Chapter 7
Harry was helping Hagrid install a glass tank for Elvis in his dorm. “This is blatant favouritism,” Thomas commented. Harry was aware of it, but he wasn’t above taking advantage. Elvis, meanwhile, was having a staring contest with Hedwig; Harry kept an eye out in case either of them started biting.
“Are ye holdin’ up all right, Harry?” The groundskeeper asked, while he held up the whole tank with one hand. “Lot’a rumors flyin’ about.”
“It could be worse, I suppose.” It was nothing compared to the tempest which would ensue if Thomas’s existence became public. He recalled a comment Hagrid made when they first met. “I don’t think muggles would ask wizards to solve their problems if they heard all this, though.”
Hagrid chuckled. He looked around, and leaned closer to whisper, “Between you an’ me, muggles do alright fer themselves. But it ain’t wise t’be heard sayin’ such.”
Harry was about to reply when footsteps clattered on the stairs. Seamus burst into the room. “Harry, there you are! Someone’s been petrified again, we’re to go to the common room for head-count.”
Luckily, Harry had been with Hagrid all afternoon, and he could prove it. Elvis lifted his head up. “ Is something interesting happening, Speaker? I want to see it. ”
“ Come along, then. ” With the cobra coiled in his pockets, Harry hurried down the stairs. Most of the Gryffindor students were already there. Harry studied the first and second-year girls, and wondered which one the horcrux was taking advantage of.
***
This has gone far enough. – The True Heir of Slytherin
***
“It certainly has,” Filch said over Harry’s shoulder. Harry yelped and almost dropped the note, which he was about to stick to the wall. “You better have a plan to deal with this.”
Harry did. “It’s a bit dangerous in itself, but I can do it at winter break, when there are fewer people in the castle.”
***
Harry’s plan wasn’t the only one brewing. So to speak. “The polyjuice is done,” Hermione announced; three steaming beakers stood on the rim of the bathroom sink.
“Wow,” said Myrtle. “I didn’t think you’d actually manage it.”
Hermione sniffed. “Well, we did. And we’ve got hairs from three Slytherin students – one of us will have to sit out.”
Harry drew the short straw. “I’ll be the distraction, I suppose.” He didn’t mind letting the others take the lead for once – especially since he knew they wouldn’t find either Heir.
Hermione dropped a hair in each beaker. “Now remember, we’ll only have an hour to find Malfoy and ask him about the chamber.” She, Ron and Neville drank the potion, and transformed into Crabbe, Goyle and Draco Malfoy. “Oops. That was supposed to be one of Pansy’s hairs.”
“Go on without me,” Neville said. “I’ll just wait it out here.”
“One more thing,” said Harry. “Just in case. Serpensortia. ” He focused on his intent – a pair of small, swift snakes.
“Oh, this is new!” / “Where is this?” Two tiny snakes, banded red-and-sand and no larger than pencils, appeared.
“Hello,” hissed Harry. The snakes stilled and looked up at him.
“Ooh, a speaker!” / “Can we do a thing for you, Speaker?”
“Go with these two humans. If they run into trouble, come back and tell me.”
“That sounds like fun!” / “We can do that!”
***
Draco knew instantly that these two were not the real Vince and Greg. The appearances were right, and the voices – but the mannerisms were all off. And they didn’t know the inside jokes and pass phrases the three of them tossed back and forth.
Draco chewed on his lip while he pretended to work on a history essay. What could they want? They hadn’t made threats or tried to take him anywhere. Most likely they were a couple of students having a prank, but polyjuice and human transfiguration weren’t easy. And what had they done with the real Vince and Greg? Draco could wait them out, or try to find out what they were up to, or … he gathered his parchments and stood.
“I should ask Professor Snape about this. Come on, guys.”
“Sure, Malfoy,” said ‘Vince’. ‘Greg’ just grunted. They really hadn’t looked past the public personas, had they?
Snape was in his office, grading papers; he looked down his nose at Draco when he walked in. “Can I help you, Mr Malfoy?”
“I would appreciate your advice on this, Professor.” Draco held out his essay, with a hastily scrawled note on top: ‘These are not the real Crabbe and Goyle’. Snape’s eyebrows rose.
“I see. Take a seat; this will require a thorough discussion.”
Snape set his grading aside and embarked on an analysis of the History notes. “I observe that Binns has, as usual, omitted the significance of the Treaty of Cornwall in ending the third Goblin War…” Snape had a way of finding the mot interesting aspects of the event, which Binns never managed. “Were you planning to contribute to the conversation?” He asked the impostors.
“Um, well, I dunno …” They were squirming now – it was over thirty minutes since Draco first saw them, plus whatever time it had taken them to get into the Slytherin dorms. Snape continued,
“Did you nitwits think I wouldn’t notice the boomslang skin missing from my stores?”
“Um …” Just then, two more people entered the office: Vince and Greg. A tense silence fell as they and the impostors stared at each other. Draco held back a snicker.
“Excuse us,” blurted ‘Vince’; he grabbed ‘Greg’ and dashed out the door.
“Amateurs,” snorted Snape.
***
“And we didn’t even find anything out!” Hermione complained. She transfigured one of the bathroom stalls into a bench and slouched on it. Myrtle awkwardly patted her shoulder.
Maybe Harry should have told her that Draco wasn’t one of the Heirs. The twin little snakes curled around his wrist, hissing, “Can we do that again?” / “ I want to do that again!” They ought never to meet the Weasley Twins, he decided.
“At least Snape doesn’t know it was us,” said Ron. “No one can prove anything.”
“What did it feel like, being polyjuiced?” asked Harry.
“Weird,” said Ron.
Hermione added, “I’m quite sure I’m a girl, but I did rather like having a willy. I’m not sure what to make of that.”
“Some witches do that,” noted Neville. “I think there’s a spell for it.”
***
With most of the students out of the castle, Yule was the perfect time for Harry to carry out his plan. “Tonight, everyone will be busy with the feast,” he told Oris; even the house elves would be occupied. “It will be safe for you to get into the girls’ side of the tower.”
“I understand. What am I seeking?”
“Its magic will smell like the Speaker who came before me.”
The feast was subdued. Out of Gryffindor House, only Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys had stayed. And Harry knew the Horcrux wasn’t possessing Hermione.
“Miss Weasley does not seem like the type to be tempted by a diadem,” Thomas mused.
“That is a bit odd.” Hopefully the whole business would be resolved by morning. Harry did his best to enjoy the feast; the house elves had done an amazing job, and he had the pick of all his favourites, and Thomas’s too. He went to bed early and set a charm to wake him after midnight. He donned Death’s cloak to creep down to Myrtle’s bathroom. Oris had left her prize at the entrance to the Chamber – not the diadem as they expected, but a diary.
“There’s some irony to this,” said Thomas. He had placed his diary in the hands of Lucius Malfoy, so how had it gotten here? Harry took a quill from his pocket and opened the book.
“Hello,” he wrote.
H̷͍͛ḛ̶̆l̸̫̎l̶̫͠o̸̊ͅ.̸͓̏ ̴̬͝Y̵̼̔o̴̜͘u̶͈̕’̵̖́ṙ̶̘ė̶͇ ̶̜̒ň̸̨ȏ̵͓t̸͋͜ ̶̭͐G̸͍̅i̵̲̅n̴͚̑n̸̗̄ẏ̸̗.̷̡̊
“I’m Harry Potter.” He felt the soul shard extend tendrils of magic, seeking a way into his mind.
Ị̴͠’̸̪̓v̸͈̊e̵͐͜ ̵̙͌h̷̭̋ẽ̸̟a̵̼͒r̴̰̽d̸̝̆ ̴̛̱t̷͈͘h̴̜̋a̷̡̔t̷̗̀ ̷̞̾y̶̨̅ō̶̠u̸̡̕ ̶̡̓d̴͉̓é̷̤f̴̫͑ḙ̸̏a̵͍͌ṫ̴͖e̵̙͆d̴͓̈́ ̵̀͜ť̴̨h̴̢̛e̴̯̔ ̷̣̉D̷̩͗ȧ̷̲r̷͚͂k̷͔̐ ̵̧͂L̵̡̉ö̸̲r̴̗̓d̵̮͝.̴̭͋ ̷̟̇Ċ̸͉á̶̹n̴̛̖ ̴̤͘y̵̙͌o̶͈͘ǘ̴̹ ̷̼͆ṱ̶̃e̴̩̽l̶̘̅l̴̢͂ ̵͉̔m̴̢͒é̵̜ ̵̤͆ḣ̶̞ŏ̵̧w̸̲̽ ̸̢̑ȉ̶͜t̸̙̒ ̷͛ͅḧ̴̰́a̴͕̎p̴̳͑p̴̭̚e̶̫͘n̴͖̂é̵̯d̴̪͆?̴̪́
“You lost.”
Thomas struck. He latched onto the soul shard and ripped it out of its vessel. Taken by surprise, the shard barely resisted before merging back into Thomas’s soul. Memories of what the diary shard had done, and intended to do, opened up to them.
“Good thing we got to the Chamber first,” said Harry.
“Indeed, Master. A juvenile scheme, but that’s to be expected, I suppose.”
“How do you feel, Thomas?”
“My magic is unsettled, Master, but I believe that it will resolve itself.”
Harry returned to his bed and entered his mindscape. Thomas bowed in greeting; Harry examined him closely. His form was slightly doubled around the edges, but showed no signs of damage. “Any observations of note?”
“Yes, Master. The diary shard and myself were roughly equal in strength. Existing lore on Horcruxes holds that the soul is divided in half with each one.”
Harry put a hand on his chin. “If that was the case, diary-Tom would have been, what, sixty-four times bigger?”
“Precisely, Master. And we have observed that Shademort is also similar in strength to myself. That suggests that the soul naturally splits into seven equal pieces.”
“In that case, Shademort wouldn’t be able to make any more,” Harry concluded. “Unless he reclaims one of the existing ones … once your magic settles, we’re collecting the diadem.”
“As you command, Master.” Thomas bowed again.
Harry turned to look at the firebowl at the heart of his mindscape, now half-full of multi-colored flames. “That’s grown quite a bit, hasn’t it.”
“There were notable increases when you fed Oris, when you promised Filch to stop my counterpart, and when you brought Myrtle flowers. There is no pattern that I can discern.”
“Hmm. I wonder what will happen when it reaches the edge.”
***
Dear Miss Weasley,
It has come to my attention that you have experienced some difficulties due to the activities of one Tom Riddle. Please rest assured that said person has been Dealt With, and will not trouble you further. Any information you revealed to him will remain confidential. I understand that one of your brothers is a cursebreaker; you may wish to ask him for lessons on how to defend your mind from intrusion.
With respect, the True Heir of Slytherin.
***
“And that’s the end of that,” Harry told Severus. He sat in Severus’s private lab, a steaming cup of punch – Severus’s personal recipe – at his elbow. Thomas was reading a potions journal; since he was only a projection, Harry was turning the pages for him.
“An auspicious Yule, my Lord.” Severus raised his own glass of punch. At the far end of the workbench, Peter was carefully stirring the mandrake potion; Elvis coiled nearby, watching intently.
“I wish I’d seen the look on the kids’ faces when they were caught out.”
“I’ll put it in the pensieve for you.” Severus rolled his eyes.
“You’re a peach, Sev.”
“And you are a menace.” Severus checked the potion. It was ready for the final ingredient, walrus whiskers. He started adding them one at a tme. “My Lord, do you have any plans regarding the Chamber?”
“I’ll be securing the entrance better, for one thing.” Harry swirled his drink. “I shall have to discuss the rest with Oris. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but the risk of accident … I could make the Chamber more comfortable for her, at least.”