Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Six
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Chapter Five
Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Six
Worry made Harry’s dreams darker than usual that night. He was up before dawn, sitting at the banked fireplace, knees draw up to his chest.
What am I going to do? He carded his fingers through his hair. Ginny has to have the diary, but it’s not like I can just barge in and take it from her, especially not now, with Ron the way he is. Harry folded his arms around his knees and set his head down on the bony kneecaps.
I can’t very well just leave her to it, can I? The basilisk could kill someone this time around. Ginny could die this time around. Voldemort could be reborn - but I won’t sacrifice Ginny for an easy way to capture the man. I’d never forgive myself, and there’s still the question of the Horcrux inside of me. And all the others.
He let out a frustrated sigh. What the bloody hell am I going to do?
He was no closer to the answer when Hermione found him curled up on the couch closest to the hearth an hour later.
~*~
He was still no closer to the answer a week later. He hadn’t heard the basilisk again, but that was little solace to the ball of worry growing in his gut.
His attention was also divided by the swift plunge back into the school term, frantic Quidditch practices and homework.
Hermione’s birthday snuck up on them before he knew it. He woke early on the nineteenth, slipping the girl’s present from his trunk so Ron and the others wouldn’t see.
Hermione had started coming down early in the mornings with Harry. Often she would read, sometimes dozing off in the chair as Harry relaxed in the quiet. It was nice to have a partner again, Harry reflected as he waited for her. Maybe one day we’ll both be able to sit in the quiet with Mrs. Weasley again.
“Happy birthday,” he told her and held out her present. Hermione’s eyes lit up. She ripped through the paper.
“Oh, Harry,” she breathed, gently removing the book from the protective plastic bag. “Where did you find this?”
“At an old junk shop,” he smiled at her appalled expression. “It was just sitting there with the other old books. I doubt anyone had bothered to read the front page to see the proper title. Mrs. Longbottom pointed me to a leatherworks shop where I got the cover redone.”
“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Hermione traced the gilt title. Magical Theory and Intrinsic Basics to the Craft of Magic had been one of Hermione’s most prized possessions later on in life. Harry couldn’t believe it when he’d found the book in the old junk shop on the Street of Flowers.
“Oh, I need to put this away; thank you, thank you!” She surprised him with a fierce, short hug. Then she tore up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.
Hermione was still on uneven grounds with the other girls of Gryffindor, although Harry did see Parvati give Hermione a bag of candy at breakfast. Neville gave her a potted plant. Harry warned Ron off when he and some other boys started to snicker. Fred and George gave Hermione a slip of paper, and a promise that they would ride to her rescue at any time on their fine, four wheeled mount. Hermione blushed a deep red and rolled her eyes at the same time at them.
What surprised Harry the most, however, was Draco and Theo showing up at the library after classes. Harry was eyebrows deep in a Transfigurations essay when he heard Draco’s voice.
“We heard it was your birthday,” Draco said. Harry looked up to see the Slytherin flanked by Theo. They both held out elegantly wrapped presents - the wrapping, of course, green and silver.
“Ah,” said Hermione. “Thank you?”
“We weren’t sure - ow, Theo!” Draco rubbed at his side.
Harry watched Hermione frown at them and then turn to the presents. Instead of ripping into them like she had Harry’s, she picked apart the thick wrapping paper of the first and pulled out a book. A soft look of wonder passed across her face.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Harry craned his neck to look at the titles. The book had a thick cover and gilded title. It read, A History of Magical Kind. Harry raised his eyebrow. He knew that book. He also knew it was rather rare and not reprinted. It was one of the foremost histories on wizarding kind in the world. That had been Theo’s gift.
Draco’s was a game. “It’s Kings and Castles,” the blond said. “I thought, maybe, we could adapt it. If, you know, you were still interested in the practice sessions by the lake, but even then it’s a very fun game, my mother taught me how to play it and…”
“Would you show me the rules?” Hermione had yet to let go of Theo’s book.
“I’ll show you,” Theo said. “Draco gets the rules all mixed up.”
“I do not.”
“No, but you make a hash out of explaining them.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.
Harry grinned at the tableau and then returned to his paper. Neville had joined Hermione and Theo at the game board.
“Harry?”
He looked up. Draco slid into the seat next to him, worrying at his bottom lip. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Draco shook his head. “I just - didn’t want you to think I bought my way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.” Harry could see the flush creeping up Draco’s neck. He knew what that had cost Draco to say that.
“I know you didn’t,” Harry met the pale eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Seeker, too. It’ll be nice to have some decent competition on the pitch.”
“You think I’ll - of course I’ll beat you,” Draco rolled his eyes, but the blush stayed. “I could beat you with a blindfold over my eyes.”
“Sure, sure,” Harry smiled down at his parchment.
“I could so.”
“You bet.”
“I’ll be the best Seeker Slytherin has ever had.”
“How’s your broom?” Harry glanced up at Draco’s silence. He wanted to kick himself at the downcast expression that had filled Draco’s face. “I mean it, you know. I know you didn’t buy your way onto the team. I just like brooms. How’s it handle?”
Draco brightened. “Oh. Oh! Well,” he frowned. “It handles a little odd on -”
“Left turns? So does mine.”
“Yours too? I thought I was just imagining it.”
“No, it always feels like it wants to roll. See, I figured, though, if you go fast enough,” Harry’s essay went forgotten as he and Draco spent the rest of the afternoon talking about brooms.
~*~
September passed into October, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by the sudden spate of colds amongst the staff and students. Harry was among the first to catch the ague, but Madam Pomfrey’s Pepper-Up Potion cleared it right out. Several times.
“I must say, Mr. Potter,” the head nurse said after Harry’s third visit. “I don’t like this trend. Sit, sit, I want to run some spells.”
Harry was forced to stay overnight in the wing as Pomfrey fretted over her readings.
“Well, nothing to be done about it,” was her answer in the morning. Harry was mortified to see Snape lurking at her desk, going through her notes. “Your immune system is just poor, dear. Keep warm, now, scarf on. If you feel a bit off, come right back, young man.”
Harry agreed and fled the Infirmary. This never happened, before, Harry chewed on his lip as he made his way to the Great Hall. Although I was always the first one to catch whatever went through the Auror ranks. The children would pass along their colds to me, too. Ginny had been at her wits end about it - she never could figure out why I wasn’t healthier. He flushed and looked away, pushing back threatening memories. I don’t want to think about that right now. Stop.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered down on the castle windows for days on end. The lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon, a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower drenched to the skin.
Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Harry hadn’t been able to concentrate. Fred and George had depressed everyone with the abilities of the Slytherin team’s new brooms and all the girls had been in foul tempers. Harry had been grateful to escape when he had.
Harry also felt rather miserable as well. It would be his fifth trip to Madam Pomfrey in the month. The last thing he needed was her worrying over him. Not when he knew the trials that were about to come down on her if Harry didn’t figure out how to stop the bloody basilisk and kill the diary of Tom Riddle without anyone the wiser.
Just how is Dumbledore unaware of the great bloody snake in the building? Harry stomped down a deserted corridor. Really. The man is the most powerful magician pretty much since Merlin and he can’t detect a great, ruddy, poisonous -
“Harry?”
Harry jerked his head up. “Hello, Draco. Theo,” he blinked and squinted through rain-spackled glasses.
“You had practice? In this?”
“Yes,” Harry said and then sneezed. “Oh, bloody hell. Not again.”
“Haven’t you been to the Infirmary twice already?”
“Four times,” Harry rubbed at his nose and scowled. “Probably five if my luck holds out.”
“Don’t say that,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’ll just make it come true.”
“You should get back to your dormitory,” Theo began.
“Mud in my castle?” Filch’s voice came.
“Oh, bugger,” Harry shook out his wand and cast a cleaning charm on his clothes. Mrs. Weasley had taught him the charm when he’d taken paternity leave after James had been born. Ginny had wanted to get back to practice as soon as possible, so Harry had stepped in, determined to help all he could. He’d never known just how much of a mess babies could make, before that.
“Come on,” Theo and Draco hustled him out of the corridor. Harry flicked a spell over his shoulder to clear off the mud from the floors - he had no wish to be caught by Filch, again.
He let the Slytherins herd him through some smaller passages until they turned onto a corridor that Harry knew led to Gryffindor Tower.
“Thanks,” He rubbed at his head.
“Filch is in a foul mood,” Theo said. “So is Professor Snape. There was an explosion yesterday in his first year class. He’s still livid about it.”
Harry winced. “I’ll bet.” Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Harry spun to face it, only to realize that it was Nearly Headless Nick.
“All right, Harry?” Draco asked.
“Fine, fine, just thought it was Filch,” Harry lied, shrugging. “Hello, Nick.”
The ghost, who had been drifting along the corridor, muttering to himself, jerked to a halt and looked up. “Mr. Potter? And Misters Malfoy and Nott. Hello, hello,” Nick doffed his plumed hat and swept a shallow bow, so not to disturb his head, Harry knew. In Nick’s other hand he held a transparent letter.
“Are you all right, Nick?” Harry asked. Harry could see Draco staring at the Gryffindor ghost with wide eyes.
“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand. “It is a matter of no importance. It’s not as though I really wanted to join…Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill the requirements’,” he forced out an obviously fake laugh. “But you would think, wouldn’t you,” Nick scowled and thrust out the letter. “That getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt? How many strokes did that it take to get them sent off? Bet me, it wasn’t forty-five!”
“Er,” said Harry.
“Forty-five?” Draco squeaked.
“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However, this,” Nick shook the paper. “This farce, this inability of mine to participate in Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo, really, really, are just two minor parts to the Hunt and it is merely a half an inch of skin holding it on! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not nearly enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore!”
Harry blinked a few times. “Well,” he said. “That’s - I’m very sorry you weren’t accepted, Nick. You’d be the best of the lot, I’m sure, if you’d been let in.”
The fight seemed to go out of the ghost. “Oh, never mind it, young Harry. Though it was very kind of you to say so.”
“We’re very sorry as well,” Draco piped up. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Harry had to snap his mouth shut. What in Merlin’s name just came out of Malfoy’s mouth?
“Well,” Nick said, brightening. “There is something you all could do for me, if you would all be so kind.”
“…Sure,” Harry rocked back on his heels.
“Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” said Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
“Oh,” Harry bit his lip. “Right.” I’d forgotten that.
“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you all would attend. Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom would be most welcome too, of course - but I’d daresay you’d rather go to the school feast?” He glanced between them, wringing his hands.
“I…” Harry looked at the Slytherins.
“We’d love to come,” Draco chimed in. Harry saw Theo pinch the bridge of his nose.
“My dear boys! I am so very honored!” Nick beamed. “And - do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”
“Of course,” Draco’s smile turned sly.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at them.
~*~
“A deathday party?” Hermione said when Harry had escaped Nick and the Slytherins to finally change into something dry and warm. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those - it’ll be fascinating!”
It took some convincing to get Neville to agree to go as well.
By the time Halloween arrived, Harry had visited the Infirmary once more and had his own stash of Pepper-Up Potions from the nurse, ‘just in case’, as Pomfrey had said. The last time Harry had gone to see the woman, Snape had been there, listening in on her examination. Harry had fled as soon as possible.
The school was eagerly anticipating the Halloween feast. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment.
“Dancing skeletons,” Neville moaned when they met up with the Slytherins in front of the Great Hall.
“You can go break a promise if you like,” Hermione sniffed. “I think a deathday party is much more unusual than a bunch of rattling bones.”
“Aren’t you going to miss the feast?” Draco turned to Harry.
“No,” Harry shook his head. “I won’t.”
“But it’s Halloween.”
“Exactly.” Harry marched past the doors to the Great Hall. It was time for Nick’s party.
“Harry?” Neville had caught up with him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Harry.”
“It’s Halloween.” Harry shrugged, feeling his shoulders tight and stiff. “My parents died today.”
There was silence from behind him.
“Oh,” said Neville.
“Not that I knew them,” Harry blew out a forced breath. It’s bloody ridiculous to be stuck on this, after all this time. “It’s just, sometimes I can forget, but with all the parties…” And all the other deaths, from before. He bit his lip, pushing the faint, lingering grief away.
“Yeah. I know,” Neville bumped shoulders with Harry.
“Do you think we should have worn dress robes?” Draco forced his way in front of them. “I have the dress robes Mother sent me and extras, it couldn’t have hurt…”
“It will be fine,” Hermione cut in, pushing her way past Theo. “Come on; we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”
Harry rolled his eyes at their fussing, but stayed quiet, content to follow a bickering Hermione and Theo towards the dungeons.
The passageway to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, though the effect was far from cheerful. The candles were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, eerie light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every stop they took. Harry shivered and pulled his robes tight around him, wincing as he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping on an enormous blackboard.
“Is that supposed to be music?” Neville whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
“My dear friends,” the twinkle in Nick’s eyes belied his mournful tone. “Welcome, welcome…so pleased you could come.” He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. “Do, please, enjoy yourselves,” he called after them.
Harry bumped into Hermione as the girl jerked to a stop. He peered around her shoulders, feeling his eyes go wide. I’d forgotten about this.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, most of whom were drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Harry’s breath rose in a mist before him; it was like stepping into a freezer.
“Shall we have a look around?” Harry was the first to speak.
“Careful not to walk though anyone,” Draco hissed at them. “Mother said it’s quite the insult. And bow, or er, curtsy?” He glanced at Hermione. “It’s only polite. Or so Mother says.”
“Curtsy?” Hermione squeaked.
“Well, they have been dead for ages,” Theo pointed out.
“Fine, then you curtsy. I’ll bow,” Hermione sniffed. Theo sputtered.
They passed a group of gloomy nuns and a ragged man wearing chains. They stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Fat Friar and his friend, a knight whose name Harry didn’t catch, since he’d been too occupied with eyeing the arrow that protruded from the man’s forehead.
“Oh, look, the Baron!” Draco made a beeline for the gaunt Slytherin House ghost.
Harry shared a look with Neville as they followed the Slytherins over to the ghost’s empty corner.
“Baron, please allow me to introduce my friends,” Draco said once they arrived. “You know Theo, and this is Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Neville Longbottom and Mr. Harry Potter.” Then Draco mouthed at them to bow. They did, even Hermione, much to Theo’s mortified expression.
“Interesting,” the Bloody Baron rumbled. The silver bloodstains on the ghost’s doublet glittered in the strange light. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replied, voice faint. “It’s a pleasure, for us as well. I’m sure.”
Harry froze as the ghost turned to him. “A Potter at a deathday party. Extraordinary. Your lot are usually up top, feasting.”
Harry felt his back go stiff. “I am more than just a name or a family line,” he bit out at the ghost. He thought he saw the sunken eyes crinkle a little.
“As all young men and women should learn,” the Bloody Baron drew back into his corner.
“The Baron has been a fixture in the common room since last year,” Draco chimed in. “He’s excellent at Transfiguration.”
“Is that where you’ve been getting tutoring?” Hermione perked up.
“The Baron was kind enough to help us with some pointers,” Draco’s tone went guarded.
“Oh, really? How wonderful.”
“Yes, really.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell us?”
“Slytherin House has solidarity,” the Baron broke in. “As the House’s reputation has tarnished over the years, prejudice is commonplace. We help our own, Miss Granger, and expect no help from others.”
“But,” Hermione sputtered. “We’re friends. Of course we could help you out!”
Nearly Headless Nick arrived before any of the Slytherins could reply. “There you are, there you are!” He came to a stop next to Harry. “Oh, hello, Baron. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.”
“Oh, yes,” Harry answered for them.
“Excellent. It’s not a bad turnout, you know,” Nick’s chest puffed out as he turned to survey the crowd. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent, can you believe it? It’s nearly time for my speech, now, do stay to hear it. I’d better go warn the orchestra…”
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement as a hunting horn sounded off in the distance.
“Oh, here we go,” Nick swept off his hat and slapped it against his leg.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly burst into applause. Harry held back at the sight of Nick’s face, as did the others.
The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd and strode over to Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
“Nick!” He roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?” He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nick on the shoulder.
“Welcome Patrick,” said Nick stiffly.
“Live ‘uns!” The Head of the Hunt turned to Harry and the others. Harry caught sight of Hermione latched onto Theo’s arm and Draco standing in front of Neville, almost like a guard. The Bloody Baron had vanished.
“They are my guests,” said Nick, drawing himself up.
“I’m sure they are, Nicky. Don’t mind the sourpuss, Miss,” Sir Patrick leaned towards Hermione, his head falling off in the process. “See, Nick’s still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But, I do say, look at the man, not quite the type, you know?”
“Sir Nicholas is far more terrifying than you,” Hermione edged away from the head that had reached the hem of her robes.
“Ha!” The ghost’s head yelled. “Bet he asked you to say that!”
“Certainly not.”
“If I could have everyone’s attention, please, it’s time for my speech!” Nick stepped in between Patrick and Hermione. “My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is to my great sorrow…”
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick’s body scooped up his head and joined the rest of the Hunt on the dance floor, starting up a game of Head Hockey. The cheers from the Hunt drowned out Nick and the Gryffindor House ghost soon lost the crowd’s interest. Nearly Headless Nick tried in vain to recapture the audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
“Oh, for…” Nick’s shoulders slumped.
“I thought it was a very nice party,” Hermione offered. “Until they came.”
That seemed to cheer the ghost up. “Why thank you, Miss Granger.” He looked them up and down. “The atmosphere has been ruined, you could say. Thank you again for coming. But it would probably be best if you young ones went back up to the feast, now.”
“But…”
“No, no, Mr. Malfoy. You all have made me very happy. Please, go on, now. Before things get,” Nick scowled. “Rowdy.”
They said their hasty good byes after that warning. Harry led the way back up the passage full of black candles, trying to rub feeling back into his hands.
“That was quite the experience,” he heard Hermione say from behind him. “I’ll have to check the library to see if there are any other descriptions of a deathday party.”
“My mother’s parents used to have a picnic in the cemetery on Halloween,” he heard Theo say. “My father refused to let us go, but Mother used to tell me about them. We didn’t have any family ghosts, though.”
“Maybe we’ll be in time for dessert,” Draco said.
Then Harry heard it. …Rip…tear…kill…
No, cold speared though his gut. Oh, oh no. The basilisk. He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall.
“Harry?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you all right?”
…so hungry…time to kill…
“Harry. Harry?”
“Hush!” He dug his hand into the stone. I’ve got to stop it. Oh, Merlin. It could kill someone this time…
“Hush? Hush what? Harry?”
Harry shook off Draco’s arm as he heard the basilisk’s sibilant hiss once more. He took off after it, heart hammering in his throat. Maybe. I can blast it. No. Its scales are too hard. If I can put out its eyes, then maybe…
“Where are you going? Harry!”
“There’s something here,” he snapped back at them. “It - I can hear it. You should too. Hissing. Like a great snake. But I can tell what it’s saying,” he lied and tore on. Maybe I can find it now. “Stay behind me!” He called over his shoulder, ignoring their jumbled questions.
Maybe I can find Ginny, too, Harry’s heart thumped. I can get her to Dumbledore and he can look into her mind and see what’s happening and then he can call in Aurors and they can take care of the basilisk, and…
Harry took a corner and felt his foot slip. He went down with a yelp, hands slapping down into a pool of something slick. He flinched away from the drops that hit his face, already knowing by the bright, metallic scent that he had landed in blood.
Merlin. Not again.
“Harry? Harry! What - oh my god!” Hermione’s voice spiraled up into a shriek.
Harry raised his head. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE!
I’m too late, Harry wanted to pound the floor. But, wait, this should be water, not blood. Heart in his mouth, Harry looked up, expecting to see a Petrified Mrs. Norris. Instead there was a large sow, split neck to groin, intestines spilling down to the floor. It was pig’s blood he lay in. Still warm.
This is different, Harry felt panic settle in his gut. Oh, Merlin, this is worse. What - did the spirit - how did Ginny do this? How…
He heard people shouting in the background. Hands tried to help him up, snapping him out of his daze.
“Come on,” Draco and Neville were trying to get him up. “Harry, are you hurt? What…”
A rumble cut him off. Harry scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The feast had just ended. Harry had a moment to exchange horrified glances with Draco, and then the student body was upon them.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise, died immediately. Harry and the others stood alone, in the middle of the corridor.
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods! You and all your blood traitor friends, too!” Pansy Parkinson had pushed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes fixed on Draco with malicious glee.
“Oh, bugger all,” Harry breathed.
Chapter Seven
Chapter Five
Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Six
Worry made Harry’s dreams darker than usual that night. He was up before dawn, sitting at the banked fireplace, knees draw up to his chest.
What am I going to do? He carded his fingers through his hair. Ginny has to have the diary, but it’s not like I can just barge in and take it from her, especially not now, with Ron the way he is. Harry folded his arms around his knees and set his head down on the bony kneecaps.
I can’t very well just leave her to it, can I? The basilisk could kill someone this time around. Ginny could die this time around. Voldemort could be reborn - but I won’t sacrifice Ginny for an easy way to capture the man. I’d never forgive myself, and there’s still the question of the Horcrux inside of me. And all the others.
He let out a frustrated sigh. What the bloody hell am I going to do?
He was no closer to the answer when Hermione found him curled up on the couch closest to the hearth an hour later.
~*~
He was still no closer to the answer a week later. He hadn’t heard the basilisk again, but that was little solace to the ball of worry growing in his gut.
His attention was also divided by the swift plunge back into the school term, frantic Quidditch practices and homework.
Hermione’s birthday snuck up on them before he knew it. He woke early on the nineteenth, slipping the girl’s present from his trunk so Ron and the others wouldn’t see.
Hermione had started coming down early in the mornings with Harry. Often she would read, sometimes dozing off in the chair as Harry relaxed in the quiet. It was nice to have a partner again, Harry reflected as he waited for her. Maybe one day we’ll both be able to sit in the quiet with Mrs. Weasley again.
“Happy birthday,” he told her and held out her present. Hermione’s eyes lit up. She ripped through the paper.
“Oh, Harry,” she breathed, gently removing the book from the protective plastic bag. “Where did you find this?”
“At an old junk shop,” he smiled at her appalled expression. “It was just sitting there with the other old books. I doubt anyone had bothered to read the front page to see the proper title. Mrs. Longbottom pointed me to a leatherworks shop where I got the cover redone.”
“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Hermione traced the gilt title. Magical Theory and Intrinsic Basics to the Craft of Magic had been one of Hermione’s most prized possessions later on in life. Harry couldn’t believe it when he’d found the book in the old junk shop on the Street of Flowers.
“Oh, I need to put this away; thank you, thank you!” She surprised him with a fierce, short hug. Then she tore up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.
Hermione was still on uneven grounds with the other girls of Gryffindor, although Harry did see Parvati give Hermione a bag of candy at breakfast. Neville gave her a potted plant. Harry warned Ron off when he and some other boys started to snicker. Fred and George gave Hermione a slip of paper, and a promise that they would ride to her rescue at any time on their fine, four wheeled mount. Hermione blushed a deep red and rolled her eyes at the same time at them.
What surprised Harry the most, however, was Draco and Theo showing up at the library after classes. Harry was eyebrows deep in a Transfigurations essay when he heard Draco’s voice.
“We heard it was your birthday,” Draco said. Harry looked up to see the Slytherin flanked by Theo. They both held out elegantly wrapped presents - the wrapping, of course, green and silver.
“Ah,” said Hermione. “Thank you?”
“We weren’t sure - ow, Theo!” Draco rubbed at his side.
Harry watched Hermione frown at them and then turn to the presents. Instead of ripping into them like she had Harry’s, she picked apart the thick wrapping paper of the first and pulled out a book. A soft look of wonder passed across her face.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Harry craned his neck to look at the titles. The book had a thick cover and gilded title. It read, A History of Magical Kind. Harry raised his eyebrow. He knew that book. He also knew it was rather rare and not reprinted. It was one of the foremost histories on wizarding kind in the world. That had been Theo’s gift.
Draco’s was a game. “It’s Kings and Castles,” the blond said. “I thought, maybe, we could adapt it. If, you know, you were still interested in the practice sessions by the lake, but even then it’s a very fun game, my mother taught me how to play it and…”
“Would you show me the rules?” Hermione had yet to let go of Theo’s book.
“I’ll show you,” Theo said. “Draco gets the rules all mixed up.”
“I do not.”
“No, but you make a hash out of explaining them.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.
Harry grinned at the tableau and then returned to his paper. Neville had joined Hermione and Theo at the game board.
“Harry?”
He looked up. Draco slid into the seat next to him, worrying at his bottom lip. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Draco shook his head. “I just - didn’t want you to think I bought my way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.” Harry could see the flush creeping up Draco’s neck. He knew what that had cost Draco to say that.
“I know you didn’t,” Harry met the pale eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Seeker, too. It’ll be nice to have some decent competition on the pitch.”
“You think I’ll - of course I’ll beat you,” Draco rolled his eyes, but the blush stayed. “I could beat you with a blindfold over my eyes.”
“Sure, sure,” Harry smiled down at his parchment.
“I could so.”
“You bet.”
“I’ll be the best Seeker Slytherin has ever had.”
“How’s your broom?” Harry glanced up at Draco’s silence. He wanted to kick himself at the downcast expression that had filled Draco’s face. “I mean it, you know. I know you didn’t buy your way onto the team. I just like brooms. How’s it handle?”
Draco brightened. “Oh. Oh! Well,” he frowned. “It handles a little odd on -”
“Left turns? So does mine.”
“Yours too? I thought I was just imagining it.”
“No, it always feels like it wants to roll. See, I figured, though, if you go fast enough,” Harry’s essay went forgotten as he and Draco spent the rest of the afternoon talking about brooms.
~*~
September passed into October, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by the sudden spate of colds amongst the staff and students. Harry was among the first to catch the ague, but Madam Pomfrey’s Pepper-Up Potion cleared it right out. Several times.
“I must say, Mr. Potter,” the head nurse said after Harry’s third visit. “I don’t like this trend. Sit, sit, I want to run some spells.”
Harry was forced to stay overnight in the wing as Pomfrey fretted over her readings.
“Well, nothing to be done about it,” was her answer in the morning. Harry was mortified to see Snape lurking at her desk, going through her notes. “Your immune system is just poor, dear. Keep warm, now, scarf on. If you feel a bit off, come right back, young man.”
Harry agreed and fled the Infirmary. This never happened, before, Harry chewed on his lip as he made his way to the Great Hall. Although I was always the first one to catch whatever went through the Auror ranks. The children would pass along their colds to me, too. Ginny had been at her wits end about it - she never could figure out why I wasn’t healthier. He flushed and looked away, pushing back threatening memories. I don’t want to think about that right now. Stop.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered down on the castle windows for days on end. The lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon, a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower drenched to the skin.
Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Harry hadn’t been able to concentrate. Fred and George had depressed everyone with the abilities of the Slytherin team’s new brooms and all the girls had been in foul tempers. Harry had been grateful to escape when he had.
Harry also felt rather miserable as well. It would be his fifth trip to Madam Pomfrey in the month. The last thing he needed was her worrying over him. Not when he knew the trials that were about to come down on her if Harry didn’t figure out how to stop the bloody basilisk and kill the diary of Tom Riddle without anyone the wiser.
Just how is Dumbledore unaware of the great bloody snake in the building? Harry stomped down a deserted corridor. Really. The man is the most powerful magician pretty much since Merlin and he can’t detect a great, ruddy, poisonous -
“Harry?”
Harry jerked his head up. “Hello, Draco. Theo,” he blinked and squinted through rain-spackled glasses.
“You had practice? In this?”
“Yes,” Harry said and then sneezed. “Oh, bloody hell. Not again.”
“Haven’t you been to the Infirmary twice already?”
“Four times,” Harry rubbed at his nose and scowled. “Probably five if my luck holds out.”
“Don’t say that,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’ll just make it come true.”
“You should get back to your dormitory,” Theo began.
“Mud in my castle?” Filch’s voice came.
“Oh, bugger,” Harry shook out his wand and cast a cleaning charm on his clothes. Mrs. Weasley had taught him the charm when he’d taken paternity leave after James had been born. Ginny had wanted to get back to practice as soon as possible, so Harry had stepped in, determined to help all he could. He’d never known just how much of a mess babies could make, before that.
“Come on,” Theo and Draco hustled him out of the corridor. Harry flicked a spell over his shoulder to clear off the mud from the floors - he had no wish to be caught by Filch, again.
He let the Slytherins herd him through some smaller passages until they turned onto a corridor that Harry knew led to Gryffindor Tower.
“Thanks,” He rubbed at his head.
“Filch is in a foul mood,” Theo said. “So is Professor Snape. There was an explosion yesterday in his first year class. He’s still livid about it.”
Harry winced. “I’ll bet.” Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Harry spun to face it, only to realize that it was Nearly Headless Nick.
“All right, Harry?” Draco asked.
“Fine, fine, just thought it was Filch,” Harry lied, shrugging. “Hello, Nick.”
The ghost, who had been drifting along the corridor, muttering to himself, jerked to a halt and looked up. “Mr. Potter? And Misters Malfoy and Nott. Hello, hello,” Nick doffed his plumed hat and swept a shallow bow, so not to disturb his head, Harry knew. In Nick’s other hand he held a transparent letter.
“Are you all right, Nick?” Harry asked. Harry could see Draco staring at the Gryffindor ghost with wide eyes.
“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand. “It is a matter of no importance. It’s not as though I really wanted to join…Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill the requirements’,” he forced out an obviously fake laugh. “But you would think, wouldn’t you,” Nick scowled and thrust out the letter. “That getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt? How many strokes did that it take to get them sent off? Bet me, it wasn’t forty-five!”
“Er,” said Harry.
“Forty-five?” Draco squeaked.
“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However, this,” Nick shook the paper. “This farce, this inability of mine to participate in Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo, really, really, are just two minor parts to the Hunt and it is merely a half an inch of skin holding it on! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not nearly enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore!”
Harry blinked a few times. “Well,” he said. “That’s - I’m very sorry you weren’t accepted, Nick. You’d be the best of the lot, I’m sure, if you’d been let in.”
The fight seemed to go out of the ghost. “Oh, never mind it, young Harry. Though it was very kind of you to say so.”
“We’re very sorry as well,” Draco piped up. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Harry had to snap his mouth shut. What in Merlin’s name just came out of Malfoy’s mouth?
“Well,” Nick said, brightening. “There is something you all could do for me, if you would all be so kind.”
“…Sure,” Harry rocked back on his heels.
“Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” said Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
“Oh,” Harry bit his lip. “Right.” I’d forgotten that.
“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you all would attend. Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom would be most welcome too, of course - but I’d daresay you’d rather go to the school feast?” He glanced between them, wringing his hands.
“I…” Harry looked at the Slytherins.
“We’d love to come,” Draco chimed in. Harry saw Theo pinch the bridge of his nose.
“My dear boys! I am so very honored!” Nick beamed. “And - do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”
“Of course,” Draco’s smile turned sly.
Nearly Headless Nick beamed at them.
~*~
“A deathday party?” Hermione said when Harry had escaped Nick and the Slytherins to finally change into something dry and warm. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those - it’ll be fascinating!”
It took some convincing to get Neville to agree to go as well.
By the time Halloween arrived, Harry had visited the Infirmary once more and had his own stash of Pepper-Up Potions from the nurse, ‘just in case’, as Pomfrey had said. The last time Harry had gone to see the woman, Snape had been there, listening in on her examination. Harry had fled as soon as possible.
The school was eagerly anticipating the Halloween feast. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for entertainment.
“Dancing skeletons,” Neville moaned when they met up with the Slytherins in front of the Great Hall.
“You can go break a promise if you like,” Hermione sniffed. “I think a deathday party is much more unusual than a bunch of rattling bones.”
“Aren’t you going to miss the feast?” Draco turned to Harry.
“No,” Harry shook his head. “I won’t.”
“But it’s Halloween.”
“Exactly.” Harry marched past the doors to the Great Hall. It was time for Nick’s party.
“Harry?” Neville had caught up with him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Harry.”
“It’s Halloween.” Harry shrugged, feeling his shoulders tight and stiff. “My parents died today.”
There was silence from behind him.
“Oh,” said Neville.
“Not that I knew them,” Harry blew out a forced breath. It’s bloody ridiculous to be stuck on this, after all this time. “It’s just, sometimes I can forget, but with all the parties…” And all the other deaths, from before. He bit his lip, pushing the faint, lingering grief away.
“Yeah. I know,” Neville bumped shoulders with Harry.
“Do you think we should have worn dress robes?” Draco forced his way in front of them. “I have the dress robes Mother sent me and extras, it couldn’t have hurt…”
“It will be fine,” Hermione cut in, pushing her way past Theo. “Come on; we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”
Harry rolled his eyes at their fussing, but stayed quiet, content to follow a bickering Hermione and Theo towards the dungeons.
The passageway to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, though the effect was far from cheerful. The candles were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, eerie light even over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every stop they took. Harry shivered and pulled his robes tight around him, wincing as he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping on an enormous blackboard.
“Is that supposed to be music?” Neville whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.
“My dear friends,” the twinkle in Nick’s eyes belied his mournful tone. “Welcome, welcome…so pleased you could come.” He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. “Do, please, enjoy yourselves,” he called after them.
Harry bumped into Hermione as the girl jerked to a stop. He peered around her shoulders, feeling his eyes go wide. I’d forgotten about this.
It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, most of whom were drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Harry’s breath rose in a mist before him; it was like stepping into a freezer.
“Shall we have a look around?” Harry was the first to speak.
“Careful not to walk though anyone,” Draco hissed at them. “Mother said it’s quite the insult. And bow, or er, curtsy?” He glanced at Hermione. “It’s only polite. Or so Mother says.”
“Curtsy?” Hermione squeaked.
“Well, they have been dead for ages,” Theo pointed out.
“Fine, then you curtsy. I’ll bow,” Hermione sniffed. Theo sputtered.
They passed a group of gloomy nuns and a ragged man wearing chains. They stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Fat Friar and his friend, a knight whose name Harry didn’t catch, since he’d been too occupied with eyeing the arrow that protruded from the man’s forehead.
“Oh, look, the Baron!” Draco made a beeline for the gaunt Slytherin House ghost.
Harry shared a look with Neville as they followed the Slytherins over to the ghost’s empty corner.
“Baron, please allow me to introduce my friends,” Draco said once they arrived. “You know Theo, and this is Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Neville Longbottom and Mr. Harry Potter.” Then Draco mouthed at them to bow. They did, even Hermione, much to Theo’s mortified expression.
“Interesting,” the Bloody Baron rumbled. The silver bloodstains on the ghost’s doublet glittered in the strange light. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replied, voice faint. “It’s a pleasure, for us as well. I’m sure.”
Harry froze as the ghost turned to him. “A Potter at a deathday party. Extraordinary. Your lot are usually up top, feasting.”
Harry felt his back go stiff. “I am more than just a name or a family line,” he bit out at the ghost. He thought he saw the sunken eyes crinkle a little.
“As all young men and women should learn,” the Bloody Baron drew back into his corner.
“The Baron has been a fixture in the common room since last year,” Draco chimed in. “He’s excellent at Transfiguration.”
“Is that where you’ve been getting tutoring?” Hermione perked up.
“The Baron was kind enough to help us with some pointers,” Draco’s tone went guarded.
“Oh, really? How wonderful.”
“Yes, really.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell us?”
“Slytherin House has solidarity,” the Baron broke in. “As the House’s reputation has tarnished over the years, prejudice is commonplace. We help our own, Miss Granger, and expect no help from others.”
“But,” Hermione sputtered. “We’re friends. Of course we could help you out!”
Nearly Headless Nick arrived before any of the Slytherins could reply. “There you are, there you are!” He came to a stop next to Harry. “Oh, hello, Baron. I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.”
“Oh, yes,” Harry answered for them.
“Excellent. It’s not a bad turnout, you know,” Nick’s chest puffed out as he turned to survey the crowd. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent, can you believe it? It’s nearly time for my speech, now, do stay to hear it. I’d better go warn the orchestra…”
The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement as a hunting horn sounded off in the distance.
“Oh, here we go,” Nick swept off his hat and slapped it against his leg.
Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly burst into applause. Harry held back at the sight of Nick’s face, as did the others.
The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd and strode over to Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.
“Nick!” He roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?” He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nick on the shoulder.
“Welcome Patrick,” said Nick stiffly.
“Live ‘uns!” The Head of the Hunt turned to Harry and the others. Harry caught sight of Hermione latched onto Theo’s arm and Draco standing in front of Neville, almost like a guard. The Bloody Baron had vanished.
“They are my guests,” said Nick, drawing himself up.
“I’m sure they are, Nicky. Don’t mind the sourpuss, Miss,” Sir Patrick leaned towards Hermione, his head falling off in the process. “See, Nick’s still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But, I do say, look at the man, not quite the type, you know?”
“Sir Nicholas is far more terrifying than you,” Hermione edged away from the head that had reached the hem of her robes.
“Ha!” The ghost’s head yelled. “Bet he asked you to say that!”
“Certainly not.”
“If I could have everyone’s attention, please, it’s time for my speech!” Nick stepped in between Patrick and Hermione. “My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is to my great sorrow…”
But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick’s body scooped up his head and joined the rest of the Hunt on the dance floor, starting up a game of Head Hockey. The cheers from the Hunt drowned out Nick and the Gryffindor House ghost soon lost the crowd’s interest. Nearly Headless Nick tried in vain to recapture the audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.
“Oh, for…” Nick’s shoulders slumped.
“I thought it was a very nice party,” Hermione offered. “Until they came.”
That seemed to cheer the ghost up. “Why thank you, Miss Granger.” He looked them up and down. “The atmosphere has been ruined, you could say. Thank you again for coming. But it would probably be best if you young ones went back up to the feast, now.”
“But…”
“No, no, Mr. Malfoy. You all have made me very happy. Please, go on, now. Before things get,” Nick scowled. “Rowdy.”
They said their hasty good byes after that warning. Harry led the way back up the passage full of black candles, trying to rub feeling back into his hands.
“That was quite the experience,” he heard Hermione say from behind him. “I’ll have to check the library to see if there are any other descriptions of a deathday party.”
“My mother’s parents used to have a picnic in the cemetery on Halloween,” he heard Theo say. “My father refused to let us go, but Mother used to tell me about them. We didn’t have any family ghosts, though.”
“Maybe we’ll be in time for dessert,” Draco said.
Then Harry heard it. …Rip…tear…kill…
No, cold speared though his gut. Oh, oh no. The basilisk. He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall.
“Harry?”
“What’s the matter?”
“Are you all right?”
…so hungry…time to kill…
“Harry. Harry?”
“Hush!” He dug his hand into the stone. I’ve got to stop it. Oh, Merlin. It could kill someone this time…
“Hush? Hush what? Harry?”
Harry shook off Draco’s arm as he heard the basilisk’s sibilant hiss once more. He took off after it, heart hammering in his throat. Maybe. I can blast it. No. Its scales are too hard. If I can put out its eyes, then maybe…
“Where are you going? Harry!”
“There’s something here,” he snapped back at them. “It - I can hear it. You should too. Hissing. Like a great snake. But I can tell what it’s saying,” he lied and tore on. Maybe I can find it now. “Stay behind me!” He called over his shoulder, ignoring their jumbled questions.
Maybe I can find Ginny, too, Harry’s heart thumped. I can get her to Dumbledore and he can look into her mind and see what’s happening and then he can call in Aurors and they can take care of the basilisk, and…
Harry took a corner and felt his foot slip. He went down with a yelp, hands slapping down into a pool of something slick. He flinched away from the drops that hit his face, already knowing by the bright, metallic scent that he had landed in blood.
Merlin. Not again.
“Harry? Harry! What - oh my god!” Hermione’s voice spiraled up into a shriek.
Harry raised his head. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE!
I’m too late, Harry wanted to pound the floor. But, wait, this should be water, not blood. Heart in his mouth, Harry looked up, expecting to see a Petrified Mrs. Norris. Instead there was a large sow, split neck to groin, intestines spilling down to the floor. It was pig’s blood he lay in. Still warm.
This is different, Harry felt panic settle in his gut. Oh, Merlin, this is worse. What - did the spirit - how did Ginny do this? How…
He heard people shouting in the background. Hands tried to help him up, snapping him out of his daze.
“Come on,” Draco and Neville were trying to get him up. “Harry, are you hurt? What…”
A rumble cut him off. Harry scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The feast had just ended. Harry had a moment to exchange horrified glances with Draco, and then the student body was upon them.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise, died immediately. Harry and the others stood alone, in the middle of the corridor.
Then someone shouted through the quiet.
“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods! You and all your blood traitor friends, too!” Pansy Parkinson had pushed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes fixed on Draco with malicious glee.
“Oh, bugger all,” Harry breathed.
Chapter Seven