Chapter 8
Lockhart was looking rather frazzled, Severus notes during the first staff meeting of the term. His teeth were duller than usual, his ringlets less bouncy. “Did you have a strenuous holiday, Gilderoy?”
“Merely the rigors of fame, don’t you know,” Lockhart said with a nervous chuckle. “I have had many requests to apply my expertise to the petrifications happening at this school.”
The matter had been resolved, but of course there was no way to prove that to the public. “Have you devised a strategy?”
“Er, well, the final plan will depend on the circumstances I find myself in. I am a master of improvisation after all! It won’t be long before I’ve tracked the culprit to their lair.”
Severus wondered if he should warn Harry. The danger seemed minimal. “And how are the Slytherin students responding?” asked Minerva.
“They remain divided between the self-styled Heirs. None have accused a fellow student of being either heir, which I shall count as a blessing.” And that was all he wanted to say about that. “What of the Hufflepuffs, Pomona? Are they pleased to have Mr Finch-Fletchey returned to them?”
“Oh yes, they certainly are.”
***
Harry was in the library looking for a book on runes, when he heard Justin Finch-Fletchey talking to his friends. “I heard hissing right before it happened.”
“Like a snake?” asked one of them. “Or a parselmouth?”
“Maybe Potter was behind it after all!”
“Now see here.” Neville came up to their table, a frown creasing his brow. “Harry isn’t the type to do that sort of the thing. And I don’t think he has anything against Justin or Creevey.”
“But Creevey was always pestering him for pictures. And nobody likes that mangy cat. And Justin is muggleborn – ”
“So is Harry, remember?”
“But the muggles he lives with are supposed to be really nasty! I’ll wager he hates anything to do with muggles.”
Neville snorted. “In that case, he’d be more likely to worry that Justin was in the same pinch as him. None of what you’re saying makes a bit of sense.” He walked away, and nearly ran into Harry around the corner of the bookshelves.
“Sorry,” said Harry. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Thanks for sticking up for me.”
Neville shuffled his feet. “You’d do the same for me, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I would.”
***
Draco had come to appreciate the Omega parlor as the year went on. Aside from his dorm room, it was one of the few places in Hogwarts where he didn’t need to put on a performance. It also helped when he wanted to keep something private from Vince and Greg. He’d tell them once it was done, of course, but until then –
He was writing a letter to his father. They had disagreed on the matter of their unreliable house elf; he didn’t mention that, instead relating the latest rumors about the Heirs of Slytherin. Mother advised him to remain neutral, though she agreed that the True Heir was the more appealing prospect. Classes were adequate; Lockhart continued to make a fool of himself on a daily basis. Draco thanked his parents for the new set of dragonhide gloves – one of the previous pair had gotten ruined in one of many Potions accidents. The remaining glove got folded inside his letter.
“Dobby?”
“Young Master Draco calls?” The house elf was as shifty as ever, twitching and darting his eyes around the room.
“I’m sending this letter to my father. I don’t need you deliver it, but you should be nearby when he opens it. Do you understand?”
Dobby nodded frantically.
“That will be all.”
***
Lockhart’s attempt to restore his reputation was … certainly something, Severus thought. Like one of Slughorn’s Slug Club events, with less taste. The Great Hall was festooned with red and pink banners and the dwarfs whom Lockhart hired to play cherubs seemed to share Severus’s annoyance.
Except for the three dwarfs who trooped into his office to sing an absolutely filthy song about the shape of a Wizard’s staff. Severus tipped them each a sickle, and considered what kind of payback Peter deserved for that.
Lockhart meanwhile, received dozens of adoring messages from students – more than half of them asking if the brave Defense professor would save them from the monster in the Chamber. Lockhart’s smile grew forced as the day went on.
***
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Ginny told her former crush. “But my heart belongs to the True Heir of Slytherin now.”
***
After so many times of nearly being caught in first year, Harry’s group generally split up to sneak back to the dorms. By chance, Harry and Ron (with Wormtail and Elvis) were passing by the Defense Professor’s office when they heard movement inside. They traded glances and went to investigate.
Lockhart was packing up his belongings at a suspiciously late hour.
“ Unsurprising that he couldn’t take the heat, ” Thomas commented. The poseur was finally showing his true colors. To make sure he got caught in the act, they should –
“Lockhart, what are you doing?” Ron yelled, bursting into the room. Harry held back a sigh and followed him. Lockhart put on a parody of his usual grin.
“I’ve had an urgent mission come up …”
“You’re doing a runner because you’re pants at your job,” Ron accused, going red in the face. Lockhart drew his wand.
“Actually, I’ve just had a brilliant idea. I’m going to rescue a couple of students from the Chamber of Secrets – their memories of what happened are a bit muddled, poor things.”
What was that supposed to mean? Harry reinforced his mental shields and reached for his own wand. Before either of them could cast, Wormtail leaped out of Ron’s pocket and latched onto Lockhart’s finger.
Lockhart shrieked and dropped his wand while trying to dislodge the rodent. Then he lunged to grab Harry’s wand from him, and Ron tried to shove him aside. In the ensuing scuffle, Ron ended up with Harry’s wand, Lockhart ended up with Ron’s cracked wand, and Lockhart’s wand rolled under a bookcase. Now they were at a standoff, with Lockhart keeping the cracked wand pointed at Harry.
“Careful, there, Weasley. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your little friend.”
“ Clicheed. No menace, no style. ”
“You’ve missed something, Lockhart,” said Harry. “Pocket snake!” he tossed Elvis at Lockhart’s head. The cobra uncoiled and wrapped around him, hissing; it was enough distraction for Ron to cast petrificus totalus, and then silencio . Harry stepped forward and plucked Ron’s wand from his hand.
“Good call,” They swapped their wands back.
“Thanks, mate … seriously though, pocket snake? Half the time you talk like our sixty-year-old uncle, and then you come out with stuff like that.”
And here Harry thought he’d been subtle. “Let’s fetch Professor McGonagall. Scabers, are you all right?”
“Squeak!”
***
Harry wondered what Hermione was worked up about this time. She burst into Myrtle’s bathroom, where Harry and Ron were taking apart some of the stalls for transfiguration materials. “I’ve figured it out!”
“Figured out what?” said Ron. “The thirteenth use of dragon’s blood?”
“Where Jimmy Hoffa is buried?” added Harry.
“How they got the caramel into the Caramilk bar?” suggested Thomas.
“The nine secret puzzles of Ravenclaw?” said Myrtle, who was discussing flowers with Neville at the other side of the room.
Hermione pouted. “No! I’ve figured out how the False Heir has been petrifying people!”
This should be interesting. Harry wondered if she had arrived at the correct answer. “What did you come up with?”
“Well, I couldn’t find any references for a spell that had that effect.” Hermione took out a sheaf of notes. “So I thought a creature might be behind it. When I researched pertifcation specifically, I didn’t find anything, but I ran across this: the basilisk. The golden eyes are instantly lethal to any living being who looks at them directly – ”
“Ooh, like me!” said Myrtle.
“Right, but an indirect look will petrify. And all three victims were found near a reflective object – the puddle for Mrs Norris, Colin’s camera, and Justin was facing a window.”
That was surprisingly close. “It all makes sense, but – ”
“What else is there?” Hermione cut him off. “A Basilisk is the only explanation that fits! Why won’t you believe me?!”
Harry realised that only the truth would dissuade her. “Because I already talked to the basilisk and I know it wasn’t her!”
Hermione stopped short. “You – but, the eyes – ”
“I said I talked to her, not looked at her.” He showed Hermione his Peril-Sensitive Sunglasses.
She put them on, took them off, and then sat down with a thump. “It’s here, isn’t it. The Chamber of Secrets.”
Harry nodded gently. “That’s why I put a password on the door. Oris doesn’t want to hurt anyone but she can’t help being dangerous. She’s very sorry about Myrtle.”
“That’s kind of her, I suppose.” Said Myrtle.
“But then how …” Hermione wondered.
Elvis poked his head out of Harry’s robe pocket. “ Is this conversation interesting? ”
“ You might call it that. ” Harry continued in English, “When I looked into Parseltongue, there were mentions of Parsel magic; it’s supposed to be more powerful than conventional spellcraft.”
“I guess the Hogwarts library can’t have everything.” Hermione looked personally offended by that.
“You’re sure that the basilisk isn’t dangerous?” asked Neville.
“Well, she’s still dangerous, but not malicious, if you catch my meaning.” The Ministry would want her dead, and a being of such great age deserved better.
*** !!! Content Warning !!! ***
“Even if I do nothing, others use me as an excuse for their own wickedness,” Oris mused.
“There’s no easy solution I can think of,” Harry agreed. Oris was quiet for a while and then hissed,
“No easy solutions. But there is a simple one.” She paused again; Harry waited for her to gather her thoughts. “Speaker, you must take my eyes.”
“ What? ”
“I have had long to think on it. As long as I have these eyes, people will seek to make a weapon of me. Without them I will be free.” Another pause. “Even now, I cannot see anything worth seeing.” She sounded … wistful. Lonely, even?
“You’re sure you’ll be all right without?”
“I can hunt by scent and fang. I am sure, Speaker.”
“All right – all right. How shall I do this? Nothing short goblin steel is going to get through your scales. Should I go, hey Hogwarts, have you got a magic sword I can borrow? ”
There was a trill of music, a burst of heat, and the clatter of falling metal near his hand. “ Ask, and ye shall receive, ” commented Thomas. “ This is suspiciously convenient. ”
Harry agreed, but there was another saying that applied: don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He felt along the floor for the blade and promptly cut himself on it; it was razor sharp.
While Harry was discussing the ethics of the situation, Thomas had been thinking through the practical side, the result floating in their shared mindspace. Harry took off his cloak – he had almost outgrown it anyway – and draped it over Oris’s head. He felt to check that both eyes were covered, and then conjured a pigeon to make doubly sure. The pigeon remained alive; Harry left it go and removed his shades.
Oris’s body looped across the Chamber of Secrets. It was as thick as Harry was tall; a subtle diamond pattern shaded her scales, barely visible in the dim light. Fawkes was perched on a nearby rock with his head under his wing; most of the light was coming from him.
“You can look now, Fawkes.” He picked up the sword. Goblin steel gleamed in phoenix light; rubies sparkled in its hilt, and the letters Godric Gryffindor were etched into the blade. “Point of no return, Oris.”
She laughed. “Where I am going, I won’t need eyes to see. I am ready.”
He set the tip of the sword against the curved scale covering her eye, and plunged it in until the tip hit bone. On impulse, he slid the blade to carve the rune Sowilo, for protection. For such a sacrifice, she deserved to have that.
“That’s one.” He pulled the sword out and moved to the other side of Oris’s head, where he repeated the action. “And done.”
Oris made a long, wordless hiss. Exercising abundant caution, Harry covered his eyes again and summoned the pigeon before removing the cloak. He became aware of a burning on his arm; Oris’s blood had fallen on the cut he’d gotten from the sword earlier. “Oh … bother.”
“ Master, you have the strangest luck, ” said Thomas.
“Er, Fawkes? A little help, please?” The phoenix bounced over and obligingly wept on the wound. The burning eased. Then Fawkes turned and attempted to do the same for Oris, who moved her head out of the way.
“Stop that. I didn’t go to all that trouble for you to undo it.” Fawkes swatted her with his wing, and proceeded to shed tears into her eyes.
Another round of testing with the (very annoyed) pigeon proved that Fawkes had only healed enough to stop the pain and bleeding.
“I can’t tell if you’re helpful or not,” Harry told him. The phoenix trilled and whooshed away.
***