Nearly

On the morning of the first of September Harry is abruptly awoken by a sudden explosion of light as the window blinds are pulled up. He groans and curls up, pulling the cover over his head to shield himself from the bright morning sun, but he’s barely managed to secure the fabric around his head when the whole thing is wrenched away from him.

”Daddy…” he croaks out in a whine. 

But when he squints up at the man towering over him, it’s not Remus’s shaggy hair and lithe frame that he makes out through the blurriness, but Sirius’ wavy hair curling against his slightly broader shoulders. 

”Dad?”

”Rise and shine, runty!” the man exclaims and hands him his glasses. 

Harry carefully slips the spectacles onto his face and Sirius wide grin comes into focus slowly as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. 

”Where’s daddy?” 

”Having a lie-in”, Sirius says nonchalantly and turns away to survey Harry’s half-packed trunk. ”Your breakfast is on the table, you go eat while I finish packing your school stuff, okay?”

”He’s ill again, isn’t he?” Harry murmurs, watching his dad’s face closely for any sign of… well, anything… but Sirius face is a mask of cool, and he even shoots Harry a carefree smile that’s so convincing, Harry almost relaxes. Almost. 

”Your daddy is going to be fine. He’s just tired”, Sirius says seriously. ”Don’t worry about it, Harry. Really, he’s fine.”

”So he’s not going away?” Harry says doubtfully. 

”No, no, I shouldn’t think so…” Sirius mumbles and turns away again, bunching up some robes and cramming them into a narrow space between two book piles in Harry’s trunk. ”Now get dressed and go have some breakfast, Harry — we’ll need to leave in about half an hour, okay —?”

”So if daddy is fine, he’s coming to see me off at King’s Cross, right?” Harry insists.

Sirius sighs and tosses a pair of socks on top of the bulging contents of Harry’s trunk, then slowly shuts the lid and sits down on top of it. 

”No, Harry… Daddy’s not coming to see you off. He really wanted to, but —”

”Doesn’t matter”, Harry mumbles quickly and, before the stinging in his eyes has a chance to build up into fully-fledged tears, he scrambles off the bed. 

Avoiding Sirius’s sympathetic eyes, he darts passed him to flee the room, but Sirius is quicker; he reaches out and scoops Harry up with one arm, then gently reins him in. Harry twists feebly in his grasp and tries to pull away, however Sirius is stronger and soon he’s got Harry cradled into his side. Harry stays still in the half-embrace, unresisting but rigid, and refuses to look up and meet his dad’s gaze. 

”Of course it matters”, Sirius says softly. ”Harry… There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, in this world that matters more to your daddy and me, than you… Okay?”

”Okay”, Harry mutters thickly, blinking desperately. 

”Sometimes though, there are… things beyond our control, that make it… complicated for us, like your daddy’s condition.”

”Condition?” Harry repeats fearfully and finally looks up, but Sirius just gives him a reassuring smile and combs his fingers through the hair in the back of his neck. ”Is he… is he really going to be f-fine? I-I mean… You’d tell me if — if he — you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

”Yes, I promise”, Sirius says. ”But he really will be fine… Now, come one!”

*

Harry climbs into the sidecar of Sirius’s motorcycle and then carefully manoeuvres Hedwig’s cage into the space between his legs after Sirius hands it to him. The snowy-white bird flaps her wings and hoots reproachfully as Harry accidentally kicks the cage trying to make room between his feet. Sirius shrinks his trunk to the size of a bludger and hands that to him as well.

”Sorry, Hedwig”, Harry mumbles, twisting his feet further apart to make more room so he can fit the trunk into his lap.

”Ready?” Sirius says with an excited grin and hands him his helmet. 

”Yeah!” Harry says and tilts his chin up so that Sirius can help him secure the helmet. 

Remus barely ever lets Harry ride on the motorcycle with Sirius, so it’s a rare treat and Harry only feels a little guilty about it, considering the only reason he’s riding in the sidecar now is because his daddy is too ill to come with them… But as Sirius kickstarts the bike and they soar into the cool September air, the guilt quickly gives way to fluttery exhilaration and Harry whoops and laughs as they swerve in mid-air, setting the course for central London and then accelerating. 

As they leave the wizarding suburb of Elsrickle’s Hollow and enter the mixed area of Islington, Sirius touches down again and they drive the last few kilometres to King’s Cross on the road with the muggle vehicles — which isn’t nearly as much fun as flying, but still loads better than Apparating, Harry thinks. 

They run a yellow light and zoom round a bend to the chorus of angry honking and the large stone station comes into view… Harry feels a mix of excitement and dread; Soon, he’ll board the Hogwarts Express for the second time in his life and meet up with Draco and his other school friends, he’ll be on his way to his home away from home — Hogwarts — the most magnificent castle in all of wizarding Britain, where a spectacular welcoming feast awaits them in the Great Hall… And after he’s eaten so much treacle tart he’ll be bursting at the seams, he’ll crawl into his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dorms and be lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of water lapping at the windows… 

But, before any of that, he’ll have to say goodbye to his dad — something that always makes him feel awful — but what makes him feel even worse is that he won’t even get to say goodbye to his daddy…

The station clock tells them they have five minutes to get to platform nine and three quarters. Sirius parks the bike and helps Harry climb out of the sidecar, then steers him towards the entrance of the station firmly, saying there’s no time to get a trolley, ”Just leave the trunk as it is for now and then ask one of the older students or a teacher to unshrink it for you, alright?”

”Okay”, Harry says breathlessly as Sirius keeps pushing him to walk faster, until finally he’s running alongside him, clutching his hand desperately so as not to lose him in the late morning crowd. 

They zig-zag between suitcase-dragging muggles and jog down the escalator, pelting past platform nine with only two minutes to spare… Sirius pulls on Harry’s arm, propelling him in front of him and pushing him towards the hidden passageway to platform nine and three quarters…

BAM!

A sudden sharp pain explodes on Harry’s forehead and shoots into his skull as everything goes black —

”Harry!”

He blinks in confusion, the darkness slowly drifting away again… The pain has filled his whole head now, and his nose and forehead are throbbing… Suddenly Sirius face hovers above him, his brow creased with worry, ”Harry! Merlin, are you all right?”

Harry cranes his neck and throws a furtive glance around him; he’s lying sprawled on the floor of platform nine…

”What…” he mumbles. ”What happened?”

”I don’t know”, Sirius hisses and looks around doggedly. ”I don’t know, Harry… Come on, the muggles are starting to stare, can you sit up?”

Harry nods, but quickly regrets it as it makes the pain in his head flare up again. Sirius gently grabs his arms and helps him to sit, watching him worriedly. 

”What’s going on here —?” a conductor says suspiciously as he approaches them. 

”Nothing, my boy tripped that’s all”, Sirius lies smoothly and hugs Harry closer. ”He’s a little uncoordinated, especially in the morning…”

”Jesus…” the muggle murmurs, peering at Harry’s bleeding nose. ”You alright there, son?”

”He’ll be fine”, Sirius says shortly, glancing at the nearest clock and swearing under his breath. ”It’s eleven. We’ve missed the train…”

”Where are you going? Maybe I can get them to delay their departure until you’re on board…” the conductor offers kindly. 

”That’s okay. Thank you”, Sirius says and helps Harry to his feet. ”Come on, runt… Let’s go take a look at that nose, eh?”

As soon as they’re back by the motorcycle, Sirius sits Harry down in the sidecar and, shielding him from view with his own body, he discretely mends his broken nose with a muttered spell before transfiguring an old gum wrapper into a tissue and handing it to Harry.

”What happened?” Harry says again. ”Why couldn’t we get through?”

”I don’t know…” Sirius murmurs. ”But don’t worry, we’ll send an owl to Hogwarts and let them know what happened.”

”But how am I going to get there, I’ve missed the train —!”

”Calm down”, Sirius says firmly. ”We’ll just have to fly, won’t we?”

”What, really?”

”We don’t have much choice, do we?” Sirius says with a playful grin. ”Here, take Hedwig’s cage…”

Sirius quickly scrawls a short note and ties it to Hedwig’s leg, before telling her to fly ahead. He then helps Harry with the helmet again, before mounting the motorcycle and kickstarting it once more. 

As soon they leave London and all its curious muggles behind, Sirius pulls the motorcycle off the ground again and they fly the rest of the way hidden above the clouds. 

With no-one to talk to and the gentle rocking of the bike lulling him to sleep, Harry dozes off for a while and when he wakes up, the sun has started to set. He straightens up and peers over the side of the sidecar, catching glimpses of green peeking out through holes in the blanket of golden clouds. 

”Almost there!” Sirius yells over the hum of the engine. 

They fly past Hogsmeade and straight to the castle grounds, touching down right next to the massive gates. Harry scrambles out of the sidecar, eager to stretch his legs and Sirius kills the engine but stays seated on the bike, glaring at the gates as he pulls off his leather gloves. Harry follows his line of sight curiously.

On the other side of the wrought iron gate, just below one of the winged boars, with his long black robes rippling in the breeze, stands Harry’s Head of House, Professor Snape. His sallow face, framed by greasy hair that hangs like a couple of heavy, black curtains, is contorted in a deep scowl as he glares back at Sirius. 

”Hello, Professor”, Harry calls out and smiles nervously when the man’s dark eyes flicker over to meet his instead.

The scowl on Professor Snape’s face softens slightly and leaves him looking less furious and more mildly annoyed, which Harry will take as a victory considering his first year at Hogwarts was riddled with rule-breaking and poor potion-brewing skills — not to mention the fact that he made no secret of his suspicion that Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone and bring Voldemort back to life…

”Po- Harry”, Snape mutters, then shoots another dark glare in Sirius direction. ”Black…”

”You got our message”, Sirius says and climbs off the bike. 

”Clearly”, Snape says. ”No need to accompany Harry to the school, Black. I’ll take it from here.”

Sirius ignores him and turns to Harry, squatting down in front of him with a smile. He reaches out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder, then pulls him in for a hug. 

”You be good this year, Harry” he mumbles, carding his fingers through the hair in the back of Harry’s neck. ”But have fun, as well…”

Harry chuckles, ”Yeah, promise… Tell daddy I — I said — you know —?”

”I will”, Sirius says and gives him one last squeeze before leaning back again. ”I’ll see you at Christmas, okay?”

Harry nods. 

When Sirius pulls the motorcycle off the ground, Harry slowly walks over to Professor Snape but doesn’t tear his eyes away from the steadily shrinking silhouette of the bike until it’s merely a tiny black dot on the horizon.

He turns to look at Professor Snape and finds the man watching him silently. There’s no scowl on his face anymore, merely an impassive mask and the slightest hint of a thoughtful frown. Harry gives him a pinched smile and is just about to ask him about his summer, when the man swiftly turns away and starts walking up the path towards the castle. 

Harry hurries to keep up with him and nearly stumbles over twice, but the professor doesn’t even give him a sideways glance to see if he’s alright, just keeps walking briskly. 

When they finally reach the castle, Professor Snape slows down and, with a flick of his wrist, his wand slips from his sleeve and into his hand. He gestures for Harry to put the shrunken trunk down on the ground and then unshrinks it for him. 

”Leave it here, the house elves will take it to your dorm.”

Professor Snape opens the large oak doors with another flick of his wand and lets Harry step through first. 

”This way”, he says when Harry turns to walk towards the Great Hall and tilts his head towards the dungeons. ”The feast is not for another hour… I’ll give you the new password, so you can wait in your Common Room.”

”Okay…”

The walk to the dungeons is just as tense as the walk from the gates and Harry wonders whether he should apologise to the professor for suspecting him of consorting with Voldemort last year, or if he should just pretend like nothing is wrong until it feels like nothing actually is. But before he’s had a chance to make his mind up, they reach the hidden entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

”Salazar”, Professor Snape tells the paving stone between the last two torches and immediately the wall begins to rearrange itself until a doorway has been created, and Severus gestures for Harry to enter first. 

The narrow passageway opens up into a circular room decorated in green and silver, lit by a roaring fire and several torches lining the walls. Harry feels surge of happiness at the familiar sight. His home away from home. 

”Well…” Professor Snape says and shifts his weight a little awkwardly, before turning back to the door. ”I’ll leave you to… Yes. I’ll see you at the feast —”

”Wait —!” Harry exclaims. 

The professor pauses in the doorway and throws him a questioning look over his shoulder. Harry feels his face flush and quickly looks down. 

”Do you… Ehm… Would you… Want to play Exploding Snap?” he mumbles. ”Please, Professor?”

”Absolutely not”, Snape huffs. 

”Oh… O-Okay, then…” 

There is a moment of awkward silence when Harry avoids Professor Snape’s eyes and the older man shifts his weight a few times and sighs. 

”I will play chess with you.”

Harry’s head shoots up in surprise and he stares at the older man hopefully. Professor Snape scowls back, but then strides into the room and takes a seat in front of the fire. 

”You can be white”, he mutters as he sets up the chess board. 

”Okay!” Harry exclaims happily and hurries over. 

It comes as no surprise that Professor Snape is good at chess, but when he’s got Harry in check mate after only three moves, when Harry is still working out his strategy, it starts to dawn on Harry that he might very well be the best chess player he’s ever met, better than both Ron and Draco combined… They keep playing though, and after the first two games, the professor starts giving Harry pointers and they actually end up having a good time together. So much so that, when the hour has passed and it’s time to go to the feast, Harry feels like they’ve only just got started and he’s actually reluctant to stop playing. 

”Thanks for teaching me”, Harry says with a smile when Professor Snape puts the chess board away. 

”It was my pleasure”, Snape murmurs. 

”Really?” Harry says in surprise. 

”Indeed. I was very pleased to discover that you can be taught…”

Harry trails after Professor Snape as they exit the dungeons and cross the Entrance Hall. Unlike before, the doors to the Great Hall are now wide open and from inside an excited ruckus can be heard from the student body. Snape pauses in the doorway to let Harry enter first and Harry quickly scans the Slytherin table until he catches a glimpse of white-blonde hair. He beams and runs over to where Draco is sitting and squeezes in between him and Seamus. 

”There you are!” Draco gasps. ”Where have you been? I was worried sick —!”

”I’ll tell you later”, Harry whispers as the Sorting is about to start. ”But I’m fine.”

They watch the Sorting Ceremony in silence and applaud every time a new student gets sorted into Slytherin. Headmaster Dumbledore stands up at the podium and makes one of his odd little speeches, and then the feast materialises on the tables in front of them. 

Harry hadn’t even been aware of how hungry he was until the smell of food suddenly hits him and his stomach clenches. 

Draco, in his usual fashion, selects only a few dishes and scatters the bite-sized bits around his plate, making sure the leave plenty of space between the different foods before he starts to pick his way through it all and taking sips of water grapejuice between every bite. Harry frowns a little, watching him, but knows better than to comment in front of everyone else. 

He doesn’t get a chance to tell Draco about the barrier in King’s Cross until they’re both nestled into their respective beds, watching each other through the gloom. 

”Clearly someone doesn’t want me here this year…”

”I can’t believe you got to play chess with Professor Snape, I’m so jealous…”

*

When they enter the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, the enchanted ceiling is a dull, cloudy grey above their heads and the elation of the night before seems to have petered out during the night because everyone’s sleep-swollen eyes are fixed unseeingly on their porridge and eggs and at least no-one at the Slytherin table is talking much. There is a bit of chatting going on over at the Gryffindor table and a few of the professors seem to be conversing as well, but overall the Great Hall is unusually quiet. 

Harry is slumped over his porridge, eyes still drooping with sleep, when Professor Snape strides down the length of the table to hand out everyone’s timetables and he doesn’t notice when the man stops next to him until Draco elbows him in the side. 

”Sorry, Sir…” Harry mumbles and takes the timetable from Professor Snape, who doesn’t say anything in response, just continues down the table. 

”Here, have some coffee…” Draco offers and slides the coffee carafe over to him.

”I don’t drink coffee”, Harry mumbles. 

But he takes the carafe and pours himself a cup anyway, thinking it can’t really hurt to try. He takes a cautious sip and nearly gags. Draco, Seamus and Blaise laugh at him. 

”You’ll get used to it”, Blaise says. 

”I don’t want to get used to it”, Harry grumbles stubbornly but takes another sip anyway, because despite the rank taste, that one little sip he took seemed to have shaken all residual sleep from his system and he feels positively invigorated. And after the fourth sip, he doesn’t even mind the taste all that much either. 

Draco gives him a knowing look and smirks fondly, but Harry just sticks his tongue out at him. Glancing down at the timetable for the first time, Harry notices they’ve got double Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws first and he’s suddenly extremely happy that Draco suggested he try coffee, because if there is one class in which you need your wits about you, besides Potion, it’s Transfiguration with the stern Professor McGonagall. 

Harry suddenly becomes aware that he’s being watched and looks up. A very small, mousy-haired boy is standing at his elbow staring as though transfixed and clutching a camera. As soon as Harry locks eyes with him, the boy goes bright red and he starts to stammer. 

”Alright Harry? I’m — I’m Colin Creevy, I’m in Gryffindor and I just wanted to s-say — well — I really admire you and — ehm — d’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a p-picture?”

”A picture?” Harry repeats blankly, staring at the camera as the boy — Colin Creevy — raises it hopefully. 

”So I can prove I’ve met you”, Colin says eagerly, edging a small step closer. ”You see, I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightening scar on your forehead —” his eyes rakes Harry’s hairline and Harry barely resists the urge to flatten his fringe. ”— and a boy in my dormitory said that if I develop the film in the right potion, they pictures’ll move!”

Harry frowns in confusion. Why wouldn’t the pictures move? 

But then he realises, this boy must be muggle-born. And almost as soon as this thought has occurred to him, Colin confirms it by telling him all about receiving the letter from Hogwarts which explained all of the odd stuff that he could do and how he could barely believe it and neither could his dad who was a Milk-Man — whatever that is, Harry thinks.

”So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him”, Colin continues eagerly. ”And it’d be really good if I had one of you — maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you even? — oh, and then — would you sign it —?”

”Sign it”, Harry repeats incredulously. ”You want a signed photo —?”

”What’s all this? What’s all this?” 

Harry whips his head around and nearly groans as he sees Gilderoy Lockhart striding towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him and his teeth gleaming. 

”Who’s giving out signed photographs?”

”No-one —!” Harry says hurriedly. 

But it’s too late; Lockhart has already descended on him and flung his arm around his shoulders and squeezed him uncomfortably close.

”Shouldn’t have asked”, Lockhart says jovially. ”We meet again, Harry!”

Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry throws Draco a desperate look but the blonde is biting his lip, trying not to laugh. 

”Come on then, Mr Creevy”, Lockhart says and beams at Colin. ”A double portrait, can’t say fairer than that, and then we’ll both sign it for you! What do you say?”

Colin fumbles with his camera for a moment and Harry can feel pearls of sweat breaking out on his face. Finally the boy manages to take a picture, the flash going off and nearly blinding Harry who flinches. Lockhart finally releases him, but instead of walking away as Harry would have hoped, he takes a seat next to him.

”Harry, Harry, Harry”, he says, shaking his head. ”Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I? Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and now you’ve had a first taste, you want more… Harry, Harry, Harry…”

”Oh — no, Professor, see —” Harry tries to explain, but Lockhart just keeps shaking his head and grinning like a madman. 

”I understand. It’s only natural. But…” he leans in to murmur conspiratorially, ”A word to the wise, Harry… You need to calm down a bit, all right? Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking, ’It’s alright for him, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’ but Harry… when I was twelve I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? All that business with He Who Must Not Be Named — I know, I know, it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile-Award five times in a row, as I have, bit it’s a start, Harry. It’s a start… But, you mustn’t let it get to your head. I covered up for you there with young Mr Creevy, you see if he was photographing me, too, your schoolfellows won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much… But let me just say that handing out signed photographs at this stage in your career isn’t very sensible. It’s looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you’ll have to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but —” he gives a little chortle, ”I don’t think you’re quite there yet, my boy.”

With a final pat on Harry’s shoulder and a gleaming grin, Lockhart jumps up and strides out of the Great Hall. Harry blinks stupidly, his jaws working silently. He turns to his friends and they all burst out sniggering. 

”Your face!” Seamus exclaims, pointing at Harry. 

Harry scowls and swats the offending finger away, but his friends continue to giggle and snicker and after a while, as the absurdity of the situation starts to sink in, Harry joins in as well. 

”Oh I wish that Creepy kid had taken a picture of that…” Draco says breathlessly, wiping a tear from his eye. 

”His name’s Creevy. Be nice”, Harry says.

”What do I care what his name is, he is creepy”, Draco retorts.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be the last Harry would see of Gilderoy Lockhart — not even the last he would see of him this morning, since the lesson just before lunch is in fact double Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors — and he makes sure to grab a seat at the very back of the classroom, hoping to hide as much as possible without skiving off the lesson altogether, so that Lockhart won’t embarrass him further in front of everyone. 

He needn’t have worried however, because it soon becomes clear that Lockhart is too wrapped up in himself to really notice anyone else. In fact, the very first thing they get to do is sit a 54-question test with questions like ”What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite colour?” or ”When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday and what would be his ideal birthday present?”

”Is this for real?” Draco hisses. 

Harry just shakes his head. 

Not surprisingly, no-one except Hermione Granger does very well on the test, something Lockhart is quick to point out, having gone through them all immediately while they all waited. 

”Unbelievable”, Draco mutters when Lockhart praises Granger for getting full marks. 

”Excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business…” he bends down and picks up a large cage covered with a baby blue silk scarf. ”Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind… You may very well find yourself facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here — all I ask is that you remain calm…”

Harry and Draco exchange a wary look, then crane their necks to get a better look of the cage. A tense hush has descended in the classroom. Neville Longbottom has slid as far down in his front row seat as he can get without actually falling off and even Hermione Granger is cowering behind her massive pile of books. 

”I must ask you not to scream…” Lockhart murmurs in a dramatically low voice and grips the scarf. ”It might provoke them…”

The whole class holds its breath as one and Harry finds himself unconsciously leaning forward in his seat. Lockhart whips the scarf off the cage, revealing a swarm of electric blue —

”Yes — freshly caught Cornish pixies!”

There is a whoosh as the class collectively breathes out again and Seamus lets out a snort of laughter loud enough to be heard over the sudden high-pitched jabbering of the pixies and Lockhart’s grin falters slightly as he turns to Seamus with a questioning look. 

”Yes?”

”Well, they’re not — they’re not very — dangerous, are they?” Seamus chokes out while trying to keep his laughter in.

”Don’t be so sure!” Lockhart says dramatically and wags his finger at the sniggering Slytherin. ”Devilish tricky little blighters they can be! Right then… Let’s see what you make of them!”

Without further ado, Lockhart opens the cage and within seconds chaos has erupted in the classroom. The pixies zip and zoom in every direction, causing mayhem all around them, tearing up books and chucking ink bottles at the students who scream and throw themselves under the desks for cover. Two pixies manage to grab Neville Longbottom by his ears before he’s had a chance to duck down and lift him into the air and hang him up in the candelabra like some great big swinging ornament. 

”Come on now, round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies…” Lockhart yells tauntingly, and then with a patronising grin he rolls up his sleeves and brandishes his wand. ”Peskipiksi Pesternomi —!”

Whatever the spell was meant to accomplish, it doesn’t appear to have worked because the pixies continue wrecking the classroom without so much as a hesitation in their momentum and one of them actually shoot down and grabs Lockhart’s wand straight out of his hand and hurls it out the window. 

Lockhart’s grin disappears completely as he gulps and dives under his desk and Harry realises it’s the first time he’s ever seen the man and not been able to count all his teeth. 

The candelabra finally gives way and Longbottom crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch, his groan drowned by the bell and the hurried footsteps of stampeding students trying to escape the classroom all at once. Harry hesitates, looking over at the heap that is the broken candelabra and (possibly also broken) Neville Longbottom, wondering if he should go over and make sure the boy is okay… However, Draco is pulling on his sleeve insistently and anyway, it looks like Ron and Granger are checking on Longbottom, so Harry follows Draco out of the classroom. 

Just as they’re out of the door, they can hear Lockhart asking the Gryffindors to nip the rest of the pixies back into their cage and in the next moment, the professor comes striding out of the classroom and quickly slams the door behind him. Harry gives him an incredulous look that he promptly ignores in favour of running away down the corridor. 

”Should we help —?”

”No”, Draco snaps. ”It’s not our responsibility! We’re going to lunch!”

Over the next few days, Harry spent a lot of time and energy on avoiding Professor Lockhart and became quite adapt at dodging out of sight at the slightest hint of blue in his peripheral. 

The Gryffindor first-year Colin Creevy however is a lot harder to avoid for some reason, mainly because he’s so small Harry doesn’t see him coming until it’s too late and also, he suspects, because the boy has somehow got a hold of Harry’s timetable and memorised it. Nothing, it would seem, gives the young Gryffindor a bigger thrill than to say, ’All right, Harry?’ six or seven times a day and hear, ’Hello, Colin’ back, however exasperated Harry sounds when he says it. 

”It’s your own fault”, Draco says. ”You encourage him.”

”I do not!”

”Yes, you do. Stop saying ’hello’ and he’ll stop stalking you.”

”I can’t just ignore him…” Harry mutters. 

”You can tell him to bugger off —”

”Draco!”

”I’m just saying — your own fault!”

”He means well”, Harry grumbles uncomfortably. ”It’s a little annoying, that’s all.”

”A little?” Draco scoffs. ”You’re too nice.”

”I am not, I don’t smile at him or anything —”

”He’s not even a Slytherin —”

”I don’t even look at him half the time —!”

”Just wait and see, one of these nights you’re going to wake up and he’ll be sitting at the foot of your bed, watching you sleep —”

”Stop it!”

”— touching himself —”

”Merlin’s pants!” Harry exclaims with a laugh despite himself. ”That’s just sick!”

”Well, he’s creepy!” Draco insists, but his lips twitch.

”He’s really not”, Harry says. ”He’s just a kid.”

”Oh, yeah, like that innocent act is fooling anyone… Oh gosh, Harry, you’re just the awesomest person in the whole wide world, please please please can I take a picture of you”, Draco exclaims suddenly in a high-pitched voice whilst skipping alongside Harry with his eyes open wide and hands clasped in front of his chest, making Harry laugh harder. ”You know I heard there’s a special magical potion that will make the picture move, can you believe it? Maybe if your friend could take the picture, I can be in it too, and maybe then the you and me in the picture might do what I have wet dreams about every night —”

”Stop it!” Harry gasps. 

”Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” Draco says in his normal voice, smirking. 

”Whatever”, Harry mumbles and gives the blonde a playful shove. 

They walk in silence for a moment, but Draco obviously isn't done having fun because he soon resumes his Colin Creevy impersonation. Harry just laughs and shakes his head. Suddenly, he hears something though... Another voice under Draco's high-pitched, mocking one... An icy, venomous one that sends a chill down his spine...

"Come... Come to me... Let me rip you..."

Harry gasps and pulls up short, listening intently. Draco continues a few steps before he realises that Harry's stopped walking and twirls around to look at him.

"...Let me tear you..."

"Harry? What —?"

"...Let me kill you..."

"What?" Harry says loudly.

"What", Draco repeats in alarm. 

"That voice!" Harry says frantically. "That voice that said — didn't you hear it?"

"What are you talking about?" Draco says, frowning warily. "If you're trying to scare me so I'll stop —"

"You really didn't hear anything?" Harry demands, thinking the blonde had better not be messing with him... But Draco just stares at him, wide-eyed and thin-lipped, and with a sinking feeling Harry realises that Draco isn't just telling the truth, he is also scared. Harry has scared him... By talking about hearing voices... Except he can't hear it anymore. Maybe it was all in my head...

"Never mind", he mumbles and starts walking again. 

Draco seems more than happy to forget the whole thing, but keeps shooting Harry wary glances and he doesn't do any more impersonations. In fact, he stays unusually quiet all throughout dinner and Harry is beginning to feel right foolish... Until he hears it again.

Having lost his appetite he finishes dinner in record time, so as soon as Draco stops picking his way through his own bite size portion, they leave the Great Hall again and as they're making their way towards the dungeons when the ice cold, hissing voice slithers into the tense silence again, "Soo hungry... For so long…"

Harry stumbles to a halt and clutching at the stone wall, he listens intensely while squinting up and down the dimly lit corridor looking for any movement, any hint at all of whomever the terrible voice belongs to.

"Harry... What..."

”Listen!"

"Rip... Tear... Kill..."

Harry feels his blood run cold as the words register. He whips his head around to look at Draco and sees his own terror mirrored on the blonde’s face.

"Kill... Time to kill…" the voice hisses, but it’s growing fainter, moving away… Harry can barely hear it over the pounding of his own heart… but it’s definitely moving — moving upwards, Harry realises and stares up at the dark ceiling, but how can it be moving upwards? Is it a ghost or phantom or something?

”This way”, he shouts and starts to run back towards the staircase leading up to the Entrance Hall. 

Draco clatters behind him as he sprints up the marble steps, gasping at him to slow down and wait, but Harry can’t, or he’ll lose track of the thing… When they get back into the Entrance Hall, the noise that spills out of the Great Hall where the Hallowe’en feast is still going on, make sit impossible to hear anything else, so Harry continues up to the first floor. 

”Harry, what are we —?”

”SHH!” 

Harry stumbles to a stop on the first floor landing and holds his breath as he listens… Distantly, from the floor above and steadily growing fainter, he can still hear the voice, ”I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!”

Harry’s stomach lurches and his blood drains from his face… Blood… He starts running again, taking the stairs three at a time now. Draco yells something at him, but he doesn’t care — the thing is going to kill someone! — he hurtles around the whole of the second floor, trying to strain his ears and listen for the voice over the pounding of his and Draco’s footsteps and their panting breaths. 

Finally, he turns the last corner and stumbles to a stop in a deserted passage. There is no-one there. 

”Harry! What the Hell —?” Draco gasps as he thunders to a stop right next to him. ”I couldn’t hear anything —!”

There — Suddenly Harry sees something, something shining on the far wall… He hushes Draco again and approaches the wall slowly, squinting through the darkness, he can finally make out the foot-long words that have been daubed on the wall… 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED; 

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

The choked gasp behind Harry tells him that Draco has seen the message as well and when the other boy inches closer to him, Harry curls his arm around his waist and pulls him against his side gently. 

”Is that b-blood?” Draco whispers. 

”Yeah, I think so…”

”What’s t-that underneath?”

Harry tears his eyes away from the blood red words and squints at the dark shadow beneath them… Despite Draco grabbing his arm tightly enough to leave bruises and hissing at him to get out of here, Harry cautiously edges closer to the wall — but when he realises what the shadow is, he immediately leaps back again, nearly slipping in a puddle of water on the floor and falling over — hanging by her tail from one of the torch’s bracket, is Mrs Norris, caretaker Filch’s cat and deputy, her yellow eyes wide and staring, her body stiff…

”Harry, please… Can we get out of here now?”

”Ehm, y-yeah, but… Shouldn’t we try and help —?” Harry says uncomfortably, still staring at the unseeing eyes of Mrs Norris. 

”There’s nothing we can do to help!” Draco hisses. ”Come on, we don’t want anyone to find us here, trust me —”

Harry nods in agreement, but it’s too late; from either side of the corridor they can suddenly hear the rumble of footsteps and the low murmur of all the other students now making their way from the Great Hall to their dormitories, and in the next moment, hundreds of students come crashing into the passage from both ends… The noise of chatter and bustle dies suddenly, as the students stare between the hanging cat, the bloody message on the wall and the two Slytherin boys…

”What’s going on here? Make way! Make wa—”

Argus Filch, the caretaker, comes shouldering his way through the crowd, but stops dead in his tracks and gapes in horror when he sees Mrs Norris. 

”My cat! My cat!” he shrieks, clutching his jowls and then his popping eyes swivels round and fall on Harry, who is still hovering uncertainly between Draco and the cat. ”You! You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her — I’ll kill you! I’LL KILL—!”

”Argus!” 

Albus Dumbledore has arrived on the scene, flanked by the rest of the school’s teachers, and his breathy voice cuts the caretaker off sharply, causing the man to fall back once more just as he’s made a lunge for Harry. 

Without another word, the Headmaster sweeps past them all and unties the thin rope binding Mrs Norris’s tail to the torch bracket and then gently cradles the stiff body in his hands as if mindful not to cause it any harm or distress, which Harry finds rather curious considering the cat is very obviously dead, but sneaking a peek at Filch’s tear-streaked, quivering face he knows he would have done the same. 

”Come with me, Argus”, Dumbledore says quietly. ”You too, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy…”

Lockhart steps forward eagerly, his teeth gleaming in the dim light from the torches, ”My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —”

”Thank you, Gildreroy”, Dumbledore says. 

The crowd parts to let the man pass and Lockhart, puffing his chest up importantly and grinning with excitement, hurries after him, gesturing as if to inform the older man of the way, as if Dumbledore hasn’t lived in Hogwarts for the the last fifty years at least… 

Professor Snape swoops down on Harry and Draco, his billowing robes seeming even more dramatic than usual with the bloody backdrop and both boys cringe instinctively. Harry peers up into the man’s face and it looks even more shuttered than usual, but there’s a glint in eyes that make Harry’s chest clench in fear. He swallows thickly, then opens his mouth to speak… But he can’t find his voice… And if I could, what would I say? 

Snape just jerks his head, silently urging them to follow the Headmaster and both boys hurry to comply.

As they enter Lockhart’s office, there is a flurry of movement all around the room as inhabitants of Lockhart’s many portraits of himself leap out of sight but he manages to catch one with his hair in rollers and face smeared with some sort of ghostly white facemask. If the circumstances had been different, and Professor Dumbledore wasn’t putting Mrs Norris’s stiff body down on the desk and her owner Mr Filch wasn’t slumped over in a chair, sobbing desperately, Harry might have struggled not to laugh. As it is, it’s not a laugh obstructing his throat but a massive lump that he swallows convulsively around to try and dislodge, but no matter how hard he swallows, the lump keeps growing bigger. 

Dumbledore is leaned over the desk, his crooked nose mere inches from Mrs Norris’s fur as he studies her through his half-moon spectacles, ignoring Lockhart as the man hovers at his shoulder giving suggestions, ”It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Transmogrifian Torture, I’ve seen it used many times before, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know just the counter-curse that would have saved her…”

Filch’s sobbing increases and he clutches his face in despair. 

Harry glances over at Snape where he is looming behind the two other professors, half in shadow and face just as unreadable as before. For a second, the man’s black eyes flickers up to meet Harry’s own, and Harry’s heartbeat stutters in his chest… 

Dumbledore starts muttering strange words under his breath and taps Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happens… 

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

Dumbledore straightens up finally and, continuing to ignore Lockhart, he turns to look at Filch instead, ”She is not dead, Argus.”

Lockhart stops his long rant immediately, and Filch’s breath hitches as he wrenches his face out of his hands and stares up at the Headmaster. 

”N-Not d-dead?” he chokes. 

”No”, Dumbledore says softly. ”She has been Petrified —”

”Ah, I thought so!” Lockhart says.

”—But how”, Dumbledore continues. ”I cannot say.”

”Ask him!” Filch wails and points a shaking finger at Harry. ”It’s him that’s done it!”

”No Second-year could have done this”, Dumbledore says calmly. ”It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —”

”He did it!” Filch spits, his blotched face darkening furiously. ”You saw what he wrote on the wall —!”

”I never touched Mrs Norris!” Harry exclaims, his voice finally breaking out of the confines of his own closed throat. 

”Rubbish!” Filch snarls. ”Why else were you there and not at the feast —?”

”Because — because — we were at the feast, but we weren’t very hungry and we were t-tired so we decided t-to go to bed early —”

Harry knows his mistake as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but it’s too late. Filch’s pouchy face quivers as he grins in triumph, ”Aha! So why were you in an upstairs corridor —!”

Harry glances over at Snape quickly. The man’s eyes glitter dangerously, but his face remains impassive. 

”—if you were heading to the dungeons —?”

”B-Because — because we —” but Harry has no idea what to say, his heart is thumping madly in his chest and his mind is whirring, he just knows that telling them all that he’d lead Draco up three flights of stairs because he’d been in pursuit of a bodiless voice, it would not help his case at all. 

”You lying little toad —!” Filch snarls, grinning triumphantly now. 

”We got lost”, Draco pipes up suddenly, his deathly pale face regaining a hint of colour as every eye in the room, including those of the curious portraits, swivel round to stare at him incredulously and Harry bites down on his lip to suffocate a groan. 

”Hah!” Filch spits. 

Professor Dumbledore’s pale blue eyes flicker from Draco to Harry and for a terrifying moment, Harry is sure the old man can see right through him, right into his very core and read his mind… But then the man’s eyes flicker away again and come to rest on Filch instead, ”Innocent until proven guilty, Argus…”

”My cat has been Petrified!” the caretaker exclaims shrilly, jumping to his feet. ”I want to see some punishment!”

”We will be able to cure her”, Dumbledore says calmly. ”Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes that she has been nurturing with the help of the Second-years, and as soon as they’ve reached their full size, we will be able to brew a potion that will revive Mrs Norris…”

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

”Excuse me”, Snape speaks up for the first time, his voice as icy as the glare he sends Lockhart’s way. ”But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

There is a very awkward pause. Lockhart looks genuine confused as to why anyone would ever turn down his offer of help, and the others glance uncomfortably between him and Snape’s darkening look, collectively holding their breaths as if waiting for an explosion. 

”You may go”, Dumbledore tells Harry and Draco, and they quickly scurry out of the office as fast as they can without actually running. 

As soon as they reach the dungeons, they slow down their pace. 

”Do you think I should have told them?” Harry murmurs. ”Professor Dumbledore and Snape, about the voice —?”

”No”, Draco says immediately. ”Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t exactly a good sign…”

”You believe me, don’t you?”

They both amble to a stop outside the hidden doorway to the Slytherin Common Room. Draco avoids Harry’s eyes, but nods. 

”I know it’s weird”, Harry says. 

”Yeah”, Draco mumbles. 

”But, I mean, the whole thing is weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened… What’s that supposed to mean?”

”The Chamber of Secrets”, Draco says quietly. ”I’ve heard about it before.”

”You have?”

”Yeah… My father told me… It’s just a legend though, it’s not actually… I mean… I didn’t think it was actually… Real… Anyway — Come on, it’s almost midnight, we should get to bed before Professor Snape gets back —”

The blonde brushes past Harry and turns to whisper the new password (Serpensortia) to the wall, that immediately rearranges itself into a doorway to let them enter. 

Once they’re safely in the second-year boys’ dormitory, Harry tries to question his friend about this legend of the Chamber of Secrets, but the boy is very elusive and quickly disappears behind the hangings of his bed, claiming he’s exhausted and wants to go to bed. 

Harry curls up in his own bed, feeling strangely hollow and heavy at the same time. He presses his eyes shut, but it’s at least an hour before sleep finally takes him.

*

In the next few days, the attack on Mrs Norris is the sole topic of conversation at the school, mainly because Mr Filch won’t let anyone forget about it. He keeps stalking up and down the corridor where the attack happened as if expecting the culprit to return to the scene of the crime, where the bloody message is still gleaming fresh on the wall despite the caretaker’s best efforts to scrub the blood off with ’Mrs Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover’, and when he isn’t guarding the spot, he’s skulking through the other corridors of the school, descending on unsuspecting students like some twitching vulture, trying to give them detention for such crimes as ”breathing loudly” or ”looking happy”…

Harry has taken to avoiding the rest of the castle as much as possible, keeping to the dungeons or the courtyard outside whenever he wasn’t in class or having meals in the Great Hall, because wherever he goes, people seem to stare and whisper, and although that’s something he’s become quite used to by now, there’s a slight difference to the looks and whispers now… Before, it was always looks of admiration or curiosity, and the whispers were either excited or awe-struck, but now… Well, let’s just say Harry didn’t exactly feel like a hero anymore…

To his immense relief, Draco is stubbornly stuck to his side despite all of this, but at the same time Harry is uncomfortably aware that even the blonde is acting  differently around him now. It’s a subtle difference, and when Harry looks directly at the other boy or talk to him, he can’t tell at all; but whenever Draco thinks Harry isn’t looking, he keeps shooting him worried looks and there’s a tension to his shoulders that’s not there normally, like he’s ready to bolt at the slightest noise… Harry would confront his best friend about it, if he wasn’t so scared the boy would take the opportunity to abandon him once and for all, if only Harry gave him an excuse…

”I need to go to the library”, Draco mumbles suddenly and gets up from the bench where they’re sitting, compiling their homework essays on ’The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards’ for History of Magic, and raises an eyebrow expectantly when Harry remains seated.

”Why?” Harry croaks, feeling his heart start thudding away in his chest. 

”There’s a book… I need…” Draco says awkwardly, then sighs in frustration. ”Harry it’s freezing! I can’t feel my fingers, they’re so numb, I can’t finish writing my essay if I can’t even hold the bloody quill —!”

”…Oh”, Harry mumbles. 

”Just… Please, let’s just go inside?” Please?”

”You go. I’ll catch up with you lat—”

”Oh, come on, you’re being ridiculous!”

”Draco…”

”Fine!” 

The blonde huffs dramatically, then twirls around and stalks off across the courtyard. Way to go, Harry tells himself bitterly. Now you’re completely alone! 

He sighs and tilts his head back, staring up at the blanket of grey clouds and breathing in chilly autumn air, feeling it cling to his face like dew on his skin. Taking a deep breath, he tilts his head down again — catching sight of Ron walking up towards the castle from the greenhouses, accompanied by Granger and a Hufflepuff boy whose name Harry doesn’t remember — the redhead’s eyes meet his suddenly and when he lights up, Harry feels slightly better again. He smiles back and lifts his hand in greeting. 

Granger and the Hufflepuff boy both turn to look at him as well when Ron waves back. Granger gives Harry small smile as well, but the Hufflepuff boy stops dead in his tracks and stares back like he’s just seen a troll, then turns and speeds off towards the nearest entrance to the castle. Harry feels his slightly elevated mood sink abruptly again. Like a boulder in the lake. 

Ron and Granger exchange a look, then continue to cross the courtyard until they’re standing right in front of Harry, who suddenly wishes they’d just followed their Hufflepuff friend inside the castle and left him alone. 

”Hiya, Harry”, Ron says awkwardly. 

”Hi Ron… Granger…”

”Hi Harry”, the girl mumbles and looks down, fidgeting uncomfortably for a moment then taking a deep breath she smiles brightly at him, then Ron, ”Well, I need to go to the library. I’ll see you later in the common room, Ron. Harry, I’ll see you in class, I expect. Have a good evening.”

”Yeah, you too”, Harry mutters. 

As soon as the girl has walked away, Ron sighs and sinks down on the bench next to Harry, giving him a pinched smile that borders on apologetic.

”Don’t worry about her, or Justin, they’re just a bit… You know…”

”Justin?”

”Yeah, Justin Finch-Fletchly”, Ron says, gesturing vaguely towards the castle. ”He’s a bit of a pompous idiot, anyway… Kinda reminds me of Percy… Except, you know, he’s not my brother so I don’t need to like him at all.”

”So why were you walking with him?”

”He just sort of latched onto us, we just had double Herbology together… Nightmare, by the way, those Mandrakes are a bloody nuisance!”

”Yeah, I’m not a big fan either…”

”So, where’s…?”

”Who?”

”Malfoy.”

”Oh. He had to go to the library… As well… Seems like it’s the place to be these days… Anyway, how are you? How’s your sister getting on?”

”Oh, you know, she’s fine. Well, except for everything that’s happened. She was really broken up about Mrs Norris, even though I told her, we’re all much better off without her, but you know… Ginny loves cats so… I told her not to worry, that the nutter who did will get caught and be out of here in no time!” 

Ron seems to catch himself and shoots Harry a worried look, and his face goes tomato red. Harry gives him a wry smile, ”I hope you’re right!”

”Hermione and I believe you didn’t have anything to do with it”, Ron says seriously. 

”Thanks… How’s your History of Magic essay coming along?”

Ron groans, ”Oh right, I completely forgot about that! Guess I have to go find Hermione… Not that she’ll write it for me, or anything! Just… She usually gives me some pointers and — anyway — I’ll see you around, Harry…”

”Actually, I’ll come with you”, Harry says and gathers up his books. ”I said I’d meet Draco in the library so…”

When they reach the library however, Draco is nowhere to be found. Hermione however comes striding out from behind a bookshelf, her hair bigger and frizzier than ever, and she huffs in annoyance, ”All the copies have been taken out!”

”Shh!” Madam Pince hisses from the Magical Beasts Section. 

”All the copies of what?” Ron asks quietly. 

”Hogwarts: A History”, Hermione says, collapsing in the seat next to Ron, who has taken out his History of Magic essay and a tape measure and is measuring it with a scowl. ”I had to leave my own copy at home, I couldn’t fit it in the trunk with all of Lockharts books, but now I wish I’d brought it —”

”I don’t believe it”, Ron growls and lets go of the parchment so that it spring back into a roll. ”I sat up for hours writing this and I’m still eight inches short!”

”—I could have carried it”, Hermione says mournfully and completely ignoring Ron who unrolls the parchment again and starts scribbling furiously, in nice big letters. ”There’s a two week waiting list to get one of the library’s copies!”

”Why do you want it?” Harry says, frowning as he too sits down at the table, reaching out to borrow Ron’s tape measure, he quickly double-checks that his own homework essay is three foot, as assigned by Professor Binns and is relieved to find that it is, with an extra inch even. 

”Same reason everyone else wants it — to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets!”

”Shhh!”

”I know I’ve read about it somewhere, I just can’t remember, and I’ve looked in all my other books and it’s not there —!”

”Hermione, let me read your —” Ron says, desperately checking his watch. 

”No, I won’t!” Hermione says sharply. ”You’ve had ten days to finish it!”

”SHHH!”

"I only need another two inches, go on…”

”I’ll see you guys in class”, Harry says hurriedly as the two Gryffindors begin to bicker and he slips out of the library just as the bell rings. 

Harry quickly scans the History of Magic classroom and is relieved to find Draco already at their usual table in the front row. He makes his way ove and quickly slumps down in the seat next to him, trying to make himself as invisible to the other students as possible, uncomfortably aware of the Gryffindors stares from the other side of the classroom. 

Ron and Granger’s hushed but heated argument announces their arrival before they even step through the door and they continue to bicker as they to make their way to the front of the classroom, taking their usual seats in the front row but on the unofficial Gryffindor side, right across the mid-aisle from Harry and Draco. 

The blonde gives the pair an unimpressed look and rolls his eyes, immediately doing a subtle but obvious little impersonation of Granger by sticking out his front teeth and shaking his head. Ron, having caught the movement in his peripheral, goes beet red and is halfway out of his seat, when Professor Binns suddenly floats through the blackboard in his usual fashion and starts the lesson. 

Granger grabs Ron’s robes and forces him back down in his seat with a scowl and whispers something furiously at him. Ron turns his glare on her instead, but the girl is already focusing on the droning ghost professor and pointedly ignoring the redhead. 

History of Magic is by far the dullest subject on their timetable, and Professor Binns manages to make it even more so by delivering his lectures in a flat drone that has even the studious of students in a sleepy trance within minutes. 

Suddenly, something happens that has never happened before… A student puts up their hand. Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289 stutters to a stop and blinks in amazement, as if he’s just now noticed that there are actual students in the room in front of him. 

”Miss — er —?”

”Granger, Professor”, the Gryffindor says. ”I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

Dean Thomas snaps his mouth shut and tears his unseeing gaze away from the window, blinking rapidly; Lavender Brown’s head shoots up from its resting place on top of her folded arms; Neville Longbottom’s elbow slips off the desk; Blaise and Seamus who had been sitting with their heads close together, whispering about something or other, straightens up in their seats and cranes their necks to get a better look at both Granger’s frizzy head and Professor Binns’s transparent, shocked face. 

”My subject is History of Magic”, the ghost professor says in a dry, wheezy voice. ”I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends… In September of that year, a sub-committee of Sardinian sorcerers —”

He stutters to a halt once more. The whole class is definitely awake and intrigued now, as Granger’s hand is once again thrust into the air. 

”Miss Grant?”

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

”Well, yes, one could argue that, I suppose…” the ghost says slowly, peering in astonishment at Granger as though he’s never really seen a student before. ”However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale… But, oh, very well… Let me see… The Chamber of Secrets…”

For the first time in the professor career, dead or alive, every student in the classroom hangs onto his every word, as he tells them the story of the four founders of Hogwarts, who, in a time when magic was feared and witches and wizards suffered persecution, came together to build a castle hidden from muggle eyes, where magical children could learn and develop their magic in a safe place… For many years the four friends worked in harmony, but slowly but steadily, a rift began to grow between Salazar Slytherin and the others when, for the sake of all of their safety, he wished to be more selective about the students admitted to the school, in other words not allow muggle-borns and thus risk the exposure of their world. Finally, a serious argument on the subject broke out between Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school for good. 

”Reliable historical sources tell us this much”, Professor Binns states drily. ”But, these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets… The story goes, that before he left, Slytherin built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing… According to legend, Slytherin sealed the Chamber so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber and unleash the horror within, and by so doing… purge the school of all who were deemed… unworthy to study magic.”

As Professor Binns finishes the story, a heavy silence fills the room and not the sleepy kind that is usual for History of Magic, but a tense one as every person in the class continues to stare the ghost expectantly, hoping for more… the ghost looks positively annoyed at this, drawing himself up to his full height and soaring a few feet further towards the ceiling. 

”The whole thing is nonsense, of course! Naturally, the school has been searched many times, by some of the most learned witches and wizards, and no evidence of such a Chamber’s existence has ever been found. It does not exist.”

Granger’s hand shot into the air once more, ”Sir — what do you mean by ’the horror within’ the Chamber?”

”That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control”, Professor Binns says, looking even more annoyed when the class exchanges nervous looks. ”I tell you, it does not exist. There is no Chamber and no monster.”

”But, Sir”, Seamus says, without raising his hand. ”If the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no-one else would be able to find it, would they?”

”Nonsense, O’Flaherty”, Binns snaps. ”If a long succession of Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses haven’t found the thing —”

”But, Professor”, Pansy interrupts him in a clear voice from her seat right behind Draco. ”You’d probably need to use Dark Magic to open it, wouldn’t you —?”

”Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic, doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather! I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—”

”But maybe you’d actually have to be related to Slytherin to open it, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” Dean Thomas pipes up from the Gryffindor side of the classroom, but Binns has obviously had enough. 

”That will do”, he says sharply, sounding almost alive for once. ”It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story — we will return — if you please — to history! To solid, believable, verifiable facts!”

And within minutes, the class has sunk back into its usual state of stupor. 

Harry, however can’t quite shake the unpleasant chill that engulfed him when Binns was talking about Salazar Slytherin and his views… Even though Harry got it, taking into account the way things were back then, how magical people were persecuted and burned alive (although, the poor people who actually perished from this were actually muggles, since any real witches burned at the stake could easily cast a protective charm on themselves and only pretend to go up in flames — but still), Harry could understand where Slytherin was coming from — but still, all the pureblood mania and muggle-born prejudice that is still a problem in some parts of the community to this day, and the reason Harry’s dad Sirius were ostracised from his whole family, seems to have stemmed from Salazar Slytherin himself — so no wonder people think we’re evil bigots, Harry thinks sullenly and glances over at the Gryffindors on the other side of the classroom. 

Draco knocks his knee against his under the desk and Harry tears his eyes away from Ron and looks at him instead, mouthing ’What?’

Draco just shakes his head and turns back to the front of the classroom again.