Draco Malfoy and the Sins of the Father

Saturday, September 5th, 1992

If Draco Malfoy was to give Oliver Wood a medal, it would be for being the most manic Quidditch Captain Hogwarts had ever seen. He’d known, of course, of Wood’s obsession with Quidditch when he played Seeker last year, but hoped that their win would calm down his mania even slightly.

But no. Instead, he got to be shaken vigorously awake by his insane Captain, yelling at him that they had Quidditch practice.

Now he was sulking down the stairs in his Quidditch robes, with his brand new Nimbus Two Thousand-One in his fist, not daring to look at the clock.

“Hello!” He nearly tripped with surprise at the high voice, spinning around and seeing the little mousy haired Creevey kid running down the spiral stairs, his camera in hand. “We met a few days ago. Never got your name though…”

“Draco Malfoy,” he grunted, too tired to be all proud about it, and pushed open the portrait hole. Unfortunately, Creevey followed along beside him.

“OK, nice to meet you Draco. What’s that broom for?”

“Quidditch.”

“Oh, wow! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before! Can I come, can I see?” He was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Draco rolled his eyes.

“If you want to,” he drawled, “but Wood might think you’re a spy.”

“I heard the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seekers are the youngest in a hundred years. I can’t believe Harry’s one of them… he’s brilliant, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Draco snorted. “Quite a hoot.”

“I think so too. Is that your own broom? Is it easy, flying? I’ve never flown.”

Draco felt a rush of regret for all the times in the past week he’d made fun of Harry’s little talkative shadow. The kid could talk alright. This was why he never once thought to ask his parents for a little sibling.

Creevey didn’t leave him alone until he was forced to when he entered the changing room, and only after a tiring explanation of the rules of Quidditch. As he entered the changing rooms, he wondered where exactly his life had gone wrong to have a Muggle-born firstie talking in his ear, but when he took a look at his fellow teammates, he managed a tired smile; if nothing else, he loved Quidditch.

He sat beside the twins and Spinnet, shaking her awake gently, for she had been nodding off against a wall. She blinked blearily and smiled at him and she smiled back.

“There you are, Draco, what kept you?”

Draco turned and opened his mouth but Wood kept talking, leaving him looking quite dumb, open mouthed like a codfish.

“Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…”

He held up a large diagram of the Quidditch field, with stats scrawled across it in various coloured inks, and Draco left his mouth open to gape at this, impressed with how obsessed his Captain could be.

“Alright, men - and women - we won last year but that does not mean we can slack off this year. We have to show it wasn’t a fluke, that we deserve that Cup, and this is how we’re gonna do it. Number 1: Early start times…”

By the end of Wood’s extensive speech, his six teammates were all asleep, Draco laid lengthwise across a bench, chin propped in his hand. His elbow slipped and he jerked away when his chin slammed on the wood when Wood slammed the boards down. Everyone else snapped awake too.

“So is that clear? Any questions?”

At the word ‘questions’ one of the twin Weasleys awoke with a snort and shot his hand up in the air. “I’ve got a question, Oliver; Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?”

Wood scowled.

“I get it,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing back and forth. (Draco sat up and nudged Spinnet, saying, “Jinx me, he’s monologuing.” She giggled quietly.) “You won last year, you’re all still sky rocketing off that success, but I’m not. We have the best team Gryffindor’s seen in years, and damn it all if I’m not going to take you on a streak of wins. Draco,” he started when he pointed a finger at him, “You’ve got the fastest broom at Hogwarts this year. Use it and prove why I put you on this team in the first place. Fred and George, you two beat Bludgers. I better see you bludgeon the competition. Knock them off their brooms if you have too. Alicia, Katie, Angelina; you’re all an incredible team if you work together. Put aside any independence, any pride. There’s no ‘i’ in team, people! Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!”

He led the way out of the locker rooms, marching with his arms swinging, and Draco exchanged looks with his teammates before following after him, still yawning.

Up in the stands, Draco could see Hermione and Weasley sitting and waving.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” Weasley called out to him, and he glowered.

“Nope!” he said, popping the ‘p’, and stepping closer so Wood wouldn’t hear him, “Wood needs St. Mungo’s. I’m diagnosing him with ‘Quid-mania.’”

They blinked and he shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I admit, that wasn’t so funny… Where’s Harry?”

“Told him not to come,” said Weasley, “Thought Wood might attack him, thinking he was a Slytherin spy.”

“I don’t doubt he -”

“Oi! Malfoy!”

Draco turned and mounted his broom, flying up to join the rest of the team.

“What’s that funny clicking noise?” One of the twins called as Draco raced past them, and he slowed to a stop to scour the stands, groaning when he saw Creevey’s mousy head poking out behind his camera. “Who’s that?” the twin asked, hovering beside.

“Haven’t the faintest,” Draco shrugged, calling to Wood, “How about we crack on on those strategies, Captain?” He’d already noticed the boy in the stands, however.

“What’s going on?” He asked, coming to hover beside them. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“Can we kick him off the pitch?” Draco asked, grinning excitedly, but after a moment contemplating Wood shrugged. “No, just ask him not to take any more pictures.”

Draco zoomed down to be level with him, barked, “Captain said no more pictures or leave,” then rose back in the air.

“Alright, Wood, what’s first?”

-*-*-*-

Sunday, September 6th

In the morning, feeling like he’d never been more grateful for a good night’s sleep and breakfast in his whole life, Draco ate happily. That was, until Harry came and interrupted his peace with a haunted look on his face and hurried he, Hermione, and Weasley out into a closet.

Here he told them about a disturbing voice he’d heard while doing detention the night before with Lockhart, that only he had heard.

“And Lockhart said he couldn’t hear it?” asked Weasley. “D’you think he was lying?”

“Of course not!” Hermione snapped but Weasley looked back at her, glaring.

“Well tell me the answer then, Hermione. I just don’t get it - even someone invisible would’ve had to open the door.”

“I know,” Harry shook his head, staring out at the grounds thoughtfully. “I don’t get it either.”

Draco didn’t know at all what to think about this. Could it be tied to what his father was doing? He’d nearly forgotten about that in the rush of getting back into the school routine and early Quidditch practice. Now he remembered how he’d swore to scour the Hogwarts library for historic events, and dismissed himself quickly for studying before hurrying off.

This turned out to be a bust not because he couldn’t find anything, simply because he found too much. The days passed, and he managed to get two hours out of his busy days each to crack open a new book and dive in, starting a new section of notes just on all these events, but there weren’t any events specific enough to narrow down, except for ones that had occurred hundreds of years ago, of course.

He finally ended his search with Hogwarts: A History, having not started with that because he supposed it contained information he could just get from Hermione. But there wasn’t anything suspicious there, either, until he saw something that made him stop.

The Chamber of Secrets.

It only got a subsection on the Hogwarts Founders chapter in the Table of Contents, but what had made Draco pause was he remembered where he’d heard the term before; his father, gossiping at a party once, bragging about his father (Draco’s grandfather) having been at school when it was rumored to have opened, and joking that he wished it had been successful, as only one Mudblood had died in the event.

It had been fifty years ago.

Draco added it to his list; it certainly seemed likely, falling into the right time slot and aligning with his father’s views. Not only that, but a certain culprit (wrongfully convicted, according to his father) still worked at the school; Rubeus Hagrid.

-*-*-*-

Saturday, September 12th

Strolling up the grounds with strong strides so as to force more confidence into his bones, Draco left Quidditch practice the next week to visit Hagrid’s, finally giving in and doing what he knew he had to for days.

In spite of himself, Draco still felt quite intimidated by Hagrid, and he’d been rehearsing what he was going to say in the mirror every night (after making sure his roommates couldn’t hear, of course). He now felt confident he could coerce the information out of Hagrid with his Malfoy charm… or at least he hoped he could.

“Hello, Malfoy!” Hagrid said as he swung the door inward, pushing Fang away from leaping onto him as always, “What can I do for yeh?”

“Please, Hagrid, call me Draco,” Draco simpered, laying a hand on his chest, “And I’d like to ask you a question.”

“Alrigh’ then,” he said gruffly, stepping aside, “Come on in, ask away.”

Draco plopped himself down on the nicest armchair, didn’t spare a glance to the treacle fudge on the table, and instead jumped right into it as Hagrid busied himself with making tea.

“Harry was just telling me about how you were expelled. I was interested in learning how.”

Hagrid looked up, scowling, and wagging a finger. “This better not be no more sticking your nose where it shouldn’t belong. I already told the others Ma - Draco; I’m done. Yer coulda died las’ year because of me.” He poured two cups and handed one to Draco, then added, “And it better not be for your father either.”

“No, no, no,” drawled Draco, waving a hand, “In fact, I was hoping you’d be able to dispel some of the rumors my father has told me about you. They’re quite rude and I suspect quite untrue. So,” he leaned forward, smiling kindly, “Why were you expelled?”

Hagrid still wouldn’t let up, though. “I’m sorry, Draco. I see what you mean, but that’s private information for me. Anything else you’d like to know, though, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Draco scowled. He dismissed himself after getting far too bored from politely asking about life being Gamekeeper and stepped out huffing and puffing. He waited a full week to ask Hagrid and hadn’t even been considered before getting a firm ‘no.’ Didn’t he realize Harry’s life could be on the line?

A twig snapped somewhere near him and he spun around. Weaslette was wandering around Hagrid’s garden. She looked lost.

“Hello?” She spun around in surprise when she saw him, looking pale and frozen, as if hit by one of Hermione’s freezing charms.

“What’re you doing here, Weasley?” Draco drawled, folding his arms and slowly walking towards her, “If you want to talk to Hagrid, don’t bother. He’s a bit touchy today -” He saw a flash of red as Weaslette hid her hands behind her back. “What’s wrong with your…”

“Harry!” she gasped and he was startled in surprise by her suddenly speaking. She was usually so shy whenever he saw her at the table or in the Common Room; he didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak before. “I was looking for Harry!”

“Oh.” Now that he thought about it, she did seem to have always gotten… twitchy around him. Pink in the face. The most obvious huge crush Draco had ever seen, comparable only to Hermione Granger-Lockhart. He didn’t understand why, but as he watched her turn and scamper off back to the castle, red hair bouncing on her back, he felt a strange turning in his gut. Something like anger at the idea of her hurrying off to Harry after failing to find him here.

Then it was joined by his stomach grumbling with a want for food and he shook it off.

-*-*-*-

The next Saturday, he sneezed at Quidditch practice, the biting cold of the rain pounding them seemingly finally getting to him, and Wood practically forced him off the pitch. He therefore was kept under bed rest in the Hospital Wing for the rest of September with a cold that seemed to get harsher by the day, left to get updates on lessons and homework deliveries from his best friends.

“What’s the news?” he asked one day when his friends barged in, looking mid argument.

“Ron needs a new wand!” Hermione said and Weasley threw up his hands.

“Sure! And another Howler from my Mum for asking about it too, I suppose.”

Draco snorted and Weasley paled, shaking his head, knowing what he was going to do before he opened his mouth, but being too late.

“If you put another toe out of line -”

They burst out laughing at Weasley, who shook his head at them. “You all are horrible friends.”

Another day they brought an entire plate of pudding from supper and shared it while laughing about Snape having to begrudgingly take points from Harry personally instead of finding a roundabout way of blaming it on Draco.

It was this day Prefect Weasley barged into the Hospital Wing holding onto Weaslette’s hand and talking to Madam Pomfrey about giving her a Pepperup potion. She did look oddly pale, but when she caught Harry’s eye she gained a little of her color back.

That angry feeling stirred in Harry’s gut some more, and he now felt as if he had some sort of dragon swirling there, growling.

By the time October came he was let out, and was able to set his sights on Halloween.

“As long as there’s no Trolls,” he joked to Finnigan when he asked at breakfast if he was looking forward to it, and everyone near enough to hear him laughed.

-*-*-*-

Saturday, October 31st

Halloween turned out to be much better than last years, complete with no abrupt arrivals of Professors bursting down the Hall screaming about Trolls. Instead, Draco oohed and ahed and applauded at the troupe of dancing skeletons Dumbledore and brought, and stuffed himself graciously with candy. Also, being a Holiday Feast, there was no expectation to divide themselves in separate tables, and Draco was able to sit with all his friends.

Harry, Hermione, Weasley, Pansy, Vince, Greg, and Theo were an unlikely crew (Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent still seemed trapped under Blaise’s allure. Draco was starting to think he was trying to distract them from Lockhart, who was entertaining the Ravenclaws with his favorite Halloween tale) but they got along surprisingly well.

The boys, save Harry and Theo, bonded over trying to see who could guess right the most on what flavor a Bertie Bott’s bean is in friendly competition. Hermione got into a friendly argument with Theo over Lockhart’s trustworthiness. And finally Draco caught up on how Pansy was doing so far in the year, thanking her for all the sweets and the get-well package she’d sent him while he was in the Hospital Wing. Harry listened idly, not a very sociable person, usually.

Only when Draco turned to see what he thought about a joke Pansy had just made, Draco was met with a very confusing sight; Harry was gripping the table and looking wildly around at the ceiling like a maniac.

“Harry, what’re you -?”

“It’s that voice again - shut up a minute -”

The Slytherins looked at each other, confused, and Draco waved them off. Pansy got his meaning, swiveling in her seat to talk to Daphne. The boys all stood and moved down the table, leaving the Gryffindors to huddle around Harry, worried.

“Listen!” said maniac told them urgently, and Draco and his friends tried their hardest. Draco couldn’t hear a thing, however, but the avid sounds of the feast. After a moment, Harry yelled, “This way!” and stood and ran off out of the hall.

“What?!” Draco exclaimed, before standing and following with his other friends.

“Harry, what’re we -” Hermione began as they caught up to him, but got rudely shushed. They all threw their hands up, exchanging exasperated looks.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry shouted before jumping up the marble steps three at a time. Like true crazy people, they bolted across the entirety of the second floor, all the while Harry looked to still be trying to listen hard for a voice only he could hear. At last, they slowed to a stop at a deserted corridor.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Draco panted, rubbing a stitch in his side. “Are we done yet?”

“Yeah, Harry,” said Ron, wiping the sweat glistening on his reddened face. “What was that all about? I couldn’t hear anything…”

Hermione gasped, “Look!” and they turned to look where she was pointing.

In the candlelight, something red was shining on the wall ahead. Slowly, they walked towards it, and Draco came to a halt as soon as he read the first words, the shock capable of throwing him off his feet.

In red writing were foot high words scrawled across the wall crudely;

“What’s that thing - hanging underneath?”

Draco finally teared his eyes away from the words ‘the Chamber of Secrets’ and his jaw dropped to the floor.

They inched closer and Harry wobbled on his feet, the Gryffindors having to step forward and grab him so he didn’t fall from the large puddle of water on the floor. They moved closer still, and it was indeed what Draco had thought it was.

Mrs. Norris was hanging by her tail from a torch, stiff, and wide eyed, as if paralyzed.

After a long moment of staring at the horrific sight Weasley whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we try and help -” Harry began but Draco grabbed his wrist, ready to drag him back down the corridor.

“And what’ll we say? You were led here by a voice only you could hear. That’s suspicious, Harry, you’ll be -”

He came to a halt because he couldn’t leave the way they came, because a crowd of people were coming up from that corridor. Turning back, he nearly rammed into Hermione and Weasley, who were trying to leave the other way but now backed up, as from that corridor too came another crowd. It seemed half the school was now converging on this corridor, because Draco’s luck was always so brilliant, wasn’t it?

In moments, the joyful small talk they were all making, vibrant chatter about what they’d seen at the feast, was gone. Dead silence with a couple gasps as people spotted the writing, the cat, and the four very guilty looking second years standing apart from everyone in front of it.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

Filch was coming forwards, which was just fantastic, and at the sight of his cat he fell back and clutched his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked and, at the sight of the group standing back to back in a sort of circle, his eyes practically popped out of his head. “Which of you did it?!” he screeched at them, Hermione jumping in her skin. “Which of you murdered my cat?! Which of you killed her?! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you -”

“Argus!” Dumbledore had arrived, the crowd parting to let him through, followed by a bunch of professors. Within one moment he swept past the otherwise clear suspects, detached Mrs. Norris from the torch, gestured to Filch, then to the children.

“Come with me, Argus. You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lockhart stepped forward, swishing a lock of his hair out of his face. He was dressed in quite grand Halloween themed dress robes, his cape shaped like bat wings. “My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore cut him off with a stiff nod, and once more the crowd parted, letting them pass. Draco caught a few very suspicious looking scowls and stared at his shoes, feeling a heat rising in his cheeks. He knew he was innocent of course, but the eyes of everyone on him was too much.

Also, he couldn’t be sure if Mrs. Norris was still alive. If he had only discovered what his father was planning earlier, found a way to stop it.

In a month, Draco? Don’t be ridiculous…

They entered Lockhart’s office, which was very dark. As Lockhart lit all the candles on his desk Draco looked up and saw a great many portraits of Lockhart himself adorning the room, including a portrait of himself painting a portrait of himself.

Quite uncanny.

Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the desk and bent over, examining her. Draco and his friends slowly lowered themselves into seats in the dark, half hoping they might be forgotten. As the Professors examined her, Lockhart bounced around them, exclaiming things at random.

“It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture - I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her…”

A dry sob cut through the air and the kids turned, startled, to see Filch was slumped in a chair, sobbing into his hands. For the first time ever, Draco didn’t scrunch his nose up and instead softened, feeling strange pity for the usually cruel caretaker.

“...I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou,” Lockhart continued, “a series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…”

At last Dumbledore straightened and looked at Filch. “She's not dead, Argus,” he told him softly and Lockhart, who was mumbling to himself while counting murders he’d prevented on his fingers, froze.

“Not dead?” choked out Filch. “But why’s she all - all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been Petrified,” - “Ah! I thought so!” - “But how, I cannot say…”

“Ask them!” Filch turned to face Draco and the others, stretching out a bony finger to point at them.

“No second year could have done this,” said Dumbledore, not even taking a moment to consider them, it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced nature.”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape. He was half in the shadows, walking forwards now and almost smiling. It made Draco have to remind himself that he had been right last year, and there was nothing to worry about with his old tutor. “Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

Draco felt his mouth go dry as sandpaper. They could hardly say they were led by a mysterious voice only Harry could hear, could they?

“We - We were heading off to bed early.” Hermione whispered.

“Tired,” Weasley choked.

“That’s right,” Harry nodded. “We were tired and wanted to go to bed.”

Snape didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but couldn’t find something to poke at in their story. Filch looked furious that there wasn’t a culprit to blame. Dumbledore, meanwhile, was considering them, eyes twinkling strangely over his half-moon spectacles. Draco got the strangest impression he was reading his thoughts. He thought of what his mother had taught him when he was young and put up his strongest Occlumency shields just in case.

In case he saw in his mind that his father was undoubtedly the one responsible for this.

“My cat has been Petrified!” Filch shrieked, his eyes popping out of his head again. “I want to see some punishment!”

“We will be able to cure her, Argus,” Dumbledore tore his gaze away from the students to nod at him. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart declared. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -”

“Excuse me,” Snape slowly turned to narrow his eyes on him. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

For a long moment, everyone was silent, some staring directly at the professors, others staring at the floor, awkwardly. Then, at last, Dumbledore turned to the students.

“You may go,” he told them and they didn’t need to be told twice. Draco jumped to his feet and left with the others as quickly as possible without bolting out, and when they were far enough away, a floor above the office, they, with no need to communicate, went into an empty classroom and closed the door on instinct.

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?”

“No,” Weasley blurted, as Draco leaned against a wall, trying to ground himself so he could keep the calm look on his face. “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking at Weasley closely and asking, “You do believe me, don’t you?”

“‘Course I do,” Weasley said much too quickly. “But - you must admit it’s weird…”

“I know it’s weird,” Harry nodded. “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened… What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, it rings a sort of bell,” said Weasley slowly, and Draco grip on the wall tightened as he clenched his jaw to keep his face straight. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might’ve been Bill…”

The boys looked at Hermione, who startled, and shook her head. “I’ve never heard of a Chamber of Secrets… Have you -”

“No,” Draco blurted, pushing off the wall, and at the distant clock chiming he said, “It’s midnight, we better get to bed.”

They stepped out of the room and separated, Harry turned to go back downstairs to the dungeons, and the Gryffindors scaled the staircases up the Gryffindor Tower.

All the way Draco wondered if he should’ve told Dumbledore… If he should’ve told his friends… But at the idea of how quickly his father would get dragged off to Azkaban he pushed the idea out of his head, ready for a long, good sleep in.

-*-*-*-

Wednesday, November 4th

The castle entered into November abuzz with theories and active chatter on what the Chamber of Secrets was, paired with a good deal of avoiding Draco and his friends. Everywhere they went, crowds parted for him to pass, some scowling at them.

Draco, Hermione, and Weasley had entered the Gryffindor Common Room one night to find everyone had already fled to their rooms, leaving only Weaslette sitting by the fire, writing in a book. She put it away when they came towards her, looking quite disturbed.

“She loves cats,” Weasley grunted to the other two then sat beside her on the couch, “Ginny, listen, you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris. Honestly, we’re much better off without her.” Weaslette’s bottom lip trembled and he placed a hand on one of her shoulders, speaking in what he must’ve thought was a comforting tone, “Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts. They’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled.” Weaslette looked horrified and he shook his head, lifting both hands defensively. “I’m only joking -”

By the following Wednesday they were completely alone in the library doing their History of Magic homework. Harry joined them halfway through the session, as he had been held back in Potions.

“I don’t believe it,” Weasley said as he let his parchment roll back up, having finished measuring his essay. “I’m still eight inches short… And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny.” He looked over at Draco’s essay and squinted.

“How can you read that?”

Draco startled. “It’s cursive!” he defended, “It’s refined. Not at all like your chicken scratch.”

Weasley stuck his tongue out as Harry sat down across from them.

“Where is she? Hermione?”

“Somewhere over there,” Weasley pointed to the shelves. “Looking for another book. I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas.”

“We’re still being avoided,” said Harry, looking around them with a frown, “This curly haired Hufflepuff kid in our year just ran away from me.”

“Justin?” Draco craned his neck behind Harry, sighing. “Shame. I liked him.”

Weasley waved a hand. “I didn’t, thought he was a bit of an idiot,” he somehow began making his writing worse, scrawling as large as possible. “All that junk about Lockhart being so great -”

She finally emerged a few minutes later, sitting down and sighing, her hair more frizzy than usual. “All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out, and there’s a two week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

Draco looked down at his essay and pretended to continue writing, though he didn’t dip his quill in any ink. He knew one of those copies was currently sitting up in his room, as he’d taken out every book mentioning the Chamber of Secrets he could find and not returned them for fear of Hermione doing this exact thing.

“Why do you want it?” Harry asked her.

“The same reason everyone else wants it; to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What’s that?”

Draco looked up. He hadn’t actually forced himself to read the legend yet, not wanting to ‘face the music’ so to speak.

“That’s just it. I can’t remember. And I can’t find the story anywhere else -”

Hermione and Weasley jumped into one of their usual arguments over schoolwork, which continued as they waved goodbye to Harry and walked to History of Magic, prepared to fall asleep to another lecture, today on the International Warlock Convention of 1289. How interesting…

However, a half hour into the class, with Draco in the back laying his head on his textbook, Binns stopped, and the suddenness of his halt was enough to make him jerk his head up in surprise.

Hermione had raised her hand.

“Miss - er - ?”

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets.

The reaction was immediately; Draco and Weasley straightened in their seats, glancing at each other, Thomas jerked out of the trance he’d been in, gazing out the window, Lavender Brown raised her head from her arms, Longbottom’s elbow slipped off his desk, Finnigan startled so that he accidentally scratched a line of ink across his notes but didn’t seem to mind, and Parvati Patil startled out of a deep sleep following his kick to her chair.

Binns only blinked at them all. “My subject is History of Magic,” he said, “I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He cleared his throat and attempted to continue the lecture but halted once more when Hermione raised her hand and now waved it around like a maniac.

“Miss Grant?”

“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Binns showed probably the most emotion he ever had in life and in death as he stared at her, utterly gobsmacked.

“Well,” he said slowly, “yes, one could argue that, I suppose.” He narrowed his eyes upon her, examining her closely, “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale -” He looked up and seemed to be questioning his very life choices at the sight of eight pairs of eyes looking at him imploringly, hanging unto his every word.

“Oh, very well,” he sighed. “Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…”

And he launched into an explanation of how long ago, the Hogwarts founders’ tight friendship had been threatened by disagreements between all four of them, but mostly a huge rift splitting apart Salazar Slytherin from all the others.

Slytherin had wanted to only invite children of magical blood, and, after a serious argument with Gryffindor, he’d left the school. But, as the ‘fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets’ told it, he’d left a hidden chamber in the castle before doing so, of which no one knew of, nor the location. Before leaving, he’d sealed it so that the only one able of opening it was his one true heir, who would open it, unleash a horrid monster, and use said monster to purge the school of Muggle-borns.

Draco licked his lips, leaning back in his seat and shivering when the tale was over. All of this certainly pointed to being something that his father would agree with…

He really, desperately wanted to blurt out the truth to his friends now, but visions of his father manacled, being dragged to Azkaban floated through his mind, paired with visions of Harry in danger. Dobby had said Harry would be in danger…

Draco shifted very uncomfortably in his seat, wondering where his life had fallen off the rails.