sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:54 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:54 pm
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Laocoon's Children, Year Two, 10 - 11
To her credit, Dora was not one to go crying to her parents. Ted Tonks never heard a word about the incident in the hallway, which was probably for the best, since he was genuinely fond, in his own quiet way, of Severus. As September turned to October, he and his wife may have noticed that Dora was never available to visit at the same time Severus was, but, after all, professors did keep different schedules -- and as the most junior of the lot, she was expected to chaperone a good many of the Hogsmeade trips. She seemed to her parents to be enjoying herself, and aside from the icy and tenuous detente between herself and Snape, she honestly was.
While Harry and his friends went about their classes, attended Quidditch practice, and got detentions for being out after-hours when coming back from writing naughty but melodious limericks in the music room, Sirius and Remus had been just as busy. Remus, who had an eccentric love of selling people things, was hired on for extra shifts at Madam Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium; Sirius had sold one toy design to them already and been commissioned to work on a new toy for older children which could be on shop shelves in time for Christmas. His idea for sexual-education dolls had been shot down on the grounds that it would only attract perverts, though Madam Schaeffer herself had been uproariously amused by the prototype. Captain Kneazle, the action-figure feline which came with a variety of heroic costumes, was impractical for this year but had definite potential; toy testers were still recovering from wounds inflicted by the self-retrieving frisbee. Still, he persevered. Madam Schaeffer, having met Sirius, had every faith in his ability to think like a fourteen-year-old.
"I'm thinking about Quidditch," Sirius said, leaning against Remus' leg.
"Oh god," Remus answered.
"Please, just a minute more," said Helena Broosh.
They obediently sat still while she finished her charcoal work, dusted her fingers off, and held up the pad of paper at arm's length, comparing her drawing with the real thing.
"All right, that's good," she said. "It's enough for a first study, anyway, and I can experiment with the charms on it."
"Can we see it?" Sirius asked from the floor. Remus gave him a hand up, and they both came forward to study the result of their first sitting for the portrait. In sketchy charcoal, smudged and fingerprinted here and there, two men smiled back at them: Sirius, seated on the floor with one arm draped over Remus', leaned back against one corner of the chair on which Remus sat, hands folded quietly in his lap.
"It's not very...dynamic," Remus said, slowly. "Composition-wise, I mean. I'm sort of sitting there like a lump."
"Well, you'll have a book and maybe your legs crossed," Helena said. "And see, when Mr Black is in dog form, he'll be here," she said, drawing in the rough outline of a large dog lying in front of Remus.
"I like that," Sirius said with a grin, winking across the page at Remus, who blushed slightly. "Favoured pet at adored master's feet."
"We could put you both on the floor, if you prefer," Helena said, matching Sirius' grin. "I like the levels, though; I think it captures your personalities. That's half the difficulty, of course -- we've got to get the portrait moving and talking and acting like you, and then over that we have to layer the Dorian Gray charms. When we actually start on the sittings you'll be encouraged to talk to me and to each other; I just wanted something to play with for a few days."
"Don't we all," Remus said gravely. Sirius affected amazement.
"Was that a joke, Mr. Lupin?" he asked.
"It may have been, Mr. Black," Remus replied. Helena looked amused.
"I'd like to consult with one or two other colleagues throughout the process, but none of the confidentiality clauses in the contract will be broken," she said. "Can I schedule you for a second sitting sometime next week? I'd like to fit in two more between now and the end of November, though I realise you have busy schedules and I'm somewhat booked myself this time of year -- lots of holiday work. Speak with Crane on the way out, he'll schedule you. He's the young one with the spectacles."
"And the lecherous ways," Sirius muttered. Remus gave him a look, but preened just a little when he noticed Sirius possessively place himself between Remus and Crane while they were discussing scheduling.
***
October was unseasonably warm that year, and Hallowe'en was impending, making all the students restless. It even infected Padma, who usually preferred intellectual pursuits and had a tendency to roll her eyes at the three boys whose company she kept. In fact, though Harry usually planned their evening mischief and Draco -- whose sense of direction was best -- usually led the way, Padma was the one who suggested they go wandering in the first place, and always found the best places to explore in. It was harmless fun, though there was the odd detention for being caught, and Andromeda would have threatened Neville with strangling if she'd known that he was the one who led them down the narrow tiles of the roof-peak, the one time they managed to get out onto it.
If it hadn't been Percy Weasley who told on them and Dora whom he told to, things might have gone so differently.
Most of the boys above fifth-year or so nursed a harmlessly mild crush on Professor Tonks, as young men will do when they are prisoner to their hormones and confronted with a young, good-looking instructor who could in addition take any one of them in a fight. Oddly enough, Percy wasn't one of them; she didn't keep enough order in her classroom to please him, but then it was doubtful that any classroom which actually had living beings in it was orderly enough for Percy, as his brother Ron was quick to point out. Instead Percy sensibly and boringly took up with the Ravenclaw prefect and was secretly adored by Hermione Granger, who shared his passion for rules and regulations.
They had been down to a not-often-visited area of the dungeons, to see Completely Headless Nick in his first official Head Polo tournament since joining the Headless Hunt. Nick's side lost, but it was a near thing, and after centuries of having to look on, Nick couldn't care less who won or lost so long as he got to play.
Harry wasn't far from the dormitory, of course, and he could slip back without much fear of being caught, especially since Professor Snape's unusually keen eyes tended to fail when a Slytherin was the guilty party slinking along the hallways. He hadn't even bothered to bring his cloak, or he would have thought to lend it to the other three -- especially Padma, who had the furthest to go.
They left Draco presumably safe at the bottom of the stairs, barely a minute's walk from the Hufflepuff cellars and under the eye of the Fat Friar, who had been one of the spectators in the Head Polo game. The ghosts especially liked Draco, for reasons that the others could only guess at; perhaps it was that Draco, the child of two ancient, breeding-obsessed houses, valued history and tended to know the names and stories of people long dead. When you can't leave the castle, eat, or indulge in other various pleasures of the flesh, having someone pay a bit of attention is always gratifying.
"Oh bugger," Neville said, as he and Padma made their way down the corridor towards Gryffindor's portrait-entrance and, beyond, Ravenclaw's tower. "I think I've forgotten the password again."
"Got your remembrall on?" she asked, but Neville held up his bare arm. "Neville, remembralls only work if you remember them."
"I know that!" Neville said irritably.
"Well, don't shout at me," Padma sighed. "I don't know the password. Can you knock?"
"Password," the Fat Lady prompted sleepily.
"Hold onto your stockings," Padma replied. "Come on, Neville, it only changes once a month -- "
She stopped, because Neville was looking over her shoulder in terror, and turned.
It would be Percy Weasley, the most officious, rulebound Prefect to ever forget to remove the broomstick from his arse. He was wearing a bathrobe with his Prefect's badge pinned onto it, and his hair was damp; he'd probably come from his bath.
"Longbottom," he said darkly. "Patil."
"Prefect," they chorused.
"You're out after hours."
"Padma was just bringing me some homework," Neville blurted. The fact that he had no parchments or books with him was not lost on Percy.
"Come on, Percy," Padma said. "It's not much after hours, and my dormitory's only five minutes from here -- "
"And you're only twelve!" Percy said, apparently attempting to shame them into something, though a glance at Neville told Padma that he was as oblivious to what that might be as she was.
"I'm almost thirteen," Padma ventured. Percy's eyes darkened.
"Oh, are we having a party?" said a new voice. Percy whirled. Professor Tonks was leaning against the wall, grinning. "I like your bathrobe, Weasley. Hi, Neville."
Percy flushed. "I was coming back from a bath -- "
"Clearly. Personal hygiene, very important," Tonks agreed.
"And I found Longbottom and Patil -- "
"Padma, right?" Tonks asked. "You're the Ravenclaw twin. This isn't your dormitory."
"No, Professor," Padma said, ducking her head. She hated getting in trouble, not really because of the punishment but because getting in trouble was mortifying and shameful. She didn't even like it when Parvati got in trouble, and Parvati got in trouble a lot more often than Padma did.
"Having a midnight tryst?" Tonks inquired. Percy looked a little triumphant. "Or rather, a ten-thirty tryst. Neville treating you like a gentleman should?"
"Awww, Dora..." Neville moaned.
"That's Professor Tonks to you, Neville," she said with a slight grin.
"It wasn't like that, Professor," Padma said.
"Quite right. Well, I think ten points from Gryffindor and ten points from Ravenclaw ought to -- " she paused, and peered down the corridor. "Well, this is a party."
Snape loomed terrifyingly out of the shadows.
"I hardly think that's an appropriate sobriquet for this situation, do you?" he asked. "Weasley, get inside and out of that ridiculous bathrobe."
Percy nearly hopped to obey, crying "Felinus Est!" at the portrait, which obediently allowed him inside.
"Felinus est?" Padma demanded. "That's your Gryffindor idea of a password? 'It's a cat'?"
"I didn't come up with it," Neville retorted.
"I can handle this...pair," Snape said, lip curling slightly.
"You could," Tonks agreed coldly. One of Snape's hands fell on Neville's shoulder. Neville and Padma exchanged despairing looks. "If I were inclined to use students as pawns in grown-up games."
Snape stared at her.
"Run inside, Neville, and remind Percy to change the password," Tonks said, and Neville darted out from under Snape's grasp and through the Gryffindor portrait. "Padma, off you go."
Padma glanced up at Snape, and then ran off.
"If they were out, you can be sure Mr Malfoy was as well," Snape said. "No doubt he's returned by now."
"No doubt," she replied. "And Harry too, I'm sure."
He was silent at that.
"Shall we take ten points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well?" she asked. "On the basis of speculation?"
"What would be the point of taking anything, if all four Houses lost an equal amount?"
"Well, it has a nice symmetry to it," she sighed. "There's little enough balance around here right now."
"I don't believe I know what you mean."
She leaned back against the wall again. "Are we going to spend the whole year sniping at each other? We used to get along, you know. I distinctly remember."
"We tolerated each other."
"Oh, come on, Professor -- "
"Need we be on good terms?" he asked. "You will be here another eight months, at most, and I see no reason for our paths to cross more often than at daily meals."
"Are you still angry about me impersonating you? I said I was sorry."
"Professor Tonks," he said, drawing himself up fully, his face fearsome in the flickering torchlight, "you have managed not only to steal the position which by right of ability and experience should be mine, but you then added insult to injury by stealing my face as well. Kindly keep your own as far away from me as possible, if it's not too much to ask."
Before she could formulate a reply, there was a shriek from the other side of the portrait, and Neville and Percy emerged, Percy gripping Neville's collar.
"Eavesdropp -- " Percy began, but Snape cut him off.
"Longbottom! Detention!" he snapped, and turned to stalk away, leaving Dora there to gently shove Percy and Neville back into Gryffindor's common room and shut the portrait behind them.
"Now what?" she asked the empty, chilly corridor air.
***
"Well, at least we're all annoying together," said Harry the next morning, when they found that not only had Gryffindor and Ravenclaw lost points, but Slytherin and Hufflepuff as well. Not very much, ten points, but still irksome, especially as it wasn't the first time. They were well on their way, those four, to the uneasy status of Fred and George Weasley, who had both their own share and, clearly, Percy's share of mischievousness as well. They were respected and popular, but nobody was ever very happy with them.
"Cept me," Neville said sulkily. "I'm annoying and I have detention."
"Serves you right for eavesdropping," Padma said, unconcernedly buttering her toast. "You know better."
"You know better than to get caught, anyway," Draco said.
"I don't like the way he speaks to Dora," Neville said persistently. "He never used to speak to her that way."
"Who knows why Professor Snape does anything he does?" Draco asked. "I say we get Percy Weasley back for being a miserable tell-tale."
"A prank?" Harry's ears almost literally pricked up.
"A Hallowe'en prank," Draco said, leaning in closer. He and Harry both glanced at Padma, waiting for the usual objections and reasons, but she gave them a not-altogether-reassuring grin and leaned in also. Only Neville wasn't yet part of the little crowd of heads.
"Up to you," Harry said, glancing at him. Neville fidgeted with his remembrall-bracelet.
"Nothing too mean," he said. "It's not like we weren't out after-hours."
"If it were me -- " Draco began, but Harry gave him a quelling look, then coughed to interrupt Padma, who had been about to say something about the Weasley family's reputation.
"You know Fred and George are all right, and Ron and Ginny," Harry said severely. "It's just Percy, and he can't help being the way he is."
"Fine," Padma said. "So what do we do?"
"Dye in his bathwater?" Draco suggested.
"We've done that already," Harry pointed out.
"When did we dye anyone?"
"Well, we painted the Gryffindors who bullied Neville," Harry said.
"Maybe that's our signature," Neville observed.
"Maybe that's a good way to get caught and expelled," Padma said.
"What annoys Percy most?" Draco asked.
"Mess," Neville said promptly. The others looked at him. "He hates anything to get out of order. Ron says he irons his socks. Or uses an ironing spell, anyway. And nobody ever nicks ties or robes off him, because he knows and he makes a stink about it."
"Sounds like your mum," Harry said to Draco, who was looking thoughtful. "Any ideas?"
"I have one," Draco said. "How're your sticking charms, Padma?"
***
The Hallowe'en Feast that year was splendid; the house-elves outdid the previous year's culinary delights with surprise exploding peas, orange mashed potatoes, roasts that howled when you carved them, and chocolate-filled pumpkin pies. The ghosts, who had all been invited to Completely Headless Nick's deathday party, were all at their brightest, and even Peeves the Poltergeist, a notable troublemaker, was spending too much time herding bats around the ceiling to spell out naughty phrases and dodging Filch's attempts to stop him to do any real harm. A troupe of dancing skeletons entertained them all with acrobatics, jaw-juggling, and the ever-popular Bone Explosion, which littered the Great Hall with clicking white bones that slowly reassembled themselves bit by bit.
Even after all of that, however, Harry had to admit that the handiwork before him put all else to shame. It was a thing of beauty.
Hallowe'en was a traditional time for pranks, of course, but tonight they had taken the art to a new level, and he felt a ridiculous amount of pride in it. Padma held up her camera and snapped another photograph. Draco, standing next to her with his arms crossed, gazed up at their night's work like an artist looking at a finished canvas.
"It's wonderful," said Fred Weasley from behind him.
"Don't you feel a bit of a traitor?" Draco asked Fred. "I mean, I don't care, but out of curiosity, you're all right doing this to your own brother?"
"Percy's not stupid," Fred replied. "He'll get it down, no problem. I just hope he isn't alone when he comes up to find it."
"But he's family," Draco continued. "You stick with family."
"He's certainly going to be in a sticky situation after this," Fred assured Draco.
"Even if he is alone when he comes up, he's bound to shout," Harry said. "Go on, Fred, stand under the bed."
Fred moved to stand under the four-poster bed that was now thoroughly stuck, upside-down, to the ceiling.
Sticking the knicknacks to the top of the dresser had been child's play, and even sticking the trunk and the dresser to the ceiling of Percy's dormitory room had been very little trouble, given Padma's inherent talent for it. It was hardly the work of a moment to turn the posters over the bed upside-down as well. The tricky bit had been getting the bed curtains to hang the right way and the linens to stick, but that was why they'd enlisted Fred's help. Padma snapped another picture of the three boys under the bed.
Through the open doorway they could hear George distracting the rest of the sixth-years whose dorm this was; they were feeding fireworks to Padma's salamander, Elmo, who had apparently developed a taste for them after getting loose and eating half the stash of Guy Fawkes pyrotechnics a Muggle-born Ravenclaw had smuggled into Hogwarts. A sharp whistle rose to their ears and the pranksters hustled out, Fred bolting for his own dorm while Harry, Padma, and Draco slipped down a flight and pulled on Harry's invisibility cloak. The whistle, coming from a Shrieker firework, was to be fed to Elmo as a signal that Percy had returned from his distraction.
The distraction itself happened to be Neville, leading Percy on a wild chase through the school after Completely Headless Nick, who was "having difficulty" locating his head -- I'd lose my head if it weren't attached took on a whole new meaning amongst ghosts. Nick was happy to do it; they all knew he owed his gleefully headless state to the four of them.
They didn't dare stay to hear Percy's reaction, though Neville was planning on witnessing it; having been with Percy the entire time, he had the perfect alibi. They were going to meet Neville afterwards by the stairs to make sure everything had gone according to plan; it was just past the nook in which Nick's head had been hidden.
"You'll be Head Boy if you keep up the way you've begun," Nick had told Neville when he was hiding it (which didn't amuse anyone).
"It was brilliant," Harry said, throwing off his cloak. Padma was busy checking her camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged in their rush for the stairs. "I'm glad we got Fred and George to go along with it."
"I hope Elmo's all right," Padma answered.
"He looked like he was enjoying himself," Draco reassured her. "Neville should be -- "
"Oh Merlin's toes!" Neville said, puffing a little as he arrived to meet them, Elmo's large glass jar tucked carefully under one arm. He was red-faced, not from exertion but from laughter. "You should have left the camera with me, Harry. I've never seen anyone so horrified. He tried to open one of his -- " he burst into a fresh fit of laughter, and had to lean against a wall for support. "He tried to -- "
"For heaven's sake, Neville!" Padma said, and Harry noticed that she really did look worried as she snatched the jar back from him and busied herself inspecting Elmo to make sure the fireworks hadn't done him any harm.
"He opened one of the drawers and all his socks and pants fell out all over his head," Neville blurted. "I've never laughed so hard in all my life! Fred and George were just standing there, poker-faced..."
Draco chuckled, Harry's cloak still hanging over his arm, and peered at Elmo, who was snorting the occasional puff of smoke.
"So what are we going to do now?" he asked.
"Now?" Neville inquired.
"Well, it's Hallowe'en, there must be loads of stuff we can do," Harry said, nodding at Draco. "We could -- "
...rip...tear...kill...
"Harry?" Padma asked, as Harry turned sharply to the left, the direction the noise had come from. There it was again, and Snake was back in the dormitory --
...come to me and let me kill you...
"Harry!" Neville cried, as Harry stumbled against the wall, almost overpowered by the deep, commanding snake-voice. He'd known all sorts of snakes, small and large, smart and stupid, but nothing like this primal, dark voice.
"Shut up," he said to the others urgently, and they fell silent. Padma put a concerned hand on his arm.
So hungry, and alone so long...come to me...free me...
"He's sick," Draco whispered to Neville. "We need to take him to the infirmary -- "
"I'm not sick," Harry said. He stumbled forward a few paces, then a few more.
Someone screamed.
The four of them took off running in the direction of the sound, the direction Harry had been stumbling in the first place. Down a flight of stairs, then another; a second scream led them on until they stumbled to a stop, near the bottom of the stairs.
Little Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley family, was standing on the landing of the central staircase, where it split and went off in two separate directions one storey up from the Great Hall. Pale under the freckles, she glanced at them and pointed at the wall, where large red letters had been painted.
"The Chamber will be opened -- the Heir has come," Neville read. "Urk, is that -- "
"Don't touch it!" Padma said, looking ashen. Draco clung to Harry's arm.
"Ginny, come away," Harry said. Ginny was still staring. "Neville -- "
Neville put his hands on her shoulders; she gasped, startled, but allowed herself to be guided back to where the others stood, burying her face in Neville's shoulder.
People began to arrive then, running up or down the stairs or gathering on the floor below. Snape arrived first, barefoot; McGonagall came shortly after in a crowd of students, a housecoat thrown on over her clothes instead of her Teachers' robes, tartan slippers on her feet.
Someone in the back of the crowd shouted "Mudbloods had better look out!"
Snape whirled on the crowd, eyes blazing, and several of the children at the front drew back.
"Prefects," McGonagall called, putting a hand on Snape's arm to calm him.
"Here, Professor!" Penelope Clearwater replied. She and Percy were standing together, looking stunned; Ginny bolted from Neville to Percy, nearly knocking the wiry Prefect over.
"What's all the -- Merlin," Tonks breathed, coming down the stairs. Dumbledore was fast on her heels. "What happened?"
Dumbledore looked at the wall. A shadow passed over his face. "Mr. Weasley, please escort the Gryffindors to their dormitory," he ordered. "Ms. Clearwater will take the Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs -- "
"Our Prefect's in the loo!" someone shouted. There was a nervous giggle.
"Tonks?" McGonagall asked, and she immediately pushed through the crowd.
"Hufflepuffs this way!" she called, her hair turning to yellow-and-black stripes.
"Professor, would you take the Slytherins, please?" Snape asked in a low voice. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like to speak with a few students," he added, catching Ginny by the elbow as she moved to follow Percy to the dormitories. Harry wasn't about to go anywhere and the others stayed with him, huddled in a little group as the rest of the students reluctantly began to leave. Dumbledore joined them.
"What's this, Severus?" he asked. "No student did this -- "
"They were here when I arrived, before the other students," Snape replied.
"Ginevra appears distraught," Dumbledore said. "Did you discover this monstrosity, my dear?" he asked.
"She was here when we got here. She saw it first...sort of..." Draco said, glancing at Harry.
"Sort of? This is not the time for engima, Mr Malfoy," Snape said sharply.
"Ginny saw it first, sir," Padma said. "We heard her scream -- "
"Where were you?"
"At the top of the stairs, outside Gryffindor," Neville said.
"Given the situation, I shan't ask why," Dumbledore assured them. "You saw no one else, Ginevra?"
Ginny gulped and shook her head.
"There were no footsteps, no voices?"
"I wasn't looking, sir," she whispered. "I was just getting my gloves -- I left them in the Great Hall -- "
"And you came down the stairs to discover this?"
"Yes, sir."
Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Snape, if you would accompany Ms. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Ms. Patil back to their dormitories, I will ensure that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter are delivered safely."
Snape gave him a curt nod and began shepherding the others up the stairs. Dumbledore's hand, gentle but firm, clamped on Harry's shoulder as he shot a sidelong look at Draco. They walked towards the Hufflepuff dormitory in silence, until Dumbledore spoke again.
"Give Harry back his invisibility cloak, please, Draco," he said. Draco flushed crimson and passed it over.
"Is there anything you don't find out about, sir?" he asked daringly.
"Oh, quite a lot of things, I should think," Dumbledore answered. "In this case, however, I confess to advance knowledge of that particular cloak."
Harry looked up at him sharply. The cloak had been delivered by Snape last Christmas, and signed only "From a Friend"; he'd never discovered who'd given it to him, only that it was his father's. But of course Dumbledore would have known his father...
"Perhaps it was a trifle premature to give it to you so soon," Dumbledore continued, "But I suspect you've made good use of it. And here we are," he added, as they descended into the cellar. Tonks was waiting in the open portrait-doorway.
"I thought we'd left one behind," she said. "In you go, Draco. All right, Harry?"
"All right, Professor," Harry answered automatically. Dumbledore steered him back up the steps and down the long corridor, Tonks following behind until she broke off at the stairs to go up for another look at the horrible wall.
"Thank you," Harry said, as they walked towards the stairs down to the dungeons.
"Your father would have wanted you to have it," Dumbledore answered, almost absently.
"Headmaster..." Harry began, then faltered.
"Yes?"
"Who's the Heir? What Chamber's going to be opened?"
Dumbledore was silent as they descended and began working their way through the labyrinth of underground corridors that led to Slytherin's dormitory.
"The Heir is a silly tale to frighten children with," he said, finally. "And the Chamber is little more than a legend."
"But what -- "
"Here we are," Dumbledore said, and indeed they were -- the Slytherin's entrance-portrait was just ahead. Harry gave the password and crept through. By the time he'd glanced back over his shoulder, as the portrait-door was closing, Dumbledore was already gone. Only then did he remember the voice he'd heard, the snake-voice demanding to be free and interrupted by Ginny's scream. He ran to his room where the other boys, and a few of the girls, were sitting on Theo Nott's bed, deep in discussion. He scooped up a trembling, loudly complaining Snake into his breast pocket even as he dropped his cloak into the trunk at the foot of his bed.
"Potter might know," said Blaise, who moved over to make room for him between himself and Crabbe.
"Know what?" Harry asked, glad enough to be in the company of other people.
"Who the Heir is."
Harry shook his head. "I just asked Dumbledore. He wouldn't tell me anything."
"Bet you it was just Bole, doing it to scare Montague," Theo said contemptuously. "Bet you anything tomorrow Bole's going to be strutting around saying he's the Heir."
"What Heir, anyway?" Harry asked, realising suddenly that they knew more than he did.
"You don't know?" Blaise asked.
"Didn't I just say I didn't?"
"All right, you don't need to jump on me about it," Blaise said. "The Heir of Slytherin. The hundred-times great grandson -- "
" -- or daughter -- " put in Pansy Parkinson.
"Or daughter," Blaise rolled his eyes, "of Salazar Slytherin."
"My mum says there aren't any," Crabbe said.
"How does your mum know that?" Theo asked, contemptuous.
"She says." Crabbe stuck stubbornly to his story.
"Well, I heard there was a Headmaster at Hogwarts who was a Slytherin and a Parselmouth and he was the last Heir of Slytherin," Blaise ventured.
"What's being a Parselmouth got to do with it?" Harry asked, very conscious of Snake in his pocket.
"Who put you in such a snit? Didn't you know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth? It's hereditary," Theo answered.
Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn't, since he was one and neither of his parents were, but his first thought was that he didn't know his parents weren't Parselmouths, and his second thought was that he'd almost given himself away.
"Which headmaster?" he asked instead.
"Don't recall," Blaise said, furrowing his brow. "Philip or something."
"Phineas?"
"Might've been."
"Who's he, then?" Theo demanded.
"Phineas Nigellus. He's in Hogwarts, A History," Harry replied. "It doesn't say anything about him being an Heir of Anyone or a Parselmouth. He just wasn't very popular. And he can't have been the last, because I think he had children."
"He's related to the Blacks, isn't he?" Pansy asked.
"Yeah," Harry replied, remembering the Black family tree he'd seen once, with Sirius and Andromeda burnt off of it and names stretching back almost to the Founders.
"They're famous for being Slytherins, the Blacks," Blaise said. "All but your godfather and Professor Tonks' mum. Malfoy's mum was, though, and her other sister -- "
"Bellatrix," Harry said, the hatred in his own voice surprising him. Blaise and Pansy, who caught on a little quicker than the others, raised their eyebrows.
"My aunt used to be friends with Mrs. Malfoy," said Goyle. "She says they were all ashamed of your godfather, being a Gryffindor."
"If you say one word against my godfather I'll knock you flat," Harry said warningly, and Goyle subsided. "Anyway, I don't think there is any such thing. I bet it was Bole," he said, trying to reassure himself. If the Heir of Slytherin was a Parselmouth, then that might have been what he'd heard...
After all, Harry himself couldn't be the Heir. He didn't know anything about painting things in blood on walls, and he'd already been at Hogwarts a year anyway.
"I hope so," Blaise answered. "If the Heir of Slytherin really is at the school..."
"Then what?" Harry prompted.
"Well, he might actually open the Chamber like he said he would, mightn't he?"
"What Chamber, anyhow?"
"What, isn't that in Hogwarts, A History?" Pansy asked snidely.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Blaise replied. They all leaned in closer, as if they were telling ghost stories around a campfire. "Before Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts, he built an underground lair and hid a monster there. He left it all behind when he went away. Anyone who could find and open the doors to the lair could send the monster out into the school to eat all the Muggle-born students."
"That's why they were shouting about mudbloods," Harry said, understanding dawning. Every eye was on him, and he realised of all the students in the room, he was the only one with a Muggleborn parent -- with a Muggle of any kind in the family, closer than three or four generations back. Little Creevey in first year was Muggleborn, but he was one of only two with Muggle parents. Of the rest of the Slytherin students, barely a handful had any significant amount of Muggle ancestry.
"We should be back in the girls' dormitory," Pansy said. The girls slid off Theo's bed and talked quietly as they left; the boys, one by one, went to their own beds to put on their pyjamas. Soon the candles were doused and Harry was curled up under the blankets, whispering soothing reassurances to Snake on his pillow, wondering if even now the primal snake-voice that had demanded its freedom could hear him.
***
Snape returned from delivering the students to their rooms to find Dora Tonks on the landing, arms crossed, staring at the red words painted on the wall.
"Disturbing," he said finally. She glanced up, as if just noticing him, and stepped aside a little to allow him to join her.
"How's Ginny?" she asked.
"Anxious and upset. One of the Gryffindor Prefects is seeing to her," he said shortly.
"No going easy on account of age," she murmured.
"It wasn't her blood," Snape replied. There was another pause. "Have you tried -- "
"Everything from Scourgify to dissolving spells," she said. "I think we'll have to strip a layer of stone to get it off."
Snape tilted his head slightly, as if a new perspective on the wall might give him new ideas. "Have you tried transfiguring the blood into something which -- "
"No, but the blood's been absorbed into the wall. The stone's porous. I'm not good enough to separate the two out," she said. It was a dare, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"Few would be," he agreed instead.
"Speaking objectively, as an Auror, it's a good place to put something like that. Hundreds of children go up and down these stairs every day. Any physical evidence is all tangled up in..." she sighed. "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers and crumpled parchment."
Snape looked around and realised she was right; as good as the house-elves were at keeping the place clean, the main staircase always ended up slightly dingy at the close of the school day. He tended to forget that Dora was an Auror, with skills and ways of thinking that he didn't have. It caught him by surprise.
"What I wonder now," she continued, in that oddly detached voice, "is where all this blood came from. It would have had to be very fresh to be painted on so easily."
Snape knew from horrifying personal experience how quickly blood clotted. It was one of the primal elements of magic; working with blood was tricky, and there were few charms that affected it. Only the Muggles had ways to keep blood from clotting, by adding other things to it. He supposed those could be detected, but he had little experience with the Muggle alchemy known as chemistry.
As if she, and not he, were the master of Legilimency, she said, "Our alchemists have ways of detecting what sort of blood's been used, but I don't think Dumbledore wants this handled by outside help. You're Potions Master; could you find out?"
"Are you asking me for help?" he inquired haughtily.
"As you're so fond of pointing out, we're supposed to be professionals. I'm furious with you, but you're useful. You don't like me, but you don't like obscenity scrawled in blood on the walls of our school, either." She shrugged. "If you can't do it -- "
"I can," he said.
"I thought as much."
He took a small folding knife from his pocket, a gift from Minerva after he'd made her nervous by summoning a knife from the kitchen once too often. He found an empty glass vial in another pocket; he always had a few, and they seemed to multiply when he wasn't looking, like clothes-hangers in a wardrobe. She watched as he knelt and tested the blood at the bottom of the wall. When he found it not entirely dried yet, he slipped the blade into the blood and lifted it up, scraping the half-dried residue off on the lip of the vial.
"I doubt it's human," he said.
"Chicken is traditional, in the thriller novels," she replied. She was about to say something else when Dumbledore appeared, carrying a small jar of powder.
"I see I am anticipated," he said, eyes falling on the vial Snape held. "Shall we, then?"
"Now?" Tonks asked.
"Can you think of a better time?" he inquired. "Severus, I had thought that perhaps you would be short of powdered unicorn dung," he said, shaking the jar slightly. Greyish dust swirled inside it.
"I have sufficient amounts for this," Snape replied, and led the way down into the dungeons, past the Potions classroom and into his private office. He cleared a stack of half-marked papers away neatly and took down a glass tray. He emptied the blood onto the tray, where it made a small, ragged-edged puddle, and put both bloody knife and vial into an empty porcelain wash-basin to be cleaned later. His hands found the ingredients he was looking for almost automatically in the supplies case, and Dumbledore and Tonks watched in silence, Dumbledore seating himself on the chair normally reserved for troublesome students, on the opposite side of the desk.
He mixed aconite -- the base of so many potions and the reason Remus Lupin had always had sneezing fits in class -- with a bat's heart for protein, adding a pinch of centaur's hair when the mixture formed a smooth paste. With a muttered incantation, he sprinkled the powdered unicorn dung over the coagulating blood and spread the paste smoothly across it. He looked at Dumbledore as he picked up a hollow black tube, about the size of a pencil.
"Would you prefer...?" he asked, but Dumbledore shook his head. He didn't bother offering it to Tonks, but instead pressed the tube to his right ring finger and jerked it slightly. The thin needle inside the tube drew blood, and he dripped three dots onto the mixture on the glass tray.
A puff of smoke spiraled upwards, and Snape seemed to cup it into his hands as if it were clay. In the bowl of his palms, it began to take shape, forming an elongated ball. Legs began to drift out from it, a head and tail; the small creature turned its head, and Dumbledore and Tonks both looked mildly surprised.
"Cow's blood?" Dumbledore inquired.
"The nearest cattle herd has to be miles from here. There's a butcher's shop in Hogsmeade, but they'd notice that much blood being bought," Tonks said. "I can look into it."
"I'm not sure there's need," Dumbledore said softly. "We have our own coldhouse and butchery in the kitchens; I would suggest, Professors, that you begin your search there."
"That means it's a professor, or a student," Tonks said, looking alarmed.
"Or," Dumbledore replied, "a house-elf."
***
The next day was Saturday and, by almost silent agreement, Tonks and Snape met on the steps to the kitchens at eight; they tried bickering about who ought to do the questions-asking, but it was half-hearted in the face of the bigger crime. They got no further than Tonks declaring herself a trained investigator and Snape demanding to know who had spent seven years training her, and who was the senior professor, before they reached the kitchen doors.
Questioning the house-elves proved to be fruitless, however. Since they were indentured to the school, and not any single individual in it, they could not be compelled to answer any question which would mean injuring any student or professor at Hogwarts. When asked if a house-elf could have done it, they merely dithered at the idea. They offered to iron their fingers apologetically, but Dumbledore had a strict policy against such things, and in the end the questioning resulted in nothing more than the admission that the blood had come from the Hogwarts butchery, a lot of miserable house-elves, and two frustrated professors.
Denbigh, the head of the kitchen-elves, shared this information with Harry when he stopped by the kitchen to get some breakfast after oversleeping.
"But it wasn't a house-elf, was it?" Harry asked, worriedly. Denbigh's ears drooped.
"All the house-elves are busy with the washing up after the feast -- " Denbigh said anxiously.
"Oh, well, don't get too upset about it," Harry said hurriedly. "Can I have another apple?"
"Is Harry Potter seeing Mister Malfoy and Miss Padma Patil and Mister Neville Longbottom?" Denbigh asked. "Is he seeing them in the library, Harry Potter?"
Harry grinned. "We're falling into a rut, is that what you're saying?"
"No sir! Denbigh does not wish to -- "
"It's okay, Denbigh. Yes, I'm going to study group. Then I have practice this afternoon."
"Dobby the house-elf has insisted that we say to Mister Malfoy that he should come home, sir! The Heir, Harry Potter, the Heir!"
The rest of the house-elves took up the cry in their high, squeaky voices, and Denbigh shouted to be heard over the din.
"Mister Harry Potter should go too! He is in danger!"
"Quiet!" Harry shouted desperately. They all fell eerily silent, immediately. "Now listen, nobody's going home. It's probably just a dumb prank."
Denbigh stared at him, enormous eyes unblinking, until finally Harry sighed.
"We'll be all right. If every person with a Muggle relative went home, the school would be almost empty, anyway," he said. "Now listen, I have a game against Gryffindor next Saturday at eleven. Will you make some popcorn for the others to take to the game?"
"Of course, Harry Potter. One sweet, one salted, one sweet with extra butter," Denbigh said, recounting the way the other three liked their popcorn. "And Harry Potter will come to see us afterwards?"
"Sure, Denbigh. We'll have a late lunch in the kitchen." Harry accepted the small sack of food that the house-elves pressed into his hands, put it in his bag, and was just turning to leave when something occurred to him.
"Denbigh," he asked, turning around. "When was Dobby here?"
Denbigh looked frightened. "Dobby and Mendy are coming to help us do the washing up after the feast," he said, in a very quiet voice. "Harry Potter will not tell Mistress Malfoy? She is un -- unki -- " He hesitated, elf-fashion, unwilling to speak ill even of those humans who didn't employ him.
"Unkind to them, I know. It's all right; I won't even tell Draco."
Denbigh sighed with relief, and soon the rest of the kitchen was filled once more with clattering and clanking as the lunch preparations began. Harry shouldered his bag and headed for the library. By the time he reached it, most of the students who had studying to do were there; it was too cold to enjoy being outside but not quite cold enough to snow, and students in the library were very rarely harassed so long as they kept quiet. Harry waved at Padma, who had staked out and viciously defended a table for their use, and stopped to drop off two books he'd taken out a week before.
"Harry!" someone whispered urgently, and Harry looked up from the returns box to see a cadre of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs gathered at a table near one of the magical fireplaces that heated the library without actually being on fire. A curly-haired boy in Hufflepuff yellow was gesturing madly for him to come over.
"What is it, Justin?" Harry whispered, wondering if he had something in his hair, or if his bag flap was unlatched.
"Is it true you know who the Heir is?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked. The rest of the table was watching eagerly. "Blaise Zabini said all the Slytherins knew, but nobody's willing to tell us except Colin Creevey, and nobody tells him anything anyway."
Justin glanced to his left, and Harry followed his gaze; Colin was sitting wretchedly at a table with a handful of other Slytherin first-years, and being completely ignored by his fellows.
"He's supposed to be the great-great-whatever-great grandson of Salazar Slytherin, and he can talk to snakes, and if he gets into the Chamber of Secrets which nobody knows where it is, he'll let a monster out and it'll eat all the Muggle-born students."
Justin turned pale.
"But it's just a story, I'm sure it's a prank," Harry said hurriedly.
"I'm Muggleborn," Justin said, then winced when he realised he'd announced it to the world.
"If I were you, I wouldn't tell the monster that -- I'm kidding, Finch," Harry said, when Justin blanched. "Look, it's just a story. Pass it on if you want to, but don't forget to tell people that, all right?"
Padma was waving for Harry to come over, but he held up a finger and walked over to the table where the Slytherin first-years were studiously ignoring Creevey.
"Hey, Cricket," Harry said. Colin didn't look up. "Creevey. Cricket. I'm talking to you."
Colin met his eyes slowly. He looked like he was about to wet himself. Harry wondered if the second-years, or even the other first-years, had been bullying him.
Harry had never himself been a bully beyond the usual cuffing and wrestling between village children in Betwys Beddau. He supposed if he had to, he could, but he found it distasteful; and besides, if you had to bully, you ought to have a point to it, and you jolly well ought to bully someone your own size.
"Come on, Cricket," he said. The first-years were pointedly not looking at him; they were exchanging anxious glances. This was Harry Potter. What did Harry Potter want with a little Mudblood?
"Um?" Colin asked.
"Come on, Cricket, you'll never get anywhere studying all alone like that. Padma's brilliant at Charms; come study with us," Harry said. Colin glanced at the others, as if asking if this was some kind of joke. When Harry looked impatient, he scrambled to gather up his books, and followed the taller boy back to where Padma was sitting.
"Neville and Draco are in the stacks. Neville's booby-trapping books with some of George Weasley's exploding bookmarks," Padma said. "Who's he?"
"Exploding bookmarks?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, he found out how Exploding Snap works and reversed the polarities so now it goes bang when you open the book," Padma replied. "Who're you?" she asked Colin directly this time.
"Colin Creevey," he said, shyly.
"This is Cricket," Harry said. "He gets a nickname, because it makes the other students jealous, and they all hate him already. Sit," he said to Colin, who obeyed.
"Oh, you're the Muggleborn who got in with the Slytherins," Padma said. "The one with the camera always around his neck."
"Yeah," Colin said glumly, as Neville and Draco emerged from the stacks and sat down with absolutely straight faces.
"This is Cricket, he's studying with us today," Harry said. Neville and Draco nodded and opened their bookbags. There was an explosion from the stacks and Draco bravely fought down a grin. "He's going to keep his mouth shut about what we're talking about, too, aren't you, Cricket?"
Colin nodded. Padma was reading his book, half-over his shoulder.
"The Slytherins know who the Heir is," Harry said, and the others listened as he recounted the previous night's conversation. "Professor Snape and Dor -- Professor Tonks talked to the house-elves this morning, but they didn't say anything. They're all really upset about it. They said to tell you Dobby says you should go home," he said to Draco, who grinned a little.
"Ginny says she didn't see anyone," Neville said helpfully. "And Dora's not exactly likely to tell me much. I mean, she might if I could get her to, but I'm not that sneaky."
"So if the students and the professors don't know anything and the house-elves don't know anything -- or if they do they aren't telling..."
"Do you think there really is an Heir?" Neville asked. They were all silent.
"I think there's something," Harry said quietly. "I don't know if it's the Heir. It might be the monster."
"We're scaring Cricket," Padma said softly.
"I'm not scared," Colin said hastily. "I just thought..." he paused. "I mean...could you ask the ghosts?"
"The ghosts?" Draco asked.
"They're always floating around. You can't go to the bathroom but there's a ghost putting his head in to say hello," Colin said. "It takes a bit of getting used to...the others made fun because I...I don't...really like ghosts..."
Draco and Harry exchanged a look. "We could ask Nick to ask around," Draco said. "He isn't much fond of the Baron, but -- "
"I'll deal with the Baron," Harry said. Colin stared at him admiringly. "Let's finish studying and we can go find Nick. Padma, do you want to help Cricket out?"
"I have to finish, too," Padma said, slightly crossly. She shoved a few books into her bag, and took out a roll of parchment. "You keep reading and if you have questions you can ask your benefactor there," she said, to Colin.
"I do all right," Colin said in a small voice.
Harry, unrolling his half-finished Potions essay, glanced at Padma; it was unusual for her to even have any work to do on a Saturday, especially by this late in the morning. She was always done first. She looked tired, though; maybe she'd been doing extra work, and their prank had taken up quite a bit of time in the planning and execution.
They studied in silence, punctuated only by the occasional exploding bookmark in the stacks. Neville and Draco were working together, their heads bent over a Herbology exercise, and Padma was taking notes for the same essay Harry was working on, which was an enormous help as he could glance over at her book and see what she was writing. It wasn't cheating; it was just...getting hints.
When noon tolled, most of the other students rose to get lunch; Harry passed Padma the bag of snacks that the house-elves had given him, and gestured for Colin to pack up his things.
"You should go eat," he said, standing and steering Colin towards the door. "Listen, they don't like you, and they're going to like you even less because I like you. You understand?"
Colin nodded.
"So ignore them. I'll make sure the Gryffindor first-years are nice to you, and if anyone tries to pick on you..." he paused for thought. "Well, let 'em, and tell me after, okay?"
"Why are you doing this?" Colin asked.
Harry had to stop in the doorway of the library and think about this.
"Because it's stupid to think someone's not worth knowing just because their parents couldn't do magic," he said finally. "You ought to dislike a person because that person is horrible. How'd you get into Slytherin, anyway?"
Colin mumbled.
"What?"
"I asked," he said.
"To be put in Slytherin?"
"I think Slytherin is brilliant," Colin said. "It's historical, and wizards who're in Slytherin really become something. That's what I heard on the Hogwarts Express."
Harry thought about Bellatrix Lestrange and Phineas Nigellus. And Severus Snape.
"Sometimes we do," he said thoughtfully, and sent Colin out into the hallway with a gentle shove.
***
Sirius was reading in the kitchen when Remus came in, shrugging out of his coat. The walk from Madam Schaeffer's wasn't far, but it was chilly, and he went immediately to the stove, where hot water was waiting in the kettle.
"Do you ever look at Harry," Sirius said, by way of greeting, "And think just how much he's James' son?"
Remus put a strainer on top of a large white mug and added a spoonful of tea. "Not really."
"No?" Sirius asked. "How was work?"
"Fine. It's bloody cold out. Tea?"
"Just had some. You don't ever look at Harry and see James?"
"No," Remus said, pouring the hot water over the strainer. "I look at him and see Lily."
Sirius glanced up from the letter. Remus smiled faintly. "It's the eyes," he said.
"Yes, well, the disposition is James all over," Sirius replied. He passed the letter to Remus, who removed the strainer and added honey while he read. The corners of his mouth twitched.
"Caught outside after hours, having stuck a dormitory bed to the ceiling as a prank...sounds more like you, if you ask me," he said, handing it back to Sirius. "Dumbledore's not going to punish him for the prank?"
"They can't prove he did anything," Sirius said. "He wants me to have a word with the boy."
"Can't think why, all you're likely to tell him is how not to get caught," Remus said, grinning over his tea. "And you can bet that if he was there, his cohort was too."
"I could send him a Howler," Sirius said. "I used to get those on a regular basis. Went over very well with the girls."
Remus scowled.
"Yes, you never were impressed, I recall," Sirius grinned. "Don't you think it might be fun? I've never sent a Howler. I wouldn't even know where to go to get one."
"Post office down near Gringotts, I think."
"You never got Howlers at school."
"Lupins are genetically disinclined towards shouting," Remus said. "If you could invent a piece of paper that glared like my mum glared, then I'd have had lots."
He sat down at the table, while Sirius folded the letter up and set it aside.
"Do you think Howlers are a good idea?" Sirius asked. "In all honesty."
"No. I never did. It's barbarous to publicly embarrass your children in front of their friends."
"I was never embarrassed."
"Yes you were. You were more embarrassed than most. You smiled and strutted whenever you got one to hide how mortified you were," Remus said. "Even James only looked embarrassed and sat it out, but you made a production out of it. I don't blame you. Your dad had a set of lungs on him."
Sirius was staring down at the table. Remus put a hand on the back of his neck, fingers twining up through his short black hair.
"You," he said, "made trouble to annoy your parents. Harry makes trouble because he has trouble making in his soul, like James did. He's always going to make trouble."
"I used to wonder how my father reacted to letters like this," Sirius said. "I used to take gleeful delight in wondering, in fact."
"And now?"
"Well, I hope he got more upset than I am. If I went through years of Howlers and detentions and all he got was....was amused, I have failed deeply."
"I think the Howlers themselves are proof of success," Remus said, shaking him gently and letting him go.
"He really shouldn't be wandering around the castle at night." Sirius worried his lip with his teeth, thinking. "He's not an ordinary child. It's dangerous."
"Tell him that and see if you can stop him," Remus said.
"I know, he's young still. It's just...do you ever wonder where Peter is?"
Remus nodded gravely. "All the time. Where he is, why he hasn't come back to try to kill the lot of us...I trust Severus, though."
"Trust him to do what?"
"To look after Harry. To be...aware enough that if Peter is near, he'll know. He's tied to Peter, somehow. He knows. And he loves Harry, Sirius. I trust Severus to give his own life for Harry, just like you or I would." Remus grinned. "And I know that gets under your skin in a way very little else does."
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Remus had leaned forward and kissed him before he could say anything.
"I'm still cold," Remus complained. "Want to try warming me up?"
Sirius smiled back. "You're good at changing the subject."
"If I weren't, you'd worry everything to death like a dog with a rag doll."
Sirius laughed, and let himself be pulled up out of his chair, towards the bedroom and a certain amount of pleasant oblivion.
To the Next Part
While Harry and his friends went about their classes, attended Quidditch practice, and got detentions for being out after-hours when coming back from writing naughty but melodious limericks in the music room, Sirius and Remus had been just as busy. Remus, who had an eccentric love of selling people things, was hired on for extra shifts at Madam Schaeffer's Scholars' Emporium; Sirius had sold one toy design to them already and been commissioned to work on a new toy for older children which could be on shop shelves in time for Christmas. His idea for sexual-education dolls had been shot down on the grounds that it would only attract perverts, though Madam Schaeffer herself had been uproariously amused by the prototype. Captain Kneazle, the action-figure feline which came with a variety of heroic costumes, was impractical for this year but had definite potential; toy testers were still recovering from wounds inflicted by the self-retrieving frisbee. Still, he persevered. Madam Schaeffer, having met Sirius, had every faith in his ability to think like a fourteen-year-old.
"I'm thinking about Quidditch," Sirius said, leaning against Remus' leg.
"Oh god," Remus answered.
"Please, just a minute more," said Helena Broosh.
They obediently sat still while she finished her charcoal work, dusted her fingers off, and held up the pad of paper at arm's length, comparing her drawing with the real thing.
"All right, that's good," she said. "It's enough for a first study, anyway, and I can experiment with the charms on it."
"Can we see it?" Sirius asked from the floor. Remus gave him a hand up, and they both came forward to study the result of their first sitting for the portrait. In sketchy charcoal, smudged and fingerprinted here and there, two men smiled back at them: Sirius, seated on the floor with one arm draped over Remus', leaned back against one corner of the chair on which Remus sat, hands folded quietly in his lap.
"It's not very...dynamic," Remus said, slowly. "Composition-wise, I mean. I'm sort of sitting there like a lump."
"Well, you'll have a book and maybe your legs crossed," Helena said. "And see, when Mr Black is in dog form, he'll be here," she said, drawing in the rough outline of a large dog lying in front of Remus.
"I like that," Sirius said with a grin, winking across the page at Remus, who blushed slightly. "Favoured pet at adored master's feet."
"We could put you both on the floor, if you prefer," Helena said, matching Sirius' grin. "I like the levels, though; I think it captures your personalities. That's half the difficulty, of course -- we've got to get the portrait moving and talking and acting like you, and then over that we have to layer the Dorian Gray charms. When we actually start on the sittings you'll be encouraged to talk to me and to each other; I just wanted something to play with for a few days."
"Don't we all," Remus said gravely. Sirius affected amazement.
"Was that a joke, Mr. Lupin?" he asked.
"It may have been, Mr. Black," Remus replied. Helena looked amused.
"I'd like to consult with one or two other colleagues throughout the process, but none of the confidentiality clauses in the contract will be broken," she said. "Can I schedule you for a second sitting sometime next week? I'd like to fit in two more between now and the end of November, though I realise you have busy schedules and I'm somewhat booked myself this time of year -- lots of holiday work. Speak with Crane on the way out, he'll schedule you. He's the young one with the spectacles."
"And the lecherous ways," Sirius muttered. Remus gave him a look, but preened just a little when he noticed Sirius possessively place himself between Remus and Crane while they were discussing scheduling.
***
October was unseasonably warm that year, and Hallowe'en was impending, making all the students restless. It even infected Padma, who usually preferred intellectual pursuits and had a tendency to roll her eyes at the three boys whose company she kept. In fact, though Harry usually planned their evening mischief and Draco -- whose sense of direction was best -- usually led the way, Padma was the one who suggested they go wandering in the first place, and always found the best places to explore in. It was harmless fun, though there was the odd detention for being caught, and Andromeda would have threatened Neville with strangling if she'd known that he was the one who led them down the narrow tiles of the roof-peak, the one time they managed to get out onto it.
If it hadn't been Percy Weasley who told on them and Dora whom he told to, things might have gone so differently.
Most of the boys above fifth-year or so nursed a harmlessly mild crush on Professor Tonks, as young men will do when they are prisoner to their hormones and confronted with a young, good-looking instructor who could in addition take any one of them in a fight. Oddly enough, Percy wasn't one of them; she didn't keep enough order in her classroom to please him, but then it was doubtful that any classroom which actually had living beings in it was orderly enough for Percy, as his brother Ron was quick to point out. Instead Percy sensibly and boringly took up with the Ravenclaw prefect and was secretly adored by Hermione Granger, who shared his passion for rules and regulations.
They had been down to a not-often-visited area of the dungeons, to see Completely Headless Nick in his first official Head Polo tournament since joining the Headless Hunt. Nick's side lost, but it was a near thing, and after centuries of having to look on, Nick couldn't care less who won or lost so long as he got to play.
Harry wasn't far from the dormitory, of course, and he could slip back without much fear of being caught, especially since Professor Snape's unusually keen eyes tended to fail when a Slytherin was the guilty party slinking along the hallways. He hadn't even bothered to bring his cloak, or he would have thought to lend it to the other three -- especially Padma, who had the furthest to go.
They left Draco presumably safe at the bottom of the stairs, barely a minute's walk from the Hufflepuff cellars and under the eye of the Fat Friar, who had been one of the spectators in the Head Polo game. The ghosts especially liked Draco, for reasons that the others could only guess at; perhaps it was that Draco, the child of two ancient, breeding-obsessed houses, valued history and tended to know the names and stories of people long dead. When you can't leave the castle, eat, or indulge in other various pleasures of the flesh, having someone pay a bit of attention is always gratifying.
"Oh bugger," Neville said, as he and Padma made their way down the corridor towards Gryffindor's portrait-entrance and, beyond, Ravenclaw's tower. "I think I've forgotten the password again."
"Got your remembrall on?" she asked, but Neville held up his bare arm. "Neville, remembralls only work if you remember them."
"I know that!" Neville said irritably.
"Well, don't shout at me," Padma sighed. "I don't know the password. Can you knock?"
"Password," the Fat Lady prompted sleepily.
"Hold onto your stockings," Padma replied. "Come on, Neville, it only changes once a month -- "
She stopped, because Neville was looking over her shoulder in terror, and turned.
It would be Percy Weasley, the most officious, rulebound Prefect to ever forget to remove the broomstick from his arse. He was wearing a bathrobe with his Prefect's badge pinned onto it, and his hair was damp; he'd probably come from his bath.
"Longbottom," he said darkly. "Patil."
"Prefect," they chorused.
"You're out after hours."
"Padma was just bringing me some homework," Neville blurted. The fact that he had no parchments or books with him was not lost on Percy.
"Come on, Percy," Padma said. "It's not much after hours, and my dormitory's only five minutes from here -- "
"And you're only twelve!" Percy said, apparently attempting to shame them into something, though a glance at Neville told Padma that he was as oblivious to what that might be as she was.
"I'm almost thirteen," Padma ventured. Percy's eyes darkened.
"Oh, are we having a party?" said a new voice. Percy whirled. Professor Tonks was leaning against the wall, grinning. "I like your bathrobe, Weasley. Hi, Neville."
Percy flushed. "I was coming back from a bath -- "
"Clearly. Personal hygiene, very important," Tonks agreed.
"And I found Longbottom and Patil -- "
"Padma, right?" Tonks asked. "You're the Ravenclaw twin. This isn't your dormitory."
"No, Professor," Padma said, ducking her head. She hated getting in trouble, not really because of the punishment but because getting in trouble was mortifying and shameful. She didn't even like it when Parvati got in trouble, and Parvati got in trouble a lot more often than Padma did.
"Having a midnight tryst?" Tonks inquired. Percy looked a little triumphant. "Or rather, a ten-thirty tryst. Neville treating you like a gentleman should?"
"Awww, Dora..." Neville moaned.
"That's Professor Tonks to you, Neville," she said with a slight grin.
"It wasn't like that, Professor," Padma said.
"Quite right. Well, I think ten points from Gryffindor and ten points from Ravenclaw ought to -- " she paused, and peered down the corridor. "Well, this is a party."
Snape loomed terrifyingly out of the shadows.
"I hardly think that's an appropriate sobriquet for this situation, do you?" he asked. "Weasley, get inside and out of that ridiculous bathrobe."
Percy nearly hopped to obey, crying "Felinus Est!" at the portrait, which obediently allowed him inside.
"Felinus est?" Padma demanded. "That's your Gryffindor idea of a password? 'It's a cat'?"
"I didn't come up with it," Neville retorted.
"I can handle this...pair," Snape said, lip curling slightly.
"You could," Tonks agreed coldly. One of Snape's hands fell on Neville's shoulder. Neville and Padma exchanged despairing looks. "If I were inclined to use students as pawns in grown-up games."
Snape stared at her.
"Run inside, Neville, and remind Percy to change the password," Tonks said, and Neville darted out from under Snape's grasp and through the Gryffindor portrait. "Padma, off you go."
Padma glanced up at Snape, and then ran off.
"If they were out, you can be sure Mr Malfoy was as well," Snape said. "No doubt he's returned by now."
"No doubt," she replied. "And Harry too, I'm sure."
He was silent at that.
"Shall we take ten points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin as well?" she asked. "On the basis of speculation?"
"What would be the point of taking anything, if all four Houses lost an equal amount?"
"Well, it has a nice symmetry to it," she sighed. "There's little enough balance around here right now."
"I don't believe I know what you mean."
She leaned back against the wall again. "Are we going to spend the whole year sniping at each other? We used to get along, you know. I distinctly remember."
"We tolerated each other."
"Oh, come on, Professor -- "
"Need we be on good terms?" he asked. "You will be here another eight months, at most, and I see no reason for our paths to cross more often than at daily meals."
"Are you still angry about me impersonating you? I said I was sorry."
"Professor Tonks," he said, drawing himself up fully, his face fearsome in the flickering torchlight, "you have managed not only to steal the position which by right of ability and experience should be mine, but you then added insult to injury by stealing my face as well. Kindly keep your own as far away from me as possible, if it's not too much to ask."
Before she could formulate a reply, there was a shriek from the other side of the portrait, and Neville and Percy emerged, Percy gripping Neville's collar.
"Eavesdropp -- " Percy began, but Snape cut him off.
"Longbottom! Detention!" he snapped, and turned to stalk away, leaving Dora there to gently shove Percy and Neville back into Gryffindor's common room and shut the portrait behind them.
"Now what?" she asked the empty, chilly corridor air.
***
"Well, at least we're all annoying together," said Harry the next morning, when they found that not only had Gryffindor and Ravenclaw lost points, but Slytherin and Hufflepuff as well. Not very much, ten points, but still irksome, especially as it wasn't the first time. They were well on their way, those four, to the uneasy status of Fred and George Weasley, who had both their own share and, clearly, Percy's share of mischievousness as well. They were respected and popular, but nobody was ever very happy with them.
"Cept me," Neville said sulkily. "I'm annoying and I have detention."
"Serves you right for eavesdropping," Padma said, unconcernedly buttering her toast. "You know better."
"You know better than to get caught, anyway," Draco said.
"I don't like the way he speaks to Dora," Neville said persistently. "He never used to speak to her that way."
"Who knows why Professor Snape does anything he does?" Draco asked. "I say we get Percy Weasley back for being a miserable tell-tale."
"A prank?" Harry's ears almost literally pricked up.
"A Hallowe'en prank," Draco said, leaning in closer. He and Harry both glanced at Padma, waiting for the usual objections and reasons, but she gave them a not-altogether-reassuring grin and leaned in also. Only Neville wasn't yet part of the little crowd of heads.
"Up to you," Harry said, glancing at him. Neville fidgeted with his remembrall-bracelet.
"Nothing too mean," he said. "It's not like we weren't out after-hours."
"If it were me -- " Draco began, but Harry gave him a quelling look, then coughed to interrupt Padma, who had been about to say something about the Weasley family's reputation.
"You know Fred and George are all right, and Ron and Ginny," Harry said severely. "It's just Percy, and he can't help being the way he is."
"Fine," Padma said. "So what do we do?"
"Dye in his bathwater?" Draco suggested.
"We've done that already," Harry pointed out.
"When did we dye anyone?"
"Well, we painted the Gryffindors who bullied Neville," Harry said.
"Maybe that's our signature," Neville observed.
"Maybe that's a good way to get caught and expelled," Padma said.
"What annoys Percy most?" Draco asked.
"Mess," Neville said promptly. The others looked at him. "He hates anything to get out of order. Ron says he irons his socks. Or uses an ironing spell, anyway. And nobody ever nicks ties or robes off him, because he knows and he makes a stink about it."
"Sounds like your mum," Harry said to Draco, who was looking thoughtful. "Any ideas?"
"I have one," Draco said. "How're your sticking charms, Padma?"
***
The Hallowe'en Feast that year was splendid; the house-elves outdid the previous year's culinary delights with surprise exploding peas, orange mashed potatoes, roasts that howled when you carved them, and chocolate-filled pumpkin pies. The ghosts, who had all been invited to Completely Headless Nick's deathday party, were all at their brightest, and even Peeves the Poltergeist, a notable troublemaker, was spending too much time herding bats around the ceiling to spell out naughty phrases and dodging Filch's attempts to stop him to do any real harm. A troupe of dancing skeletons entertained them all with acrobatics, jaw-juggling, and the ever-popular Bone Explosion, which littered the Great Hall with clicking white bones that slowly reassembled themselves bit by bit.
Even after all of that, however, Harry had to admit that the handiwork before him put all else to shame. It was a thing of beauty.
Hallowe'en was a traditional time for pranks, of course, but tonight they had taken the art to a new level, and he felt a ridiculous amount of pride in it. Padma held up her camera and snapped another photograph. Draco, standing next to her with his arms crossed, gazed up at their night's work like an artist looking at a finished canvas.
"It's wonderful," said Fred Weasley from behind him.
"Don't you feel a bit of a traitor?" Draco asked Fred. "I mean, I don't care, but out of curiosity, you're all right doing this to your own brother?"
"Percy's not stupid," Fred replied. "He'll get it down, no problem. I just hope he isn't alone when he comes up to find it."
"But he's family," Draco continued. "You stick with family."
"He's certainly going to be in a sticky situation after this," Fred assured Draco.
"Even if he is alone when he comes up, he's bound to shout," Harry said. "Go on, Fred, stand under the bed."
Fred moved to stand under the four-poster bed that was now thoroughly stuck, upside-down, to the ceiling.
Sticking the knicknacks to the top of the dresser had been child's play, and even sticking the trunk and the dresser to the ceiling of Percy's dormitory room had been very little trouble, given Padma's inherent talent for it. It was hardly the work of a moment to turn the posters over the bed upside-down as well. The tricky bit had been getting the bed curtains to hang the right way and the linens to stick, but that was why they'd enlisted Fred's help. Padma snapped another picture of the three boys under the bed.
Through the open doorway they could hear George distracting the rest of the sixth-years whose dorm this was; they were feeding fireworks to Padma's salamander, Elmo, who had apparently developed a taste for them after getting loose and eating half the stash of Guy Fawkes pyrotechnics a Muggle-born Ravenclaw had smuggled into Hogwarts. A sharp whistle rose to their ears and the pranksters hustled out, Fred bolting for his own dorm while Harry, Padma, and Draco slipped down a flight and pulled on Harry's invisibility cloak. The whistle, coming from a Shrieker firework, was to be fed to Elmo as a signal that Percy had returned from his distraction.
The distraction itself happened to be Neville, leading Percy on a wild chase through the school after Completely Headless Nick, who was "having difficulty" locating his head -- I'd lose my head if it weren't attached took on a whole new meaning amongst ghosts. Nick was happy to do it; they all knew he owed his gleefully headless state to the four of them.
They didn't dare stay to hear Percy's reaction, though Neville was planning on witnessing it; having been with Percy the entire time, he had the perfect alibi. They were going to meet Neville afterwards by the stairs to make sure everything had gone according to plan; it was just past the nook in which Nick's head had been hidden.
"You'll be Head Boy if you keep up the way you've begun," Nick had told Neville when he was hiding it (which didn't amuse anyone).
"It was brilliant," Harry said, throwing off his cloak. Padma was busy checking her camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged in their rush for the stairs. "I'm glad we got Fred and George to go along with it."
"I hope Elmo's all right," Padma answered.
"He looked like he was enjoying himself," Draco reassured her. "Neville should be -- "
"Oh Merlin's toes!" Neville said, puffing a little as he arrived to meet them, Elmo's large glass jar tucked carefully under one arm. He was red-faced, not from exertion but from laughter. "You should have left the camera with me, Harry. I've never seen anyone so horrified. He tried to open one of his -- " he burst into a fresh fit of laughter, and had to lean against a wall for support. "He tried to -- "
"For heaven's sake, Neville!" Padma said, and Harry noticed that she really did look worried as she snatched the jar back from him and busied herself inspecting Elmo to make sure the fireworks hadn't done him any harm.
"He opened one of the drawers and all his socks and pants fell out all over his head," Neville blurted. "I've never laughed so hard in all my life! Fred and George were just standing there, poker-faced..."
Draco chuckled, Harry's cloak still hanging over his arm, and peered at Elmo, who was snorting the occasional puff of smoke.
"So what are we going to do now?" he asked.
"Now?" Neville inquired.
"Well, it's Hallowe'en, there must be loads of stuff we can do," Harry said, nodding at Draco. "We could -- "
...rip...tear...kill...
"Harry?" Padma asked, as Harry turned sharply to the left, the direction the noise had come from. There it was again, and Snake was back in the dormitory --
...come to me and let me kill you...
"Harry!" Neville cried, as Harry stumbled against the wall, almost overpowered by the deep, commanding snake-voice. He'd known all sorts of snakes, small and large, smart and stupid, but nothing like this primal, dark voice.
"Shut up," he said to the others urgently, and they fell silent. Padma put a concerned hand on his arm.
So hungry, and alone so long...come to me...free me...
"He's sick," Draco whispered to Neville. "We need to take him to the infirmary -- "
"I'm not sick," Harry said. He stumbled forward a few paces, then a few more.
Someone screamed.
The four of them took off running in the direction of the sound, the direction Harry had been stumbling in the first place. Down a flight of stairs, then another; a second scream led them on until they stumbled to a stop, near the bottom of the stairs.
Little Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the Weasley family, was standing on the landing of the central staircase, where it split and went off in two separate directions one storey up from the Great Hall. Pale under the freckles, she glanced at them and pointed at the wall, where large red letters had been painted.
"The Chamber will be opened -- the Heir has come," Neville read. "Urk, is that -- "
"Don't touch it!" Padma said, looking ashen. Draco clung to Harry's arm.
"Ginny, come away," Harry said. Ginny was still staring. "Neville -- "
Neville put his hands on her shoulders; she gasped, startled, but allowed herself to be guided back to where the others stood, burying her face in Neville's shoulder.
People began to arrive then, running up or down the stairs or gathering on the floor below. Snape arrived first, barefoot; McGonagall came shortly after in a crowd of students, a housecoat thrown on over her clothes instead of her Teachers' robes, tartan slippers on her feet.
Someone in the back of the crowd shouted "Mudbloods had better look out!"
Snape whirled on the crowd, eyes blazing, and several of the children at the front drew back.
"Prefects," McGonagall called, putting a hand on Snape's arm to calm him.
"Here, Professor!" Penelope Clearwater replied. She and Percy were standing together, looking stunned; Ginny bolted from Neville to Percy, nearly knocking the wiry Prefect over.
"What's all the -- Merlin," Tonks breathed, coming down the stairs. Dumbledore was fast on her heels. "What happened?"
Dumbledore looked at the wall. A shadow passed over his face. "Mr. Weasley, please escort the Gryffindors to their dormitory," he ordered. "Ms. Clearwater will take the Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs -- "
"Our Prefect's in the loo!" someone shouted. There was a nervous giggle.
"Tonks?" McGonagall asked, and she immediately pushed through the crowd.
"Hufflepuffs this way!" she called, her hair turning to yellow-and-black stripes.
"Professor, would you take the Slytherins, please?" Snape asked in a low voice. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like to speak with a few students," he added, catching Ginny by the elbow as she moved to follow Percy to the dormitories. Harry wasn't about to go anywhere and the others stayed with him, huddled in a little group as the rest of the students reluctantly began to leave. Dumbledore joined them.
"What's this, Severus?" he asked. "No student did this -- "
"They were here when I arrived, before the other students," Snape replied.
"Ginevra appears distraught," Dumbledore said. "Did you discover this monstrosity, my dear?" he asked.
"She was here when we got here. She saw it first...sort of..." Draco said, glancing at Harry.
"Sort of? This is not the time for engima, Mr Malfoy," Snape said sharply.
"Ginny saw it first, sir," Padma said. "We heard her scream -- "
"Where were you?"
"At the top of the stairs, outside Gryffindor," Neville said.
"Given the situation, I shan't ask why," Dumbledore assured them. "You saw no one else, Ginevra?"
Ginny gulped and shook her head.
"There were no footsteps, no voices?"
"I wasn't looking, sir," she whispered. "I was just getting my gloves -- I left them in the Great Hall -- "
"And you came down the stairs to discover this?"
"Yes, sir."
Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Snape, if you would accompany Ms. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Ms. Patil back to their dormitories, I will ensure that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter are delivered safely."
Snape gave him a curt nod and began shepherding the others up the stairs. Dumbledore's hand, gentle but firm, clamped on Harry's shoulder as he shot a sidelong look at Draco. They walked towards the Hufflepuff dormitory in silence, until Dumbledore spoke again.
"Give Harry back his invisibility cloak, please, Draco," he said. Draco flushed crimson and passed it over.
"Is there anything you don't find out about, sir?" he asked daringly.
"Oh, quite a lot of things, I should think," Dumbledore answered. "In this case, however, I confess to advance knowledge of that particular cloak."
Harry looked up at him sharply. The cloak had been delivered by Snape last Christmas, and signed only "From a Friend"; he'd never discovered who'd given it to him, only that it was his father's. But of course Dumbledore would have known his father...
"Perhaps it was a trifle premature to give it to you so soon," Dumbledore continued, "But I suspect you've made good use of it. And here we are," he added, as they descended into the cellar. Tonks was waiting in the open portrait-doorway.
"I thought we'd left one behind," she said. "In you go, Draco. All right, Harry?"
"All right, Professor," Harry answered automatically. Dumbledore steered him back up the steps and down the long corridor, Tonks following behind until she broke off at the stairs to go up for another look at the horrible wall.
"Thank you," Harry said, as they walked towards the stairs down to the dungeons.
"Your father would have wanted you to have it," Dumbledore answered, almost absently.
"Headmaster..." Harry began, then faltered.
"Yes?"
"Who's the Heir? What Chamber's going to be opened?"
Dumbledore was silent as they descended and began working their way through the labyrinth of underground corridors that led to Slytherin's dormitory.
"The Heir is a silly tale to frighten children with," he said, finally. "And the Chamber is little more than a legend."
"But what -- "
"Here we are," Dumbledore said, and indeed they were -- the Slytherin's entrance-portrait was just ahead. Harry gave the password and crept through. By the time he'd glanced back over his shoulder, as the portrait-door was closing, Dumbledore was already gone. Only then did he remember the voice he'd heard, the snake-voice demanding to be free and interrupted by Ginny's scream. He ran to his room where the other boys, and a few of the girls, were sitting on Theo Nott's bed, deep in discussion. He scooped up a trembling, loudly complaining Snake into his breast pocket even as he dropped his cloak into the trunk at the foot of his bed.
"Potter might know," said Blaise, who moved over to make room for him between himself and Crabbe.
"Know what?" Harry asked, glad enough to be in the company of other people.
"Who the Heir is."
Harry shook his head. "I just asked Dumbledore. He wouldn't tell me anything."
"Bet you it was just Bole, doing it to scare Montague," Theo said contemptuously. "Bet you anything tomorrow Bole's going to be strutting around saying he's the Heir."
"What Heir, anyway?" Harry asked, realising suddenly that they knew more than he did.
"You don't know?" Blaise asked.
"Didn't I just say I didn't?"
"All right, you don't need to jump on me about it," Blaise said. "The Heir of Slytherin. The hundred-times great grandson -- "
" -- or daughter -- " put in Pansy Parkinson.
"Or daughter," Blaise rolled his eyes, "of Salazar Slytherin."
"My mum says there aren't any," Crabbe said.
"How does your mum know that?" Theo asked, contemptuous.
"She says." Crabbe stuck stubbornly to his story.
"Well, I heard there was a Headmaster at Hogwarts who was a Slytherin and a Parselmouth and he was the last Heir of Slytherin," Blaise ventured.
"What's being a Parselmouth got to do with it?" Harry asked, very conscious of Snake in his pocket.
"Who put you in such a snit? Didn't you know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth? It's hereditary," Theo answered.
Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn't, since he was one and neither of his parents were, but his first thought was that he didn't know his parents weren't Parselmouths, and his second thought was that he'd almost given himself away.
"Which headmaster?" he asked instead.
"Don't recall," Blaise said, furrowing his brow. "Philip or something."
"Phineas?"
"Might've been."
"Who's he, then?" Theo demanded.
"Phineas Nigellus. He's in Hogwarts, A History," Harry replied. "It doesn't say anything about him being an Heir of Anyone or a Parselmouth. He just wasn't very popular. And he can't have been the last, because I think he had children."
"He's related to the Blacks, isn't he?" Pansy asked.
"Yeah," Harry replied, remembering the Black family tree he'd seen once, with Sirius and Andromeda burnt off of it and names stretching back almost to the Founders.
"They're famous for being Slytherins, the Blacks," Blaise said. "All but your godfather and Professor Tonks' mum. Malfoy's mum was, though, and her other sister -- "
"Bellatrix," Harry said, the hatred in his own voice surprising him. Blaise and Pansy, who caught on a little quicker than the others, raised their eyebrows.
"My aunt used to be friends with Mrs. Malfoy," said Goyle. "She says they were all ashamed of your godfather, being a Gryffindor."
"If you say one word against my godfather I'll knock you flat," Harry said warningly, and Goyle subsided. "Anyway, I don't think there is any such thing. I bet it was Bole," he said, trying to reassure himself. If the Heir of Slytherin was a Parselmouth, then that might have been what he'd heard...
After all, Harry himself couldn't be the Heir. He didn't know anything about painting things in blood on walls, and he'd already been at Hogwarts a year anyway.
"I hope so," Blaise answered. "If the Heir of Slytherin really is at the school..."
"Then what?" Harry prompted.
"Well, he might actually open the Chamber like he said he would, mightn't he?"
"What Chamber, anyhow?"
"What, isn't that in Hogwarts, A History?" Pansy asked snidely.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Blaise replied. They all leaned in closer, as if they were telling ghost stories around a campfire. "Before Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts, he built an underground lair and hid a monster there. He left it all behind when he went away. Anyone who could find and open the doors to the lair could send the monster out into the school to eat all the Muggle-born students."
"That's why they were shouting about mudbloods," Harry said, understanding dawning. Every eye was on him, and he realised of all the students in the room, he was the only one with a Muggleborn parent -- with a Muggle of any kind in the family, closer than three or four generations back. Little Creevey in first year was Muggleborn, but he was one of only two with Muggle parents. Of the rest of the Slytherin students, barely a handful had any significant amount of Muggle ancestry.
"We should be back in the girls' dormitory," Pansy said. The girls slid off Theo's bed and talked quietly as they left; the boys, one by one, went to their own beds to put on their pyjamas. Soon the candles were doused and Harry was curled up under the blankets, whispering soothing reassurances to Snake on his pillow, wondering if even now the primal snake-voice that had demanded its freedom could hear him.
***
Snape returned from delivering the students to their rooms to find Dora Tonks on the landing, arms crossed, staring at the red words painted on the wall.
"Disturbing," he said finally. She glanced up, as if just noticing him, and stepped aside a little to allow him to join her.
"How's Ginny?" she asked.
"Anxious and upset. One of the Gryffindor Prefects is seeing to her," he said shortly.
"No going easy on account of age," she murmured.
"It wasn't her blood," Snape replied. There was another pause. "Have you tried -- "
"Everything from Scourgify to dissolving spells," she said. "I think we'll have to strip a layer of stone to get it off."
Snape tilted his head slightly, as if a new perspective on the wall might give him new ideas. "Have you tried transfiguring the blood into something which -- "
"No, but the blood's been absorbed into the wall. The stone's porous. I'm not good enough to separate the two out," she said. It was a dare, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"Few would be," he agreed instead.
"Speaking objectively, as an Auror, it's a good place to put something like that. Hundreds of children go up and down these stairs every day. Any physical evidence is all tangled up in..." she sighed. "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers and crumpled parchment."
Snape looked around and realised she was right; as good as the house-elves were at keeping the place clean, the main staircase always ended up slightly dingy at the close of the school day. He tended to forget that Dora was an Auror, with skills and ways of thinking that he didn't have. It caught him by surprise.
"What I wonder now," she continued, in that oddly detached voice, "is where all this blood came from. It would have had to be very fresh to be painted on so easily."
Snape knew from horrifying personal experience how quickly blood clotted. It was one of the primal elements of magic; working with blood was tricky, and there were few charms that affected it. Only the Muggles had ways to keep blood from clotting, by adding other things to it. He supposed those could be detected, but he had little experience with the Muggle alchemy known as chemistry.
As if she, and not he, were the master of Legilimency, she said, "Our alchemists have ways of detecting what sort of blood's been used, but I don't think Dumbledore wants this handled by outside help. You're Potions Master; could you find out?"
"Are you asking me for help?" he inquired haughtily.
"As you're so fond of pointing out, we're supposed to be professionals. I'm furious with you, but you're useful. You don't like me, but you don't like obscenity scrawled in blood on the walls of our school, either." She shrugged. "If you can't do it -- "
"I can," he said.
"I thought as much."
He took a small folding knife from his pocket, a gift from Minerva after he'd made her nervous by summoning a knife from the kitchen once too often. He found an empty glass vial in another pocket; he always had a few, and they seemed to multiply when he wasn't looking, like clothes-hangers in a wardrobe. She watched as he knelt and tested the blood at the bottom of the wall. When he found it not entirely dried yet, he slipped the blade into the blood and lifted it up, scraping the half-dried residue off on the lip of the vial.
"I doubt it's human," he said.
"Chicken is traditional, in the thriller novels," she replied. She was about to say something else when Dumbledore appeared, carrying a small jar of powder.
"I see I am anticipated," he said, eyes falling on the vial Snape held. "Shall we, then?"
"Now?" Tonks asked.
"Can you think of a better time?" he inquired. "Severus, I had thought that perhaps you would be short of powdered unicorn dung," he said, shaking the jar slightly. Greyish dust swirled inside it.
"I have sufficient amounts for this," Snape replied, and led the way down into the dungeons, past the Potions classroom and into his private office. He cleared a stack of half-marked papers away neatly and took down a glass tray. He emptied the blood onto the tray, where it made a small, ragged-edged puddle, and put both bloody knife and vial into an empty porcelain wash-basin to be cleaned later. His hands found the ingredients he was looking for almost automatically in the supplies case, and Dumbledore and Tonks watched in silence, Dumbledore seating himself on the chair normally reserved for troublesome students, on the opposite side of the desk.
He mixed aconite -- the base of so many potions and the reason Remus Lupin had always had sneezing fits in class -- with a bat's heart for protein, adding a pinch of centaur's hair when the mixture formed a smooth paste. With a muttered incantation, he sprinkled the powdered unicorn dung over the coagulating blood and spread the paste smoothly across it. He looked at Dumbledore as he picked up a hollow black tube, about the size of a pencil.
"Would you prefer...?" he asked, but Dumbledore shook his head. He didn't bother offering it to Tonks, but instead pressed the tube to his right ring finger and jerked it slightly. The thin needle inside the tube drew blood, and he dripped three dots onto the mixture on the glass tray.
A puff of smoke spiraled upwards, and Snape seemed to cup it into his hands as if it were clay. In the bowl of his palms, it began to take shape, forming an elongated ball. Legs began to drift out from it, a head and tail; the small creature turned its head, and Dumbledore and Tonks both looked mildly surprised.
"Cow's blood?" Dumbledore inquired.
"The nearest cattle herd has to be miles from here. There's a butcher's shop in Hogsmeade, but they'd notice that much blood being bought," Tonks said. "I can look into it."
"I'm not sure there's need," Dumbledore said softly. "We have our own coldhouse and butchery in the kitchens; I would suggest, Professors, that you begin your search there."
"That means it's a professor, or a student," Tonks said, looking alarmed.
"Or," Dumbledore replied, "a house-elf."
***
The next day was Saturday and, by almost silent agreement, Tonks and Snape met on the steps to the kitchens at eight; they tried bickering about who ought to do the questions-asking, but it was half-hearted in the face of the bigger crime. They got no further than Tonks declaring herself a trained investigator and Snape demanding to know who had spent seven years training her, and who was the senior professor, before they reached the kitchen doors.
Questioning the house-elves proved to be fruitless, however. Since they were indentured to the school, and not any single individual in it, they could not be compelled to answer any question which would mean injuring any student or professor at Hogwarts. When asked if a house-elf could have done it, they merely dithered at the idea. They offered to iron their fingers apologetically, but Dumbledore had a strict policy against such things, and in the end the questioning resulted in nothing more than the admission that the blood had come from the Hogwarts butchery, a lot of miserable house-elves, and two frustrated professors.
Denbigh, the head of the kitchen-elves, shared this information with Harry when he stopped by the kitchen to get some breakfast after oversleeping.
"But it wasn't a house-elf, was it?" Harry asked, worriedly. Denbigh's ears drooped.
"All the house-elves are busy with the washing up after the feast -- " Denbigh said anxiously.
"Oh, well, don't get too upset about it," Harry said hurriedly. "Can I have another apple?"
"Is Harry Potter seeing Mister Malfoy and Miss Padma Patil and Mister Neville Longbottom?" Denbigh asked. "Is he seeing them in the library, Harry Potter?"
Harry grinned. "We're falling into a rut, is that what you're saying?"
"No sir! Denbigh does not wish to -- "
"It's okay, Denbigh. Yes, I'm going to study group. Then I have practice this afternoon."
"Dobby the house-elf has insisted that we say to Mister Malfoy that he should come home, sir! The Heir, Harry Potter, the Heir!"
The rest of the house-elves took up the cry in their high, squeaky voices, and Denbigh shouted to be heard over the din.
"Mister Harry Potter should go too! He is in danger!"
"Quiet!" Harry shouted desperately. They all fell eerily silent, immediately. "Now listen, nobody's going home. It's probably just a dumb prank."
Denbigh stared at him, enormous eyes unblinking, until finally Harry sighed.
"We'll be all right. If every person with a Muggle relative went home, the school would be almost empty, anyway," he said. "Now listen, I have a game against Gryffindor next Saturday at eleven. Will you make some popcorn for the others to take to the game?"
"Of course, Harry Potter. One sweet, one salted, one sweet with extra butter," Denbigh said, recounting the way the other three liked their popcorn. "And Harry Potter will come to see us afterwards?"
"Sure, Denbigh. We'll have a late lunch in the kitchen." Harry accepted the small sack of food that the house-elves pressed into his hands, put it in his bag, and was just turning to leave when something occurred to him.
"Denbigh," he asked, turning around. "When was Dobby here?"
Denbigh looked frightened. "Dobby and Mendy are coming to help us do the washing up after the feast," he said, in a very quiet voice. "Harry Potter will not tell Mistress Malfoy? She is un -- unki -- " He hesitated, elf-fashion, unwilling to speak ill even of those humans who didn't employ him.
"Unkind to them, I know. It's all right; I won't even tell Draco."
Denbigh sighed with relief, and soon the rest of the kitchen was filled once more with clattering and clanking as the lunch preparations began. Harry shouldered his bag and headed for the library. By the time he reached it, most of the students who had studying to do were there; it was too cold to enjoy being outside but not quite cold enough to snow, and students in the library were very rarely harassed so long as they kept quiet. Harry waved at Padma, who had staked out and viciously defended a table for their use, and stopped to drop off two books he'd taken out a week before.
"Harry!" someone whispered urgently, and Harry looked up from the returns box to see a cadre of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs gathered at a table near one of the magical fireplaces that heated the library without actually being on fire. A curly-haired boy in Hufflepuff yellow was gesturing madly for him to come over.
"What is it, Justin?" Harry whispered, wondering if he had something in his hair, or if his bag flap was unlatched.
"Is it true you know who the Heir is?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked. The rest of the table was watching eagerly. "Blaise Zabini said all the Slytherins knew, but nobody's willing to tell us except Colin Creevey, and nobody tells him anything anyway."
Justin glanced to his left, and Harry followed his gaze; Colin was sitting wretchedly at a table with a handful of other Slytherin first-years, and being completely ignored by his fellows.
"He's supposed to be the great-great-whatever-great grandson of Salazar Slytherin, and he can talk to snakes, and if he gets into the Chamber of Secrets which nobody knows where it is, he'll let a monster out and it'll eat all the Muggle-born students."
Justin turned pale.
"But it's just a story, I'm sure it's a prank," Harry said hurriedly.
"I'm Muggleborn," Justin said, then winced when he realised he'd announced it to the world.
"If I were you, I wouldn't tell the monster that -- I'm kidding, Finch," Harry said, when Justin blanched. "Look, it's just a story. Pass it on if you want to, but don't forget to tell people that, all right?"
Padma was waving for Harry to come over, but he held up a finger and walked over to the table where the Slytherin first-years were studiously ignoring Creevey.
"Hey, Cricket," Harry said. Colin didn't look up. "Creevey. Cricket. I'm talking to you."
Colin met his eyes slowly. He looked like he was about to wet himself. Harry wondered if the second-years, or even the other first-years, had been bullying him.
Harry had never himself been a bully beyond the usual cuffing and wrestling between village children in Betwys Beddau. He supposed if he had to, he could, but he found it distasteful; and besides, if you had to bully, you ought to have a point to it, and you jolly well ought to bully someone your own size.
"Come on, Cricket," he said. The first-years were pointedly not looking at him; they were exchanging anxious glances. This was Harry Potter. What did Harry Potter want with a little Mudblood?
"Um?" Colin asked.
"Come on, Cricket, you'll never get anywhere studying all alone like that. Padma's brilliant at Charms; come study with us," Harry said. Colin glanced at the others, as if asking if this was some kind of joke. When Harry looked impatient, he scrambled to gather up his books, and followed the taller boy back to where Padma was sitting.
"Neville and Draco are in the stacks. Neville's booby-trapping books with some of George Weasley's exploding bookmarks," Padma said. "Who's he?"
"Exploding bookmarks?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, he found out how Exploding Snap works and reversed the polarities so now it goes bang when you open the book," Padma replied. "Who're you?" she asked Colin directly this time.
"Colin Creevey," he said, shyly.
"This is Cricket," Harry said. "He gets a nickname, because it makes the other students jealous, and they all hate him already. Sit," he said to Colin, who obeyed.
"Oh, you're the Muggleborn who got in with the Slytherins," Padma said. "The one with the camera always around his neck."
"Yeah," Colin said glumly, as Neville and Draco emerged from the stacks and sat down with absolutely straight faces.
"This is Cricket, he's studying with us today," Harry said. Neville and Draco nodded and opened their bookbags. There was an explosion from the stacks and Draco bravely fought down a grin. "He's going to keep his mouth shut about what we're talking about, too, aren't you, Cricket?"
Colin nodded. Padma was reading his book, half-over his shoulder.
"The Slytherins know who the Heir is," Harry said, and the others listened as he recounted the previous night's conversation. "Professor Snape and Dor -- Professor Tonks talked to the house-elves this morning, but they didn't say anything. They're all really upset about it. They said to tell you Dobby says you should go home," he said to Draco, who grinned a little.
"Ginny says she didn't see anyone," Neville said helpfully. "And Dora's not exactly likely to tell me much. I mean, she might if I could get her to, but I'm not that sneaky."
"So if the students and the professors don't know anything and the house-elves don't know anything -- or if they do they aren't telling..."
"Do you think there really is an Heir?" Neville asked. They were all silent.
"I think there's something," Harry said quietly. "I don't know if it's the Heir. It might be the monster."
"We're scaring Cricket," Padma said softly.
"I'm not scared," Colin said hastily. "I just thought..." he paused. "I mean...could you ask the ghosts?"
"The ghosts?" Draco asked.
"They're always floating around. You can't go to the bathroom but there's a ghost putting his head in to say hello," Colin said. "It takes a bit of getting used to...the others made fun because I...I don't...really like ghosts..."
Draco and Harry exchanged a look. "We could ask Nick to ask around," Draco said. "He isn't much fond of the Baron, but -- "
"I'll deal with the Baron," Harry said. Colin stared at him admiringly. "Let's finish studying and we can go find Nick. Padma, do you want to help Cricket out?"
"I have to finish, too," Padma said, slightly crossly. She shoved a few books into her bag, and took out a roll of parchment. "You keep reading and if you have questions you can ask your benefactor there," she said, to Colin.
"I do all right," Colin said in a small voice.
Harry, unrolling his half-finished Potions essay, glanced at Padma; it was unusual for her to even have any work to do on a Saturday, especially by this late in the morning. She was always done first. She looked tired, though; maybe she'd been doing extra work, and their prank had taken up quite a bit of time in the planning and execution.
They studied in silence, punctuated only by the occasional exploding bookmark in the stacks. Neville and Draco were working together, their heads bent over a Herbology exercise, and Padma was taking notes for the same essay Harry was working on, which was an enormous help as he could glance over at her book and see what she was writing. It wasn't cheating; it was just...getting hints.
When noon tolled, most of the other students rose to get lunch; Harry passed Padma the bag of snacks that the house-elves had given him, and gestured for Colin to pack up his things.
"You should go eat," he said, standing and steering Colin towards the door. "Listen, they don't like you, and they're going to like you even less because I like you. You understand?"
Colin nodded.
"So ignore them. I'll make sure the Gryffindor first-years are nice to you, and if anyone tries to pick on you..." he paused for thought. "Well, let 'em, and tell me after, okay?"
"Why are you doing this?" Colin asked.
Harry had to stop in the doorway of the library and think about this.
"Because it's stupid to think someone's not worth knowing just because their parents couldn't do magic," he said finally. "You ought to dislike a person because that person is horrible. How'd you get into Slytherin, anyway?"
Colin mumbled.
"What?"
"I asked," he said.
"To be put in Slytherin?"
"I think Slytherin is brilliant," Colin said. "It's historical, and wizards who're in Slytherin really become something. That's what I heard on the Hogwarts Express."
Harry thought about Bellatrix Lestrange and Phineas Nigellus. And Severus Snape.
"Sometimes we do," he said thoughtfully, and sent Colin out into the hallway with a gentle shove.
***
Sirius was reading in the kitchen when Remus came in, shrugging out of his coat. The walk from Madam Schaeffer's wasn't far, but it was chilly, and he went immediately to the stove, where hot water was waiting in the kettle.
"Do you ever look at Harry," Sirius said, by way of greeting, "And think just how much he's James' son?"
Remus put a strainer on top of a large white mug and added a spoonful of tea. "Not really."
"No?" Sirius asked. "How was work?"
"Fine. It's bloody cold out. Tea?"
"Just had some. You don't ever look at Harry and see James?"
"No," Remus said, pouring the hot water over the strainer. "I look at him and see Lily."
Sirius glanced up from the letter. Remus smiled faintly. "It's the eyes," he said.
"Yes, well, the disposition is James all over," Sirius replied. He passed the letter to Remus, who removed the strainer and added honey while he read. The corners of his mouth twitched.
"Caught outside after hours, having stuck a dormitory bed to the ceiling as a prank...sounds more like you, if you ask me," he said, handing it back to Sirius. "Dumbledore's not going to punish him for the prank?"
"They can't prove he did anything," Sirius said. "He wants me to have a word with the boy."
"Can't think why, all you're likely to tell him is how not to get caught," Remus said, grinning over his tea. "And you can bet that if he was there, his cohort was too."
"I could send him a Howler," Sirius said. "I used to get those on a regular basis. Went over very well with the girls."
Remus scowled.
"Yes, you never were impressed, I recall," Sirius grinned. "Don't you think it might be fun? I've never sent a Howler. I wouldn't even know where to go to get one."
"Post office down near Gringotts, I think."
"You never got Howlers at school."
"Lupins are genetically disinclined towards shouting," Remus said. "If you could invent a piece of paper that glared like my mum glared, then I'd have had lots."
He sat down at the table, while Sirius folded the letter up and set it aside.
"Do you think Howlers are a good idea?" Sirius asked. "In all honesty."
"No. I never did. It's barbarous to publicly embarrass your children in front of their friends."
"I was never embarrassed."
"Yes you were. You were more embarrassed than most. You smiled and strutted whenever you got one to hide how mortified you were," Remus said. "Even James only looked embarrassed and sat it out, but you made a production out of it. I don't blame you. Your dad had a set of lungs on him."
Sirius was staring down at the table. Remus put a hand on the back of his neck, fingers twining up through his short black hair.
"You," he said, "made trouble to annoy your parents. Harry makes trouble because he has trouble making in his soul, like James did. He's always going to make trouble."
"I used to wonder how my father reacted to letters like this," Sirius said. "I used to take gleeful delight in wondering, in fact."
"And now?"
"Well, I hope he got more upset than I am. If I went through years of Howlers and detentions and all he got was....was amused, I have failed deeply."
"I think the Howlers themselves are proof of success," Remus said, shaking him gently and letting him go.
"He really shouldn't be wandering around the castle at night." Sirius worried his lip with his teeth, thinking. "He's not an ordinary child. It's dangerous."
"Tell him that and see if you can stop him," Remus said.
"I know, he's young still. It's just...do you ever wonder where Peter is?"
Remus nodded gravely. "All the time. Where he is, why he hasn't come back to try to kill the lot of us...I trust Severus, though."
"Trust him to do what?"
"To look after Harry. To be...aware enough that if Peter is near, he'll know. He's tied to Peter, somehow. He knows. And he loves Harry, Sirius. I trust Severus to give his own life for Harry, just like you or I would." Remus grinned. "And I know that gets under your skin in a way very little else does."
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Remus had leaned forward and kissed him before he could say anything.
"I'm still cold," Remus complained. "Want to try warming me up?"
Sirius smiled back. "You're good at changing the subject."
"If I weren't, you'd worry everything to death like a dog with a rag doll."
Sirius laughed, and let himself be pulled up out of his chair, towards the bedroom and a certain amount of pleasant oblivion.
To the Next Part
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Eew.
Do you not like Hermione? Or Griffindors in general? They're always getting into group trouble -- and while I like the idea that the Griffindors aren't divided anymore (Potter's gang seemed very devisive to me; the house wasn't grouped *together* as a year but split into several groups), it just ... I miss my Hermione! LoL. I've said that a lot.
What a sister!!!!!!!!
HEE!!!!!!!!!
Bwaaaaaaaahahahahahaha.
You shouldn't have had him say that, though it was very clever of him. I'd already figured that it must be Draco, and when you mentioned the kitchens I figured that he had a house-elf help him.... It seems like you're either giving away too much or SERIOUSLY misdirecting me! Hee.
I'm glad that Tonks and Snape are getting alone better now that they've a common goal to work toward.
CRICKET! HE GAVE HIM A COOL NICKNAME! YOU ROCK I LOVE YOU I AM GOING TO MARRY YOU AGAIN AND TO HELL WITH PADMA! NO, SCREW PADMA, 'CAUSE THE PATIL TWINS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE QUITE ATTRACTIVE. BUT, YOU KNOW! SQUEE!
...sorry 'bout that.
Using the nickname Cricket over and over lets other kids have the name stick in their head. Very smart of Harry.
PADMA'S TIMETURNING? BAH! If she weren't hotter than Hermione and therefore marginally more interesting than her in this Granger-less story, I'd be more indignant.
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Thank you SO MUCH. I completely agree. ~__~;
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Though... I also used to be rather bossy as a younger child... (I was 11 when book 1 came out) and something of a know-it-all, so (I hate admitting this) the nick wasn't too far off. She's a ...decent.... character, but that's all she'll amount to. Real life experiences hold so much more than she ever could, you know? Frankly, if I wanted to aspire to be like someone smart, I'd aim higher. Einstein's a pretty good goal, doncha think? n_~
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(Anonymous) 2005-11-23 06:28 am (UTC)(link)no subject
With the HBP canon, are you going to rewrite any of the stuff about how Remus got bitten to fit with Fenrir Greyback?
And, I love the LC!Hermione not-so-secretly admiring Percy. Because really, she so would, especially a Hermione without the major influence of Harry and Ron.
i like...
i do wonder -- and i hope you read the later comments and see this question -- why you chose to put Colin in Slytherinn? What is the underlining difference between JKR's Colin and your AU Colin that made his sorting so different?
not that i'm complaining, mind you -- just curious.
i know that your AU-Colin's character asked to be in Slytherinn... and that reminds me: what did Harry and the hat say to each other? Did he simply say something like "not a bad mind, either.. .there's talent, there... yes... and a hunger... you could be great and Slytherinn can help you to greatness..." and Harry say "ok"...
???
is that what happened?
because that would be sad... that this Harry, despite everyone he loved being a Gryffindor (save Snape) that he'd so easily be 'tempted' to the green and gold... of course, that could be part of his tragedy.
Harry's still a dick... but then he says shit like:
"You should go eat," he said, standing and steering Colin towards the door. "Listen, they don't like you, and they're going to like you even less because I like you. You understand?"
and then
"Because it's stupid to think someone's not worth knowing just because their parents couldn't do magic," he said finally. "You ought to dislike a person because that person is horrible. How'd you get into Slytherin, anyway?"
which makes me go "awwwww"
i don't know if you plan on making this Harry gay, but if you do, my vote is for a Colin/Harry 'ship.
i usually always fancy a Draco/Harry 'ship but this Draco's alittle too pussified, i think...
but i digress.
also, should i be reading into the word "shove" as much as I do...? When I read that, i think of Alfonso Cuaron's use of the "shove" in the third film: where the people who were doing it (either consciously or not) were exerting some form of control over Harry, and it also symbolized Harry's lack of control in his circumstances.
Your AU-Harry tends to shove alot, but it could simply be his emulation of Sirius and Remus when they "shove" him through the door. "Shove" for americans has a different connotation than I think it may mean for you. So, I may be reading into it.
But that's part of why i love your -- and emma's -- tales: it makes me peel back layers and (over) analyze shit ...
and i love it!
and back to the CUTEST QUOTE OF THE CHAPTER AWARD....
*drum roll*
"Lupins are genetically disinclined towards shouting," Remus said. "If you could invent a piece of paper that glared like my mum glared, then I'd have had lots."
which is the funniest i've read in a while! thanks for that!
(wow, i think this is the longest comment ever... but this series -- your stories -- deserve them!!!!)
Re: i like...
I pretty much see Colin as sort of a non-character in the books -- he's there as a convenient plot device. He worships Harry, and since he hasn't much of a personality on his own, I figure he'd follow Harry wherever Harry went. :)
what did Harry and the hat say to each other? Did he simply say something like "not a bad mind, either.. .there's talent, there... yes... and a hunger... you could be great and Slytherinn can help you to greatness..." and Harry say "ok"...
I dunno, really *grins* I don't see his being placed in Slytherin as being "tempted" -- Harry never dictated where he wanted to be put, I don't think you can dictate that. Harry was put into gryffindor because he didn't want to be a part of what Slytherin was associated with -- not because he said "Not Slytherin". Here, he associates Slytherin with positive things, so there's no antipathy towards it.
I guess what I'm saying is that it wasn't up to Harry -- the hat put him where he best fit in. :)
No body else knows
(Anonymous) 2006-02-20 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)Although, interestingly, no one else seems to have noticed. It's funny, but it does make you wonder how many things Rowling is slipping past us because we don't even know what to look for.
Brilliant story, btw. Simply brilliant. Addictively brilliant. Any success on publishing your stories yet? I promise to be the first in line to buy them when they come out.
Fayth
(Anonymous) 2006-04-05 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)It looks to me that its padma seeing how harry noticed her homework not being done on a saturday when it usually is and that she looked tired.
(i havent read the whole thing yet so im not sure of course.)
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Laocoon's Children, Year Two, 10 - 11
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("No. I never did. It's barbarous to publicly embarrass your children in front of their friends."
"I was never embarrassed."
"Yes you were. You were more embarrassed than most. You smiled and strutted whenever you got one to hide how mortified you were," Remus said. "Even James only looked embarrassed and sat it out, but you made a production out of it. I don't blame you. Your dad had a set of lungs on him."
Sirius was staring down at the table. Remus put a hand on the back of his neck, fingers twining up through his short black hair. )
I liked that description.
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(i realize this comment is SO late, but. it had to be said. you're a genius.)
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Well, another fine chapter. This is awesome, I love it.
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