HP & The Chamber of Secrets

Harry

For a moment there was silence as Harry, Charles, and Theo stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream.

"Harry! Charles!"

It was their mother, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leaped to her feet, closely followed by James, and both of them flung themselves on their sons.

Harry looked over their shoulders. Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder.

"You saved Theo." Mr. Nott commented, who had yet to stand from his chair. "How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," Professor McGonagall weakly agreed.

Lily and James let go of their sons, and Charles and Theo, after a moment's hesitation, walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then Charles started telling them everything, with short inputs from Harry, who had sunk into a nearby chair, not being able to stand any longer. For nearly a quarter of an hour, they spoke into the rapt silence: About Harry hearing the disembodied voice; Hermione finally realizing that a basilisk was traveling through the pipes; Charles and Ron following the spiders into the forest and Aragog telling them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how they had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as they paused, "so you found out where the entrance was - breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive?"

So they told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. Harry told them everything about Riddle's diary - how he'd known it was cursed and Josephine's involvement it all this. He also told them about how Theo had been possessed, though he cautiously made it known that nothing was Theo's fault. 

Theodore Nott Sr. had growled menacingly at Theo when that had been mentioned, going into a rant about how he had shamed them by being so naive and stupid as to fall for the tricks of a cursed diary. Harry silently agreed; judging from the environment he had grown up in, Theo should have known better. But he also forgave it, since Theo was a lonely and innocent (as he can be with a father like that) child.

When Nott was finished with his rant, Dumbledore took the diary from the table and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, Tom Riddle was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, and underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

James raised an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged. "You know eavesdropping is rude, don't you?"

"I wasn't even eleven back then." Harry supplied helpfully.

Lily groaned. 

"Mr. Nott should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for him. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than him have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at Theo. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Ron brightly.

"And Lyra!" Charles grinned.

Mr. Nott led Theo out, his hand on his shoulder a little too firm.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens? And why don't you take Harry with you? I dare say he needs rest; he's dead on his feet."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, when he felt the world tilt. Okay, maybe Dumbledore was right. He wasn't alright... "Why don't you both accompany him?" Dumbledore suggested to Lily and James, who looked uncertainly at Charles before nodding.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with the younger Potter, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

Charles

She left, and Charles gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with him? Surely - surely - he wasn't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you, Charles, that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore.

Charles opened his mouth in horror.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You will, along with your brother, both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

Charles went as brightly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

The door suddenly opened and Yarrow entered, with Lockheart bound and levitated behind her, and Jéricho, Serafina, Pucey, and Cedric all bringing up the rear. 

"We've brought you a phony, Headmaster," Yarrow smirked. "And we have evidence."

The evidence was a recording done by a spell created by Harry and Jéricho, showing Lockheart confessing to his crimes. The real Lockheart moaned and tried to charm his way out, but Dumbledore didn't listen to any of it, firing him that instant. 

When he'd dismissed Lockheart, he turned to smile at the others. "I thank you all for doing such a great justice. All of you get twenty points each."

Knowing a clear dismissal, they all left, leaving Charles alone again with Dumbledore. 

"First of all, Charles, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber, same with Harry. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you both."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Charles grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you..."

"And Harry, too, sir," Charles said. "In fact, he said my survival was a fluke and insulted me, and he seemed to be more interested in Harry." Suddenly, something that was nagging at Charles came tumbling out of his mouth. "Professor Dumbledore, I'm worried. Riddle said Harry's like him... Strange likenesses, he said..."

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Charles from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Charles?"

"I don't think Harry's like him!" Charles said, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, he's - he's a Gryffindor, and..."

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "Harry's very clever and all... and sometimes he's very ambitious and, well... Slytherin-like. Sometimes. He doesn't really make friends with any muggle-borns or half-bloods too, though he's never rude to them or anything... Everyone thought he was Slytherin's heir for a while... and he can speak Parseltongue..."

"He can speak Parseltongue, Charles," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his powers to him - and probably you as well - the night he gave you that scar. Harry was also in the room. This is something like a fluke, I suspect."

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in Harry?" Charles asked, thunderstruck.

"It certainly seems so."

"So he should be in Slytherin," Charles looked desperately into Dumbledore's face. "He-"

"Chose Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Charles. Your brother happens to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. Ambition and cleverness. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet he was placed in Gryffindor because he chose it."

"But then it only put Harry in Gryffindor because he asked for it..."

Dumbledore beamed once more. "What makes Harry very different from Tom Riddle is his choices, Charles. You don't really believe your brother to be evil or something, do you? It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. And it was Harry's choice to go against Riddle and to save you and Theo. He even almost died trying, Charles."

Charles sat motionless in his chair, stunned. It was true; Harry had outright denied Riddle the offer of joining him. Harry had been stabbed a fang and almost died. Would have died if not for Fawkes. He was suddenly overcome with shame... how could he think like that of his brother?!

"Sir," Charles mumbled, "The Sorting Hat told me I'd do good in Slytherin too..."

Dumbledore smiled. "If you want proof that both you and Harry belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this, Charles."

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Charles, who dully turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor 

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat," said Dumbledore simply. "Harry did it. And you were able to touch it without it burning you, Charles. The sign of a true Gryffindor."

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

"What you need, Charles, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban - we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Charles got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury etched on his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Charles over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy's shoes. Apparently, Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

"So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Theodore Nott's son had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So - have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. Using this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Charles, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Charles, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see..." said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Charles here" - Mr. Malfoy shot Charles a swift, sharp look - "and his brother Harry hadn't discovered this book, why - Theo Nott might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove he hadn't acted of his own free will..."

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then... The Notts are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Theodore Nott and his family name, if his son was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories were wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise..."

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Charles suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment. "Don't you want to know how Theo got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" Charles asked.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him. "How should I know how the stupid little boy got hold of it?" 

"Because you gave it to him," Charles said. "Didn't you?"

He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench. "Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Charles. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Theodore Nott, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you..."

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Charles distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house elf. "We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Charles stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him -

"Professor Dumbledore," he said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Charles," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember..."

Charles grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby's squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Charles took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy," he gasped, skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you -"

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand. "What the -?"

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, and then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

"You are nothing more than a meddlesome fool, Charles Potter," he said softly. He turned to go. "Come, Dobby. I said, come."

But Dobby didn't move. He was holding up Charles's disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure.

"Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment. "Master gave it to Dobby."

"What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"

"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby - Dobby is free. "

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf. Then he lunged at Charles. "You've lost me my servant, boy!"

But Dobby shouted, "You shall not harm Charles Potter!"

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

"You shall go now," he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch Charles Potter. You shall go now."

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

"Charles Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Charles, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Charles Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby," Charles grinned. "Just promise never to try and save my life again."

The elf's ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

"I've just got one question, Dobby," Charles said as Dobby pulled on his sock with shaking hands. "You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well -"

"It was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. "Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?"

"Right," Charles said weakly. "Well, I'd better go. There's a feast, and my friends Hermione and Lyra should be awake by now..."

Dobby threw his arms around Charles' middle and hugged him. "Charles Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Charles Potter!"

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Charles had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Charles didn't know whether the best bit was Hermione running toward him, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Charles and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Charles' four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Harry entering in the middle to thunderous applause and a standing ovation, not as tired as before, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh, no!" said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

"Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. "He was starting to grow on me."

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. 

The only bad news was that Lyra was still upset with Charles, and had thwarted any attempts at reconciliation. She had brutally rejected his thousand apologies, and wouldn't even look at him properly. Hermione was, too, a guilty mess, and Charles got the sense that Ron was refraining from saying, 'good riddance' for their sakes, something with Charles was grateful for. 

Harry

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. The Prowlers sat in their compartment at the back of the train. Everyone knew it was theirs, as they had constantly sat in it ever since the first year. 

"So, no trip for us this year, eh?" Jéricho asked Harry. 

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Nope."

Sera's eyes lit up. "That's actually great news! We can work on the Prowler Project the whole summer."

Adrian and Cedric nodded their agreement. That brightened Harry's mood considerably. 

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.

"They choose prefects in fifth year." 

"I'll make it, of course." Jéricho drawled over-confidently. Sera matched his sentiment, and so did Cedric. Adrian and Harry exchanged an exasperated look. "You're such..."

"Nerds!"

"We're not!" Cedric defended. "We're, like, the coolest clique in school!"

"Exactly." Adrian sneered.

Jéricho rolled his eyes. "It's an advantage for us to be in positions of power."

Cedric hummed his agreement. Just then, the door opened to their compartment and Fred and George entered, grinning excitedly.

"News flash!"

"Percy has a girlfriend!"

The others all gaped. "What?!"

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," Fred said. "That's who he was writing to all last summer, too."

George nodded. "He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. Ginny walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day! She just told us!" 

"You won't let it go, will you?" Sera smirked.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped, and together they walked out of the train.