thinking back on what Malfoy had said. “I could have lit him on fire or, or worse.”

“Worse?” Merlin asks, tongue flicking confusedly.

“Theo could have still been there,” Harry says grimly. With that, he turns to make his way up to Gryffindor tower.

As far as Harry knows, his friends still need their space. In order to give them that, he sits with Tom during dinner.

“How is everything?” Harry asks, sliding in across from the older boy. “Is it how you remember?”

Tom shrugs. “It’s both the same and different. It’s weird, but I’ll get used to it.”

“Did you meet Theo and Ron? Or maybe Daphne and Blaise? Or both?” Harry asks. Okay, so he’s a bit desperate for news on his friends. Harry doesn’t think he’s very good at giving his friends space.

Tom laughs. “I met Theo and Ron. I knew Theo’s dad back when I was… back. Theo is the spitting image of him, it’s weird.”

“Er,” Harry says, a forkful of carrots freezing on its way to his mouth. “You didn’t mention that to him, did you?”

Tom laughs again. “No- I’d prefer not to advertise my situation. The official story is that I was stuck in a diary a lot less time than I actually was, remember? Not that that kept the kid from threatening me, of course.”

“Yeah, he’s like that,” Harry grumbles. Then the other thing Tom said registers. “Wait, don’t tell me you’ve talked to Dumbledore already?”

“Sure did. Say what you will about that old man: not a lot gets past him.”

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, alarmed. Between Theo and Dumbledore it’s a wonder the school is still standing.

Tom shoots Harry a warm smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, I can handle myself. I’m fine, though. We’re in the clear.”

“Impressive privacy charm!” Both Tom and Harry jump as Oliver slides into the seat next to Harry, a resigned-looking Percy following close behind.

Oliver flashes a brilliant smile at Tom, who blinks.

“Hi! I’m Oliver- Gryffindor quidditch captain. I noticed you and Harry sitting here all alone and thought I’d introduce myself- oh, you don’t mind, do you? I don’t mean to intrude.”

Tom stares at the boy for a moment, face blank. Oliver’s smile doesn’t waver: in fact, if anything it gets bigger and his eyes go a bit crinkly.

Tom blinks again and shakes his head. “Uh, sure- any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine. I’m Tom, Tom Riddle.”

“Great! Yeah, Perce has already told me all about you and your whole thing,” Oliver says conversationally, waving a hand at Tom. Tom’s eyes narrow at Percy, who looks entirely unrepentant. “So we’re free to skip all the small talk and get right to the important stuff:”

Percy and Harry give each other a commiserating look. At least Harry’s mentioned Oliver to Tom before so he knows what to expect here.

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Quidditch?”

“Quidditch!” Oliver agrees before launching into an excited recap of the school year's quidditch standings.

Harry sits back, content to watch the three sixth years get along. Or, try, anyway. Harry gets the feeling that Percy and Tom don’t necessarily like each other (maybe Percy hasn’t forgiven the whole Ginny thing?) but Oliver seems completely oblivious, pulling both Percy and Tom into the conversation whether they like it or not. It’s honestly masterful work on the boy’s part, and Harry especially enjoys seeing Tom become more and more baffled as he tries to keep up with an enthusiastic Oliver.

Harry’s friends end up seeking him out before lunch the next day, and things mostly go back to normal.

Harry introduces Tom to his Gryffindor friends and vice versa, but sits with them at their usual spot instead of intruding on Tom’s space: his older brother is super cool and seems more than happy to hang out with Harry and his friends, but Harry wants to give the older boy a chance to make friends of his own.

Fortunately, Oliver and Percy have started sitting with Tom every day. (Based on Percy’s face during meals, this is an Oliver-driven idea.) It’s an especially good thing they do, because for some reason the Slytherin sixth-years all seem to steer clear of Tom.

The general consensus the school has come to in regards to Tom and Harry looking the same is that Tom is a long lost cousin of some kind. Apparently wixen genetics are very potent, so there’s a lot of family resemblance even between cousins. Harry and Tom agree to encourage that line of thinking, since it brings up the least amount of questions.

It’s been about two weeks since the Malfoy incident in the Library when Harry gets a note from McGonagall giving him the details for his detention. Merlin originally planned on coming with, due to Harry’s terrible record with detentions in the past; but then Harry had glumly read her the note and she’d changed her mind.

Harry had originally thought the worst-case scenario was another shared detention with Malfoy in the Forest. He was wrong. Worst case scenario is what he’s sitting through right now: detention with Lockhart.

“Oh, Harry, when I heard the trouble you’d gotten into,” Lockhart says for the eighth time, shaking his head and tsking. “I just didn’t know what to think! Brawling in the Library. Shocked me to my core. You needn’t resort to scandal at this age, you know. Give it time, your fame will blossom right before your eyes.”

Harry doesn’t bother looking up from the pile of fanmail Lockhart has been having him sort. They have been at this for literal hours-it’s almost one in the morning.

Harry would genuinely prefer to face down the Dark Lord in the forbidden forest than sit through even one more minute of this. He’s hungry, tired, thirsty, his head is pounding, and Harry thinks he might be forgetting how to read.

Harry wishes he didn’t know how to read. He looks up from yet another desperate love confession in order to give his eyes a break.

Lockhart is leisurely poring over a pile of letters as well, humming and occasionally pulling out a handheld mirror to check on his hair. The professor has been in a particularly good mood since Valentine’s day, likely due to him perceiving the festivities as a grand success. Unfortunately this directly translates to Lockhart singling Harry out more than he ever has before, asking Harry to volunteer and pulling him aside to give Harry ‘helpful tips’ on managing fame.

The man has been such a pain that Harry is close to siccing Theo on him. Between Theo, Blaise, Hermione, and Daphne, Harry thinks that they could get away with murder without too much trouble.

Harry sighs tiredly and picks up a pile of letters.

“Kill…”

Harry drops the letters, blood freezing to ice in his veins. Lockhart looks up in surprise at him.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asks desperately. “That voice?”

Lockhart looks at Harry quizzically. “Do you mean the pipes? To the tired mind they can certainly sound like voices. Speaking of,” Lockhart says as he checks his watch. “I ought to let you go. How time flies when one is having fun, eh?”

Harry wastes no time in escaping the detention after that. He feels wide-awake now, thanks to the adrenaline rushing through him.

Could it really just have been the pipes? Shortly after Christmas break, Hermione and Theo had explained their pipe theory. If the monster had been traveling through the pipes, it makes sense for the voice to be able to be mistaken for the sounds of plumbing.

Harry nods firmly to himself. Slytherin’s monster can’t possibly still be attacking students. For one, the diary is destroyed. For another, it’s been months since the last attack. Harry is just delirious.

But he’ll talk to the others about it tomorrow, anyway. Better safe than sorry, right?

Chapter Text

Harry’s eyes slam open. His heart is racing for some reason, and he’s drenched in sweat. Merlin unlatches from where she'd been biting his face.

"Wh-"

"You weren't waking up," Merlin explains. "I think it was another nightmare- your breathing went all shallow, too."

Harry shakes his head and goes to sit up as he heals the bite. He doesn't remember any nightmares, but that hasn't stopped them before. His brain feels fuzzy- maybe that's why he can't remember.

In fact, it feels like there’s maybe something else he can’t remember, too.

"Great," Harry says, pushing the blankets off of him and looking around. "What time is it? I..."

He trails off, staring out the window. The sun is up, and the dorm is empty. "Oh no," Harry says, before rolling out of bed. The events of last night have just hit him all at once, and he grabs tight to his suddenly flailing magic. "Merlin, why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"I wanted to let you sleep- you got in really late last night," Merlin hisses, sounding put out. "You have plenty of time before the game, still-"

"I heard the voice again," Harry cuts in, beginning to feel well and truly panicky now. He'd just about managed to convince himself that he hadn't heard it, but- well, he was exhausted. Now that he's slept, he knows what he heard. "I was going to tell the others first thing, but I slept in and now they might be in danger!"

Merlin’s tongue flickers. “You’re sure?” She asks. “Because Tom-”

“I know,” Harry says as he rushes around, getting dressed. “I don’t know what it means, or why it’s back- but none of that is important right now.” What’s important is getting down to his friends, and making sure they’re alright.

Hermione could be in serious danger.

Harry finishes getting ready in record time, and scoops Merlin up before bolting out into the common room and then beyond. He doesn’t bother pretending not to run, pushing down his magic as he does.

He makes it down to the Great Hall, skidding to a stop right in front of where his friends are gathered at the Slytherin table. He tries to even his breathing out as he looks around at them.

Daphne and Blaise are sitting next to each other, across from Ron, Theo, and Neville. Hermione is nowhere to be seen. Harry’s heart plummets right into his shoes.

“Nice of you to join us,” Daphne says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just telling you straight up this time, Harry: you have a quidditch game today. Feel free to feel nervous now,” Ron says around a mouthful of eggs, oblivious to the fact that Harry is most definitely already nervous- for a completely different reason.

“Where- is Hermione?” Harry gets out as he tries to catch his breath, desperately hoping that she’s just- just hiding somewhere, for some reason.

Blaise looks up at Harry, looking a bit concerned- likely noticing his agitated state. “She was right here,” he says. “But right before you came by, she smacked her head and ran off. Why do you-”

“I heard- the voice again- last night,” Harry gasps out. He feels a bit sick on top of feeling out of breath- why couldn’t he have made it down just a second earlier?

The reaction is instantaneous. Where his friends had looked bemused but mostly relaxed, they now look terrified.

Theo swings his legs over the bench and begins to make a break for the doors almost before Harry is even done talking, Ron and Neville not far behind.

“Library,” Daphne says. Blaise nods, and they start after the others.

Harry takes another second to catch his breath and push his magic even further down, and then goes to follow- Merlin hissing worried nonsense in his ears. Then Harry sees Tom out of the corner of his eyes, sitting all alone.

Harry is sure Oliver and Percy would be there as well, if not for the fact that there’s a quidditch game scheduled to start, and Percy is likely with Oliver down at the pitch. He would very much like to be prepping for the game as well- only, this definitely takes precedence.

Tom is staring down at the table, face blank. He looks a little pale. Harry slows to a stop. Tom doesn’t look up.

“Tom,” Harry starts. Maybe Tom might have some theories? At the very least, he should know not to go anywhere alone.

Tom blinks, then looks up at Harry. A warm smile spreads across his face. “Harry! Good luck today-”

“Tom, I heard the voice again,” Harry whispers urgently.

The smile falls. “That’s impossible,” Tom says, furrowing his brow.

“I know what I heard,” Harry says, shaking his head. “And now Hermione is missing-”

Tom’s gone very pale now.

“I’m going to look for her. You should find Percy or Oliver. Or both,” Harry continues. “Being alone is dangerous.”

Tom seems to think for a moment, and then stands up.

“I’m going to go to the Room,” Tom decides. Before Harry can protest, he says, “I’ll be careful, don’t worry. When you find Hermione, come find me and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Harry thinks about arguing, then decides against it. He’s running on something of a time-limit, and Tom can take care of himself. Harry goes to leave for the library instead.

“And Harry-” Tom starts. Harry stops.

“Be careful,” Tom says, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “Don’t- just, keep an ear out. Alright?”

Harry nods, and then he’s off. It takes him surprisingly little time to catch up with his friends- but that’s mostly due to the fact that they’ve been stopped themselves, by a tired-looking Professor McGonagall.

Harry’s heart lurches into his throat, and he thinks distantly that that’s likely where it’s going to stay for the foreseeable future. He’s all of a sudden horribly sure that, even after everything, they’re already too late.

Daphne is chewing anxiously on her braid, Blaise’s expression is grim, Neville looks close to tears, Ron is scowling, and Theo’s expression is terrifyingly blank.

“Professor,” Harry starts, desperate for information. Hermione’s been hurt, he knows it, but how hurt?

Please, please don’t let her be dead.

Harry’s chest is hurting- his magic is pushed so far down. He hardly hears it at all when McGonagall sighs and says, “you six had better come with me to the infirmary.”

“Hermione-” Daphne tries.

McGonagall nods. “Petrified,” she says.

“No,” Merlin hisses, sounding so devastated that Harry wants to cry.

He might cry anyways.

In fact, Harry feels like sitting down, right there on the floor. The world suddenly just seems so heavy. Instead he goes to numbly follow the professor in silence, trailing behind his equally quiet friends. Merlin licks his cheek, but it doesn’t help.

When they reach the Hospital Wing, Theo and Ron are the first to get to Hermione’s bedside; with Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Blaise arriving shortly thereafter.

Harry has to clamp down hard on his magic, and he honestly thinks he feels a rib crack as he does.

Daphne stifles a cry with a fist to her mouth, Blaise leans heavily on the bedside table, Neville starts crying softly, and Ron doesn’t look far behind. Theo is still blank-faced, but his fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.

Hermione is laying in the bed, stiff as a marble statue. Her hand is raised in front of her, hand closed around nothing. Her hair is loose and framing her frozen wide-eyed face. Her eyes are the worst part, glassy and unfocused. She looks dead.

Harry notes that the other petrified student is a Ravenclaw student that he doesn’t recognize, but he’s too horrified over Hermione to feel any way about that.

“They were found near the Library,” McGonagall says quietly. “I don’t suppose any of you can explain this?” She holds up a little hand-mirror. “It was found lying next to them.”

Harry shakes his head numbly. His friends do the same.

McGonagall casts a quick Patronus, then tells the shining silver cat to tell Madam Hooch to cancel the match and send the students back to their dorms. Then, she turns to Harry and his friends.

“I’ll escort you two,” McGonagall says, gesturing to Harry and Neville, “back to Gryffindor Tower. I need to address the students there anyhow. You four,” she says severely, nodding to Ron, Blaise, Daphne, and Theo, “get down to the dungeons. Professor Snape will notify me if you do not appear in a timely manner.”

Harry and Neville trail after the Professor in a dazed silence, not so much as waving goodbye to their friends.

“How did this happen?” Merlin bursts out as they walk. “I thought- Tom said the diary-”

“I know,” Harry says, shaking his head in an attempt to shake the image of Hermione lying petrified from his mind. He swallows, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. “Either there's a copy-cat running around, or the diary isn’t as destroyed as we thought it was.”

McGonagall ushers the two (plus Merlin) through the portrait hole before she follows. Harry and Neville push their way through the crowded common room, elbowing past the confused Gryffindors until they reach the far wall and turn to watch as McGonagall clears her throat and launches into an explanation of what had happened.

After she’s told the students about the second attack, she outlines a couple of new rules:

“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.”

Harry notices a pale and stony-faced Percy tugging Oliver closer and closer to the portrait hole.

McGonagall continues, “It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”

No one says anything, and McGonagall sighs heavily before turning and leaving the room. The silent crowd of students burst into chaos, each coming up with more and more outlandish theories. Harry wastes no time, snagging Neville’s arm and pulling him towards where he sees Percy and Oliver exiting the common room.

“Neville- come on, we’ve got to go find Tom,” Harry says, pulling at Neville’s arm.

Harry’s going to figure this out if it kills him- he owes Hermione that much, at least.

“H-how did this happen?” Neville asks, face bloodless. To Harry’s frustration, he’s not moving. “T-Tom said… he-he said th-the attacks were ov-over!”

“I don’t know,” Harry says desperately. “That’s why we need to talk to him. We’re going to figure this out, Nev.”

Neville finally lets himself be pulled, and Harry practically shoves the boy out the portrait hole. He’s just about to throw the invisibility cloak over his and Neville’s head when a voice stops them.

“You’re going to meet with Tom, right?”

It’s Ginny. Somehow she’s managed to slip out behind them without either of the two boys noticing. Her face is pale but she otherwise looks like a relatively healthy, still un-possessed person.

Harry nods slowly.

“I’m coming with you, then. Nice invisibility cloak, by the way,” Ginny adds, looking at it appreciatively.

“Er,” Harry says. He doesn’t really see a point in turning her away, though, so he just ends up swinging the cloak over everyone. “Stick close,” Harry whispers to the two of them.

Ginny’s face had been pale, but it goes bright red as she seems to realize just how close she is to Harry. Harry has to withhold a groan. He’d really been hoping her crush had gone away.

When they arrive at the Room, Harry checks to make sure the coast is clear, then takes the invisibility cloak off and paces in front of where the door will be.

“I need whatever room Tom is in,” Harry mutters. He might be doing it in parseltongue, but the Room doesn’t care. A door manifests and Harry wastes no time pushing it in, followed closely by Neville and Ginny.

As they enter the room, Harry realizes just how silent it is- like the room itself is holding its breath. This is particularly noteworthy, because there are definitely people in here: Blaise, Daphne, Ron, Percy, and Oliver are all on one side of the room, staring ashen-faced over where a blank-faced Theo has a grinning Tom pinned against the wall, knife pushing into ribs.

Looks like his friends hadn’t gone back to the dorms after all.

Sixteen-year old Tom has a foot and a half to two feet on thirteen-year old Theo, but anyone who knows the smaller boy knows that that isn’t going to do a thing to stop Theo from causing real damage.

As Ron sees Harry, his worried face turns into a relieved one. Besides Harry, Ginny lets out a worried gasp and Neville tugs the girl gently over to where Percy and Ron are waiting.

Harry doesn’t bother. He walks right up to Theo and stands, arms crossed.

“What’s happening here?” Harry asks. “Whatever Tom said, he’s sorry and doesn’t mean it.”

“You don’t talk for me,” Tom warns, his smile dropping as he turns to look at Harry.

Harry glares. He is not in the mood for any of this.

“Oh, because you’re handling this so well,” Harry says, after the glare doesn't have the intended effect. Tom narrows his eyes.

Theo doesn’t move an inch and Harry turns back to him. He decides to try another tactic.

“Please don’t kill my older brother,” Harry asks nicely.

“He couldn’t kill me,” Tom says, amused.

“Try me,” Theo says flatly.

“Why?” Harry asks, ready for this to be over already. He doesn’t actually know who’d win this fight, and he doesn’t especially want to find out. “Why are we killing him?”

“We’re not,” Tom reminds them.

Over on the other side of the room, Ron is comforting Ginny, who looks as alarmed as Blaise, Neville, and Daphne. Percy is watching, narrow-eyed, and Oliver looks lost.

“Prove to me you weren’t the one who petrified Hermione,” Theo says.

Oh, so that’s what this is about. Harry should’ve known- but he’s a bit distracted right now.

Unfortunately for Theo, Harry is less than interested in playing this game.

“He wasn’t,” Harry says coldly.

Tom might have been the culprit last time, but that wasn’t his fault. Harry knows it- Tom isn’t perfect, but he’s not running around trying to murder students. They are not going to waste time on this, not when the real culprit is still out there.

Theo and Tom both turn to look at him, likely caught off-guard by the chilliness in his tone.

“How can you be sure?” Percy asks from where he’s leaning against the opposite wall.

Harry turns to Tom, pushing both the anger he feels thrumming in his veins and his magic down as he does.

“Was it you?” Harry asks.

Tom laughs, although it sounds a tad strained. “No, of course not.”

Harry gestures towards him. “There you have it,” he says.

Now Percy is staring at him incredulously. “So you’re just going to take his word for it?”

“I don’t know about you,” Harry says angrily, “but in my family we stand by each other.”

Harry thinks he sees a flicker of something cross Tom’s face- it’s gone before he can put a name to it, though.

“Harry,” Theo says.

“Theo,” Harry responds, eyes narrowing.

“You’re being an idiot,” Theo says, cold fury bleeding into his otherwise flat tone.

Harry goes to tell Theo that he’s the one being stupid, but Tom cuts in before he can.

“No, Harry’s being rational,” Tom says, raising an eyebrow. Harry can’t help but wish he wouldn’t provoke Theo, who presses the knife slightly further against Tom’s ribs. It doesn’t seem to bother Tom, but it’s starting to make Harry antsy.

“Even if I could set the monster on someone, why would I?” Tom continues. “I told Dumbledore how the diary worked- I’m going to be suspect number one. I would have nothing to gain from doing this, and everything to lose.”

He’s staring straight at Theo, and Harry can’t help but think that there’s some level of Slytherin-y ‘saying something but meaning something else’ going on. He has no idea what that might be, is the only thing.

It seems to work, at least- Theo doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t stab Tom, either.

Harry decides it’s time to end this for good. The Dumbledore comment has him feeling even more anxious than before, and he wants to get things moving along. “Theo,” Harry says. “If you don’t trust him, trust me.”

There’s a long moment where nobody moves, and then Theo steps back and sheathes his knife. He turns and stalks over to the cluster of couches and chairs in the room, shouldering roughly into Harry as he passes by.

Harry just rubs his eyes as he follows his friend and goes to sit down. He thinks he feels a headache coming on- and it’s taking a lot not to think about Hermione, and how she’s not here with them. After all their hard work- no. He has other things to worry about right now.

As soon as everyone else is settled, Tom points at Ginny. “Possessed?” He asks.

Ginny shakes her head. “Nope,” she says lightly, despite the fact that she still seems rather shaken by what just happened.

“Ginny’s been acting normal,” Percy agrees.

Both him and Daphne have pulled out a parchment and quill. Harry feels a pang of sorrow as he once again thinks of Hermione in her hospital bed.

“So, why is the monster still up and about?” Ron asks, scowling. “I thought that wasn’t possible any more.”

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Tom agrees, leaning forward. “Harry destroyed the diary. I saw it happen.”

“M-maybe the monster is-is per-permanently awake now, thanks to th-the destruction of the diary,” Neville suggests.

Harry looks around the worried faces of his friends as the implications of that sinks in.

“It would have attacked again before now,” Blaise says, fingers tapping nervously on his leg. “It’s been months since the last attack.”

The group sits in silence for a minute, just thinking.

“Could there be… could there be another diary?” Daphne asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, wait,” Ron says as he turns to Tom. “Where did you get the diary last time?”

“I found it in the Room- I was interested in dark artifacts at the time, so I picked it up to investigate,” Tom says.

“So, could there be another one?” Oliver asks.

“Supposing Tom isn’t lying about the diary and how it works,” Theo interjects, “it sounds like it was a massively powerful artifact. I’d be surprised if there was another one just lying around somewhere.”

“If it was Salazar Slytherin’s it would make sense to have a couple back-ups," Harry counters. "After all, I was able to destroy it without any effort.”

Harry’s friends look at Harry incredulously, Tom and Theo especially. Oliver, Percy, and Ginny exchange a look of bafflement.

“Your definition of ‘without any effort’ is different from theirs,” Merlin reminds Harry.

“I guess it’s possible,” Tom finally says slowly. “Just unlikely.”

“I mean, is there any other explanation?” Oliver points out.

“Yes,” Theo says flatly. “Tom is lying.”

“Enough, Theo,” Harry warns, feeling another spike of irritation at his friend.

Theo settles back in a huff, glaring at Harry.

“I think Neville is right,” Ginny says. Neville shoots her a soft smile, which she returns. “I think the monster is awake and just hasn’t attacked again because it was confused, and lost.”

“I think we need to do more research,” Daphne decides.

“I think we need to do more research,” Percy says, gesturing to himself, Tom, and Oliver. “You are twelve.”

“Most of us are thirteen,” Ron grumbles.

Percy flicks Ron’s ear and Ron swats at him, scowling.

“It doesn’t hurt for the kids to research,” Tom says. Percy glares. The two turn to Oliver, who shrugs.

“As long as they follow the rules and stay out of trouble, I don’t see why research would hurt.”

Percy rolls his eyes, but the informal vote has been cast and Harry counts it as a victory. Sort of.

“What about me?” Ginny cuts in, scowling. “I don’t want to research.”

Harry nods sympathetically. It’s not that he doesn't like research, it’s just- it doesn’t feel very proactive.

“Keep an eye out,” Oliver suggests. “See if you notice any suspicious behavior from anyone. You’re our best bet for recognizing the signs, right?”

Ginny smiles and leans back, mollified.

“Watching only, Gin,” Percy says seriously. “Come right to me or Oliver if you think you’re on to someone, alright? No confrontation.”

“Right, right,” Ginny says, waving him off. “No worries there.”

Percy does not look particularly reassured.

“What do we do about Dumbledore?” Theo asks suddenly.

“We keep him updated?” Oliver says, sounding unsure.

“I don’t think that’s what Theo meant,” Harry says. “But should we tell Dumbledore? Like, about the pipes?”

“Pipes?” Percy asks.

“That’s how the monster is moving through the castle,” Blaise says.

“We th-think,” Neville adds.

“And you haven’t told Dumbledore?” Ginny asks incredulously.

“For one,” Harry says, turning to Ginny. “We don’t tell Dumbledore things as a rule. For another, we’d only known for a week or two until the diary was destroyed and we thought the whole thing was dealt with.”

“Speak for yourself,” Daphne mutters. Harry shoots the girl an apologetic grimace and she softens.

“We should tell Dumbledore,” Ron decides. “He’s an arse, but if anyone can take down Slytherin’s monster, it’s him.”

Harry winces. Tom doesn’t look too happy about the prospect either, but Ron has a point.

“We can go to Dumbledore tomorrow,” Tom allows. “We’ll research today, and meet back here tomorrow morning to decide what to tell him.”

Ron nods. “Then we go to him together, and hopefully that will be the last of it.”

Harry valiantly ignores the feeling of dread Ron’s words conjure.

Chapter Text

There’s silence for a moment, and then Daphne clears her throat.

“Alright- what do we know so far?” Daphne asks, tapping the quill against her parchment.

“Pipes,” Theo says.

Daphne nods and writes that down.

Oliver is suddenly sitting up boltright, grabbing Percy’s arm.

“That must be why Myrtle died where she did- the bathroom must have a place where the pipes let out.”

“Myrtle?” Harry asks. “What does-”

“She’s the student that died last time,” Percy says.

Harry, Ron, Daphne, Blaise, Theo, Neville, Ginny, and Tom all stare at the two.

“How-”

“We asked,” Percy says, rolling his eyes.

Harry notices Tom nod, looking appreciative. Then something strikes him.

“It doesn’t, though,” Harry says, thinking about the bathroom. “Have a place where the pipes let out, I mean.”

“Must be a secret passage,” Tom muses, then turns to face Percy and Oliver. “What did Myrtle say about how she died?”

“She doesn’t remember most of it,” Percy says.

“Just that someone, a boy, said something in a weird coded language, and that there was a big yellow circle,” Oliver says.

Tom grimaces, likely realizing that he must have been that boy.

Harry sends him a sympathetic look. Tom ignores it, and Harry frowns- is he annoyed at Harry?

“Coded language?” Daphne says, brow furrowed.

“Ah shit,” Neville says.

Everyone turns to look at him as one.

He hardly even notices, too busy looking up at the ceiling in despair.

“We are so, so stupid,” he says.

“What?” Blaise asks.

Harry would also like to know what- this is pretty out of character for Neville. Neville buries his hands in his face, then sits up straight. He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs.

“Harry- when Merlin talks to you, what does it sound like?”

Harry blinks. “It just sounds like English. But why-”

Harry sits up straight, abruptly realizing what Neville is getting at.

“It’s a snake,” Neville continues. “Slytherin’s monster is a snake, because of c-course it’s a snake.”

There’s silence for a long, long moment. Tom, Percy, Oliver, and Ginny are watching Harry and his friends, looking bemused.

"How did we miss that?" Daphne finally asks.

Harry is asking himself the same question.

"Because," Ron says, head in his hands, "it never occurred to us that Harry wasn't also hearing hissing- for all we knew, he was just somehow able to understand it."

"One conversation," Theo says. "One conversation where it came up that Harry doesn't hear hissing, he just hears English, and maybe Hermione-"

“Oh my god,” Harry says, sinking into his chair as his heart is simultaneously sinking into his stomach. “Oh my god. Hermione. She must have-”

“She must have heard it right before you showed up,” Ron says, realization dawning on his face. “Assuming the voice was saying the same sort of thing it’s been saying, she would’ve recognized it- Merlin is pretty violent, right?”

“Right,” Harry and Merlin say at the same time.

“And then,” Theo says, sounding uncharacteristically furious, “she ran off after it. Because she’s the most idiotic genius ever.”

“Fucking hell,” Ron says, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t think she ran after it,” Percy cuts in, shaking his head. “They were found in the library. She must have been trying to find a book on snake monsters, and ran into Penelope on the way there.”

Harry’s about to ask who Penelope is when he realizes she must be the other petrified person.

“Why did she have a mirror, though?” Oliver asks, brow furrowed.

“Looking around corners,” Ginny decides. “I mean, assuming the monster- the snake was slithering around the library, you wouldn’t be able to see it around those shelves. Better to lose a hand then a head, right?”

Harry and the others exchange queasy looks. Hermione being petrified is awful, but not nearly as bad as a headless Hermione.

“Well,” Blaise says. “What sort of snake petrifies people?”

No one seems to have an answer.

“If Hermione didn’t know off the top of her head then none of us are going to either,” Ron says.

Theo nods in agreement.

“Any ideas?” Harry asks, turning to Merlin.

Merlin flickers her tongue and shakes her head. “I just can’t believe I haven’t heard it yet.”

Harry frowns. That’s a good point.

“Merlin hasn’t heard the voice,” Harry says.

The room falls quiet again as everyone thinks.

“Well, either it’s not a snake at all,” Tom says, “or Merlin’s just been in the wrong place at the wrong time all year. Has she been with you at all when you heard the voice?”

Harry thinks back.

“Once, I think,” he says, “but she was asleep in her satchel.”

“There you have it,” Tom says, waving a dismissive hand towards Harry. “Probably just bad luck. We should continue operating under the assumption that it’s a snake for now, unless someone thinks of something better.”

“So is the entrance to the Chamber-” Oliver starts.

“There’s probably loads,” Ron says. “The pipes are all connected- you’d just need to get into one, and you could find your way around just about the whole school.”

“So what now,” Ginny says, folding her arms. “We find an entrance, get Harry to say the magic words-”

“That I don’t know,” Harry reminds everyone.

“And then kill the monster?” Ginny continues, ignoring Harry.

“No,” Tom, Percy, and Oliver all say at the same time.

“We still don’t know what it is or why it’s active again,” Tom continues.

“And might I remind you that you are eleven,” Percy says, glaring.

Ginny matches his glare with her own, but she backs down after a second.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Blaise says. “We’re still telling Dumbledore, and then he is going to take care of it.”

“Or die trying,” Daphne says, raising an eyebrow.

“If the monster takes Dumbledore out, then the school really should be closed down at that point,” Percy says, frowning.

“What do we tell Dumbledore?” Harry asks.

“Everything,” Oliver, Percy, and Ginny say.

The others aren’t so quick to agree, but eventually they decide that that’s for the best.

They all spend the next several hours researching- with Ginny and Neville going off to grab everyone food when the dinner bell rings. They don’t have any major breakthroughs though, and decide to call it a day around seven. Percy assures them that he’ll escort everyone back to their respective dorms.

Harry elects to stay behind to talk to Tom. The older boy has seemed annoyed at Harry all day. Percy seems uncomfortable with this idea, but Harry reassures him by telling him that he’ll just sleep in the Room- no escorting required.

“You need to let me handle myself,” Tom says after everyone leaves.

Harry doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until he remembers the scene he, Neville, Ginny, and Merlin had walked in on.

“Well, you need to let me handle Theo,” Harry counters.

“If you let me remind him of his place just once, he won’t be a problem anymore. Let me handle myself.”

Harry stares at Tom, temper flaring. “What did you just say?”

Tom’s red eyes are flashing with rage and he looks like he’s struggling to calm down. Harry can wait, though- he knows Tom well enough by now that Harry knows how to handle the occasional bout of anger. Exactly as Harry had anticipated, eventually Tom lets out a sigh and slumps down in his seat.

“I apologize. I had gotten used to speaking ‘old pureblood’ when I was in Slytherin back in the forties and fell back into that. I forgot that Theo is your friend, and not your follower.”

“Don’t forget again,” Harry says. “We’re all equals here.”

Tom looks like he wants to argue some more, but restrains himself. Harry nods firmly and stands up to leave.

“Are you just going to stay here for the night?”

“Yes,” Tom says, rather shortly.

Harry sighs and goes to open the door to leave, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“I see you’ve discovered the marvels of the Come-And-Go-Room,” Dumbledore says lightly. “Hogwarts truly is a wonder, yes?”

As Harry grabs tightly to his magic he idly wonders how much trouble he’d get into for slamming a door on the Headmaster’s face. A lot, right?

Harry is so focused on keeping hold of his magic that he doesn’t put up even a modicum of a fight as Dumbledore pushes past him and into the room beyond. Tom is standing up, looking relaxed as ever. Harry doesn’t buy it for a second, and he doesn’t think Dumbledore does, either.

“Hello, Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore says. “Would you mind coming to my office? We need to have another conversation.” He frames it as a request but only a fool would believe it’s anything other than a command.

“Of course,” Tom says.

“I’m coming too,” Harry says.

Dumbledore turns to him. “My boy, I’m sure you can understand that this is not a conversation you need to sit in on.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Tom says.

Harry looks at Dumbledore, ignoring his brother. “No, I don’t understand. This is about the attack, right? Well, I think that you need both of us there. We might be able to figure out what’s going on.”

Dumbledore looks like he’s about to tell Harry to go back to his dorm, so he pulls out his last resort: “in fact, maybe we should even call Remus! Right? This is serious-sounding, I think the whole family should be around.”

Harry can see Dumbledore switching gears. “I see you won’t be swayed. Very well, you may sit in. Assuming it’s alright with Mister Riddle?”

Tom hesitates for a fraction of a second before he nods.

“Shall we be off? Lead the way, Headmaster,” Tom says as he walks over to where Harry and Merlin are.

As the walk, Harry holds tightly to Merlin, who periodically licks his cheek comfortingly.

“Is Tom going to be expelled?” Merlin hisses.

“I don’t know,” Harry responds. “I hope not. But if he is, we’ll get it overturned when we catch the monster and the person releasing it on people.”

Harry tries not to think about how hard it is to get an expulsion overturned. When Tom had told Harry about how the diary had framed Hagrid; Harry had excitedly dragged the boy down to Hagrid’s hut, made his brother apologize, reintroduced the two, and then tried to get Hagrid to file some sort of complaint with the ministry.

Hagrid (who was a bit overwhelmed at that point and inexplicably holding a couple dead roosters) told Harry that he didn’t actually want to get un-expelled, but even if he did he didn’t think it was possible.

At that point a disappointed Harry had sulked, while Tom asked politely about the chickens. Apparently Hogwarts is having a real fox problem this year.

Harry is broken out of his reverie as Dumbledore stops in front of the gargoyle statue and gives it the password. It’s still Lemon Drop. Harry thinks they really ought to change it once in a while- or maybe it’s a yearly thing?

Harry, Merlin, Tom, and Dumbledore all walk in silence into the office. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjures a new chair and gestures for the two to sit as he takes his own seat behind his desk.

Fawkes is at his perch, and looks resplendent- it’s the first time Harry is seeing the phoenix as an adult; as when Harry and Tom had broken into the office to get Tom sorted, Fawkes had been nowhere to be found.

Harry tears his eyes away from the bird as Dumbledore clears his throat.

“As I’m sure you are well aware,” he starts. “There has somehow been another attack- despite your assurance that there would be no more.”

“Yes,” Tom says. “I am as stumped as you are as to how.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” Dumbledore says.

“I’d be willing to submit to veritaserum again,” Tom says easily.

“Wait, again?” Harry asks, turning to Tom. “You had to do it too?”

Harry sees Tom’s fists clench and unclench a couple times under the desk. His face stays otherwise warm and open, however as he inclines his head in an affirmative.

Dumbledore inclines his head as he goes to open a drawer in his desk. “Very well. It just so happens that I have some here, as well as its antidote.”

Harry could be imagining it, but he thinks that Tom’s expression goes a bit wooden. Harry tugs his magic closer to his chest. Tom had seemed alright enough with what’s happening, but- well, Harry gets it. The only reason he’d been comfortable with the potion at all is because Snape was administering it.

But Dumbledore wouldn’t give Tom a potion he didn’t agree to taking, right? Not with Harry right here. Harry swallows- logically he gets that, but his stomach is flipping over and over again. He doesn’t want this to be happening- but he doesn’t think he can stop it.

Tom seems to pick up on Harry’s rising panic, because he turns to Harry. “It’s going to be alright,” Tom says.

Harry nods, clutching Merlin close to him.

Dumbledore pauses in preparing the potion, an odd look on his face. Then he resumes, withdrawing what seems to be three drops from the potion using a pipette.

“Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore says, holding the pipette up.

“Hang on,” Harry says. “What are you going to ask him?”

Dumbledore goes to respond, but Tom says, “I have nothing to fear from the potion. Let’s just get this over with.”

After that, Harry can only sit and watch as Dumbledore gives Tom the potion, and Tom’s expression goes lax.

“What is your name?” Dumbledore asks, hands clasped in front of him on his desk and expression grave.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Tom says in a monotone voice. Harry has to suppress a shudder, as well as push his magic even further down in his chest.

There’s a pause. Then, Dumbledore asks, “have you opened the Chamber once more?”

“No,” Tom says.

“Did you have anything to do with the attack behind Miss Granger and Miss Clearwater’s petrification?”

“No,” Tom says.

“Are you in any way fighting the potion?”

“No,” Tom says. Dumbledore’s eyes narrow.

“What are you hi-”

The Floo chimes, cutting Dumbledore off. Harry and Dumbledore turn to look at it as one, Harry feeling suddenly so relieved he thinks he could cry.

“Now’s your chance,” Merlin hisses, sounding furious. “Light him on fire.”

Harry ignores her, although it takes more effort than he thought it would to not do exactly that. It’d practically be self-defense at this point, right?

The Headmaster gets up to peer into the flames. “Yes?” He asks.

“Hello Albus,” says a nasally voice. Harry doesn’t recognize it. “So sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but we, ah, have some things to discuss. May I come through?”

“Of course, Minister,” Dumbledore says politely. “Give me one moment, please.”

“Take your time,” the voice says.

Dumbledore turns back to Harry and Tom. He seems to war with himself a moment before waving his hand and levitating the antidote over to Tom, administering it. Tom blinks, then clears his throat.

“Go back to your dorms,” Dumbledore says. “We’ll go over what you think you know about the monster tomorrow.”

Tom nods and stands up, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling Harry up with him. “Of course,” he says smoothly.

“And Mister Riddle,” Dumbledore starts.

Tom looks over at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“I apologize once again for doubting you,” Dumbledore says.

Harry feels a rush of rage, but pushes both it and his magic down. He’s beginning to think that Dumbledore doesn’t believe in ‘innocent until proven guilty’ at all.

“Apology accepted,” Tom says graciously, then starts subtly pushing Harry towards the staircase.

“Harry,” Tom whispers under his breath as they move. “Do you have your cloak?”

Harry nods slightly, pulling it out of his satchel but taking care to keep it in front of him so Dumbledore won’t be able to see it.

Tom grabs it from him as they descend and in one motion shakes it out and covers the two of them (plus Merlin). He then ushers Harry forward, prompting the gargoyle statue to open up. Instead of leaving, though, they step backwards and creep back up the stairs. Tom puts a finger in front of his lips and Harry nods fervently, heart pounding. What are they doing?

Tom tugs Harry over to one side; in between a stone basin with some odd silvery liquid in it, and a spinning globe depicting the earth in magnificent detail.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Minister?” Dumbledore asks as a sweaty looking gray-haired man walks through the fireplace and into the office.

He’s wearing a purple pinstripe suit, pointed boots, and a lime-green bowler hat. Harry mimes gagging and Tom gently elbows him.

“Terrible business, Albus. One attack was bad enough- now we’re up to what, four? Something has got to be done.”

Dumbledore gestures for the man- the Minister- to sit, and he does. Dumbledore sits as well.

“What do you propose, Cornelius?” Dumbledore asks. “I can assure you that we are taking the utmost precautions.”

Cornelius takes his hat off and sets it on his lap. “Well, they obviously aren’t working. I was happy to let you handle this, Albus, but enough is enough. The Ministry is stepping in.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting we shut the school down?” Dumbledore asks, raising an eyebrow. He says it like the man had suggested killing the muggle born students himself.

“No, no- nothing so drastic as all that,” Cornelius assures Dumbledore. The man licks his lips nervously, but forges on. “I’m sure you understand- the people are demanding justice-”

“Get on with it, Cornelius,” Dumbledore says tiredly.

“The groundskeeper- the giant? We’re taking him in. Just- Just until the matter is resolved!”

Harry’s heart plummets. He shoots a pleading look at Tom, but the older boy is staring straight ahead, narrow eyed at the two men.

Dumbledore all of a sudden looks old, and tired. “It wasn’t him, Minister. Don’t do this.”

“It’s precautionary,” Cornelius says, pulling at his neckline. “And the matter has already been put to a vote. He can come with me quietly, or we can send the Aurors. Let's not make this harder than it already is.”

Dumbledore nods after a moment and goes to stand up. “No reason to draw this out. If you’ll follow me?”

Cornelius nods fervently and stands as well.

Harry holds his breath as the two men walk past them, letting it out only after the men have descended the stairs and exciting the office.

“Tom,” Harry says, turning again to the older boy. “We have to do something- they can’t take Hagrid!”

Tom’s jaw is clenched, but he shakes his head. “They can and they will. There’s nothing we can do. If Dumbledore can’t keep Hagrid out of Azkaban, no one can.”

“Azkaban?” Harry chokes out. Tom winces. “Who said anything about Azkaban?”

“Harry,” Tom says. “That’s where they’re going to take him.”

“Don’t they have, have holding cells?” Harry asks.

Tom shakes his head grimly. “Hagrid is a half-giant. The ministry won’t want him anywhere near the public, not when they think he might be dangerous.”

Harry crouches down, hands clutching his stomach.

“Harry?” Tom asks, following Harry down. “What- are you okay?”

“We can’t- Tom, we can’t let this happen!”

Tom sighs, then puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry. There is nothing we can do. But when we catch the culprit, they’ll release Hagrid. You saw Dumbledore- he doesn’t want Hagrid in Azkaban any more than either of us do.”

Harry doesn’t feel better. It must show, because Tom sighs again. “Come on. Let’s get going- we don’t want to be here when they get back.”

Harry stands up, but the relief on Tom’s face is quickly replaced with one of suspicion. “You’re going down to the hut, aren’t you.”

Harry nods resolutely.

Tom pinches the bridge of his nose. “You might be more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?”

Harry cracks a smile. Tom does not. But he does let Harry lead the way down to the grounds, where they’re just in time to see Lucius Malfoy officially suspend Dumbledore from the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Harry and everyone had collectively decided to let McGonagall know everything instead, since Dumbledore is currently out of the picture, but it takes three long days before they manage to get a meeting with her, thanks to the number of emergency meetings she’s had to attend with the Ministry and School Board.

Apparently, the School Board has voted to keep the school open until exams finish out, and then shut the school down to get someone in to try and clear out the monster.

Harry doesn’t know how to feel about this- he’s mostly annoyed that the Board doesn’t seem to care about muggle-born safety. On the other hand, he is also relieved that Theo isn’t going to have to go home too much earlier than he would have had had the school not been shut down at all.

McGonagall is disappointed at how much information they’ve been withholding, but grateful they’ve brought it to her attention now. McGonagall tightens up patrols around areas that the book Theo and Hermione had found shows that the pipes let out in, and it’s detention and fifty points loss for any student found alone in the halls and not with a teacher or within a sizable group- and without a mirror to check around corners with, since that had clearly worked for Hermione.

McGonagall also assured them that she’d have Snape and Pomfrey working on all sorts of antivenoms, and would be consulting various magizoologist as to what sorts of monsters might fit the bill. She’d also gone to talk with Myrtle herself, although Harry doubts that she found anything else out.

Harry appreciates how seriously McGonagall is taking this. He’s also going crazy. They can hardly get anything done, and meeting with the Slytherins outside of mealtimes is getting harder and harder with the tightened precautions. He’d send Merlin with messages, but considering the fact that both Mrs. Norris and Nick have been attacked, Harry isn’t taking any risks. That doesn’t keep Merlin from slipping off on her own when she feels like it.

These days, Harry and Merlin have more fights in a single day than they have had in the last seven years.

“We should think about studying for exams at some point,” Daphne says.

“Why would you even say that?” Ron asks disbelievingly.

“Daphne is right,” Percy says as he butters a roll. “Exams are no joke, and even at your age you should be taking them seriously.”

“I can’t believe we’re related,” Ron says, shaking his head. Percy shrugs.

“Harry, you’ve been studying, right?” Tom asks.

Harry freezes and Tom looks up at him, eyebrow raised.

“Er,” Harry says. “Yes?”

“You are a terrible liar,” Tom says finally.

Harry had, as promised, written to Remus after Hermione had been petrified. He’d explained everything that had happened that day, although he’d glossed over the whole Veritaserum thing. If he hadn’t, Harry thinks Dumbledore might actually be in danger of murder-by-werewolf and that’s a headache that Harry doesn’t want to deal with right now.

Remus had responded right away, saying he wanted to take Harry out of Hogwarts but that it was ultimately up to Harry. True to his word, he didn’t push the issue after Harry had told him no. All he’d done was ask for Harry to stay safe and alert, and stick with his friends and Tom. Harry said that he would.

Harry counts himself lucky- a lot of richer families that can afford private tutors and paying for at home exams have pulled their children for the year, Blaise’s mum included.

Blaise had been both furious and a little bit relieved. Harry is mostly relieved: he wishes Daphne could have gone too. He loves his friends, but those two in particular don’t just love being involved in Harry’s brand of meddling.

Other than Blaise, no Slytherin pure-blood has gone home. Harry assumes most of them are sticking around because they don’t think they are in any danger. Hell, for all Harry knows, they’re right.

They don’t feel any closer to catching the culprit. That said, Ginny has a new suspect every other day. Harry thinks she’s having more fun than anyone, tailing and then (despite Percy’s warnings) confronting each person. So far she hasn’t had any luck, but her hero-worship of Harry has at least taken a back-seat to detective-ing. In fact, she and Merlin have struck up a bit of a friendship. Harry doesn’t necessarily think this bodes well, but at least neither of them are running (or slithering) around alone in the halls.

Every day that passes weighs heavier on Harry, who can’t help but think about Hagrid all alone in Azkaban. He’d elected not to tell his friends about that part of it all, but thinks they’d probably read between the lines anyways. He did tell Remus about it, hoping the man might be able to pull some strings to get Hagrid into a better spot.

Remus wasn’t very optimistic, but promised he’d try. They’ve been exchanging letters every other day, switching between Hedwig and a couple school owls to give the birds a reprieve.

Hedwig does not appreciate this, and has been giving Harry a bit of a cold-shoulder (wing). Harry doesn’t care- Hedwig needs her rest. He couldn’t bear it if she got hurt or over-worked.

It only takes Harry a week to break out the invisibility cloak and start sneaking into the forest with it. He knows it’s dangerous, and that Remus would be disappointed, but if he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to burn down the whole school. His magic has been a little erratic lately, and Harry blames it on being cooped up.

“Hello,” Harry says softly to the thestral herd. The thestrals snort and chuff excitedly as they gather around Harry and he lets them ruffle through his hair and cloak. “How have you been? Okay, I hope? Sorry, it’s been a while.”

The thestrals don’t respond, because they can’t, but they do redouble their effort to lick the inside of Harry’s ear. Merlin is off who knows where, which will turn into another argument, so the reminder of her has Harry’s heart panging.

“Oh,” says a dreamy voice. “You again.”

“Luna!” Harry says, grabbing his magic tight and trying to calm his racing heart. “You scared me. Why are you out here? It’s after curfew.”

Luna just stares at him owlishly, blinking a couple times.

“It’s different for me,” Harry sighs. “I have an invisibility cloak.”

“Yes, I saw,” Luna agrees. Harry decides not to comment on that one.

“Come on, let me walk you back to your dorm,” Harry says as he pulls the cloak over him. Luna hesitates. “You’ll get to come under the cloak.”

Luna cocks her head, then walks over to join Harry under the cloak. They walk in silence, Harry being careful not to step on the girl’s bare feet. Harry doesn’t actually know where the tower entrance is, but thinks Luna is probably guiding them in the right direction. Probably.

Even though Luna is undeniably odd and absolutely unreliable; something about her floaty, dreamy presence quiets the part of Harry that’s been feeling claustrophobic, panicky, and irritated these last two weeks.

He hasn’t interacted with the girl much, mostly just spent time with her during quiet afternoons in the forest with the thestrals, or up in the owlery. Harry resolves then to spend more time with the girl.

Harry is sitting in the common room a couple days later when Ginny bursts in, Merlin around her shoulders. Harry groans; he does not need this right now.

“I’ve got it for sure, this time!” Ginny crows, dropping into a seat.

She practically lands on Neville, who just scoots out of the way without looking up from his potions textbook.

“Who is it?” Harry asks.

“Okay, it sounds crazy, but hear me out: the Giant Squid.”

Harry sits up straight and looks at her, and then at Merlin. “How did- how did Merlin manage to convince you of that, without you being able to understand her?”

“Oh,” Ginny says, looking down at Merlin. “I should have led with that. I can sort of understand Merlin.”

“What?” Harry and Neville exclaim at the same time.

Ginny cackles. “To be clear, I don’t actually think it’s the Giant Squid.”

Harry waves her off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can speak parseltongue?”

Ginny scoffs. “I didn’t say that. I just sort of… get the idea of what’s being said, is all.”

“Wh-why?” Neville asks, setting his book to the side. “Has it-it always been like th-that for you?”

“I reckon it was the diary. Side-effect of tangling with a Slytherin artifact,” Ginny says.

Merlin hisses in agreement, and Ginny holds out her fist for Merlin to bump her snout into. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Can T-Tom do it too?” Neville asks.

Harry sits up. “I… don’t know,” he says. “You’d think it would have come up, right? So I don’t think so. But then again, he does really seem to get Merlin.”

“I just w-wish we could go ask him,” Neville says tiredly. “I’m s-so sick of th-this isolation shit.”

“Amen,” Ginny says.

“Ginny, you were just sneaking around outside,” Harry points out, irritation flaring again.

Ginny turns to him, scowling. “So? And if you tell any of my brothers…” she warns.

Harry sighs and sinks deeper into the couch. “Whatever,” he mutters. He should go find Luna. She’s probably wandering the halls too- Harry could both make sure she’s okay and get a refreshing break from the growing stuffiness of the common room.

Merlin slithers from Ginny’s shoulders and onto Harry’s. He considers not letting her up, but decides that would be petty.

“I know we’re fighting right now,” Merlin hisses, “but I had a great idea and you should hear it.”

Harry grinds his teeth, then gives in. “What is it?”

“We’re both going stir-crazy, right?”

Harry rolls his eyes again. Obviously.

“Well, why don’t we go flying?” Merlin continues.

Harry sits up straight, heart leaping. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He wastes no time, jumping up from the couch and running to his dorm.

As he leaves, he hears Neville ask, “sh-should we be worried?” And Ginny respond:

“I don’t think so. Merlin said something about flying. I think.”

In no time at all, Harry is soaring through the sky, his invisibility cloak wrapped precariously around himself, his broom, and Merlin. Harry can’t help it: he lets out a loud whoop of delight. This is exactly what he needed.

“Hey,” Merlin hisses in his ear. She’s half in the satchel, half out, and coiled very tightly around Harry’s upper arm and shoulder.

“Yeah?” Harry hiss-yells back over the sound of the roaring wind.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says.

“Thank you,” Harry says. They do a couple loop-de-loops, then Harry says, “I’m sorry, too.”

Merlin licks the inside of his ear and he shrieks in indignation. He feels lighter than he has in days.

Classes go on mostly normally, although Lockhart is in an even better mood than before.

“Surely you heard,” Lockhart says after Seamus had asked why one Monday. “They caught the culprit! Carted him away! We have nothing to worry about.”

Neville places a cautioning hand on Harry’s arm before he can storm out of the classroom (or light the man’s hair on fire).

The next morning, Harry wakes up late. He looks around blearily, trying to figure out why. For some reason, the door and the windows seem to be glowing silver.

“What…” Harry says. He’s too tired for this. He turns to look at the other boys’ beds, and sees they’re asleep too.

“Guys- hey guys! Wake up! We’re running late!”

Seamus and Dean both wake up easily enough and start frantically getting ready but Harry has to go over and shake Neville awake. The boy had fallen asleep in his uniform, which is covered in dirt and torn in places. Neville has a shallow cut on his face, which is also covered in dirt. He has twigs and leaves sticking out of his hair.

“Nev- wake up, what happened?” Harry asks frantically.

Neville’s eyes burst open and the silver glow around the door and window disappear with a soft popping sound. Harry hadn’t realized it before, but now he can hear the ambient sounds of Hogwarts coming from outside of their dorm.

“Whazzappening?” Neville asks, rubbing his eyes.

“I think you accidentally cast a silencing charm on… the whole dorm,” Harry says.

Neville looks wide-awake now. “Oh no! Oh, I’m so s-sorry, are we late?”

“Don’t worry about it. But yes. But also, more importantly, what happened? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?”

Neville grimaces. “N-no, I just need a sh-shower.”

“Neville,” Harry says. “What. Happened.”

Neville sighs as he starts to pick leaves from his hair. “Remember how th-the spiders have been act-acting weird? Me and Ginny thought th-that might help us figure something out about th-the monster, so we found s-some st-stragglers last night and decided to… f-follow them?”

“Into the forest,” Harry clarifies.

Neville nods, and Harry groans. He’s glad Neville is becoming such good friends with Ginny, he really is. But he has a feeling they bring out the Gryffindor in each other.

“Okay, then what?”

“We followed th-them to the colony of giant spiders that live in-in the forest. I already knew that they existed be-because I’ve run into them before- don’t worry,” Neville adds hastily as he sees Harry’s expression. “They’re pretty easy to-to deal with if you can keep from being caught in th-the webs they leave laying around.”

Harry doesn’t know where to start, so he just lets Neville keep talking.

“Unfortunately, Ginny got caught, which led to-to me getting caught. We were th-then brought in front of the Spider King- Aragog, the oth-other spiders said his name was?

“W-well, he was about to kill us when I m-mentioned Hagrid. He asked us where Hagrid was, so I told him. Apparently Hagrid raised him from a b-baby sp-spider, so he’s basically like Aragog’s d-dad.

“Then me and Ginny asked him questions about why the sp-spiders were running, and he said it-it’s because they’re af-afraid of the ‘ancient monster’ in the school. At-at that point, Aragog had gotten-gotten bored and told his children to-to ea-eat us.”

Harry stares, wide-eyed.

“Then- get th-this, the car that Ron and Theo flew in-into the Whomping Willow? Rescued us. I’ve n-never understood the appeal of cars, but I do now,” Neville says happily.

Seamus and Dean run off to class and Neville gets up, groaning slightly. Harry supposes, as he reels from his godbrothers story, that he’s probably pretty sore. From all the spiders, and what-not.

“Okay, I’m t-taking that sh-shower now. Sorry about the silencing spell, I guess I got back so late that my magic decided I needed to-to sleep in.”

Harry sits back heavily as the other boy gathers up a change of clothes and heads into the bathroom. He feels a little sick.

They need to get this monster thing under control, and fast- otherwise Harry has no doubt that his friends are all going to get themselves killed.

Harry is sneaking around the halls a couple days later when he runs into Tom.

“Tom,” Harry whispers.

Tom jumps, then looks around wildly. “Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m under the cloak.”

“What are you doing out? It’s dangerous. You should go back to your dorm.”

“Well why are you wandering around?” Harry counters. “It’s just as dangerous for you!”

“No it’s not,” Tom says, laughing. “I’m nearly an adult and can do what I want. You are a twelve year old who needs to listen to his older brother- and his dad; I’m sure Remus wouldn’t be too happy with you wandering.”

Remus isn’t Harry’s dad, but Harry doesn’t bother correcting Tom. It doesn’t help that Harry doesn’t actually know what Remus counts as.

“Come on, Tom! I’m going crazy cooped up. What are you doing, maybe I can help?” Harry says.

He’s bordering on whinging and he knows it, but Harry’s seriously about to lose it. Flying helps, but it’s not a cure-all.

Tom sighs. “Fine. Meet me up at the Room and we can duel. Just this once, though.”

“Yes! Thank you, Tom. Race you there!”

“Harry, no, be careful,” Tom whispers harshly, but it’s too late: Harry is already bolting off.

Harry is already within the Room and shooting off little bolts of harmless white light as he waits for Tom. The Room is especially big and mostly empty, since Harry had asked it for a place to duel in.

Tom opens the door, already in the process of rolling his eyes. “Days like these I wish you’d been in Slytherin,” he says. “It’s like you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘careful’.”

“The Hat did consider it,” Harry says.

“I absolutely take it back,” Tom says immediately.

Then he shoots a red spell at Harry, who yelps and instinctively pushes his magic to extinguish the orange flame that’s now climbing up his pant leg.

After that, the two throw themselves into the duel. Tom causes the ground to buckle beneath Harry, who responds by floating chunks of ground up and shooting them back at Tom and on the duel goes; the room being utterly destroyed and remade. All the while the two are shooting general offensive spells at each other.

Harry gets the sense that Tom is holding back. Unfortunately, he still very handily beats Harry nine times out of ten. Of course, Harry is also technically holding back. It doesn’t make him feel much better though, since he’d prefer not to end every duel with burning his opponent into dust.

Finally they call it quits and lie down amongst the smoking rubble, breathing heavily.

It occurs to Harry that now is a great time to ask Tom something he’s been meaning to ask: “hey Tom, did you know Ginny can kind of understand Merlin?”

Tom is quiet for a moment. “Interesting,” is all he says.

“We think it might be the diary. Have you noticed anything like that?”

“Hmm. I suppose I have been able to sort of get what Merlin is conveying when she talks to you. It’s worth experimenting with- you said Hermione has been able to learn to understand some Parseltongue, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, heart panging at the thought of Hermione.

“When she wakes up, I might see if she and Merlin can teach me too- maybe the diary’s effect will make it easier for me to learn.”

“Oh, that would be cool,” Harry muses. Then he laughs. “Maybe by the time you’re fluent in Parseltongue, I’ll be able to beat you in a duel.”

“You get better every time,” Tom says. Harry groans. “No, really! That was some really creative spellwork. You still need to work on your situational awareness, though.”

“I have great situational awareness,” Harry says grumpily. “It’s not my fault you keep changing the situation.”

“Harry,” Tom says, sitting up. “That is quite literally all dueling is.”

“Fuck off,” Harry mutters.

“I’ll tell Remus on you,” Tom warns.

Harry snorts. “Remus wants us to swear. Says it builds character.”

Tom looks at Harry disbelievingly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Harry agrees. “Remus is the best- you’ll see.”

“Mhm,” Tom hums as he lays back on the ground. Harry smiles up at the ceiling, despite feeling a bit like he’s just managing to keep the world from crushing in on him.

Chapter Text

Ginny can’t find Merlin. This is not generally a cause for concern, except for the fact that the snake had promised to meet Ginny up for another round of detective-ing. Or, Ginny thinks so. Understanding Merlin is not a precise science, exactly. It’s mostly interpreting tones and gut-feelings.

Eventually, Ginny gives up on waiting. Either Merlin will find her, or she won’t. Ginny feels really good about this lead, and she wants to get going.

Ginny isn’t stupid, she knows the older kids mostly have her looking out for potential culprits as a distraction. They don’t want her in the way, so they set her on an impossible task. That’s why Ginny has to succeed: if she finds and stops the perpetrator, the others will have no choice but to respect her as a real member of the team.

Well, that and if Ginny saves the day, then it’s okay she was stupid enough to get caught under the diary’s spell. It will make everything worth it in the end.

Right now, Ginny has her sight set on none other than Professor Lockhart. For one, he’s been sneaking around at night. While it is possible that he’s just doing patrols like every other professor, Ginny doesn't think so: surely the professors don’t go on patrol three nights in a row.

For another, Luna had let it slip that he was a total jackass to her in class. Made fun of her in front of everyone. As far as Ginny is concerned, even if Lockhart’s not the culprit, he deserves a little stalking.

Honestly, who’d be mean to Luna? She’s so… so neat. Ginny’s thought so ever since they were both little girls.

Ginny stops in front of Lockhart’s closed office door and holds her breath. It’s now or never- she really wishes Merlin were here with her. She’s confronted over ten people by now, and it doesn’t get any less scary each time.

A part of her wonders if she should go get Percy. Then she shakes that idea off- at best, he’d humor her. No. This is something Ginny needs to do.

Ginny holds her hand up to knock on the door, then hesitates. Should she knock? Should she just open the door? Maybe he isn't even in. It is Lockhart’s free period, though (Ginny’s detective-ing had provided that particular bit of information), so he should be in there.

Ginny shakes her head, scrunching up her nose. Is she a Gryffindor or not? She takes another big breath, steels herself, opens the door, and slips inside.

“Sir, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple ques- oh.”

“Ginny, no,” Harry says. He’s standing against the wall, holding himself tight. His satchel is nowhere to be found. He looks pale and shaky, and it’s not hard to understand why:

In the middle of the room is- Ginny lets out a horrified gasp, hand going to her mouth. In the middle of the room floats a cage made out of green fire, and within is Merlin.

She’s coiled up as tight as she can go in a little ball, since the cage is far too small for her. Fortunately, Merlin’s suspended as well so she isn’t actually touching any of the flames. She isn’t saying anything, but her tongue is flickering frantically.

To top it all off, standing in front of his desk, is Lockhart. He’s grinning crazedly, and his wand is out and pointed directly at Ginny. She wastes no more time in turning around and going for the door, but with a flick of his wrist the door locks.

“None of that, Miss Weasley,” the Professor starts. Then he clicks his tongue disappointedly. “Shame. Didn’t your mother ever teach you the merits of knocking?”

“It was you,” Ginny says, turning back around to face the professor despite her racing heart. “You’re the one who’s been setting the monster on students.”

Lockhart laughs. “Got it in one, Miss Weasley. You always were a bright student. Unfortunately now you are what we, in the business, like to call a ‘loose end’. With that he raises his wand, points it right at Ginny, and says, “Avada-”

“Wait!” Harry yells.

Lockhart turns to him, eyebrow raised. The green cage constricts further, and Merlin lets out a hiss.

“Wait,” Harry repeats. He’s gone so pale he looks translucent, and Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if he was about to faint.

Despite this, he still walks forward- placing himself directly in front of Ginny. His back is straight and his jaw is clenched in determination. Ginny would appreciate the gesture a lot more if she didn’t think they were both about to die horrible deaths.

“If you kill her, I’ll kill you,” Harry says quietly.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, and all at once Ginny knows one thing for sure: Harry is not bluffing.

Lockhart throws his head back and laughs, then raises his wand again. “Out of the way, Mister Potter.”

Harry narrows his eyes and Ginny holds her breath. Just then, a horrible hissing sound emanates from over near Lockhart, and he freezes, head cocked. Harry has gone horribly, horribly still and Ginny’s stomach swoops unpleasantly.

She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but that hissing sure sounded a lot like someone saying the word, “collateral.”

“Very well,” Lockhart mutters, then looks back up to Ginny. “Give me your wand, then.”

Ginny does as he says, glaring all the while. Lockhart locks the wand in his desk (likely next to Harry’s wand and satchel), then jerks his head in the direction of the door.

“Best be off, yes? If either of you try anything, the snake dies.” As if to emphasize his point, the cage shrinks once more and Harry flinches as Merlin lets out a low hiss of alarm.

With that, Lockhart gestures for them to get going. As they walk through the halls, Ginny desperately hopes for someone, anyone to come across them.

Of course, then she realizes that there’s no way Lockhart hasn’t cast some kind of notice-me-not on them. Ginny wants to ask Harry what’s going on, but doesn’t. She can’t risk Merlin.

Lockhart stops them in front of a familiar looking wall- with a jolt, Ginny realizes that this is where the first message about the Chamber had appeared. Where she had written the first message. Lockhart waves his wand and a bucket of red paint (Ginny hopes it’s paint) appears.

Lockhart gestures towards the bucket as he looks at Harry. “Start writing. Just like I told you, although I would change the pronoun to ‘their’- musn’t forget Miss Weasley, eh?”

Harry stares at the bucket, jaw clenched. His eyes are bright with rage, but he takes a halting step towards the bucket and dips a couple fingers in and steps up to the wall. Harry’s hands are shaky, but he gets through the message well enough:

THEIR SKELETONS WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.

Ginny does not particularly like the implications of that.

“With me now, with me,” Lockhart says, gesturing for the two to walk ahead of him.

For a wild and hopeful moment Ginny thinks Harry might be able to use the remaining paint on his fingers to leave behind a trail of sorts, but with a wave of Lockhart’s wand the paint on Harry’s hands and the bucket itself disappears.

Lockhart pushes the two of them into the out-of-order bathroom that Ginny recognizes as the one she’d kept ending up in or near before she’d managed to flush the diary. The one with Myrtle. Looks like they’d been right about the entrance (or entrances) after all- not that that helps anything now.

Lockhart steps up in front of one of the sinks and Ginny suppresses a shiver as the hissing starts up again- it sounds like it’s coming from Lockhart, but he’s not the one talking.

Ginny watches in amazement and dread as the sink slides down into the floor quietly, revealing a dark damp pipe that someone could easily fit inside of.

Lockhart jerks his head. “Ladies first,” he says.

Ginny would love nothing more than to kick the man in the shins, and then tear his eyes out while he’s distracted, but instead she thinks of Merlin in the fiery cage and steps forward.

Ginny would genuinely prefer death-by-gravity then having the man push her, so she makes a point not to hesitate when she reaches the precipice. She just jumps.

Ginny hears Harry gasp in horror as she plummets, so she does the only thing she can think of to let him know she hasn’t plummeted to her doom: as she slides down the slimy pipe, she lets out a whoop.

Hopefully that’s what Harry hears it as, anyways. It sounds suspiciously like a scream, even to Ginny’s own ears.

The pipe lets out and Ginny stumbles a bit as it deposits her into a big stone tunnel littered with little animal bones. She barely manages to skip out of the way of Harry, who stumbles just as much as she had.

Ginny automatically reaches for him to help keep him stable, and he shoots her a grateful look as she grabs on to his shoulders. He’s covered in dirt and grime from the pipe and Ginny is sure she doesn’t look much better.

“Ginny, I am so, so sorry,” Harry whispers, blinking furiously.

He reaches up to where she’s still grabbing his shoulder and grabs her hand. Ginny opens her mouth to respond, but by then Lockhart has already climbed from the pipe.

With a wave of his wand, Lockhart’s spotless. Ginny manages not to roll her eyes, but just barely. What a pompous ass.

“Get going, we have a ways yet,” Lockhart says as he shoots a couple floating green lights out of his wand.

The lights float alongside the man, and cast the tunnel in an eerie light. The shadows on the walls look a bit like huge skeletal hands, and abruptly Ginny feels six years old again: worried about the monsters under the bed coming to end her life as easily as snuffing out a candle.

Harry glowers at the man, but does as he says, pulling Ginny alongside him. He hasn’t let go of her hand.

How odd to think that the Ginny of a couple hours ago would be turned into a flustered mess at just the idea of this. Now, though, it’s just reassuring- they may be walking to their deaths, but at least they aren’t walking alone. Ginny squeezes his hand, and Harry squeezes back.

They walk in silence, Ginny trying in vain to slow her racing heart. She tries to muster up some courage in the face of death, but right now she just wants a hug from her mum.

At that thought, a tear slips out and falls down her face. After that, there’s no stopping the water-works. However, the thought of Merlin has her muffling her sobs with her free hand- how horrible would it be if Harry’s familiar died just because Ginny couldn’t keep it together?

Harry squeezes her hand again. He isn’t crying- Ginny wonders how many times someone has to face their impending doom before the novelty wears off.

Harry stops suddenly and as Ginny sees what’s stopped him, she freezes too, shocked out of her crying-

“Come on, come on!” Lockhart says as he picks his way around what looks to be a massive snake. “We don’t have all day, you know!”

Ginny’s heart restarts as Harry lets out a shaky sigh and whispers, “it’s just some shed skin. Come on.”

Ginny looks at the snake-skin with wide-eyes as they pass by. She’d been anticipating a snake monster, but this- this is ridiculous. The skin is an emerald green, and it’s easily fifty feet long- bigger than most dragons, even.

That just makes her think of Charlie, then Bill, then her other brothers and all of a sudden Ginny is crying again. Harry must think she’s so pathetic- she darts a glance at him and sees him hurriedly wipe away a stray tear with his free arm.

Maybe not, then. Maybe he’s just a scared twelve-year old boy.

“Come now, don’t cry.” Lockhart says, shooting one of his typical smiles at the two as they continue to walk. “You two are going to go down in history! If you’re nice, I might even write in a couple heroic moments for the two of you. How does that sound, eh? Sacrificing your lives to save mine?”

Ginny levels the most venomous glare she can at the man.

He just clicks his tongue and shakes his head sadly. “You just lost ‘hero’ privileges, Miss Weasley.”

For some reason, Ginny can’t particularly bring herself to care.

“Here we are,” Lockhart says as he stops them in front of a giant circular door. The door is framed by two giant stone snakes, emerald eyes glinting wildly in the green light.

Harry squeezes Ginny’s hand tightly as the hissing starts up again. Ginny doesn’t dare ask what the hissing is saying- if she had to guess, though, she’d say it’s just a pretentious way of asking the door to open.

Lockhart ushers the two through to a dimly-lit cavernous chamber. The floating green lights detach themselves from where they’d been hovering by Lockhart and shoot to position themselves above multiple wall-sconces. This triggers an enchantment that further lights up the room.

The room is covered in more of the dirt and grime that has been coating everything up to this point, but even through all that Ginny can tell that the place is an architectural wonder: with statues, columns, and intricately carved marble engravings everywhere. At the far end of the room is a massive statue of a long-bearded man.

“Hm, yes,” Lockhart says as he shepherds the two towards the statue. “This will do nicely. Here, you sit… there, Miss Weasley,” he says as he points to the foot of the statute.

Feeling a bit like a statue herself, Ginny pulls her hand from Harry’s and walks stiffly over to where the man had pointed. The Professor watches impassively as she sits down, and then waves his wand.

Ginny can’t help but let out a yelp of alarm as ropes appear out of nowhere and wrap around her, rendering her immobile. Harry grimaces and Ginny shoots him a queasy smile. He doesn’t return it, and Ginny can’t really blame him.

Then, Lockhart turns to Harry. His eyes are glinting madly in the green light, and Harry squeezes his arms around himself once more. “Let’s have you go over there, Mister Potter- by that column, yes. Just back up, keep backing up, ah! Perfect!”

When Harry has fully backed up against the column, Lockhart snaps his fingers. Ginny watches in horror as a couple of the stone snake engravings wriggle to life; detach from the column; and wrap around Harry’s arms, torso, and neck before going inanimate once more: effectively locking Harry to the column.

Harry takes a couple gulping breaths, but otherwise doesn’t struggle. Ginny would be impressed with his stoicism if she wasn’t so terrified.

“Now, to begin the ritual,” Lockhart says, grinning widely. The mysterious hissing starts up again, and Ginny feels more helpless than she’s ever felt before in her entire life.

Chapter Text

Percy doesn’t like Tom. Everyone else seems to like him just fine, but any time he says something funny, or insightful, or smiles, or anything, Percy can’t help but remember the look in the other boy’s red eyes as he choked Percy under the quidditch stands.

Percy’s spent these last few weeks watching Tom closely, and is convinced that something about the Slytherin is just… wrong. Fake.

The real Tom is somewhere under the charming, charismatic mask that he puts on. Percy just can’t figure out why he’s the only one who’s noticed. It makes him feel like he’s going crazy.

Well, except for the other sixth-year Slytherins, who avoid Tom like the plague. But because Oliver insists on hanging around Tom, the same Slytherins that avoid Tom avoid Percy too, so he can’t exactly ask them what’s going on.

That said, Percy can admit that Tom’s the best Arithmancy partner Percy could ever ask for. It’s a damn shame that Percy can’t bring himself to trust Tom, if only because they are so academically compatible. They’ve been getting 110% or more on every assignment they work on together.

“The school standards have really fallen,” Tom mutters as he ticks off another thing on his parchment. “Almost makes me miss the forties.

“By this point in the curriculum we’d already be on manipulating Arithmantic factors and the theory behind what that means- is that us actually changing the future, or is it still predetermined? Interesting stuff.” Tom sighs. “This is all just so… bland, in comparison, don’t you think?”

Tom is looking at Percy, expression (seemingly) unguarded as he waits for Percy to respond. Percy opens his mouth to do just that when:

“All students to return to their dormitories at once. All teachers to the staff room. Immediately, please.”

Percy’s heart plummets into his shoes as the other students start to mutter nervously and gather up their books and papers.

“Do you think-” Percy starts.

Tom nods grimly, red eyes glinting. “Another attack. Probably fatal, this time.”

Percy stares at Tom, then shoves his books into his bags and starts to hurry off.

“Gryffindor tower is the other way,” Tom says idly as he falls into step with Percy.

“I know where the tower is. I’m going to the staff room.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You said fatal, Tom. I have four younger siblings at school right now. Why do you think?”

Tom walks beside Percy in silence for a moment, then sighs. “Alright, then. I know a short-cut.”

With that, he grabs Percy’s arm and pulls him behind a tapestry. Percy squashes the indignation he feels: Tom is being helpful. Probably.

Tom knocks three times on a slightly discolored stone, and a passageway opens up, grating loudly as the stone wall slides down. Tom jerks his head for Percy to follow as he slips into the dusty corridor.

They half walk, half run down the passage, until Tom holds up a hand and Percy stops abruptly.

“Should be near here,” Tom whispers as he presses up against the wall, feeling for something.

Percy hears a clicking sound. “Ah. Got it,” Tom says. The wall opens up, and Tom pokes his head out before nodding and pulling Percy into the room and then pushing him bodily into a closet.

“That was… convenient,” Percy says.

Tom shrugs. “Hogwarts likes to be helpful. You just need to know how to ask for things.”

Great. Even Hogwarts likes Tom. As per usual, Percy is the odd one out.

They’d holed up in the closet just in time- just as Tom closes the door behind them (leaving it open just a crack), professors start to pour into the room. Percy tries to focus on studying the procession, and not on how cramped the closet is; or how close Tom is- he can feel the boy’s warm breath on his ear and holds back a shiver.

McGonagall is one of the last ones in. Percy notices that Lockhart seems to be missing, but no one says anything about it. Percy can’t blame them: no use looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“It’s finally happened,” McGonagall starts when everyone has settled down. Her face is very white. “The monster has taken a pair of students into the Chamber itself.”

Percy can’t see all of the professors’ reactions, but can see the three closest to their closet: Sprout clasps a hand over her mouth in horror, Flitwick sinks his head into his hands, and a still-standing Snape grips the back of a chair tightly.

“How do you know this?” Snape asks.

“The culprit left another message,” McGonagall says as she lets out a shaky breath. “Their skeletons shall lie in the chamber forever.”

Percy clutches his stomach, feeling sick. The professors look just as queasy. Besides him, Tom has gone very, very still.

“Who was taken?” Madam Hooch asks stiffly. “Do you know?”

McGonagall presses her lips together tightly and nods. “Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.”

Percy all of a sudden can’t hear anything more over the sound of ringing in his ears. He slides to the ground wide-eyed, pressing one hand over his mouth and one on his stomach, trying not to throw up.

He doesn’t know how to- he doesn’t know what to do. What should he even be feeling right now?

Wait, what do they do? Surely someone will be able to fix this- they won’t just leave them for dead. They can’t. Otherwise, what the hell was the point of all that research?

Ginny will be alright- she has to be. She can’t die, she’s his baby sister.

Percy looks up at Tom, the abrupt motion causing a tear to spill from his still unblinking eyes.

Tom is staring straight ahead, face completely blank. He’s not breathing- or, if he is, it’s so shallow that his chest isn’t moving.

“Tom?” Percy whispers hoarsely.

Outside, the professors have erupted into what sounds like a debate, so Percy isn’t too worried about being heard.

Tom doesn’t respond, doesn’t do anything at all. A sliver of light from the open closet door falls directly over his red eyes, lighting them up so that they look like burning red-hot steel.

With a jolt, Percy realizes that Tom isn’t emotionless- he never has been. No, when Tom gets that flat look on his face- he’s simply gone so far into rage that he’s come out the other, icy cold side of it.

Reeling, Percy finds himself holding his breath as much as possible as he sits by Tom. It feels like it takes years, but finally the professors finish talking and leave the room, each looking ashen and shocked.

As the last professor steps outside, Percy wastes no time in throwing the closet door open and stumbling away from the ticking-time bomb shaped like a student.

“What do we- Tom, what are we going to do?” Percy gasps, trying resolutely to ignore the alarm bells that are ringing in his head. “We have to go after them, you heard what they were saying! Dumbledore won’t get here in time!”

Tom turns smoothly to look at Percy and Percy takes an unconscious step backwards. The boy is moving almost like one of those muggle automatons that Percy’s father had been obsessed with a couple years back- his movements start and stop jerkily, but are flawlessly smooth while Tom is in motion.

“We do nothing,” Tom says.

“We do- what?” Percy asks. Tom takes a step towards him, eyes glinting dangerously. “Tom?”

Quick as a snake bite, Tom has his wand out and pointed directly at Percy.

“Tom,” Percy says desperately, hands raised automatically.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down- Percy knew that Tom was untrustworthy. Fat lot of good that did him. And now- now Ginny is going to die and it’s Percy’s fault.

“It’s not personal,” Tom says, then laughs a horrible, high-pitched laugh- it sounds nothing like it usually does, but Percy would bet money that it’s the boy’s real, unguarded laugh.

“I just can’t have you getting in the way, you see,” Tom says, smiling. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t do this,” Percy pleads.

Tom doesn’t bother with a response. He just flicks his wrist and the last thing Percy sees is a bolt of red shooting right towards his chest.

Chapter Text

Tom is out the door and stalking down the halls of Hogwarts before Percy hits the ground.

He has maybe a half of an hour to get to the Chamber entrance, open it up, and get down there before Dumbledore arrives.

Fortunately Tom just needs to get in and then let the entrance close behind him, because even if the faculty has a pretty good idea as to where the Chamber entrance is, without the parseltongue password even Dumbledore shouldn't be able to get in- not for a while, in any case. The entrance is too well-warded.

(It’s a damn good thing the others had done all that research, though- otherwise Tom wouldn’t be able to pull off already knowing where the Chamber is.)

That look of hurt betrayal in Percy’s eyes… hilarious. Especially since as far as Tom is concerned, he’d done Percy a favor: by the time he wakes up, everything will already be over. Tom feels another laugh bubbling up in his chest.

Of course, things might not end well for the youngest Weasley brat, but that’s never been Tom’s problem- he’d anticipated her death from the very beginning of this whole debacle.

The laughter dies before it can climb up and out of his throat as Tom walks down another flight of stairs. Imagine that- Harry taken to the Chamber. How did that even happen?

Tom has dueled the boy and he’s… well, there’s a lot room for improvement, but more importantly, Tom had seen the boy wandlessly, wordlessly, and effortlessly harness fiendfyre- so hot it burns white instead of red. The moment Tom had seen that, he’d known that he’d have to drastically adjust his strategy.

On second thought, that whole day had been Tom radically adjusting his strategies- ever since he’d woken up in the real world for the first time in fifty years and looked directly into the worried face of the very boy Ginny couldn’t stop going on and on and on about: Harry Potter. The savior of wixen-kind, the Boy-Who-Lived.

And he has Tom’s face.

Another burst of rage swells up. Tom doesn’t know how or why the Riddle line was continued, but he does know one thing: How dare Voldemort (that’s the only way Tom can think of the wraith, of the Tom that got to grow up) allow it to happen. Intentional or not, it’s proof that Voldemort was a mistake. A mistake that Tom now has to remedy.

A mistake that’s about to undo all the hard and unbelievably tedious work Tom has put into gaining the boy’s trust.

Tom quickens his pace.

Harry is powerful, but also stupid about other people.

(Something he’d gotten from his mother, no doubt- that’s certainly not a character flaw Tom has ever had to navigate.

Everything else Harry seemed to have gotten from his Riddle side. Looks especially. That face, the face Tom remembers catching glimpses of in dusty mirrors and cracked reflections during the worst years of his life. Sometimes Tom catches himself looking at the boy and checking him over for bruises, or signs of malnourishment.

It’s nothing more than a remnant of his own days in the orphanage, no doubt- regardless, it’s an annoying habit that Tom has to continually remind himself to drop.)

All someone would need to do to kidnap Harry is to threaten someone- anyone, really, but ideally one of his friends. That’s probably why the Ginny girl was taken too- collateral. It’s what Tom would do, anyways.

But why? Tom can think of one reason, and it’s not pretty. He’s half running at this point, getting closer and closer to the Chamber’s entrance.

“Tom!”

Tom skids to a stop and turns around, looking down.

“Merlin,” he says. This could be… difficult.

Merlin slithers up to him, tongue flickering. Tom squats, letting her climb up his arm. He needs to be careful to speak english around her- shame he didn’t think of pretending the diary turned him into a Parselmouth.

“I know you can’t understand me all the way, but you gotta help Harry! It was Lockhart.” Tom doesn’t believe that fool is truly behind this for one second, but lets the snake continue:

“He kidnapped me and put me in a cage and forced Harry into going with him and then Ginny showed up and then they left and then I panicked and then I did that weird thing where I pushed on something and then I was free and now we need to go fast! Do you know where they went? I can smell them, maybe?”

Tom blinks. Merlin is by far the oddest snake he has ever met- by product of living with Harry her whole life, he’s sure.

“I already know Harry is missing,” Tom says finally. “I’m going after him right now.”

“Great, what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.”

Tom can’t have Merlin with him. At best, she’s a liability. With that in mind, he reaches his wand up and taps her on the snout, sending a stunner through her. She goes limp.

“Stay asleep,” Tom hisses, letting some magic flow through his words- taking care to keep it gray, and not dark.

Ever since being freed by the diary, dark magic doesn’t agree with Tom. It’s been- well. Annoying. But gray magic is a fine enough substitute, and Tom knows he’ll be able to figure out the problem at some point.

He can feel the magic take effect, so he gently pulls Merlin from his shoulder and places her on the ground behind a suit of armor, coiling her up nicely. Hopefully the Parselmagic will bypass whatever magic Merlin has access to via the Stone.

Then he stands up and lets out a snort. Look at that: the message that has everyone in a tizzy. Red paint- or possibly blood. Tom cocks his head, looking the words over.

Then he realizes that the words are in Harry’s handwriting.

Tom feels the world around him slow down. He can hardly believe the audacity of Voldemort. Doesn’t he know that Harry is Tom’s? Tom isn’t running around trying to mess with Orion or Abraxas.

Tom takes a moment to wrestle his rage back under control- he needs to have at least a modicum of control if he wants to be able to get into the position where he can rip his older self into pieces.

Tom lets out a long breath, then turns around and pushes into the out-of-order bathroom, not bothering to knock. If Myrtle is in here, there’s nothing Tom can do about it now.

She’s in here. But, she’s weeping in her stall, so Tom is hoping that she won’t hear him hissing over the sound of her own cries. The Chamber entrance has sealed itself shut once more, so Tom has to wait as it opens again on his command. He’s feeling impatient- was it this slow fifty years ago? Surely not.

Myrtle definitely heard him, but apparently hearing Parseltongue just sets her off again, so Tom decides not to worry about her sticking her nose into things that aren’t her business.

It’s a shame the girl’s spirit didn’t move on- when he’d killed her, Tom truly hadn’t intended on subjecting Hogwarts to Myrtle’s moping for eternity.

A part of him wonders why she is how she is. From what he’s heard, she tends to swing wildly between extreme highs and lows, which is atypical for ghosts- who usually stick to just a few mild emotions.

He might look into it later- except he doesn’t actually care, so he probably won’t. Tom has bigger things to worry about.

At last the sink has sunk fully into the ground, revealing the pipe descending into darkness. Tom hasn’t physically been here in fifty years, and it’s disheartening to see that all his hard work in cleaning the place up has been for naught.

Tom isn’t going to dwell on that, right now. Who knows how long Harry has been down there for already: it’s entirely possible that Tom is already too late.

Tom shakes his head of that thought, and lowers himself into the dirty pipe. He’d ask for some stairs, but those take three times as long to appear, and are loud.

After Tom is deposited onto the familiar bone-littered floor of the cave, he waves his wand to simultaneously clean himself off and summon a couple floating white lights that trail behind him as he walks forward. He’s taking it slow now, stepping carefully and listening hard. Tom is keeping his eyes half-lidded, ready to slam shut at a moment’s notice.

Tom catches a glimpse of green snake-skin and closes his eyes, heart pounding. He grimaces.

Tom is not used to feeling fear while at Hogwarts, but as it turns out, the idea of an insane basilisk is a lot less fun when it’s not under Tom’s control. After a moment of silence, Tom cracks an eye open, careful to be looking down below where the basilisk's eye would be.

It’s just some shed skin- Tom lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He readjusts his grip on his wand, cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and ventures onwards.

It’s not too long before Tom arrives at the door to the Chamber. It’s still open, and Tom holds in a scoff. Idiotic. Maybe Lockhart is contagious- that would explain a lot.

Using the fact that he doesn’t need to open a loud and heavy door to his advantage, Tom slips into the room, casting a mild disillusionment charm on himself and dismissing his own lights. He sticks to the shadows, the green light of the room providing ample opportunity to slide from one shadow to another, creeping ever closer to the front of the chamber.

When he gets close enough, Tom sticks his head out from behind the column he’s hiding behind, taking in the scene before him:

Gilderoy Lockhart is in a mild state of disarray. He’s covered in chalk and has a shallow cut running up his left arm.

On the floor is a chalk circle with several runic signs- some Tom recognizes, some he does not. Tom has always found Runes to be tedious, even if it is useful- so he’s rustier on the subject then he should be.

He knows enough to know that this is absolutely a dark ritual- so dark it borders black, in fact. At least it’s not the Horcrux ritual Tom had feared- that would have been incredibly nasty, and dangerous to disrupt.

Tom sees no sign of the basilisk, which means it’s either still sleeping, or lurking somewhere close. Tom wonders idly if he should try summoning it, then dismisses that thought almost immediately.

Tom doesn’t know if he’s still considered an Heir of Slytherin, but even if he was, he’s sure that the current Lord Slytherin (wherever he is) will hold more sway over the monster than an heir would- and even if Tom was the Lord, the basilisk isn’t exactly sane. Confusing it wouldn’t do any good for anyone.

Tom looks past Lockhart to see Harry tied up to a stone column- Harry looks unhurt, but shaken. He’s very pale, and he doesn’t look like he’s breathing- or, if he is, it is very shallow. Tom puffs out his cheeks. That boy needs to calm down- he won’t be any help to Tom if he passes out.

Tom looks past Harry, and to the foot of the statue- there, the Weasley girl. Ginny. She’s tied up and shaking, tears running down her face.

Useless. Although, that is right near where the basilisk will let out. With any luck, Ginny will make a nice snack for it and give Tom time to get Harry and himself out of here.

Lockhart steps into the circle, clapping excitedly. “Alright! Let’s get this show on the road!”

Ginny flinches, and Harry looks like he’s trying to turn into stone himself. Tom narrows his eyes, looking the ritual circle over again. It seems complicated, but Tom gets the gist of it- it’s bordering soul magic, possibly a short-form possession based ritual.

Tom has no doubt that Voldemort is behind this somehow- does he hope to possess Harry? Then why did Lockhart give blood? And he’s the one in the circle, not Harry-

Ah. Shit. Tom abruptly realizes what’s about to happen, but is too late to stop it. Lockhart is already drawing his wand up, then slashing it down sharply. The man stands for a moment, looking confusedly at the circle, when he collapses to the ground as though his strings have all been cut at once.

Tom is already running- he doesn’t have a lot of time to do this. He stops in front of Harry, wand out and waving over the stone snakes. There’s a little bit of resistance, but Tom grits his teeth and pushes through to reanimate them anyways. Harry sags a little bit as they release him.

“Tom, is that you?” Harry asks. Tom’s disillusionment charm is holding, then. That’s good, being recognized by Voldemort right now would be catastrophic. “Merlin-”

“Safe,” Tom says. Harry throws himself at Tom, who forces himself to catch the boy in a hug instead of stepping backwards.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, uh,” Tom says, thrown off. “Look, Harry, we have to get out of here. We don’t have a lot of… time…”

Tom is suddenly very cognizant of the hissed laughter emanating from behind him. He whirls around, pushing Harry behind him.

He watches in mild fascinated horror as the thing that used to be Lockhart rises to its feet. It’s awful to watch, each limb moving jerkily- like a child picking up a marionette for the first time.

The puppet’s eyes are glazed over and its mouth is slack- it's wearing a… is that a circlet? How did Tom not notice that before? Must have been a pretty powerful notice-me-not.

“Burn him,” Tom says, not taking his eyes off of the puppet.“Harry, burn him.”

“I-” Harry chokes out. “I can’t, it- it won’t stop-”

Tom grits his teeth against the scream of rage that’s threatening to burst from him. What does that even mean- is Harry seriously worried about Lockhart’s safety at this point?

Why does he even bother? Tom should just leave them both to die- it’s nothing more than what they deserve. There is no point to a kill-switch with morals.

Ugh. Tom needs to focus. Morals can be trained out of a person. Tom can worry about that later- for now, the plan stays the same: get Harry out. Ginny, too, if the opportunity arises.

Speaking of, the girl has started struggling in earnest now, wriggling her way away from the statue and towards the closest column.

The puppet’s jaw clicks shut and then opens again. It repeats this a couple times, before its lips twist into a cruel smile. Despite himself, Tom feels a chill run up his spine.

“Hello, children,” the puppet says in english. “Are you going to make this easy, or difficult?”

“Depends,” Harry says, stepping out from behind Tom.

If Tom never has to see a Gryffindor again, it’ll be too soon.

“What’s in it for us?” Harry continues.

The puppet cocks its head. “I can promise a swift and painless death for the girl.”

“Not bloody likely,” Ginny mutters as she continues to make her way over to the shadows.

The puppet doesn’t seem bothered by her getting away, which doesn’t bode well for her. The puppet also doesn’t seem bothered by Harry’s appearance, which means it probably can’t see very well. Yet, at least.

Tom decides to keep the disillusionment going anyway, just in case.

“That’s not a very good deal,” Harry scoffs. “You’re not very good at this.”

“Neither of you are leaving this Chamber alive. Make peace with your death and go quietly, or I torture you all to death.”

“Even Harry?” Tom asks.

The puppet turns to look at him, cocking its head as though this is the first time it’s noticed Tom.

“You clearly need something from him, otherwise you’d just kill us all and be done with it.”

“Oh, another one. Wonderful.” The puppet waves his wand and ropes weave around Tom- he doesn’t bother dodging. As if ropes are going to do anything to stop Tom.

The important thing is that the puppet doesn’t seem to recognize Tom. In fact, Tom is becoming more and more sure it can’t even see. Not conventionally, anyways.

Then the puppet flicks his wand and Tom can only watch as his own wand flies out of his hand and into the puppet's. Tom wants to kick himself- he'd been so worried about being recognized that he'd let his guard down. This might be… bad.

“As to your question- Potter’s death will be painful regardless,” the puppet continues, pocketing Tom's wand. “Regretful, but unavoidable.”

“I wouldn’t say unavoidable,” Tom counters, mind racing. “There are plenty of possession rituals that don’t require the death of the subject. Not that you seem familiar with those,” Tom adds, nodding meaningfully at the smudged chalk circle on the floor.

That actually is one of those rituals, from what Tom can tell, so Lockhart isn’t dead- but if Harry thinks he is, then maybe he’ll have less qualms about burning the professor to death.

The puppet throws its head back and laughs, high-pitched and cruel. Tom grimaces, hoping that Harry doesn’t recognize it- Tom’s been careful to mask the sound of his laugh, but not that careful.

Harry shudders but doesn’t look betrayed, so Tom decides he’s probably in the clear.

“Silly boy,” the puppet laughs. “I’m not possessing Potter. As you can see, I already have a body- no, I’ll be taking the boy’s power for myself.”

Tom smothers the wave of rage that swells within him. Oh yes. He’s familiar with that one.

Tom doesn’t have a weak stomach, not by any stretch of the imagination, and even he would never in a million years dream of performing it- well, not on a loyal follower, anyways. And Harry isn’t just a follower, he’s a- he’s, he is an investment. Which makes the idea of him being forced to go through this ritual even worse.

“Enough stalling,” the puppet says, twirling his wand. “Have you made your decision?”

Tom sees Harry’s gaze dart over to where Ginny has now disappeared into the shadows. Then, Harry catches Tom’s eyes. Tom sighs, but nods imperceptibly.

“I’m waiting,” the puppet says, raising an eyebrow. Its fine motor control is getting better every passing moment.

Harry doesn’t bother responding. He just shoots off into the darkness, away from where Ginny is probably still struggling with those ropes.

At the same time, Tom wandlessly transfigures the ropes around him into ash and runs in a third direction, away from Harry but still angled away from where Ginny likely lays.

The puppet lets out another terrible laugh- Tom has to give it to himself. His laugh really is very off-putting.

“You choose pain, then.”

And then the puppet starts to summon the monster.

Chapter Text

Harry can feel every step he takes reverberate up through his bones and into his head, adding to the already overwhelming sound of his splashing echoing off of the tunnel walls. His chest hurts from how tight he's holding his magic in- it's like the Quirrell situation all over again.

On second thought, Harry isn't going to think about that. In fact, he's going to do his best not to think at all.

He feels as though his chest is just one mottled bruise, and it's not going to let up any time soon- not if he doesn't want Tom, Ginny, Lockhart, and himself going up in a blazing inferno half a mile under the school.

Not that Lockhart is as important to him, obviously, but- well. Harry is already a murderer and he doesn't know if he can handle being one twice-over.

Well, there are a lot of things that have happened in the last couple hours that Harry isn't sure he can handle, but once again- he's elected not to think about any of that.

As Harry runs off, he hears Tom yell, "it's a basilisk!"

Harry doesn't know what that is and almost yells back as much when-

"Don't look it in the eye, it'll kill you!"

Harry slams his eyes shut in an instant, heart stuttering in fear. It'll kill him if he looks it in the eye?

That, compared with the size of that shed skin, doesn't paint a very pretty picture.

Harry manages to run with his eyes completely shut for all of three seconds before he nearly slams himself into a ragged chunk of column lying on the ground in pieces.

Behind him, he hears the sound of something big crashing into the wall, sending rubble and dust into the air. Harry redoubles his running effort, keeping his eyes half-shut and his magic held tight.

He doesn't- he doesn't know what to do.

If only he'd realized something was off when Lockhart told him to come into his office because Merlin was hurt, if only Ginny hadn't walked into the office, if only Tom hadn't followed them down, if only Harry's magic wasn't completely useless...

Harry manages a shuddering gasp through the tightness of his chest and lungs.

Then he feels every hair on the back of his neck stand up as he hears, "prey..."

The voice of the basilisk is even worse when there's not a wall between him and it. It doesn't sound like hissing, not like a snake, but there is a low sibilant sound to it, so loud and deep it sounds almost like thunder.

"No- not prey," Harry manages to yell, praying he's speaking in parseltongue. "Friend! Heir!"

The basilisk doesn't respond for a moment, and Harry takes the opportunity to duck into a side tunnel. Everything is dark outside of the chamber, and Harry is already running half-blind.

He hopes Ginny and Tom are okay.

They have to be okay.

Tom will keep Ginny safe.

Harry stumbles to a stop, heart pounding. He's covered in sweat, and he's shaking so badly he's surprised he hasn't fallen over.

He presses up against the slimy wall, listening hard for the sound of slithering. There's nothing- and for a second, he thinks he's lost her. That, or his desperate bid to claim the heir title worked.

The only problem is that now, Harry's completely lost. He can't see very well with his eyes as closed as he's keeping them, and everything is so dark and dusty.

Harry cracks one of his eyes all the way open, deciding to risk it. If he can catch a glimpse of light, he can at least see where he is in relation to the Chamber.

When he doesn't instantly fall over dead, Harry forces another breath of air into his lungs. His ears are ringing.

He's in a tunnel, just like every other tunnel he's seen so far. The walls are, as he's already felt, covered in a sheen of slimy mold. The air is still, and everything is quiet. Harry forces himself to take another breath.

"Prey," the basilisk hisses, her nose poking out right in front of Harry, in a previously unnoticed outlet. Her long black tongue flickers.

Harry's already running in the opposite direction, eyes half closed once more.

"Not prey," Harry repeats as loud as he can, his voice cracking. This time he knows he said it in parseltongue- but still, no response. Harry tugs his magic even closer, impossibly closer, as he realizes that it's looking like it's going to be either him or the basilisk- and unless he wants to risk unleashing his magic, the basilisk has something of an advantage.

This fact is emphasized by the basilisk slamming into the wall right behind Harry, sending him jumping forward several feet and rolling into a puddle of murky water. Fortunately for Harry, he manages to roll back onto his feet and just keep running.

Unfortunately for Harry, he doesn't know how long he can keep this up. He needs to think of something, figure out a plan- but he's flying blind here, and it's getting harder and harder to think as his magic flails around in his chest.

He might be able to send his magic out- if it manifests like it did for Quirrell, his giant fire snake could be a match for the basilisk. But Harry doesn't know if it'll then go away at that point, doesn't know if it'll seek out more to burn, doesn't know if he could tell it to come back to him.

Probably he could, right? He was able to in the forest, and with Quirrell.

But then the basilisk- she'd die. And it would be Harry's fault all over again.

The basilisk lunges forward again, hissing nonsensical violence as she does, and once again narrowly misses Harry. It's almost like she's not trying to hit him at all. More like she's just trying to- to trip him up, maybe. Get him to look at her?

Maybe she's just toying with him.

"Please," Harry gasps out. "Don't do this."

He doesn't want to kill her.

But he also doesn't want to die.

Harry goes to open his mouth again to say something, anything, to try and get the basilisk to back off when-

The most beautiful melody he's ever heard starts drifting down the tunnels. He wants to stop and listen, try and see if he can figure out what it is- but he doesn't.

However, as he runs, Harry risks another look- and then his eyes are wide open as he sees none other than Fawkes, in all of his resplendent golden glory, shooting down the tunnel like a bullet.

Harry ducks out of the way as soon as he realizes where the bird is headed, squeezing his eyes shut as he does.

Sure enough, after just a couple more seconds, the basilisk is no longer hissing violent nonsense.

Now, she's screaming.

Harry blocks the noise out as best as he can, even though he knows it won't leave his head for a long, long time.

He's been trying not to think of Merlin, but-

Well, Harry feels sort of like throwing up, now.

Instead of doing that, Harry takes the opportunity to run for what he hopes is the Chamber, going down the tunnel Fawkes had flown up. The phoenix had to have made it down here somehow, right?

As he'd thought, soon the tunnel lets back out into a system of tunnels that Harry recognizes as the ones they'd walked down to get to the Chamber. And there- the Chamber itself.

Harry doesn't waste any time- he runs for the still open doorway of the Chamber, and for the light.

The room is positively covered in dust, and the sounds of explosions are echoing in the air. Harry thinks he hears voices, too- one hissed, one not. Voldemort and Tom?

That's what Harry's going to assume- which at the very least means Tom is still alive.

This is almost enough for Harry to burst into tears and then fall over right then and there. Instead, he scans the room again, this time looking for Ginny.

It's no use- the dust is thick in the air, and the areas not illuminated by the wall sconces are shrouded in deep shadow.

Regardless, Harry can't stay here- not in the open, anyways. He heads for the edge of the room instead, heart pounding ever louder in his ears.

Maybe he can get close and distract Voldemort long enough for Tom to get the upper hand?

Harry doesn't want to become a murderer again, but something about the way Tom was looking at the possessed Defense Professor, the look in his eye... well, Harry thinks Tom wouldn't mind killing someone so much.

Harry knows Tom wouldn't mind as much- he'd straight up told Harry to burn the man. Harry loves Tom, and is grateful for him, but the more he gets to know the older boy the more he thinks Tom is more like Theo or Hermione in terms of morality.

Harry reaches the far wall, and goes to follow it further into the room. But then he stops. He could be wrong but he thought he'd heard-

"Harry!"

Yes!

Heart leaping, Harry whirls around. There, crouched at the base of a nearby column, is Ginny. Her eyes are mostly shut, but one of them is cracked open and looking up at him. Her face is so pale it's hard to tell where the white dust ends and her skin begins.

"Ginny!" Harry whispers, rushing over and crouching down besides the girl. "I'm so glad you're-"

"Tom is fighting Lockhart," Ginny cuts in. "And I can't be sure but I think the monster is on its way back."

Harry's stomach swoops. That would be bad. "Fawkes probably did some damage, maybe-"

"Do you mean the bird?" Ginny asks. Harry is surprised she'd seen him, but he nods. Ginny holds something up. It looks like a ratty piece of cloth.

"He dropped this off as he flew by, do you know why?"

Harry shakes his head no, and then pauses. Something about the cloth... "wait, is that the Sorting Hat?"

Ginny nods, frowning down at it. She seems like she's thinking. Harry is all too aware of the seconds passing by, and tries hard not to feel like the seconds are counting down.

They need to get out of here- or, Ginny does. Harry isn't leaving without Tom.

Harry goes to tell Ginny just that, when he realizes she seems to have stuck the hat on her head. Which, Harry does not think that this is the time for a conversation with the thing.

"I don't think-" Harry starts, but he doesn't get a chance to finish that thought.

"Ow," Ginny says, pulling the Hat off and rubbing her head as she does. Then, to Harry's absolute astonishment, she reaches her hand into the Hat, and withdraws-

"Is that a sword?" Harry asks, disbelievingly.

Ginny shoots him a look that most definitely means, "obviously it's a sword."

Harry stares down at where it's shining in Ginny's hand. It's encrusted with rubies and its hilt is gilt in gold. The blade is long, silver, and looks wicked sharp.

"Can I," Harry says, then stops. He's being ridiculous. What is he supposed to do with a sword? Ginny looks over at him, eyebrow raised.

Inside his chest, his magic tries again to break free, and Harry shoves it down once more.

Well- okay. Better a sword than an inferno, right?

If Harry has to kill someone tonight, he's going to do it in the least risky way possible.

And, somehow, that way is a sword.

Harry holds his hand out.

Ginny hesitates. "I can heal myself," Harry lies. (On another day, maybe- but right now, if he lets his magic do even that, it'll be bursting out of him all at once.) "Neither of us can use a sword, but at least- at least I'll probably survive a one on one fight."

Ginny hesitates just a moment more, then places the hilt into his hand. Harry closes his hand around it- it's surprisingly warm.

Harry takes a breath, despite the twinging in his chest and the panic rising in his throat. Okay. He's really doing this.

"Go, Ginny- see if you can find a way out."

Ginny shakes her head once, jaw set. "No. I don't want to risk running into the monster. I'm staying right here."

There's a glint in her eye that makes Harry think she might not be doing that, that she might be heading into the fray just as he is- but Harry doesn't have the time to argue with her, and he can't try to stun her for the same reason he can't heal himself.

So instead he just sighs, and nods. Ginny relaxes.

Harry goes to stand, sword in hand. He exchanges one more grim look with Ginny, and then turns away from the column, towards the not-so-distant sound of fighting.

Harry tightens his grip on the hilt, taking a strange sort of comfort in the weight of the sword. It feels real- and not at all like it's going to burst into white hot flames.

He forces one more deep breath.

It's time for this to be over- and soon, one way or another, it will be.

Chapter Text

“It’s a basilisk! Don’t look it in the eye,” Tom yells as he runs. “It’ll kill you!”

Once again Tom is grateful for the research they’ve done with Tom’s ‘help’- he can tell Harry he just managed to figure that bit of information out, without it being too much of a stretch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom sees where Ginny is still struggling with the rope and sighs, changing directions.

The girl is pathetic now, sure. But she does have the potential to grow into a loyal follower, and Tom did decide that he’d help her if the opportunity arose. He falls to his knees beside her and grabs the ropes, turning them to dust.

“Thanks,” Ginny says as she clambers to her feet.

“Get to the entrance of the Chamber,” Tom says. “Hide, if you can. Keep your eyes closed.”

“After Potter,” the puppet hisses. Delightful- the basilisk has arrived. “Return him to me alive- kill the others if you come across them.”

The basilisk lets out a long hiss of wordless rage, and slithers off with a loud sh-sh sound that gets quiet the further away it gets- Harry must have run all the way out of the main chamber.

“On second thought,” Tom says, as he quickly casts a disillusionment spell over the girl. “Probably best to stay put.”

Ginny has gone very pale, and sinks back to the ground in a crouching position.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the puppet mocks, sounding close. Shit. Tom steps back, nods to the terrified Ginny, then turns tail and runs in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t need to worry about Harry right now- the boy can hold his own, and the basilisk is under orders not to kill him. At worst, he’ll be petrified. So instead, Tom needs to focus on the root of the issue: himself.

When he gets far enough away from the girl, Tom dismisses the silencing charm he’d stuck on himself.

Who knew- the spells he’d forced himself to learn wandless and wordless to get him through the summer bombings alive lend themselves to combat situations as well.

Tom ducks and rolls as his footfalls echo through the cavern- it’s a good thing he did, because by the sound of it, a spell had very nearly taken his head off. Tom comes to a stop directly behind one of the columns, breathing fast.

Tom pauses, head cocked. Is that… is that music? What the-

The column he’s behind explodes, and Tom decides not to worry about it as he ducks and covers his head. He transfigures the debris falling around him into ash.

“You can’t hope to stand against me,” the puppet says. It’s voice sounds close. Tom grits his teeth and throws a blasting curse in its general direction.

“Impressive,” the puppet says. “You have potential-”

Tom feels a wave of rage pulse through him.

“Let me stop you right there,” Tom says coldly, standing up and turning to face the puppet in one smooth motion. Its got its wand raised slightly, but its posture is relaxed. “I will be very clear here: you have more hope of recruiting Dumbledore to your side than you do me.”

Becoming subservient to anyone is off the table as it is, but to serve the pathetic mess that has become of him? The very idea makes Tom sick.

“Very well,” the puppet says. Quick as a whip, it shoots another spell at Tom, who twists out of the way just in time.

“You can’t possibly hope to survive this,” the puppet sighs. “Why not give in now?”

Tom lets out a snort and the puppet looks at him quizzically. “You do realize you’ve been bested by a child more than twice, now. Forgive me for not being overly worried about my odds.”

Tom shoots another blasting spell, but at the ceiling above the puppet this time. The puppet doesn’t even look up, just deflects the falling chunks of rock away from it and towards Tom, who turns them into a dense cloud of ash with a wave of his hand.

Tom uses the cover to do another silencing charm, shoot a blasting spell towards the puppet, and run behind yet another column.

“What are you going on about,” the puppet growls. It blows the dust away with a gust of wind. “That incident eleven years ago was a fluke.”

Damn, the blasting spell missed. Tom is really off his game.

Then, what the puppet had said sinks in.

Tom doesn’t know exactly how much he’s changed, but that had sounded like genuine confusion- could it be that the puppet truly doesn’t know what Tom had been alluding to? That shouldn’t be possible- unless…

“Oh, forgive me. I mistook you for Voldemort- you’re both so pathetic, it’s an easy enough mistake to make,” Tom mocks before casting the strongest disillusionment spell he can on himself and running past the puppet. It means he’s had to drop the disillusionment on the girl, but that’s the least of his concerns right now.

The puppet shoots spell after spell at him, but the disillusionment does its job and the spells each miss by a wide margin. Panting, Tom comes to a stop behind yet another column and drops the spell back down to a mild one.

Tom wipes his forehead- that had taken a lot out of him. He’s going to have to be careful. But it had also done its job: the puppet is mad, now.

“Wrong! I am the greatest Dark Lord the world has ever seen! Look at what I’ve accomplished!”

“You seem entirely unaware of your own legacy,” Tom decides, stepping out from behind the column. He sidesteps a spell.

“Let me clear it up for you: Harry Potter? Not only did he utterly destroy you eleven years ago, he did so again a year ago. It’s no fluke- you really are just that washed up.”

The puppet screams in rage and shoots an avada at Tom, who ducks just in time. Tom darts behind another pillar, heart pounding in his chest at the close call. He really needs to get his hand on a wand- blasting spells will only get you so far.

If he only had access to dark magic, none of this would even be an issue.

“I’m surprised you managed to ensnare even Lockhart,” Tom says before he casts another silencing spell and slips further into the shadows. He needs to keep the puppet talking.

“Pah,” the puppet spits. “That fool? All it took was a whisper here and there, a promise or two of glory, and the man was done for. I didn’t even have to lift a finger to get him to put me on. Months I spent, feeding him ideas and promises, and months he spent, feeding me right back.”

Tom winces. He’d hoped his suspicion had been incorrect, but no- it makes too much sense not to be true: that’s why the puppet is wearing a circlet, why it doesn’t remember last year. It’s a horcrux. Voldemort had made more than one.

He really had been that stupid.

The horcrux laughs cruelly, continuing: “In fact, it was Potter that led the man straight to me- Lockhart found the Room, managed to figure out how it worked, and then asked it for power and glory. And as it always does, the room provided.”

Tom opens his mouth to respond again when he hears it: the sound is hard to describe, but it sounds a hell of a lot like if a scream of pain was hissed out by a giant snake monster. It’s accompanied by a piercing shriek that Tom couldn’t place even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t know what Harry is doing, but it’s probably stupid, reckless, and until today thought of as impossible. And whatever it is, Harry needs to keep doing it.

The horcrux screams in rage, then hisses, “to me! To me- argh!”

Tom has taken the opportunity to bolt to where the horcrux is, launching himself at it. He has one hand squeezing the wrist of the hand holding the wand and the other on its other wrist, keeping the hand stretched far, far from Tom. The last thing Tom wants is a blasting spell to the face.

The horcrux hisses- not in parseltongue, just in anger- and staggers back.

Tom grimaces and digs his fingers into the horcrux’s wrist. The horcrux drops Lockhart’s wand, which clatters to the ground.

Unfortunately, the horcrux recovers from its apparent disbelief that Tom’s resorted to brawling and begins fighting back in earnest, tripping Tom. Tom falls, but has hooked a leg behind one of the horcrux’s and takes it down with him.

Tom hits his head hard on the ground. He’s dazed for only a second, but it’s enough for the horcrux to get a hand up to his face. Tom grits his teeth and rolls them both to the side, disrupting whatever violent spell the horcrux had been about to wandlessly cast on Tom’s head.

Tom frantically reaches into the horcrux’s pocket, grabbing blindly for the wand that had been stolen from him, but the horcrux beats him to it; grabbing the wand and holding it up to Tom’s chin. Tom whips his free arm at it, knocking the hand away. The wand goes flying, and Tom holds a hand out to summon it.

Before he can, though, the horcrux has his wrists trapped in its hands and flips them back over. Tom hits his head again and has to take another moment to shake away some fuzziness.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” the horcrux says, voice shaking in fury, “but you will learn the meaning of true pain today.”

Tom can’t hear over the roaring of rage in his ears. He’s never felt this angry in his life- it feels like his veins are aflame with it.

“Who-” Tom huffs, pushing against the horcrux’s vice-like grip on his wrists. “Who I think I am?”

The horcrux narrows its eyes and squeezes Tom’s wrists. Tom hisses in pain- he doesn’t think bones are supposed to creak like that. The horcrux smiles.

The smile falls as Tom lets out a laugh- his real laugh.

“I’ll tell you who I am,” Tom spits.

Then all at once he stops pushing against the horcrux, and it pitches forward enough for Tom to kick out and shove the horcrux off of him. Tom jumps with the horcrux, angling so he lands on top of it.

He wrenches one of his wrists out of the horcrux’s hands and grabs its face, pressing down hard. He feels the horcrux’s nose break, and it lets out a huff of pain. Good.

“My name,” Tom whispers, leaning in close. “Is Tom Riddle.”

The horcrux’s eyes widen. Then with a flash of green light, it goes still.

The circlet falls off of its head and rolls to a stop a couple feet from the body. Tom sits back, shaking out his hand. Who knew- casting a wandless and nonverbal unforgivable makes the hand tingly.

Tom surveys his work, backing off of the body. He gives it a kick. Yep. Definitely dead. Not bad for a first try.

Now if only Tom could shake the feeling that he’s forgetting something.

“Tom!” Ginny yells.

Tom whirls around, and can only watch as the basilisk rears up, mouth open and fangs dripping with venom. Its eyes thankfully seem to have been gouged out, but it is still a sixty-foot long snake with the most potent venom in the world.

Tom feels frozen. He has no time to react- but Harry does.

Harry comes out of nowhere, leaping in front of Tom and shoving him backwards. He lifts his sword- where the fuck did he get a sword- just as the basilisk bears down on the two of them. Harry’s aim is true, though, and the sword pierces the top of the basilisk’s mouth and sinks into its brain.

The basilisk lurches and for one horrible moment, Tom thinks it’s still somehow alive- but no. It stops twitching after just another moment more, and then falls dead.

“Thank you,” Tom says shakily, clutching his chest. “That was a close one, Harry.”

Harry is staring at Tom, green eyes wide. He’s covered in dust and has a bloody scrape on his face.

“Harry?” Tom says, cocking his head.

Harry wordlessly reaches a shaking and bloody hand up to his other arm, the one that had been wielding the sword. Then, the boy’s knees buckle and he sinks to the ground.

Tom follows Harry down, heart lurching unpleasantly as he sees what he’d previously missed: there, embedded in Harry’s upper arm- a six-inch long fang, glistening with blood and venom.

“Harry?” Tom says again.

He distantly registers Ginny coming up beside them- she lets out a cry, but Tom can’t bring himself to feel one way or another about that.

“Sorry,” Harry says. His eyes are glazed and unfocused. “Sorry.”

Wait.

Tom feels a hysterical laugh bubble up and out of his chest. With some effort, he swallows it back down.

What- what is happening? He can’t fail.

They need to get Harry out of there. To the, to the hospital wing. Or, there’s probably a potion for this, right? Tom doesn’t know of one, but it’s been fifty years. There’s probably an antivenom now-

Tom reaches a shaking hand to his own face. It’s wet, for some reason. He doesn’t know what’s going on. Is he bleeding?

Harry’s eyes focus on Tom. “It’s alright- don’t worry Tom. Everything will be alright.” Harry yawns and blinks sleepily. “Everything is spinning so- I’m just… I’m going to take a nap. I’m so tired. If I don’t- tell Remus I’m sorry, okay?”

“No,” Tom grits out, feeling a rush of rage that rivals what he’d felt at the horcrux.

Tom jostles the boy, a little harder than perhaps necessary. He can’t lose Harry- he’s much too valuable of an asset. And Tom had worked so hard to get the boy to trust him-

“No,” Tom says again. “Stay awake, Harry. Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

“Tom,” Ginny whispers brokenly.

Tom rounds on her, teeth bared. It’s like the girl is asking to get crucioed.

Ginny has tears pouring down her face.

“Tom,” she says again.

“What!” Tom shouts, pulling Harry’s body close.

Ginny just points. Tom turns and his blood roars in his ears as he sees none other than Dumbledore’s familiar, fluttering his wings. Fawkes cocks his head, staring quizzically at Tom.

Tom wastes no time- he tears the fang out of Harry’s arm and flings it far away. Harry cries out in pain and the sound echoes in Tom’s head right alongside the rushing blood.

“Fix this,” Tom growls through gritted teeth at the bird, holding tight to Harry’s arm. “You fix this right now. I will personally tear Dumbledore limb from limb if you don’t fucking fix this.”

Fawkes ignores Tom entirely. Instead, he looks sorrowfully down at Harry.

The bird hops forward, lowers his head down to the bloody wound, and blinks softly. Pearly tears fall from his eyes, sizzling softly as they land on Harry’s arm.

Tom holds his breath, staring as the wound goes from a sickly gray-green color, to a healthier looking yellow, then red, then closes entirely.

Harry is horribly still for a moment, then all at once color returns to his face and he takes in a big gulp of air, sitting up and pushing Tom off of him.

Tom lets out a little huff of air as he falls back on his heels, feeling lightheaded. Lightheaded and- well, almost as though he’d just been hollowed out of all his rage and then refilled with, with… some sort of feeling. An emotion that he can’t place.

Tom pushes all that to the side, and is just about to ask Harry if he’s alright when- “oh I don’t think so, you overrated hunk of metal!”

Tom turns just in time to see a furious Ginny swinging the bloodied sword down at the now suspiciously smoking circlet. Wait- is that the Sorting Hat hanging out of her pocket?

Tom is about to tell her that a sword isn’t going to do anything against that particular crown, but to his amazement it slices clean through.

Tom stares. All he can think of is that it’s a damn good thing he’d decided to save Ginny’s life too- she really will make a fine follower one day.

The chamber falls into silence.

“What was that?” Harry asks, staring at the crown. “Another artifact of Slytherin’s?”

“Must be,” Tom says tiredly.

“But then how could Voldemort possess it?”

Tom blinks. Ah, shit. What to say here…

“Oh. Well then, maybe not,” he says carefully. “I think Voldemort must have discovered the Diary, either just before or after I found it- and decided to try to replicate it. Or something.”

“Huh,” Harry says. “What a dick.”

Tom is inclined to agree.

Then, Ginny bursts into laughter, letting the sword fall to the ground with a clanging sound as her shoulders shake. After a moment Harry joins in.

Tom blinks at the two children: they’re battered, bruised, caked in dirt and blood, and laughing so hard their sides are going to burst. Then he turns to look at the shattered circlet, the former defense professor, the giant snake, the sword, and the phoenix.

Tom doesn’t see what’s so funny. He joins in anyways.

Chapter Text

Remus grips the arms of his chair, breathing in and out. In. Out. In. Out. Over, and over again.

Remus can feel his eyes glowing. A quietly weeping Molly Weasley is sitting in front of the fireplace. Arthur is staring out the window, hand on his wife’s shoulder. Tears are dripping down his face.

Remus isn’t crying. It’s taking all he has not to rip someone’s face off- possibly his own. Minerva is looking pale, and drawn.

Hell, it’s taking all he has not to get up from his seat, find wherever it is Albus is searching, and begin to tear Hogwarts down, one brick at a time- if only to recover the- to-

No. Albus has it handled- he has to, because Remus doesn’t think he can move without bursting into tears, and that’s not an option.

Remus didn’t cry when he’d been told about James. He didn’t cry when he’d been told about Lily. He didn’t cry when he’d heard about Sirius, and Peter.

He won’t cry now.

If he allows for an emotion, it will feed Moony. This is how it’s always been. How it will always be.

It’s very, very rare for a werewolf to transform outside of a full moon.

It is not impossible.

Remus doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’d received the floo call from Minerva and came through to her office. Minutes, hours, years. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. His fingers curl into the fabric of his chair and he hears a ripping sound.

Remus closes his eyes and lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. In. Out. In-

The door flies open and Remus shoots his head up, heart leaping despite himself.

Albus strides through the door, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. Remus doesn’t bother taking the time to parse what Albus’s expression is, because he’s too busy trying to look behind the man.

Remus feels like he’s breaking into a million pieces. There’s no one else there.

Wait.

Remus stands up abruptly, shaking. Yes there is.

Harry is suddenly in his arms, invisibility cloak falling off of him.

Tom is there as well, pulling the cloak all the way off and folding it up. Ginny is rushing into her parents’ arms, who clutch at her as they all sob. In the meanwhile, Minerva stands up from her desk and gestures for Albus to sit down- which he does, a tired smile on his face.

“Harry, Harry,” Remus says, gathering the boy up and rocking him back and forth. “Harry, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay!” Harry agrees, pulling himself back. He’s grinning crookedly.

Remus stares at him for a moment, trying to convince himself that Harry really is alright. He breathes in, then out- it’s much easier now.

“Where’s Merlin?” Remus asks, feeling another spike of worry rocket through him, riling Moony up even more.

Harry’s smile falls briefly (and with it Remus’s heart falls as well). “I’m- I’m not sure. Tom said she was okay, but-”

“She came to find me to tell me that you had been taken,” Tom agrees, nodding. “I thought you’d prefer for her to stay safe, so I… stunned her. She’s currently sleeping behind the suit of armor closest to the bathroom. I should have thought to grab her as we left, but then Dumbledore was there and- I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Harry lets out a long sigh. “That’s okay,” he says. “Thank you- you were right, I wouldn’t have wanted her down there.”

Well, that doesn’t explain anything at all.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Albus cuts in.

Yeah, right.

Remus turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. His eyes must still be amber, because the man visibly pales. He thinks he hears a stifled snort from behind him- possibly from Tom.

Remus is, in all honesty, electing to mostly ignore Tom for now- Harry seems to think that Tom helped them, but Remus isn’t so sure. He wants answers, but he can’t demand them in the way he’d like to, because Tom is likely just a scared child. A decidedly mature one (thanks to trauma, likely), but a child nonetheless. And, to give him credit where credit is due, Harry is safe, so at the very least Tom didn’t hurt things. Probably.

Despite his obvious trepidation, Albus forges on: “we do need an explanation as to what has happened.”

“Don’t you know?” Minerva asks, looking confused. Remus feels similarly. After all, Albus is the one who returned them to safety- isn’t he?

Albus shakes his head. “I’d just made it to Myrtle’s bathroom before running into the children.”

Remus looks down at Harry, who looks at Tom, who looks a bit smug. Oh. Well. Maybe Tom did help them, then.

“What we need,” Molly says frostily, “is to get Poppy in here. These children are covered in blood!”

“It’s mostly the basilisk’s,” Harry says dismissively, and Remus’s heart stops.

Tom, on the other hand, definitely snorts this time.

Remus feels the abrupt need to sit down, so he does. His hand tightens on Harry’s arm.

“Minerva, if you would- my Patronus is otherwise occupied, at the moment-” Albus begins.

Remus briefly wonders what that means, but decides he has other things to worry about right now.

A pale-faced Minerva summons a Patronus with a flick of her wand. “Poppy, we need you in my office. We have some students that need… need a checkup. As soon as you can, please.”

The silver cat bounds off, and Albus summons an additional three chairs.

“Basilisk, Mister Potter?” Albus asks, eyes glittering.

Remus would also very much like to know what Harry meant by that- although, knowing Harry, he probably just meant that he found and likely killed a basilisk.

Remus is going to raise James from the dead and then kill him again. No- scratch that, Harry definitely got whatever this is from Lily.

“So,” Harry starts, then pauses. “Er. Wait. If someone were to hypothetically kill a man in self-defense, would it be… are there laws against that?”

Albus raises a bushy eyebrow, then looks over at where Tom is now sitting. Tom returns the look with an indignant glare.

Remus feels Moony perk up. It’s looking more and more like Tom wasn’t the culprit at all- and as much as Remus is disinclined to trust Tom, he does have Harry’s face. That’s pretty much all Moony needed before resolutely claiming him as part of the pack.

Although, if Tom actually killed someone in defense of Harry (and Ginny and himself), Remus thinks that Moony may have very possibly gotten it right, this time.

“I think,” Albus says slowly, “that we can… adjust the story for the aurors, if need be.”

Harry nods, satisfied, and then launches into his story:

Apparently, Lockhart had lured Harry into his office by saying that Merlin was hurt. When Harry had arrived, he’d seen that Merlin was trapped in a cage of green fire and that if Harry wanted Merlin to live, he needed to do exactly as Lockhart says. Lockhart had Harry give him his wand and satchel, and then told him that they were going to go to the Chamber- but first, Harry would need to write a message on the wall, telling the world that they had died.

Unfortunately, at this point Ginny burst in, and Lockhart decided to take her too- as collateral, Harry says.

Both him and Ginny shiver, and Molly looks murderous. Remus is sure he doesn’t look much different. Lockhart is lucky he’s already dead- or at least, Remus assumes he is. He’d better be, anyways.

At that point, Lockhart had walked them down to the Chamber, tied them up, and started preparing a ritual of some kind. He’d started it, only to fall and wake up a different man.

“He was already dead at that point,” Tom jumps in. “No more than a puppet- possessed by Voldemort.”

Molly, Arthur, Ginny, and Minerva all flinch. Remus flinches too, despite himself- although he’s not sure how Tom could possibly know that Lockhart was dead with such surety, not unless he recognized the ritual.

That, or he’s trying to convince himself, so that he doesn’t have to grapple with the fact that he killed a man.

Dumbledore narrows his eyes. “The wraith?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, probably. I don’t know for sure- by that point, I was running from the basilisk.”

“Basilisk,” Albus repeats. “And you’re sure, Mister Potter?”

Harry blinks, then turns to face Remus. “Are basilisks that rare?”

Remus doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he mostly just stares. ‘Are basilisks that rare’ indeed.

Albus ends up answering Harry: “Basilisks are so rare that they were thought to be myths. According to the legends, they kill with a single glance, their venom is a guaranteed death-sentence, they’re immortal, and their hides are impossible to penetrate.”

Remus knew all that already, but to hear it said out loud- Remus’s heart lodges itself in his throat once more and he reaches out to pat Harry’s arm again- he needs to make sure Harry is actually here, and safe.

“There is a reason none of us thought of a basilisk, even after all the petrifications, and knowing the monster was a snake,” Minerva agrees.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Maybe it wasn’t a basilisk then.”

Remus doesn’t even bother to try to hope that this is the case.

“Why do you say that, Mister Potter?” Albus asks.

Tom lets out a laugh. Remus could be imagining it, but he thinks it might sound strained.

“Because,” Tom says as everyone shifts their attention to the older boy. “Harry here managed to stab it to death, only to get an armful of fang- which he’s obviously survived. But rest assured, Harry. That was a basilisk. You are just an impossibility.”

The words ‘armful of fang’ echo in Remus’s head. Not for the first time (not by a long shot) he wishes Sirius hadn’t done what he’d done.

But this time it’s because Remus wants someone else to be able to be afraid for Harry like he is. Remus doesn’t want to keep doing it alone.

“I didn’t actually pierce its hide,” Harry points out, oblivious to Remus’s rapidly encroaching panic-attack. “And Fawkes is the only reason I survived the bite- he cried on me, remember?”

“Phoenix tears are amazing, yes,” Albus says as he strokes Fawkes fondly, “but they would not be able to heal a basilisk bite.”

“Oh,” Harry says again. “Well, I did help, I guess.”

“Help?” Molly asks, voice quavering.

“I mean, yeah,” Harry says as he turns to look at the woman. “The tears burnt the venom out from one end, and I burnt it out from the other.”

Remus wonders numbly how resistant Tom, Harry, and Merlin would be to the idea of a life in America. He’s heard good things about Vermont.

“I see,” Albus says finally. “I think we’ve gotten ahead of ourselves. Let’s go back- what happened after Gilderoy was possessed?”

Harry starts telling his side of the story again: Apparently, the basilisk had been summoned and chased Harry all throughout the pipe system- fortunately, by this point, Fawkes had shown up and gouged the basilisk’s eyes out.

As Harry tells this part, Remus notices that his easy attitude (which Remus had figured was due to the fact that the events just haven’t hit him quite yet) becomes significantly strained. Remus isn’t surprised- Harry thinks of snakes as people, and he’s incredibly empathetic. Even if this particular snake wanted to harm him, seeing it in pain couldn’t have been easy.

None of this is easy. Remus lets out a little sigh- when the events do hit Harry, they’re going to hit hard. Remus is not looking forward to that.

Harry found himself back in the Chamber just in time to see Ginny pull a sword out of the Sorting Hat. She tossed it to Harry then got out of the way again. Harry managed to save Tom from the basilisk by stabbing it through the top of its mouth, which is when he was ‘bitten’.

(Remus notes that Tom seems to go a bit stiff as Harry tells this part. He can't blame him: Remus goes stiff too.)

Then things got a little fuzzy for Harry. He’d managed to hold the venom off for a little while (which is an impossible feat in and of itself), but was only able to clear it out all the way when Fawkes had cried on him.

“Why was Fawkes there?” Arthur suddenly asks. “How did he know to come?”

Albus smiles fondly at the bird, who preens smugly. “Occasionally, when a student is in dire need of Hogwarts’ protection, she will send her guardians to defend them. Hence, the phoenix and the Sorting Hat.

“Congratulations, Miss Weasley,” he adds, turning to face Ginny. “You are one of the very few who have been able to pull the sword of Gryffindor from the hat. One needs to be a true Gryffindor at heart to manage that.”

Ginny flushes bright red. “It’s not like I did much more than that,” she mutters. “The hat literally dropped into my lap.”

“Incorrect,” Tom cuts in. “You also did this.”

With that, he places two halves of what seems to have been a crown of some sort onto Minerva’s desk.

Remus narrows his eyes and leans closer, then feels his heart sink all the way into his shoes. He looks up at Minerva, who looks as horrified as he feels.

“Is that… that can’t be what I think it is?” Remus croaks, even though he already knows the answer.

“A pain in my ass?” Tom mutters.

Minerva looks a little bit like she wants to deduct points for language, but holds it in.

“That, my boy,” Albus says grimly, staring at the two pieces. “Is Ravenclaw’s Lost Diadem.”

Tom stands up from his chair. “If you will excuse me. I will be right back.”

And Albus just watches the boy leave, with an indecipherable look on his face.

The door swings shut behind Tom, and Remus makes a very abrupt decision.

He wants to stay here with Harry, and never let him out of his sight ever again. But Tom is a sixteen year old boy who’s just been through a terrifying experience which, by the sound of it, they all just barely survived. And Tom put himself into the situation, in order to save someone he (assuming he’s telling the truth) sees as a little brother.

Jesus Christ, Tom watched Harry get bit by a basilisk in order to save Tom's life.

And, apparently, Albus is just going to let him go.

Remus stands up, then turns to Harry. “I’m going to make sure he’s okay. Stay here, keep explaining what happened.”

Harry looks like he wants to protest, but then he seems to think better of it. Instead he nods once, a determined expression setting in on his face.

Then Remus turns to Minerva. “Please, please keep him safe. Send me a patronus message if I need to come back for any reason.”

She nods, a grim look on her face. Remus appreciates it- he knows that the likelihood of Harry getting into life-threatening danger while sitting in an office with four adult wixen (one of which is one of the most powerful wizards of the last century) is slim at best, but he isn’t about to risk leaving Harry alone without someone there watching out for him specifically.

“Remus, I’m sure-” Albus starts.

“Tom shouldn’t be alone right now,” Remus says. “Surely even you can see that.”

“I don’t know if he’ll appreciate-” Albus tries.

“I don’t care,” Remus says, then turns and leaves.

Chapter Text

It is not difficult to follow Tom’s path, not with how agitated Moony is.

Well, and the scorch marks help.

Remus finds Tom in a nearby abandoned classroom. He sees the boy before he hears him, because Tom seems to have set up an incredibly competent silencing charm that keeps all the noise in. Remus pauses at the doorway, unwilling to walk in without scoping out the situation first.

The classroom is one that’s never been cleared out, so there are dusty old desks and half-cleaned chalkboards littering the whole room.

Most of them are now in pieces strewn across the floor. Some of those pieces are on fire. Remus even sees a particularly sharp shard of chalkboard embedded in the stone wall, stuck in the mortar.

Tom’s facing away from him, but Remus can see him waving both his wand and his non-dominant hand around, floating the furniture with one and then splintering it into pieces with the other. Then those pieces then get shot around the room, ricocheting around. Remus sees one rebound off the wall and miss Tom by inches, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice it.

The lack of sound is a bit jarring, but Remus isn’t as concerned with that as he is with the fact that it doesn’t look like Tom’s even using any sort of spell- just the force of his own emotions.

Even after meeting Tom, and living with him for a week, Remus thinks this is the first time he’s truly been able to believe that Tom and Harry are related. This boy’s magical prowess… it’s incredible.

And is also going to make what Remus is about to do possibly quite a bit dangerous.

Remus pushes in through the doorway, feeling a phantom sensation of his ears popping as he enters the range of the silencing charm.

Remus isn’t bothering to mask the sound of himself entering, but Tom doesn’t seem to hear him anyways, despite the fact that he’s not making any sounds other than the sound of furniture breaking.

“Tom,” Remus says.

Tom had just destroyed a desk, and Remus hardly has time to slash his own wand up to keep the shards of it from slamming into his face, point first. They vibrate in the air in front of Remus for a moment, as though unwilling to give up the fight quite yet, before clattering to the ground.

“Remus,” Tom says, a smile on his face as he stiffly turns around. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which are bright and burning red. “I apologize, you startled me.”

“Tom,” Remus says again, putting his wand arm down at his side. Moony is on high-alert right now- something is very, very wrong, and the last thing Remus wants to do is to come off as a threat.

“Why are you here?” Tom asks. The smile doesn’t fall at all. It seems almost frozen in place, as though Tom is able to keep it up but only just. “I did say that I’d be right back. Did you not believe me?”

“Forgive me,” Remus says, raising his eyebrow, “but you have just been through something many would consider incredibly traumatizing, and something about that diadem set you off. I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“Oh believe me- I’m not in any danger of hurting myself,” Tom says, cocking his head.

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Remus says, shaking his head.

The smile flickers, but Tom has it pasted back on so quickly that Remus wonders if he’d imagined it.

“Worried I’d hurt someone else, then,” Tom says.

It doesn’t sound like a question.

Then, Tom lets out a little, hollow laugh. As he does, a chair explodes behind him. He doesn’t even flinch.

“I wasn’t worried about that, either,” Remus says.

“Don’t lie to me,” Tom spits, face contorting in anger. Another chair explodes, and then the smile is back.

“Tom,” Remus says, trying to keep the apprehension out of his tone. Well, at least he’d been right- Tom really, really shouldn’t be alone right now.

“Only an idiot wouldn’t be worried about that,” Tom continues. “And you are a lot of things, but you don’t strike me as an idiot.”

Remus doesn’t say anything- he just watches Tom, feeling wary.

Tom doesn’t move and his expression remains fixed, but behind him the wreckage of the room starts to rattle. Remus has to make a conscious effort to keep his wand down at his side as the wood and metal splinters float shakily up off of the ground, and then shoot all at once up to the ceiling. They begin to move- slowly circling the outer edges of the room.

“Did Dumbledore warn you about me?” Tom asks.

Remus shakes his head, thoughts racing.

He needs to play this carefully- Tom is definitely hurting emotionally, but he doesn’t seem like he knows how. Not without lashing out, anyways. But how is Remus supposed to help?

“Hm,” Tom says. “He should’ve.”

Remus realizes, all at once, what’s happening here. And it feels like a punch to the gut.

“He didn’t warn me about you,” Remus says aloud.

Tom’s grin widens into something more reminiscent of a snarl. The pieces begin to move faster, and Remus is suddenly very sure that if he hasn’t read Tom correctly, this situation is going to turn into a duel.

“He didn’t have to,” Remus continues. “I never trusted you- not for a second.”

Tom’s smile falls, and his expression goes blank. But the pieces slow down.

Remus feels a pang deep in his chest, but pushes past it.

“Why would I trust you, Tom? Your story is absurd, and just believable enough for those who want to believe it, but- I think you’re hiding something, hiding the real version of you.

“I let you into our home because Harry thinks of you as family, and because I thought he would be able to protect himself from you if you intended to hurt him. I was willing to give you a chance, Tom, but I never trusted you.”

“I knew you weren’t an idiot,” Tom says. The smile is back- and it’s making Remus feel sick.

If Remus didn’t know exactly what to look for, he wouldn’t see the conflicted feelings dancing behind the boy’s eyes at all- but Remus does know what to look for. It’s the same sort of tangle of vindication, hurt, and resignation that Remus himself has felt before.

Tom is trying to convince Remus that he’s a monster, because the alternative is Remus finding out that he’s a monster later, and then rejecting him for it. The rejection hurts less when you know it’s coming.

Sometimes, if you play it right, you can convince yourself it doesn’t hurt at all- and Remus thinks Tom has perhaps gotten very good at convincing himself of things.

It’s the same trick Remus tried to pull in third year, when he’d told the Marauders the truth about where he’d been going every month.

And it’s going to be about as effective for Tom as it was for Remus.

Tom readies his wand at his side. “Well then. Should I show you who I am? Who I really am?”

“I didn’t trust you before,” Remus says. And then, firm as he can, he says, “but I trust you now.”

The pieces clatter to the ground, but Remus doesn’t look away from Tom.

Tom’s smile has fallen once more, his expression gone unsure. He looks, all of a sudden, like a sixteen year old boy.

“I- what?”

“You don’t need to try and prove to me that you’re a monster,” Remus continues. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a monster. Because I’m going to trust you regardless.”

Tom takes a step back, as though hit.

“No,” Tom says, then shakes his head. When he looks back at Remus, the smile is back. “I’m not stupid, this is- Dumbledore put you up to this.”

“Tell me this, Tom,” Remus says, not bothering to address his accusations. “And tell me the truth.”

Tom’s eyes narrow, and the smile turns once more into a snarl.

“Did you or did you not run after Harry in an attempt to save his life.”

Tom opens his mouth, eyes still glinting.

“Just a yes or a no, Tom,” Remus says, narrowing his own eyes. He’s not interested in whatever excuses the boy has made to himself in order to justify doing something selfless.

Tom’s mouth snaps close, and then his expression goes furious. Something in Remus relaxes. Tom’s dropping the masks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tom asks.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” Tom says. “But-”

“Would you do it again? Yes or no.”

“Yes, but-”

“Were you scared when he almost died?” Remus asks.

“Stop interrupting me,” Tom hisses. The pieces shudder again.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Remus says softly. Whoops. “Sorry.”

Tom doesn’t respond to the apology. He just turns away, breathing hard. Then he looks back up to Remus, jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t scared. I’d do it again, but not because I care,” he spits. “I don’t. I don’t care about anyone but myself.”

“Okay,” Remus says, nodding. “That’s okay.”

Tom stares. And then-

“What are you doing?” He asks, louder than perhaps he meant. “What do you mean ‘that's okay’? What kind of game is this?”

Remus shakes his head. “No game,” he says. “It's okay to just care about yourself. Maybe not according to people like Dumbledore, but Tom- if you only know how to care about you, that's okay.”

Besides- Remus is almost positive Tom cares about Harry, possibly more than he’s cared about anyone else in his life (other than himself). Tom just… doesn’t know it yet.

Tom blinks. It looks like he's having to try and reboot, which is good- the more caught-off guard he is, the less likely he is to try and attack Remus.

Remus decides to keep pushing. “And I wasn't lying earlier, I really wasn’t worried about you hurting yourself, or anyone else.”

“Then why follow me at all?” Tom asks, wand still held at the ready despite the lost look on his face.

Remus is, once again, distinctly reminded of Harry- the way he was, and still is sometimes, so baffled by the idea of kindness. Of an adult figure showing that they care- except Harry doesn't lash out with violence. Remus wonders why Tom does so- if it’s just how he is, or if it was something he learned.

Either way, a child lashing out is still just that- a child.

“Because I'm not about to stand by and let you hurt, Tom. You've been through something horrible- not just the last few hours, but for decades. I followed you so that you didn't have to face it alone.”

“I like being alone,” Tom tries- although he lets his wand fall to his side.

“That doesn’t mean you should be left alone all of the time, Tom,” Remus says.

Tom just looks at him.

“I killed someone,” Tom finally says.

“I’ve killed people,” Remus says, shrugging despite the fact that he’d actually rather tell Tom that killing Lockhart hardly counts, even before the possession.

It’s very possible that Moony is still out for blood as far as that sorry excuse of a Professor goes.

“I am a monster,” Tom says.

“As am I,” Remus reminds him.

Tom’s jaw clenches. “You shouldn’t trust me,” he tries.

“Why shouldn’t I? You saved Harry’s life, and told me point blank you’d do it again.”

“But I didn’t do it for him,” Tom says.

Remus would love to know how Tom is twisting the situation to make that make any sense, but now is not the time.

“I could not care less about the motive,” Remus says, shaking his head. “I care that Harry is safe- and clearly you do too.”

“No I don’t,” Tom says, tensing up again. Remus has to stop himself from cutting in, but it’s obviously important to Tom that he gets to finish his thoughts. “I just said I don’t.”

“You just said you don’t care about Harry,” Remus reminds him. “You obviously care for his safety, though.”

Tom relaxes again, face clearing. Apparently maintaining that distinction means something to him, even though Remus privately thinks there isn’t much of a difference. That’s something to work with Tom on later, though.

They stand in silence a moment, the remains of the classroom furniture littering the ground around them. The situation seems to be diffused- enough so that Remus decides it’s time to try and move this along.

“I hate to say it, but we probably shouldn’t keep Albus waiting.”

Tom grimaces. “Probably. I am sorry for leaving so abruptly.”

Remus doesn’t know if that’s true, but he’s content to let Tom put his masks back on. He’s been through a lot today, and Remus thinks they’ve had something of a breakthrough as it is.

Damn the pack instinct- Moony really won’t be letting go of this one anytime soon. Although, Remus had meant what he’d said. Tom clearly cares about (at the very least) keeping Harry alive- and Remus could absolutely use people like that around.

“Do we think Dumbledore will be able to fix the diadem?” Tom asks, somewhat hopefully, as they begin to walk back to the office.

“I’m sure he’ll try,” Remus says, although he winces at the thought of the artifact laying in two pieces on that desk. Then, even though it’s beyond stupid, and absolutely reckless, he asks, “is there a reason in particular the diadem is what set that off?”

Remus is watching carefully, so he sees the flash of fury that flickers across Tom’s face before Tom’s expression goes tired instead.

“I had my whole life stolen from me,” Tom says after a moment. “I know it’s completely irrational, but a part of me thinks- maybe I’d have been the one to find the diadem instead, and I’d have kept it safe. Instead of, you know, turning it into some… monument to myself.”

“Is that what you think it was?” Remus asks, curious despite himself.

“I think that anyone who’s running around cursing objects like that, even if it’s just to make it easier to possess them, or whatever that was- well. I think they’re probably a bit desperate for an ego boost, to be completely honest.”

Remus lets out a bitter laugh. “You might be right,” he says.

“Yes,” Tom says thoughtfully. “I think I am.”

Chapter Text

Tom finishes his side of the story (apparently he’d dueled Voldemort and won, knocking the diadem off of his head and severing the connection), then sits back. Harry watches him closely, as he’s been doing since Tom and Remus returned, but he can’t tell if the exhaustion radiating off of his older brother is emotional or physical.

Or both. It might be both, actually. Harry sure as hell is feeling both- the adrenaline is wearing off fast, and Harry is fading more and more. He feels sluggish.

(The three Weasleys and McGonagall have since gone down to the Hospital Wing- they’d realized that Pomfrey is likely busy with the mandrake business right now, and therefore unable to meet them.)

Harry is so exhausted that when the door to McGonagall’s office bangs open, he hardly reacts at all as a Theo-shaped blur rockets into him and knocks both him and his chair to the ground. In fact, all he does is blink stupidly up at the other boy, who looks furious.

In fact, Theo seems intent on shaking some sense into Harry- which (after that helps to shake loose some of the fuzziness as well) Harry thinks isn’t very fair. It occurs to him then that he no longer wants to be on the floor.

“Sorry, I was kidnapped, I’m sorry,” Harry explains, trying to push the boy off of him. It’s to no avail.

“Daphne is going to kill you,” Theo says, “and I’m going to let her because you deserve it.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Harry tries.

“Theo,” Remus says, leaning forward in his seat. “Maybe-”

The door opens again, and Harry hardly has even a second to process who it is that’s just entered the room when Theo has thrown himself off of Harry and is doing his best to act aloof.

It’s not working very well- Theo looks very much on guard and Harry cringes as he thinks about how worried his friends had been about him. Tom, meanwhile, seems to have cast a hasty disillusionment spell over himself.

At least Harry is free to get up now- which he does, going to stand besides where Remus is still sitting and keeping a wary eye on the visitor- who is none other than Mr. Malfoy.

“Lucius,” Albus says, sitting up straight. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Mr. Malfoy’s face is already stormy, but his scowl deepens when his gaze falls on Remus, then Harry.

“Mister Nott,” Mr. Malfoy greets instead of addressing Dumbledore.

Harry had thought, naively, that after spending the day keeping his magic so close to his chest that he could hardly breathe, then releasing the full force of the pent up magical storm on the basilisk’s venom; that he might not have to worry about keeping such a tight hold on his magic- he’d thought it was mostly used up.

As Theo’s expression goes from stony to wooden, however, Harry has to act fast to keep from accidentally lighting Malfoy’s father on fire- Harry doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but Theo obviously isn’t happy about it.

If it hadn’t been before, Harry’s chest is definitely bruised now.

Remus’s hand is suddenly on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry lets out the breath he’d been holding.

“Good evening, Lucius,” Remus says politely. Mr. Malfoy tears his narrowed eyes from Theo to glare at Remus.

“Remus,” Mr. Malfoy greets stiffly. Then he rounds on Dumbledore.

“So, you’ve come back- hiding in Professor McGonagall’s office violates the terms of your suspension just as well as using your own office would.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore says. He smiles serenely at Mr. Malfoy, whose scowl is so deep that Harry worries it might be permanent at this point. “You see, I no longer have terms to my suspension- as I am no longer suspended.

“Turns out, when the other eleven members of the board of governors had heard that Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter had been killed, well… they were eager indeed to reinstate me.”

Remus’s hand tightens on Harry's shoulder, and he feels another pang of guilt push its way through the rising haze of tiredness. Mr. Malfoy’s gaze flickers to Harry, then back to Dumbledore.

Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but the man is in a state- his cloak is crooked and his hair is loose. He must have been in the middle of getting ready. Mr. Malfoy has gone even paler than usual, but his eyes are lit with fury.

“So?” Mr. Malfoy sneers, “did you catch the culprit?”

“We did,” Dumbledore nods.

“Well-” Mr. Malfoy sputters. “Well who was it?”

Harry furrows his brow. He’s missing something, he knows it. His thoughts feel slow. Maybe Theo knows- but no, Theo’s expression is giving nothing away. Tom is still disillusioned, so he’s not going to be any help either.

“The same person it was last time,” Dumbledore says easily. “Through the same means: a cursed diary.”

Harry turns again to look at Mr. Malfoy, who’s gone a bit stiff.

“I see,” Mr. Malfoy says.

“A clever plan indeed,” Dumbledore continues. “Because if Harry and his friends hadn’t discovered the book then Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame- no one would have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own accord.”

Mr. Malfoy’s face goes blank.

“Imagine what would have happened then,” Dumbledore says. “Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley’s work and reputation, if his own daughter was discovered to have been attacking muggleborns. It’s very fortunate Harry and his friends were able to discover the diary and destroy it, yes?”

As the implications of what Dumbledore is saying sinks in and the pieces fall into place, Harry feels a rush of rage flood through his veins and clamps down even harder on his magic. Well, that explains Dobby, at least. Or- most of Dobby, anyways.

“What are you insinuating,” Mr. Malfoy says, face flushed- seems as though he’s picked up on Dumbledore’s not so subtle stab as well.

On top of that, it looks as though Dumbledore has finished. Good. Now Harry gets to take his turn.

“Do you know how Ginny got the diary?” Harry asks. Mr. Malfoy turns to him, eyes glinting with rage. Harry hears Remus sigh, but pays him no mind for now.

“Why should I know where that stupid little girl got a hold of it?”

“Well,” Harry says, shooting a winning smile at the man despite his anger. “It’s just that… I could have sworn that it was you who slipped it into her bag- remember that embarrassing tussle you and Mr. Weasley got into? At Flourish and Blotts? You picked up Ginny’s book- reckon that’s when you slipped the diary in there.”

Mr. Malfoy’s fists are clenched. “Why- Why I never-”

He whirls on Remus, who raises an eyebrow at Mr. Malfoy. His eyes are tinged amber, but Mr. Malfoy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “You- control your child.”

Both of Remus’s eyebrows are raised now. “Really, Lucius- you’re acting defensive. One might begin to believe you actually had been up to something.”

“Prove it,” Mr. Malfoy hisses.

“Oh, that’s entirely impossible,” Dumbledore says easily. “However, I would advise you to tread lightly in the future, Lucius- should another incident like this occur, I’m sure Arthur would have no trouble at all linking it back to you.”

Lucius Malfoy holds his cane in a white-knuckled grip, standing for a moment. Then, he sniffs imperiously.

“I did not come here to be subjected to baseless accusations. Good day, gentlemen.”

With that, the man steps through the door and leaves.

“Harry,” Remus begins. “Lucius Malfoy is a powerful man. Will you please refrain from goading him in the future?”

Harry sinks into his chair. His bones are tired. “I’m not sorry,” he mutters. “He was mean.”

Remus sighs again, and shakes his head. “Right. Of course you aren’t. Okay, come on- let's get you two to the Hospital Wing.”

Harry nods and manages to stand up, following Remus and Tom out into the hall. He doesn’t bother waving goodbye to Dumbledore.

“We are going to finish that discussion on your decision making skills,” Theo warns, falling in step beside Harry.

"I don't think you know what a discussion is," Harry says. Then, "hey, what was that about? With Mr. Malfoy?"

Theo is quiet for a moment, then says, "since the fall of the Dark Lord, the Malfoys and Notts don't… they don't see eye-to-eye on certain matters. The Malfoys think we're delusional, and my father thinks the Malfoys are lily-livered idiots. Lord Malfoy was just trying to insult me."

Harry opens his mouth to tell Theo exactly what he thinks of Mr. Malfoy (namely that he's as much of a bastard as his son is) when-

“Harry,” Tom says tiredly. “Control your snake, please.”

Harry whirls around, heart leaping.

“Merlin!” Harry gasps, crouching down and stretching his arms out.

Merlin drops from where she’d been latched onto Tom’s arm and wriggles over to Harry, tongue flickering excitedly.

“Harry!” Merlin cries, launching herself into Harry’s arms. Harry topples over again from the force of the lunge, but can’t bring himself to care- he’s too busy laughing and crying at the same time.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Merlin says, wrapping herself around Harry. Then, she sinks her fangs into Harry’s arm.

“Merlin, come on,” Harry says.

Merlin glares at him, but releases his arm. “Next time, let me die.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Harry says, magic flaring uncomfortably. “Never. Not in a million, billion years.”

Merlin does a grumbly little hiss, but backs off.

Harry is so relieved to have Merlin back that the rest of the walk down to the Hospital Wing passes in the blink of an eye. So much so that Harry is almost surprised to find himself in a bed, charmed clean, and feeling considerably more comfortable thanks to the pain potions Pomfrey had all but shoved down his throat the second he’d sat down.

Harry sits there for a moment, content to just clutch as tight to Merlin’s coils as he can without squeezing her.

“You’re squeezing me,” Merlin complains.

“Am not,” Harry hisses back. He does relax his grip a bit, though- although he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to let go all the way for a while yet.

Across the room lies Ginny, who’s surrounded on either side by her parents, holding her hands. She’s closing her eyes, and looks like she might be sleeping. McGonagall has just left, telling Arthur and Molly that she was getting the other Weasley children.

Harry would also like to be asleep- but he’s fighting it every step of the way. He wants to be awake when Hermione wakes up- and he vaguely remembers being told by Pomfrey that she and Snape are minutes away from finishing the potion that will be able to help her- her and the other petrification victims.

He’s elected not to look over at Hermione for now- she looks just as dead as she has every other time Harry’s come to visit her.

Only now, looking at her also brings up the image of the basilisk’s sightless bloody eyes, or the lax expression on Lockhart’s bloody face, or the smell of burning plastic- and the point is that Harry isn’t looking at her.

Last Harry had seen, Theo is there, at least- sitting beside her, face completely blank as he looks down at her and resolutely ignoring Harry. He seems to have gotten angrier at Harry, somehow. Wonderful.

“Harry, you should rest,” Remus says as Harry stifles a yawn.

Remus is sitting next to Harry’s bed, in between him and where Tom is sleeping (he’d put up a bit of a fight about getting into a bed, which Pomfrey had shut down fast). Harry thinks that maybe Remus won’t be letting Harry out of his sight for the next little while. He can’t particularly blame the man, is the thing.

Although Remus is one to talk- he looks as exhausted as Harry feels. Looks like the events of today are catching up to everyone. Harry goes to tell Remus that he should try and take a nap, when-

“Hey Harry,” Hermione says, sounding tired.

Harry’s heart leaps a thousand feet into the air as he whirls around from where he’d been looking at Remus and instead takes in his friend- apparently he’d done too good of a job at not looking her way.

That or he’d zoned out again- Harry is so tired that he feels almost nauseous.

Hermione looks tired too, and her hair is all over the place (more so than usual), but she’s smiling. Theo is standing beside her, one hand clasped firmly around her forearm. His expression is still blank, but the fact that he’s making physical contact with the girl- Theo is obviously elated, and beyond relieved she’s awake.

“Hermione!” Harry says, feeling a grin break out across his face. He clumsily launches himself over to her, and she meets him in the middle. Merlin wraps herself around Harry and Hermione both, hissing excitedly.

Theo follows Hermione over- apparently he’s not letting go of Hermione any time soon.

Harry feels a couple tears slip out of his eyes as he buries his face into Hermione’s shoulder. He should maybe apologize for crying on her- but he can’t bring himself to care all that much.

“I’m so, so, glad you’re awake,” Harry sniffs.

“Me too,” Hermione agrees. Then, “I don’t suppose you’re in here for a normal reason?”

“I fought a basilisk,” Harry says.

Hermione pulls back from the embrace, accidentally taking Merlin with her. Merlin just slithers back over to Harry, coiling around his shoulders once more.

Theo’s expression has gone completely wooden. “You did not mention that,” he says.

Harry goes to defend himself when Hermione says:

“Oh good! You figured it out? But I still have the paper-”

“I am livid at you two,” Theo cuts in, tone completely flat. He doesn’t let go of Hermione’s arm, and reaches his other to grab Harry’s. “I’ve never been angrier in my life.”

Harry and Hermione exchange a grimace.

“Sorry,” Harry tries.

Theo is very clearly unimpressed.

Just as Harry is beginning to spiral into guilt, the doors to the Hospital Wing slam open- startling Tom awake, and causing Remus to draw his wand. Theo, Hermione, and Harry have all spun around, Theo tightening his grip.

Everyone relaxes as they see a gaggle of redheads pour into the Hospital Wing, heading straight for Ginny.

Harry almost doesn’t see Neville and Daphne at all- until he does, because they’re crowding in on him and Merlin and Hermione, hugging them fiercely.

(Harry’s heart gives a pang as he thinks of Blaise- he misses his friend, even though after today he’s now doubly relieved the other boy had been home safe.)

“Fuck you, Potter,” Daphne says. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her braid looks chewed. “And you too, Granger. Fucking Gryffindors.”

“Y-yeah,” Neville agrees, expression stormy- although the sentiment is undercut by the fact that he’s hugging one of Harry’s arms to his chest and crying.

“What did I do?” Hermione asks, looking confused.

“You ran off after a giant snake monster,” Daphne reminds her. “Alone.”

“And she apparently already knew it was a basilisk,” Theo puts in.

Daphne’s face drains of blood in record time- but her expression goes furious. “It was a what,” she growls.

Neville looks very suddenly like he’s about to throw up. “Tell m-me it w-wasn’t,” he says.

Harry can’t do that without lying, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead he just kind of shrugs, looking down at the cover of the bed and trying to keep himself upright. He is exhausted.

“Oh my god,” Daphne says, sounding a bit faint.

“Can we talk about this later?” Harry asks, looking up.

“Talk about what?” Ron asks, coming to stand by the others. His face is tear-streaked, but he’s smiling as he slots himself right in between Theo and Hermione.

Hermione leans into him, almost unconsciously. Ron’s smile flickers, and he closes his eyes and lets out a long shaky breath- like he’s still getting used to the relief he must be feeling at first Ginny’s safe return, then Harry’s, and now Hermione’s.

Harry can relate.

The others begin to catch Ron up- but Harry isn’t listening. Instead, he’s thinking about how much he doesn’t want to do this.

He doesn’t want to tell his friends what happened, what he had to do down there (who he had to kill), or how close he and the others came to dying.

He just wants to go home with Merlin and Remus and Tom and sleep for three days straight.

Harry looks over at Remus, hoping that the man will catch on to that fact- but Remus isn’t looking over at him. Instead, he’s looking at where Tom is sitting up in bed, talking with Percy.

“... not that I’m surprised.”

“I’m sorry?” Tom asks. He looks completely flabbergasted.

“I’m calling you a bastard,” Percy clarifies. His arms are folded and his eyes are narrowed. “I wish I could say I can’t believe you did that to me, but frankly it’s very easy to believe. You’re the worst sort of Slytherin.”

“You’re- but you’re still talking to me?” Tom asks confusedly.

“Yes,” Percy agrees. “Because I needed to tell you that you’re a conniving bastard.”

“Oh,” Tom says, still sounding lost.

“Thank you for saving Ginny,” Percy says.

“Uh,” Tom says, blinking. “Sure thing.”

Percy nods curtly, then walks off.

Tom blinks some more, then turns to Remus. “What’s going on?”

“He’s frustrated you stunned him, and telling you as much,” Remus says.

This doesn’t appear to help Tom’s confusion, even though Harry thinks it’s rather clear-cut.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, deciding to try and help. “My friends get mad at me all the time.”

“His friends are currently mad at him,” Daphne agrees, glaring. Oh- apparently the others have finished bringing Ron up to speed (or as much up to speed as they can, not knowing the whole story).

“I don’t-” Tom says, then stops. Then he shrugs. “Okay. Either he’ll get over it or he won’t.”

Remus inclines his head- not necessarily in agreement, but as an acknowledgement.

“So what exactly happened?” Theo asks, although he’s staring straight at Tom. Tom stares back, blank expression mirroring Theo’s.

“Um,” Harry says. Then he stops, swallowing.

He’s been spending the last hour trying not to dwell on the events of the day, and it’s getting harder and harder to do- especially with his friends crowding in so close, and looking at him like that-

Suddenly the urge to start crying again is overwhelming, and Harry buries his face into Merlin’s coils. Merlin licks his cheek worriedly, which doesn’t help at all.

Remus is standing by his side in an instant, hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Alright. We’re going home. Just for a couple days,” he adds hurriedly before Harry can even think to protest. “Then you can come back and finish the year.”

“Y-you can t-tell us what h-happened later,” Neville agrees. Harry looks up at him and almost bursts into tears all over again at Neville’s open expression of concern.

Daphne and Theo, on the other hand, both look like they’re about to protest- but they settle back as Neville levels a surprisingly icy glare at the two of them. Hermione and Ron don’t look happy either, but they still shoot smile smalls at Harry.

Harry lets out a shaky sigh and nods. Home. Sleep. Yes, good.

Remus turns to Tom. “You too, Tom.”

Tom smiles tiredly. “Works for me.”

Remus smiles back. “Wonderful. Let’s go.”

And then they do just that.

Chapter Text

“Here puppy, puppy, puppy,” the woman croons, hand outstretched and sticking out between the bars of her cell. “Come here, puppy! I just want to pet you- you’re soft, aren’t you? Warm? Good boy puppy, you make a nice warm coat for Bella? Come here! Bella just wants a bit of your skin- here puppy, puppy, puppy.”

Padfoot growls a low warning growl, but that just makes the woman light up and redouble her efforts.

Padfoot huffs and stands up, shaking off- then he turns in place and settles back down on his makeshift paper bed, back turned towards the scary woman. He should know better than to acknowledge her by now.

Padfoot doesn’t quite remember why he doesn’t like that woman, just that he doesn’t. Padfoot doesn’t remember a lot of things. Padfoot doesn’t think at all, really.

It’s better that way- everything is better that way. A particularly cold and salty wind blows through the cells, ruffling Padfoot’s fur. He shivers, and curls up into a tighter ball, whimpering quietly.

Padfoot settles his head down on his paws, closing his eyes. It’s a losing game, trying to fall asleep here, but it’s one Padfoot plays again and again and again. Not much else to do here.

Another gust of icy wind, and Padfoot’s eyes snap back open. His breath has started fogging up the air. Padfoot feels his tail try to tuck itself underneath him, and his ears go pinned back against his head.

Padfoot knows what this means- but it gets harder every time. One day, one day soon, Padfoot will just… be Padfoot. Forever. Or, at least until his doggy soul gets sucked out of him.

Padfoot huffs again. Today isn’t that day. Not yet.

Sirius doesn’t bother standing up to transform. He doesn’t bother standing up after he’s transformed, either. He just lays there, shivering in his prison rags and trying not to think of anything at all.

The dementor is floating closer and closer- Sirius can tell because Bellatrix has started laughing again. Great. It had taken her four days to stop, last time.

Sirius blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the cold stone walls and the damp feeling of old newspaper underneath him instead of the memories threatening to overwhelm him. It’s a grounding technique that’s helped Sirius deal with the dementors before- one that Moony had taught him, back during the war.

Ah, fuck.

Sirius scrunches his eyes closed and shrinks in on himself, shaking arms covering his head. He beats his closed fist on the back of his head a couple times, as though that’ll do anything to stop the flood of images rushing through his mind: Moony, Prongs, Lils, Reggie, Pete- gone. They’re all gone, one way or another. Dead or traitor or all… all alone.

And it’s Sirius’s fault. All of it.

Sirius wants to die.

A dry sob racks through Sirius’s frame. He’s never felt so cold in his whole life. Then, just like that, the dementor is gone and Sirius can think again- or rather, not think.

Sirius takes a shaky breath, then lets it out again slowly. His teeth are chattering so hard that he’s bit through his tongue- he hadn’t even noticed. The cold slowly recedes as the pain in his mouth becomes more noticeable. Sirius grimaces. His head hurts and he aches all over.

Sirius forces one eye open. He’s facing down, so his gaze is pointed directly at one of the newspapers.

It’s a newer edition- one of the later pages, not a headliner or anything. There, at the bottom: a tiny moving picture above the words ‘Arthur Weasley receives big bonus, takes family on trip to Egypt’.

Sirius snorts despite everything. The Prophet is really skimming the bottom of the barrel, huh? Reporting on what- family vacations?

Sirius presses his face closer to the ground, squinting at the little picture. How are the Weasleys? Sirius hadn’t thought about Molly or Arthur in… in a long time. Looks like they had a brand new kid! A girl, maybe? Regardless: good for them.

And that baby they had- right there towards the end of the war. Is that him? Sirius’s face is so close to the picture that his nose is being squished right up against the ground.

There, a scrawny, red-headed freckle-y boy. He’s… he looks pretty much like all the other Weasleys. Sirius sighs contentedly- it’s nice to be reminded that despite it all, life goes on outside of Azkaban. Well, Sirius amends to himself, both nice and horrible.

Sirius goes to turn into Padfoot once more when a bit of movement coming from the boy’s pocket catches his eye.

Sirius freezes, then shoots up, grabbing the paper and shoving it into his face. The paper tears a bit, but not over the picture, so Sirius doesn’t worry about it. His heart is pounding suddenly very loudly in his head.

There. Poking his nose out of the boy’s pocket. He only appears for a fraction of a second, but Padfoot spent countless full moons running with him- he could recognize that particular rat from half a mile away with his eyes closed.

Still, Sirius waits with bated breath as the picture cycles back, watching. He needs to be sure. He narrows his eyes, watching as the rat once again sticks its head out of the boy’s pocket, followed by its paw. One, two, three, four- four. Four fingers.

Sirius feels something of a manic grin spread over his face, his first smile in over a decade.

Peter Pettigrew is alive.

And Sirius Black is going to hunt him down and tear him to shreds.