The Adventures of Harry Black, Year Two by reptilia28

Rating: PG
Genres: Humor, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 30/05/2007
Last Updated: 10/10/2007
Status: Completed

With Sirius' freedom and a new addition to the Black family, things are looking up. But with
students getting petrified, Harry's newfound abilities as a Parselmouth, and a DADA professor
that redefines incompetent, this will prove to be an interesting year. H/HR, SB/OC.




1. Sister, Sister
-----------------



Alright, year 2 is officially up!

As usual, I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 1 - Sister, Sister

“DAMN YOU, SIRIUS BLACK!” Lizzie screamed from downstairs. “DAMN YOU TO HELL!”

“I love you too, honey,” Sirius said exasperatedly, “now push!”

Michael sighed as he laid down another card. This had been going on for several hours now, and
he and Harry were beginning to get bored. Earlier that day, Lizzie said that her water had broke,
and she went into labor soon after.

“Why couldn't they do this in a hospital?” Michael sighed.

“Why couldn't we do this in a hospital?” Sirius asked his wife. Harry cocked his eyebrow at
his brother curiously. Michael just shrugged.

“I wasn't going to let all that time teaching you and Remus how to be midwives just to let
it go to waste in a damn hospital!” Lizzie shouted. Both boys snorted at Sirius and Remus being
referred to as “midwives.”

“I think we've heard Mum swear more in the past couple hours than we have our entire lives,”
Harry pointed out.

“You think?” Michael inquired. They both shrugged and returned to their game.

Finally, at seven thirty that night, almost eleven hours after Lizzie first went into labor, her
screams and swearing was joined by soft crying. Ten minutes later, Remus came to their room and
said that they could come down now. The three walked down to see Lizzie laying on a table, propped
up by what seemed to be every pillow in the house, and holding a small bundle, Sirius looking over
her shoulder. Lizzie looked up and gave them a tired smile.

“Come here, boys,” she said. “There's someone I want you to meet.” The two boys walked over
to see a small pink baby, gently squirming and squeaking softly. “Meet your sister, Morgan Lillian
Black.” Harry held his finger in front of Morgan, who grabbed it with her tiny hands and began
gnawing on it.

“I think the little missy is hungry,” Lizzie said, chuckling as Harry wiped his finger on his
pants.

“Okay, guys, let's give the new mother some privacy,” Sirius said, shoving everybody out of
the room.

While Michael went to the loo, Harry went to their room to see a small, filthy house elf
bouncing jovially on his bed. The elf turned around, its ears flapping and its large green eyes
staring at Harry.

“Harry Potter,” the house elf squeaked, “such an honor it is!” Harry stared at the house elf
blankly.

“Who are you?” Harry asked. The house elf picked at its pillowcase robe.

“I is Dobby, sir, Dobby the house elf,” the elf said. “And I have come with a warning, Harry
Potter must not return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year!” Harry frowned at
the elf.

“And why not?” Harry asked calmly. Dobby hesitated, staring down at the floor.

“There is a plot,” Dobby said. “A plot with Dobby's mas—” Dobby suddenly stopped and grabbed
a nearby book, beating himself over the head with it. Harry ran over and quickly yanked the book
out of Dobby's hands. “I is sorry sir, Dobby almost spoke ill of his family,” Dobby whimpered.
Harry frowned.

“Who's plotting against me?” Harry asked. Dobby shook his head vigorously.

“Dobby cannot say,” he said, pulling his large ears, “do not make Dobby say!”

“I have to go to Hogwarts, my friends are there!” Harry said. Dobby stopped shaking his head and
looked at Harry slyly.

“Friends that don't even write to Harry Potter?” he asked. Harry glared suspiciously at
Dobby.

“It was you,” Harry said accusingly. “You were the one intercepting my mail. It doesn't
matter, I've figured a way around that,” he continued vaguely. After he noticed that Hedwig
always seemed to return without a letter, Harry suspected someone was intercepting his mail and
started asking Whizzy to transport his and Michael's letters to Hermione and Blaise. “Sorry,
your little plan didn't work.” Dobby shook his head sadly.

“Dobby is sorry. Sorry that Dobby couldn't protect Harry Potter.” Then with a snap, Dobby
disappeared. Immediately, Harry left to find Sirius.

“Hey, Dad?” Harry asked when he found Sirius pouring himself a cup of pumpkin juice.

“What's up, Harry?” he asked, pouring Harry a cup of juice.

“Ever hear of a house elf named Dobby?” Harry asked. Sirius frowned in concentration.

“No, doesn't ring any bells. Whizzy?” The Black house elf immediately cracked in front of
them.

“Master Black call Whizzy?” Sirius rolled his eyes at his title and turned to Whizzy.

“Whizzy, have you ever heard of a house elf by the name of Dobby?” Whizzy shook his head.


“Whizzy is sorry, master, but I have never heard of such an elf.”

“Okay, thank you, Whizzy,” Sirius said, dismissing him. When Whizzy disappeared, Sirius turned
back to Harry. “How did you come across this Dobby character?”

“He was jumping on my bed a few minutes ago,” Harry said. “He told me that I couldn't go
back to Hogwarts due to some plot, but he wouldn't tell me what. He also said that he
intercepted my mail before I started using Whizzy to transport it.” Sirius sighed.

“I guess all I can say then is to watch your back and keep an eye out for anything suspicious,”
he said flatly. Harry nodded, then grinned.

“So, I heard Mum call you a midwife. What's that about.” Sirius considered his answer for a
minute.

“Harry?” Harry hummed in acknowledgement. “Go to your room.”

Three days later, Harry and Michael's Hogwarts letters came in, and Harry frowned when he
noticed a frequent appearance of a particular name on his book list.

“Dad, did you go to school with Gilderoy Lockhart?” Sirius and Remus piqued up at the name.

“He was a Hufflepuff a couple years behind us, why?” Sirius asked. Harry shrugged.

“Because he published half our book list,” Harry said simply. Sirius immediately snatched the
paper from Harry's hands and looked at it, eyes widening.

“How the hell did that stupid git get published?!” Sirius exclaimed. Remus took the paper and
looked at it, his eyes widening as well.

“Well, that's certainly surprising,” he said delicately.

“Anyone care to enlighten me on who Gilderoy Lockhart is?” Lizzie asked, cradling Lizzie on her
shoulder.

“Gilderoy Lockhart was a student that had...questionable skills at magic,” Remus said
carefully.

“Lockhart was an idiot who couldn't tell a stunning charm from a cheering charm,” Sirius
said darkly. “The only thing he seemed even vaguely interested in learning was glamour charms.
Pompous, egotistical git....” That afternoon, Remus again ended up chaperoning Harry and Michael on
their way through Diagon Alley. While they were walking around, Harry heard a familiar voice call
his name. He turned around to see a head of bushy brown hair fly into his face while feeling his
ribcage being compressed.

“I missed you too, Hermione, but I need to breathe,” Harry gasped. “Go strangle Michael for a
minute.” Hermione immediately let go and latched onto Michael, although not quite as hard, Harry
noticed.

“Wow, Hermione, they look cute,” a younger voice giggled. Hermione turned around and glared at a
girl that, while younger and had straighter hair, was clearly related to Hermione.

“You'd think a troll was cute,” she hissed before turning back to Harry and Michael. “How
have you been?” she asked cheerfully.

“Good,” Michael said. “Who's your friend back there?” Immediately, Hermione's smile
faded.

“Emma, this is Harry and Michael,” Hermione said, pointing to the boys as she said their names.
“Guys, this is my sister, Emma.” They waved at each other briefly.

“Have you seen Blaise?” Michael asked. Hermione shook her head.

“I've been looking for her too.” The three Marauders just shrugged. “Have you bought your
books yet?” she asked, her excitement returning. When the boys shook their heads, Hermione grabbed
their hands and dragged them off, Remus following with an amused expression on his face.

When they reached Flourish and Blott's, they were shocked to see a line extending far into
the street coming out of the bookstore.

“For two days only, Gilderoy Lockhart will be autographing copies of his new autobiography,
*Magical Me*,” Harry read aloud a sign in the window. Rolling his eyes, the four children and
one adult managed to wriggle their way into the store. Within a minute, Gilderoy Lockhart appeared
from the back of the store, dressed in extravagant periwinkle blue robes and flashing a smile so
bright you almost needed sunglasses to see through the glare. Harry and Michael snickered at the
show while Hermione frowned.

“He's a bit full of himself, isn't he?” She asked rhetorically. Emma glared at her.

“I think he's cute,” she said defensively. Hermione turned to her sister.

“You think all men are cute, Emma,” she said flatly. Michael was looking at a book when he was
knocked over by a small man with a camera.

“Out of the way, boy, this is for the Prophet,” he man said as he focused his camera on
Lockhart. He pressed the photo button when Remus grabbed his wrist, jostling the camera and ruining
the shot. “What the hell did you do that for, man?” the photographer snapped. Remus glared at the
smaller man. No one noticed a tall blonde man slip a small black book into Emma's cauldron.

“I believe you owe Michael an apology,” he growled. The photographer vainly tried to struggle
out of Remus' grip.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, kid,” he said, but Remus refused to relinquish his hold.

“Say it like you mean it,” Remus growled. Gulping, the photographer turned to Michael.

“Okay, I'm sorry I knocked you over. Are you happy?” Glaring daggers at the man, Remus
released the man's wrist.

Keeping his head down, Harry was collecting his schoolbooks when he heard something that made
him stop in his tracks.

“...For this year, I shall be imparting my knowledge on the children of this country when I take
the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts this fall!” While the rest of the store cheered, Harry
and Michael booed under their breaths while they discreetly purchased their books and left the
shop.

Next, they went to the Magical Menagerie, where Harry and Michael picked up some more owl treats
for their owls. When they went to the desk, Harry saw Hermione staring at a sleeping kitten
longingly. Harry bent towards the clerk so that Hermione wouldn't hear him.

“How much for that kitten?” he asked. The clerk looked at where Hermione was standing.

“Crookshanks? Smart kitty, he's half-kneazle, so five galleons,” the clerk said. Harry dug
out his gold and laid it on the desk.

“It's for her,” he said simply. Nodding, the clerk gently nudged Hermione aside so she could
take Crookshanks and place him in a basket, along with a blanket, water bowl and a small bag of
food before handing it to Harry.

As soon as they left the store, Harry gave the basket to Hermione.

“Happy early birthday, Hermione,” Harry said. Hermione gaped at him.

“Harry, I can't accept this—” she began, but Harry held up his hand to stop her.

“You can and you will. We both know you wanted that cat.” Tears welling up in her eyes, Hermione
wrapped Harry in a one-armed hug. Patting her back awkwardly, they separated and went back to their
respective homes.

“He's a *what*?!” Sirius exclaimed when they returned.

“Yup, he's going to be the DADA professor this year,” Harry confirmed. Sirius groaned and
cradled his head in hands.

“What was Dumbledore thinking, pulling a stunt like this?” he groaned. “I don't like the
guy, but I didn't think he was this stupid!”

“Well, regardless of whether he did any of this or not,” Lizzie said, flipping through a Lockhart
book and wrinkling her nose in disgust, “he needs to take a writing class. These books read like
cheap romance novels.” Closing the book, she walked over and planted a kiss on Sirius' cheek.
“I'm going to take a nap. Your daughter's been running me ragged all week.” With that she
walked upstairs to their bedroom. Sighing, Sirius massaged his temple.

“At least you two studied ahead,” Sirius sighed. “I can't say the same for the rest of
Hogwarts. Knowing him, the first test will probably be a fifty-question quiz all about him....”

----

Alright, first chapter, second book done!

I for one never liked Hermione's crush on Lockhart, so I transferred it to someone else.

Remus may seem to act OOC, but I don't think someone as responsible as Remus would allow
someone to knock over his best friend's son without an apology.

Don't forget to read and review!

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2. Ego, Party of One
--------------------



Well, I've been clocking in a lot of *Diablo* time in lately, but decided I should get
writing.

I don't have my copy of *Chamber of Secrets* with me, and the HP Lexicon was slow, so I
just made up the various questions and achievements from Lockhart.

I don't own Harry Potter. And unless Rowling sells the rights for $5 or less, I never
will.

----

Chapter 2 - Ego, Party of One

By the time September rolled around, Harry was glad that they would be leaving for Hogwarts.
Morgan's near-constant crying had led to three months of sleepless nights, and on Harry's
pale complexion, it was beginning to show.

Michael, on the other hand, was such a deep sleeper that he probably didn't hear
anything.

After giving their parents and sister a quick goodbye, the two brothers climbed up into the
Hogwarts Express, where they went into the first empty compartment they could find, then Harry
rolled up his robe for a pillow and curled up to catch the sleep that he was robbed of for so
long.

Within minutes, Hermione and Blaise showed up in their compartment. Michael noticed that Blaise
was wearing an emerald where Hermione gave her a ruby for Christmas, and Hermione was wearing a
sapphire in the same style.

“Hey,” Michael whispered, scooting over so they could sit.

“What's wrong with Harry?” Hermione whispered in concern. Michael smirked, amused.

“We have a baby sister who kept him up all night for the past three months,” he said, trying to
contain his laughter. Hermione and Blaise also giggled at Harry's predicament, and spent the
rest of the ride in relative silence.

When they reached Hogsmeade station that night, they bypassed the long line of first years and
went to the carts that would take them to Hogwarts. Harry, having just woken up from what he felt
was a not-long-enough nap, was too tired to care about the thestrals pulling the carts.

When the reached the Great Hall, the Marauders quickly went to the Gryffindor table, where Harry
propped his head up on his arm and promptly fell asleep again, not listening to the Sorting
Hat's new song.

Harry was shook awake just as McGonnagal read, “Granger, Emmaline!” and Hermione's sister
nervously walked up to the older witch. The Sorting Hat considered its possibilities for a few
seconds, and then announced, “Gryffindor!” Applause erupted from the red table as Emma excitedly
ran to her sister.

After all the first years had been sorted, Dumbledore stood up to address the students.

“For those of you who are coming here for the first time, welcome to Hogwarts!” he announced.
“And for those of you returning, welcome back. Firstly, we have a new member of our staff.
Professor Gilderoy Lockhart will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year!” Lockhart
stood up and flashed his blindingly-white teeth. There was scattered applause from the students,
and swooning from virtually every girl other than Hermione and Blaise, who wrinkled her nose in
disgust. “As usual, there is to be no magic in the corridors, and the Forbidden Forest is just
that: forbidden. Now, you are hungry, so please, tuck in!”

While Michael ate with gusto, Harry just kind of nibbled at his food, not awake enough to be
hungry. After the last of the dessert had been cleared, Dumbledore stood up again.

“Now that you are fed and watered, you must be tired. Prefects, please escort the students to
their common rooms.” The four tables simultaneously stood up and followed the prefects back to
their respective common rooms.

“Alright, see you tomorrow,” Harry yawned as soon as they reached the Gryffindor common room.
The other three Marauders waved at him wordlessly as they watched him ascend the stairs.

“He's really wiped out, isn't he?” Blaise asked. Michael simply nodded.

The next day, Harry was refreshed and a lot more pleasant company to be around, and the
Marauders laughed and talked like normal. When the *Daily Prophet* came for Blaise, she
scanned the front article and burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” Harry asked, eating a piece of toast. Tears in her eyes, Blaise handed
him the paper. He saw the image of the same woman who refused to accept Sirius' innocence
flashing a sickeningly sweet smile and a bold headline:

**SENIOR UNDERSECRETARY DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT**

By Matthew Lowe

*Last night, Senior Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic, Dolores Umbridge (45), died last
night due to a freak accident. She was having afternoon tea with Minister Fudge (47) and his wife
when she started choking, and died several seconds later. An autopsy revealed that a bee had flown
into her mouth and stung her in the back of her throat. Amos Diggory has been appointed as standing
Senior Undersecretary until such a time as a new permanent one can be appointed. This journalist
hopes that whoever is appointed will be more forward thinking than Madame Umbridge.*

*For info on Madame Umbridge's campaign against werewolves and other non-human races, turn
to page 7.*

After handing it to Michael, who had a good laugh over it, Harry turned to Blaise.

“Can I send this to my parents? Dad and Uncle Moony will get a good kick out of this.” Blaise
nodded.

“Give me the crossword back and you can send it.” Harry pulled out the game page and rolled the
newspaper up to send to his parents later. A few minutes later, they were passed out their time
sheets, and were not thrilled by what they saw.

“Defense at 9:30?” Michael groaned. “Lockhart's ugly mug is not what I wanted to see right
after breakfast…or at all, really.”

“Professor Lockhart is not ugly!” Emma defended. “He's really cute!” The four Marauders
rolled their eyes.

“From what I heard from your sister, you would think Dumb and Dumber over there are cute,”
Blaise said, pointing to Malfoy's cronies Crabbe and Goyle over at Slytherin table. Emma looked
at them, her brow crinkled in thought.

“Well…” she trailed off. Michael groaned and banged his head on the table.

“Come on,” Harry said, pulling Michael from his chair. “We gotta go before Lockhart puts us in
detention.” Blaise snorted at this.

“What's he gonna do? Make us answer his fan mail?” she asked sarcastically. Rolling his
eyes, Harry pushed Michael to the Defense classroom.

Once everybody had milled in, Lockhart strutted in, his teeth flashing.

“Say hello to your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor…me, Gilderoy Lockhart. Winner of the
Order of Merlin, second class, founder and president of the Dueler's Club, winner of *Witch
Weekly's* Most Dazzling Smile Award five times running. But I didn't beat the Banding
Banshee by smiling at her, now.” Lockhart laughed at his own joke, but elicited only a couple of
weak chuckles from his students. “Right, now, I'm going to start you off with a little quiz to
see how well you understood my books. Miss Patil, could you please pass these around?” Sighing
dreamily, Pavarti Patil passed around the tests to all the students. Harry thumbed through his
five-page-long test. His father was wrong, it wasn't a fifty-question quiz; it was almost a
hundred, all focusing on Lockhart. “You have one hour,” Lockhart said, tapping an hourglass.
“Begin!”

Sighing, Harry looked at the first question. *What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite
color*? Having no need nor desire to read the books, Harry decided to just answer the questions
randomly. His first answer was “hot pink.” *What is Gilderoy Lockhart'**s ideal*
*birthday gift*? A baby blue cardigan. *What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition*?
If it was secret, then I wouldn't know now, would I?

When one hour was up, Lockhart summoned all the tests to him, and tutted in disappointment.

“Shame, shame, it seems that almost none of you read my books well enough. My favorite color is
lilac, my ideal birthday gift is a bottle of Odgen's firewhiskey, and my secret ambition is
freedom for all races in the wizarding world. In fact it seems that Miss Granger is the only one to
receive full marks! Very good, five points to Gryffindor.” Hermione blushed at the compliment.
Lockhart was about to say something, but was thankfully cut off by the bell ringing. The class
immediately packed up and left the room. As soon as they left, Hermione breathed a sigh of
relief.

“Finally,” she said. “I thought we'd get out of there. Eighty-seven questions, all focusing
on him! How egotistical can you get?!” Shaking her head, she started heading to the greenhouses,
her friends hot on her heels.

When they reached the grounds, they saw the small and dirt-covered Professor Sprout there
waiting for them.

“You're here early,” she pointed out. “Have a rough time with Professor Lockhart?” she
asked, amused.

“You have no idea,” Harry groaned. Soon, the rest of the students showed up.

“Okay class, follow me to greenhouse three!” The Marauders looked at each other. Greenhouse
three was where some of the more dangerous plants were kept. When they went inside the greenhouse,
they saw several potted plants and several pairs of earmuffs.

“Okay, class, we're going to learn about mandrakes today. Anyone know what mandrakes are why
they are so dangerous?” Hermione's hand immediately shot up. “Miss Granger?”

“Mandrake, or mandragora, are plants commonly used to reverse the effects of petrification.
However, its cry is deadly, so you have to wear ear protection at all times.”

“Excellent, five points to Gryffindor!” Professor Sprout said excitedly. “Now, our mandrakes are
only saplings, so they won't kill, but they will knock you out for several hours, so be
diligent. Now, earmuffs on!” Everyone scrambled to put on their earmuffs. “Now, grab the mandrake
by the leaves, and pull straight up!” She tugged on the plant, but instead of roots, was a fat,
dirty baby, screaming its lungs out. It reminded Harry and Michael of Morgan when she was
especially hungry. Immediately, one of the students collapsed. “It seems that Longbottom's
neglected his earmuffs,” Professor Sprout sighed.

“No, ma'am, he's just fainted,” one student that Harry didn't recognize said.

“Oh, well, just leave him there. Now what you do is you take your mandrake, and you shove him
into a new pot, and cover him with soil until he stops screaming.” The students all tugged on their
mandrakes and tried to relocate them, to varying degrees of success. Hermione got a scrawny one,
but Harry's was especially big and ornery, and fought back tooth and nail from being placed in
another pot. *This is going to be a long day*, Harry thought.

----

Well, I hope you enjoyed chapter two, as well as the little bit of irony involving
Umbridge's death.

Don't forget to read and review!

Question: Dumbledore is fairly high up in the Wizengamot, and knew Sirius was innocent before he
fell out of favor in OotP. My question is, why didn't he petition for a trial for Sirius when
he knew that he was falsely imprisoned, and considering his clout, would probably get it?

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3. Voices in the Walls
----------------------



My brain has been getting dry on ideas for this fic…may take another short break to expand on my
Death's Hunters storyline in the near future.

I don't own Harry Potter…but I didn't have to tell you that, did I?

----

Chapter 3 - Voices in the Walls

After struggling with mandrakes for an hour and a half, followed by an hour of History of Magic
(where three of the four Marauders caught up on their sleep), then an hour of Transfiguration, the
four Marauders were filthy and tired, and they immediately went up to their respective dormitories
to take a long hot shower.

Later, Hermione and Harry were doing their homework while Michael and Blaise were playing chess.
The portrait creaked open, and Hermione's sister Emma shuffled in quietly.

“Hi, Emma,” Blaise said, wincing as Michael's knight crushed her pawn. Emma jumped in
surprise, and turned to Blaise.

“Hey,” she said quietly before hurrying up to the girl's dormitory. Everybody frowned at her
performance.

“That doesn't seem like the girl we met in Diagon Alley,” Harry said. Hermione furrowed her
brow in concern.

“Yeah,” she said absently as she closed her book and followed her sister to the girl's
dormitory. Blaise groaned as Michael checkmated her king. Sighing, she pulled out a book and
started flipping through it, muttering about how cruel the teachers were for setting homework on
the first day back. While Michael was putting away his chess set, he looked up to see a memo for
Quidditch tryouts on the bulletin board. Michael stepped closer to see which positions were
available.

“Hey, Harry! The Gryffindor team is looking for a seeker!” he said excitedly.

“So?” Harry asked dully as he flipped through a charms textbook.

“So…you did great catching the key last year, maybe you should try out,” Michael said. “It'd
make Dad happy.” Harry considered the possibility for several moments before nodding his head.

“Alright, I'll try it.” Whooping in victory, Michael did a happy dance in the Common Room,
with Blaise giggling at his antics and Harry simply rolling his eyes before returning to his
book.

The next three weeks were mostly uneventful. Later that day, Hermione came down saying that Emma
was simply homesick, although none of them really believed that story. Rather than give the
students any practical experience, Lockhart opted to regal the class (although the Marauders
thought that “bore” was a more accurate term) with retellings of his exploits from his books.
Thankfully, no one had yet been called upon to act the role of whatever monster Lockhart was
fighting, but Harry wondered just how long that would last. Nevertheless, the one thing that the
students were *not* learning in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was defense
against the Dark Arts.

Finally, on September 23, Harry stood amongst a dozen or so students vying for the seeker
position, some quite older and taller than him. The students were talking amongst themselves while
Harry hung a fair distance away until a shrill whistle blow drew their attention to a tall
sixth-year boy with short brown hair carrying a small bulging sack and several empty ones.

“Okay, boys and girls,” the boy said with a Scottish brogue, “so you're here to try out for
seeker position. For those of you who don't know, my name is Oliver Wood, captain of the
Gryffindor Quidditch team.” He started pulling out walnut-sized gold balls out of the sack he was
carrying and throwing them towards the field, where they sprouted wings and flitted away in
mid-air. When he had finished, he turned back to the seeker hopefuls and started passing out sacks.
“I've released twenty snitches, you have ten minutes to catch as many as you can. Good luck.
Mount your brooms!” Everyone quickly mounted their brooms. When Wood blew his whistle, they all
kicked off the ground and zoomed off.

Almost immediately, Harry saw a golden glint about twenty yards away, and zoomed forward to
snatch it and place it into his sack. After looking around for a few seconds, he saw another and
immediately snatched it up. While it was fairly obvious that many of the seekers were having
trouble finding the snitches, Harry found it all too easy to find them. While he had been beaten to
some snitches, Harry was confident that he had at least half of the snitches when Wood sounded his
whistle ten minutes later. After inspecting the sacks, Wood laid his hand on Harry's
shoulder.

“Well, at twelve snitches, it looks like we have a winner,” Wood said proudly before shaking
Harry's hand, eliciting groans and grumbles from the rest of the hopefuls. “Welcome to the
team, Potter.”

“Glad to be on, Wood,” Harry said. Wood shook his head.

“You're a part of the team now, the name's Oliver,” he said. Harry gave a small
smile.

“Harry,” he said, shaking Oliver's hand again.

Later that day, in the Common Room, Blaise squealed in delight while Michael patted Harry on the
back.

“You've got to get the Nimbus 2001!” Blaise gushed. “It just came out last week, and
it'd be great for a seeker like you!” Harry shook his head in amusement at Blaise's
excitement over his winning the position. “And you need to get some books! *Quidditch Through the
Ages, 100 Greatest Moves in Quidditch History*...” Harry simply returned to his book, allowing
Blaise to continue her tangent to deaf ears.

Two days later, Whizzy popped into the second-year boy's dormitory, holding two long
parcels.

“Master Black sends these for young masters,” Whizzy said. When Harry and Michael thanked him,
the house elf disappeared, and the two boys tore into their gifts, revealing two black, polished
broomsticks with the words *Nimbus 2001* painted onto the handle.

“Wicked!” Michael said, lovingly caressing his broomstick. Soon, the other boys were crowded
around them, admiring their broomsticks, although Harry noticed that Weasley seemed to be jealous
of them. After showing Hermione and Blaise (and being showered with praise by the latter), Harry
tracked down Oliver using the Marauder's Map, and told him about his recent acquisition. After
nearly fainting, Oliver scheduled Quidditch practice for the next day at dawn. As Harry left, he
paused when he heard a voice hiss faintly. “*I liiiiiiiiveeee*...” Shaking off the chill
running down his spine, Harry picked up the pace back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

The next day, the Marauders shoveled down their breakfasts and dashed off to the Quidditch
pitch, where Harry was introduced to the rest of the team. When they walked out onto the pitch,
Oliver groaned when he saw several figures in green and silver uniforms.

“Flint, what the hell are you doing here? I booked the Quidditch pitch for the entire morning.”
Flint, who looked like he was part troll, sneered and pulled a scroll from his pocket.

“Well, Wood, it just so happens that we have a waiver from Professor Snape,” he said smugly as
he handed the parchment to Wood, who unrolled it and read it.

“It says, `I, Professor Snape, head of Slytherin House, permit the Slytherin team to use the
Quidditch team in order to train their new seeker.' Oh, you have a new seeker too?” Oliver
asked, cocking his eyebrow. Flint stepped aside to show a second-year boy with gelled, platinum
blonde hair.

“Malfoy,” Oliver growled. Flint grinned smugly.

“He's not the only addition to our team, Wood. Look,” he said, showing that the whole team
had black, shiny *Nimbus 2001*'s. “A gift from Malfoy's father.”

“At least no one on Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Hermione said, glaring at the
larger boy. “They got in on pure talent.”

“Blaise, grab my robe,” Harry whispered.

“What?” Blaise whispered back, confused.

“Just do it.” Shrugging, she grabbed the back of Harry's robes just as Malfoy turned to
Hermione.

“No one asked for your opinion,” Malfoy spat, “you filthy little Mudblood!” Michael immediately
lunged towards Malfoy, but was grabbed just in time by Harry, who was being pulled back by
Blaise.

“Come on, Mike, let's go to Hagrid's,” Harry grunted, struggling to keep his brother
restrained. After finally calming down, the four Marauders turned around and walked over to the
large man's house, Michael practically running, Blaise trying to keep up with him, leaving
Harry and Hermione straggling behind.

“Thanks for keeping Michael from doing something stupid, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling. Harry
shook his head.

“Don't thank me, Hermione. Malfoy would have deserved it.” Hermione's smile was
immediately replaced with a look of shock.

“You—you wouldn't have let him beat Malfoy up, would you?!” she gasped.

“Nah,” Harry said, prompting Hermione to let out a sigh of relief. “I would have joined him.”
Hermione gaped at him.

“Harry!” she admonished. “You can't just beat people up just because they call me names!
I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself.” Harry looked at her with an unreadable
expression.

“I know you can, Hermione, but Malfoy just insulted you, my mother *and* my stepmother in
one sentence. Believe me, it took a *lot* of self-control to not struggle out of Blaise's
grip and pummel him into the ground.” Hermione didn't say anything for the rest of the walk
over.

When they reached Hagrid's hut, their mouths started watering at the smell of chicken and
tomatoes emanating from the hut. When Harry knocked on the door and was beckoned in, they saw
several rooster feathers and Hagrid tending to a large cauldron bubbling over the fire.

“'Arry! How're yeh?” the half giant said happily.

“I'm doing great, Hagrid, you?” Hagrid shrugged before turning back to his cauldron.

“I'm okay. Summat's been killin' off the roosters `round here, but `tis a shame ter
let `em go ter waste, so I'm whippin' up a recipe I got from a French bloke I met one time.
It's called `kooky vine' or summat like that.”

“Ooh, you're making coq au vin!” Hermione said excitedly. Upon seeing the confused looks
from Harry, Michael and Blaise, Hermione went into her textbook mode. “Coq au vin is a French
cuisine, which basically means `chicken with wine.' It's got chicken, onions and mushrooms
in a wine sauce, and it's great! But it's supposed to take like, three days to make.”
Hagrid chuckled.

“Well, I don' wanna wait three days ter eat, so I just threw everything into a pot and
boiled it.” Hagrid took the pot off the heat and ladled it into five bowls. After eating
Hagrid's tough but otherwise surprisingly good food, they headed back to the castle for
lessons.

That night, the Marauders were running down random corridors in an effort to shake off Peeves,
who was tossing water balloons at them, until they finally lost him near the second floor
girl's bathroom. Exhausted, they shuffled down the hall until they stepped in a puddle of
water. They looked up to see the entire hallway covered in water.

“Ugh, Moaning Myrtle must have flooded the bathroom again,” Blaise said in disgust.

“Eww, toilet water,” Michael said, pulling his pants and robes up. Harry was about to respond
when he heard the same voice from the previous day.

“*Ssssssssso hungry...for sssssssso long*...” it hissed.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked.

“Hear what?” Michael replied, confused.

“*Let me feasssssst, massssssster*...” the voice continued.

“That voice!” Harry exclaimed. “You don't hear it?” The other three Marauders looked at each
other, concerned.

“Harry, we're not hearing any voices,” Hermione said softly.

“*Let me rip...tear...kill*...”

“It says it's going to kill, this way!” Harry said, splashing down the hall, his friends
running behind him.

He turned around to see more water, and the warm light from the torches illuminated a message
seemingly written in blood.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE**

And hanging from a torch, was the still form of Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris.

----

Well, I hope that you enjoyed that.

About the coq au vin scene, I just thought it'd be a somewhat funny way to introduce the
plot point that roosters are being killed off, and coq au vin was invented for using old roosters.
And I know that coq au vin is a bit more complicated than throwing everything into a pot and
boiling it, but this is Hagrid we're talking about; the guy isn't exactly a gourmet
chef.

Don't forget to read and review!

Edited September 6, 2007 for typos and sealing a rather gaping plot hole.

-->



4. Snake Charmer
----------------



Again, I have no access to my copy of CoS, so anything that Lockhart says will not match what he
did in the same situation in canon.

I own Lizzie, Whizzie and Michael. Everyone else belongs to Rowling.

----

Chapter 4 - Snake Charmer

While the four Marauders looked at the message on the wall in shock, the caretaker Argus Filch
conveniently arrived with a mop and bucket.

“No good ruffians, always sullying the castle, why I oughta…” he grumbled, but he trailed off at
the sight of his beloved cat hanging he pointed at the Marauders, eyes bulging. “YOU! You murdered
by cat!” When Harry opened his mouth to argue, the rest of the faculty showed up. *How the hell
do they show up like that*? Harry thought darkly as Dumbledore examined the wall and cat.

“It's such a shame,” Lockhart lamented, looking at Mrs. Norris. “It looks like a
*shimishanga* curse. If only I had arrived earlier, I could have saved her.”

“She is not dead, Argus,” Dumbledore finally said, “she is merely petrified.”

“I knew that,” Lockhart said quickly, prompting almost everyone in the room to roll their
eyes.

“Someone petrified my cat,” Filch growled, almost in tears, “I want to see some punishment!”

“Pomona currently has a crop of mandrakes growing, Argus, so she will be cured soon enough. In
the meantime, we must figure out how she came into this state in the first place,” Dumbledore
assured, stroking his beard in thought.

“Why don't you ask *them*?!” Filch spat, pointing a bony finger at the Marauders.

“They're the ones who did this to her!” Michael opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off
by Snape, to everyone's surprise.

“Now, now, Argus, we all know that a feat such as this is beyond the grasp of seconds years,
even those with…backgrounds as these four,” he drawled, glaring at Harry and Michael. “However, it
does beg the question as to why they were here in the first place.”

“We were having lunch with Hagrid, and we saw the flood water, and came to investigate.
That's it,” Harry said, avoiding looking directly at Dumbledore or Snape.

“LIAR!” Filch shouted, spraying spittle onto Harry's face.

“Innocent until proven guilty, Argus,” Dumbledore placated. With a scowl, Filch skulked away,
the mess forgotten. After the caretaker's rather emotional display, he turned to the four
Marauders. “Now, I believe that you should run off to bed now.” Needing no further prompting, the
four children fled from the scene, the gears in their minds turning. When they turned the corner,
McGonnagal turned to Dumbledore, nervous.

“Do you think this is like what happened fifty years ago, Albus?” she asked uneasily. Dumbledore
sighed, rubbing his crooked nose.

“For all our sakes, Minerva…I hope not.”

Meanwhile, the Marauders were discussing the message and its meanings.

“What the hell is the Chamber of Secrets?” Blaise thought out loud. Hermione bit her lip
nervously.

“I saw it in my copy of *Hogwarts: A History*, but I forgot it at home,” she muttered.

“I have my copy with me,” Harry said, “I'll go get it for you, *twinkletink*,” he said
to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Nodding in acceptance, she swung open to allow them entry to the
mostly empty Common Room, where Harry jogged up the stairs to his dormitory to get his book. A few
minutes later, he came down, leafing through the pages. “Here it is,” he said, pointing to a
passage. “`*The Chamber of Secrets is a room within the castle of Hogwarts, said to be
constructed right before Salazar Slytherin was expelled from the castle for his conflicting views
on blood purity. It is said that Slytherin vowed that one day his heir would return to the castle
and release a monster contained within, which would cleanse the castle of those he believed unfit
to learn magic. Since then, hundreds of searches have been conducted throughout the castle to find
such a chamber, to no result, and has been classified as a myth*.' That's all it says,”
Harry said, snapping his book shut, “nothing to indicate as to what exactly Slytherin's monster
is.” Sighing, he flopped down into a chair.

“What was the message written in? Blood?” Michael asked, gulping. Hermione shook her head.

“The only things that have been reported dead lately were the roosters, and those had their
necks snapped. It was also too bright to be blood, it was probably something like paint,” she said.
Michael breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay, who here would want to knock off Filch's cat?” Blaise asked, already suspecting the
answer.

“Everybody,” the other three answered simultaneously.

“The more important question is, who here has the ability to petrify Mrs. Norris?” Hermione
said. “Petrification is really powerful dark magic, and I doubt that anyone would go through that
much trouble just to get rid of a cat, however annoying it is.” She heard a pitiful meow and looked
to see Crookshanks looking at her worriedly. “Oh, you're not annoying, Crookshanks,” she
assured, picking the half-kneazle up and cuddling him. “You're the cutest, cleverest cat in the
world, yes you are,” she cooed, rubbing her nose against Crookshank's. The cat merely meowed in
response.

“Well, there's nothing more to be gained by staying up all night pondering it,” Harry sighed
as he stood up. “The only thing we can do is wait and see what happens tomorrow.” As much as she
hated to admit it, Harry was right. With what little they knew, they couldn't come up with a
plausible theory. After bidding their goodnights, they all headed to their respective dormitories
to sleep.

None of them noticed Emma scribbling away in a black diary, listening in on their
conversation.

The next day, it seemed that news of Mrs. Norris being petrified had reached the entire school,
as Harry distinctly heard the words “hallway”, “Filch's cat”, and “message” as he walked to his
spot on the Gryffindor table. While he was eating a piece of ham, he heard a young, chipper voice
call his name.

“Hey, Harry!” it said cheerfully. Harry instinctively looked up and was blinded by a bright
flash. When the smoke cleared, he saw a blond first-year with pupils that took up almost his entire
eyes, and holding an old wizard-style camera. “I'm Colin Creevey, I'm your biggest fan!”
Harry just stared at the hyper boy blankly.

“Umm…how nice?” he said hesitantly.

“I'm Muggleborn by the way, my dad's a milkman!” Colin continued, bouncing on his feet
as if he were meeting Merlin himself. “I heard that if you develop photos in the right potion, the
pictures will move, so I've been taking lots of pictures for him! He'll be excited when I
show him a picture of Harry Potter!” Snapping another photo, he ran off, being followed by the gaze
of the confused Marauders.

“What…the hell…was that?” Blaise asked slowly. Harry sighed dejectedly.

“Fans,” he grumbled, digging into his breakfast with renewed vigor. After glancing at his
schedule again, Harry groaned when he saw that they had class with Daft McStupid (as Michael had
christened Lockhart after their first lesson) after breakfast. Rolling his eyes, he resignedly
stood up and started walking towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the other three
following.

When class started, Lockhart drew his wand and carefully stepped around a covered object.

“It is my task to teach you to defend yourselves against the darkest, vilest creatures in this
world,” he whispered dramatically. “Now, when I reveal to you today's lesson, I must ask you
not to scream,” he continued, grabbing the top of the cloth, “it might PROVOKE THEM!” He whipped
the cloth off to show a large birdcage filled with small, blue creatures with large black eyes. The
entire class began laughing.

“Cornish pixies?” Weasley laughed.

“Freshly caught Cornish pixies,” Lockhart confirmed. “You may laugh now, but I warn you, these
are feisty little buggers. Now, let's see what you think of them now!” he unlatched the door on
the cage, and the pixies swarmed out and began to wreak havoc throughout the classroom. While most
of the students were in a state of panic, the Marauders just sat calmly, knocking away any pixies
that antagonized them while they waited to see what Lockhart would do.

“Err…” Lockhart droned nervously, and then began waving his wand around randomly. “*Peskipiksi
pesternomi*!” Having no effect, one of the pixies snatched his wand out of his hand and snapped
the chain suspending a dragon skeleton onto the ceiling. Rolling their eyes in exasperation, the
Marauders drew their wands.

“*Immobulis*!” they shouted simultaneously, and the pixies froze, floating around in
mid-air. Nervously peeking up from a desk that he had dove under during the pandemonium, Lockhart
surveyed the damage, his normally perfectly kept hair now tousled.

“Umm, yes, excellent work, ten points to Gryffindor,” he stuttered before lowering himself back
under the desk. Harry sighed as he sat down and rubbed his temple. *What an idiot*.

Three weeks passed without much incident. After the incident with the pixies, Lockhart never
brought live creatures to his classes, but instead continued to reenact scenes from his various
exploits, often using the students as actors.

“That's it, Mister Weasley, a little more anguished, that's it,” Lockhart prompted,
while Weasley howled pitifully. Harry snorted in disgust at the reenactment of Lockhart's
supposed vanquishing of the Walla-Walla werewolf, thinking that Remus would have a field day if he
saw this blatant display of stereotypical werewolf behavior, and the prejudices associated with
them.

He also found out that a decent night's sleep was quickly becoming little more than a
distant memory when Oliver Wood began working them from five in the morning till breakfast started
with Quidditch practice in anticipation for the upcoming match against Slytherin. When the day of
the match arrived, Harry just prodded at his food nervously.

“Harry, you need to eat something,” Hermione said, rubbing his back comfortingly. Harry
reluctantly nibbled on a piece of toast before going down to the Gryffindor locker room, his
*Nimbus 2001* in hand. Later, Harry stood nervously amongst the other players under the
stadium.

“Don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine,” Oliver said, patting Harry on the shoulder, which
didn't placate him at all. When they stepped out, Harry was blinded by the bright sun and
deafened by the roar coming from the Gryffindor side of the stadium. They walked up to the
Slytherin team, where Oliver and Flint shook hands. Flint looked like he was trying to crush
Oliver's hand, but he didn't flinch.

“Mount your brooms!” the referee, Madam Hooch shouted. The players immediately mounted their
brooms and kicked off the ground. Hooch glared critically at the two teams. “Now, I want a clean
game from you; *all of you*.” Harry had heard from the other players that the Slytherins were
notorious for cheating, so Harry had his doubts. After releasing the bludgers and golden snitch,
she blew her whistle and threw the quaffle into the air, which was immediately grabbed by one of
Slytherin's chasers and began soaring towards the Gryffindor goal posts.

Harry soared up high over the other players and began searching for the small golden ball
flitting around the field.

“How you feeling, scarhead?!” Malfoy shouted. Ignoring him, Harry searched frantically for the
snitch, and upon seeing a golden glint near the Slytherin goal posts, he zoomed away, Malfoy on his
tail. With equal brooms, Malfoy soon caught up with Harry and they were neck and neck to the
snitch, but Harry looked to his side to see a bludger flying right towards them. He quickly
decelerated, but since Malfoy didn't notice, got a large iron ball to the ribs, knocking him
off his broom and likely breaking several bones in the process. Harry cursed to himself because his
dodging the bludger had caused him to lose sight of the snitch. He heard the telltale whizzing of a
bludger coming towards him, and flew out of the way just in time to avoid having his head smashed
in by the ball. Taking off, he raced around the perimeter of the field, dodging the other players
and still looking for the snitch. The Weasley twins had come to knock the bludger away several
times, but every time it would turn back and give chase to Harry again.

Eventually, Harry saw the snitch, and pushed his broom harder until he was right behind it. But
as he reached out to grab the golden ball, the second bludger suddenly changed direction and
slammed into Harry's outstretched arm, making a sickening crack. Now with two tampered bludgers
out for his blood and a broken arm, Harry jumped off his broom and snatched the snitch with his
left arm, and groaned in pain as he skidded to a stop on the sandy ground near the goal posts.
After the rest of the team had wrestled the two aberrant bludgers and locked them back into their
receptacles, everybody gathered around Harry as he held the golden snitch in one hand and held his
broken arm to his chest.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” a stern voice said, and the crowd cleared to make way for
Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. After tutting to herself and muttering about how dangerous
Quidditch was, she waved her wand over Harry, and the pain immediately disappeared. As soon as he
was healed, Harry was lifted up off the ground by the Gryffindor team and was carried back to the
Common Room where they spent the rest of the day celebrating their victory.

The next day, when Harry went down the Common Room, he saw a notice on the bulletin board.

*Due to recent events, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Gilderoy Lockhart will be
hosting a dueling club to teach students how to defend themselves on Mondays through Saturdays at
2:00-7:30 PM. All students are invited to attend*. Harry couldn't help but feel nervous
about this announcement. Had there been another attack? He couldn't help but wonder.

Harry went down to breakfast and waited for his friends to show up before he started eating.
Blaise's copy of the *Daily Prophet* flew in and, after paying the owl, began reading the
front page. But when she saw the first article, she nearly chocked on her bacon.

“Look at this!” she shouted, placing the paper on the table and the Marauders crowded around to
read it.

**DEPARTMENT HEAD FOUND HOUSING DEATH EATER; AUROR DEAD**

**By Matthew Lowe**

*Last night, an auror raid was conducted at the residence of Bartemius Crouch, head of the
Department of International Cooperation. Upon investigation of his residence, aurors found the
unconscious form of Bartemius Crouch Jr., a convicted Death Eater and believed to have died about
ten years ago.*

*When revived, Crouch Jr. immediately grabbed the wand of junior auror Julian Richards and
managed to cast a killing curse on said auror before being subdued. Crouch Jr. is currently being
held in Azkaban prison awaiting trial for the murder of auror Richards, and sources say that the
Minister is going for the Dementor's Kiss this time. He has been previously sentenced to life
in Azkaban for being a Death Eater.*

*His father, Crouch Sr., has been under investigation for corruption and false imprisonment
after signing an arrest warrant for Sirius Black without corroborating evidence. After finding that
six people had been sentenced to Azkaban without trial, an arrest warrant was issued for Mr.
Crouch. With the additional charges of housing a Death Eater and assisting in the escape of a Death
Eater from Azkaban, it is likely that both father and son will face the same fate.*

*With the many heavy charges lodged against Mr. Crouch, how can we be expected to have faith
in our government when its own department heads are able to break the law so callously? That is the
question going through everybody's minds, but I don't think we'll be getting an answer
for a long time*.

“Well, Dad'll be thrilled to hear about that,” Michael said. Harry only shrugged in
agreement.

“I saw the dueling club notice in the Common Room; who was petrified?” Harry asked. Hermione and
Blaise looked at each other.

“We don't know for sure, but Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown said that it was the Ravenclaw
prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” Hermione said.

“And with those two gossip queens, you can never know for sure whether they're right or
not,” Blaise muttered darkly. Chuckling, Harry finished his breakfast and stood up to go to their
morning classes.

That afternoon, the four of them were amongst the masses that had come to witness Lockhart's
dueling club, primarily to watch him make a fool of himself even more. Lockhart strutted onto the
platform, flashing his thousand-watt smile to the crowd.

“Welcome, can everybody see me?” he asked to the crowd. “Can everybody hear me?”

“Unfortunately,” Michael whispered, and they all laughed.

“Now, I have, with Dumbledore's permission, arranged this little dueling club to teach all
you younglings how to defend yourselves. To assist me today is your potions teacher, Professor
Snape. Don't worry, he'll still be alive by the time I'm through with him,” he said,
plastering a fake smile.

“Shame,” Michael muttered.

“Now, we are going to show you how to properly disarm an opponent. Professor Snape?” The
greasy-haired professor walked up the platform, glaring daggers at the flamboyant Lockhart. “First,
we bow,” Lockhart said, doing an exaggerated bow while Snape barely nodded his head. “Then, we
attack. One, two, three.”

“*Expelliarmus*!” Snape shouted, sending a white blast of light straight towards Lockkhart,
knocking him on his behind and sending him sliding across the platform.

After picking himself up and retrieving his wand (which had mysteriously flown halfway into the
crowd), he addressed the crowd again. “There, now, as you have seen, Professor Snape has caused my
to lose my wand, very good.”

“Perhaps now would be a good time to show the students how to block unfriendly spells,
Gilderoy,” Snape said darkly, his arms crossed. Lockhart's eyes widened slightly and suddenly
appeared very nervous.

“An excellent point, Professor Snape. Any volunteers?” When no one offered, he decided to take
matters into his own hands. “Potter and…Longbottom, then?” Snape snorted in amusement.

“Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest of spells,” he said, “we'll be sending
Potter to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about someone from my house, Malfoy perhaps?”

“Excellent suggestion, Professor Snape!” Lockhart exclaimed jovially, and the two boys walked up
to the stage. Snape whispered something into Malfoy's ear, and the two raised their wands.

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy spat. Harry simply chuckled.

“You wish.”

“Okay now, disarming only,” Lockhart said. “On three, one, two—”

“*Furnuculus*!” Malfoy shouted, sending the hex at Harry, who dodged it.

“*Rictumsempra*!” Harry retaliated, and the hex blasted Malfoy, who skidded along the
platform on his behind. After Snape hauled Malfoy back up, he launched his next spell.

“*Serpensortia*!” he shouted, and a large black cobra shot out of his wand. The crowd held
their breath as the serpent slithered its way towards Harry.

“Allow me to get rid of that for you, Mister Potter,” Lockhart said, and flicked his wand, only
for the snake to jump high into the air and land in front of the Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchey.
As the cobra raised its head to strike, Harry stepped forward.

“*Stop*!” he hissed, and the cobra paused. “*Stand down*,” he continued. Reluctantly,
the serpent lowered itself into a mound on the platform. For a moment, no one moved, until Snape
vanished the snake, then Finch-Fletchey turned to Harry.

“What the hell's wrong with you?!” he spat. At first, Harry didn't understand, then he
realized what he just did.

“Aw, damn,” he muttered.

----

Whew, that took me forever to write!

As you may have noticed, it took me a while to update this. Truth is, ideas for other fics have
been popping up faster than for this one, so this one gets updated slower.

Don't forget to read and review! I thrive on reviews!

Edited on September 6, 2007 for typos, grammatical errors and sealing a plot hole.

-->



5. The Invisible Hand
---------------------



I'm not J. K. Rowling. Considering how she butchered our ship, I think that can be
considered a good thing.

I have free-flowing ideas for *Memories in my Blood*, and plot ideas for at least three
other fics, and yet I'm having difficulty trying to make a decent length chapter for this fic.
What's up with that?

----

Chapter 5 - The Invisible Hand

Two days had passed since the incident at the dueling club. His newfound Parseltongue abilities
combined with the recent attacks, Harry was widely considered by the student population as the heir
of Slytherin, and was given a wide berth for it. Harry, for his part, didn't mind being left
alone, although the nervous stares that people kept sending his way was starting to grate on his
nerves.

While eating breakfast, Hedwig swooped in with a letter in her beak. Harry took the letter and
fed Hedwig a piece of bacon before she flew off in to the owlery. He opened it to see Sirius'
messy scrawl.

*Hey kid, how are you holding up?*

*So you're a Parselmouth, eh? Normally, I would consider that cool, but this is neither
the time nor place.*

*I recognize how the attacks are happening. They remind me of stories I heard from your
Grandfather Potter about attacks happening at Hogwarts about fifty years ago. I remember him saying
that a girl died that time, but I can't for the life of me remember what her name was. I'll
have to do some digging.*

*On a lighter note, Morgan is beginning to lift her head up on her own. Pretty soon she'll
be crawling! Kids, they grow up so fast.*

*Mom's taking a nap and Remus is job hunting again, but they send their love.*

*Hope to see you on Christmas. But until then, keep your wits about you, and don't let the
others get to you.*

*Love, Dad*.

Harry showed his letter to the others, and Hermione stood up.

“The library has an archive of old *Prophets*,” she said. “We should go five years before
and after fifty years before this year, but something like that would be front-page news, so it
shouldn't be too hard to find.” The other three gaped at her.

“`Shouldn't be too hard to find?!'” Michael yelled incredulously. “Hermione, the
*Daily Prophet* is a *daily* newspaper, hence the name. That'd be over four thousand
papers we'd have to search!” Hermione huffed, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at
him.

“Well, that means that we should get started then,” she said matter-of-factly before grabbing
her bag and stomping off to the library. Sighing, the other three Marauders cleaned off their
plates as quickly as possible before following her.

At the library, in the particularly dusty corner where the newspapers were kept, the Marauders
were scanning the headlines.

“Okay, nothing for February 12,” Harry sighed as he rolled up the paper and slid it back into
its respective slot on the shelf. “I got to go to the loo, I'll be back,” he added as he walked
out of the library. Halfway to the nearest bathroom, Harry accidentally bumped into Justin
Finch-Fletchey.

“I can trace my lineage back fifteen generations, you know!” Finch-Fletchey yelled out of the
blue. Harry turned towards him, his eyebrows raised.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“I can trace my pureblood lineage back fifteen generations, and both the people that you've
petrified were Muggleborn, so you can't hurt me,” Finch-Fletchey said smugly. Harry began
laughing at the Hufflepuff boy.

“My mother, my stepmother *and* my best friend are all Muggleborn,” Harry said, “do you
really think I give a damn about things like blood? But hey, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he
continued before turning around to go to the bathroom.

After searching through two years worth of newspapers, the Marauders decided to take a break.
They walked passed Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where they noticed water on the floor again.
Hermione and Blaise went inside to see what had happened while the boys waited outside. When they
returned, Hermione was holding a small, black, dripping book.

“Myrtle was crying because, apparently, someone threw this at her,” Hermione said, holding up
the sopping wet book. Harry took it and flipped through it. The water must have washed the ink
away, since it looked like nothing had ever been written in it. He looked at the front and it said
in loopy gold writing, **This is the diary of T. M. Riddle**. Harry squeezed the book to wring
some of the water out before putting it in his pocket.

“Why would Myrtle mind if someone threw a book at her?” Michael asked. “I mean, she's dead,
she wouldn't feel anything.” The two girls shrugged.

“We figured it wasn't a good idea to ask,” Blaise admitted. “We all know how sensitive she
can be.” While the others nodded in agreement, Harry heard a familiar hissing echoing through the
walls.

“*Hungerrrrrrr…I feel hungerrrrrrrrr*…” it hissed.

“The voice, it's back,” Harry said, following it as it echoed down the corridor, his friends
following.

“*I smell flesssssssssssshhhh…I smell* *bloooooooood…*” the phantom voice continued as
the Marauders chased after it. “*Fresssssssssssshhh meat*…” it growled hungrily. A minute
later, they heard two distant screams. They picked up the pace on their running to find Justin
Finch-Fletchey, lying on the ground petrified, and next to him, the still, hovering form of the
Gryffindor ghost Nearly-Headless Nick.

In their shock, no one noticed the trail of spiders crawling out the window.

That night, the four children returned to the Gryffindor Common Room after a long afternoon in
the library.

“Nothing! Six hours of searching, and we find nothing,” Hermione fumed. “You would think that
there'd be some kind of snake out there that could petrify people, but *noooo*, all
magical gazes simply kill. URGH!” she groaned in frustration.

“Tell me again why we think it's a snake,” Blaise said, still not quite understanding their
reasoning.

“A snake is the most logical explanation, because Harry is hearing things that we can't, and
we already know that he's a Parselmouth,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “But, of course, it
could be something else, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow,” she admitted sullenly. She
looked up at Harry, who was staring at Riddle's diary. “Harry, that silly old book can wait,
we've got more important things to worry about.”

“I know,” Harry said, not looking away. “But this book…I seem drawn to it somehow.” Everyone
looked at him nervously while he set the book down. “It's starting to creep me out.”

“Here,” Hermione said, flicking her wand and muttering a revealing spell. The book shuddered for
a moment, but then became still, and nothing appeared. Then she took a revealing rubber and rubbed
the pages vigorously with it, but still nothing appeared.

“Try writing in it and see what happens,” Michael suggested. Having no better ideas, Harry
unscrewed a bottle of ink and dipped his quill in it, writing “*hi*” in the center. To
everyone's surprise, the word sank into the page, to be replaced with another “*hi*” in
response, but in an unfamiliar handwriting. Looking at everyone, who had begun hovering over his
shoulders, Harry dipped his quill and wrote, *My name is Harry Potter*.

*Hello, Harry, my name is Tom Riddle*, the diary “wrote” back.

“Ask it about the Chamber of Secrets,” Blaise suggested. Harry wrote the question down into the
diary, and eagerly awaited its response.

*Yes*. Excitement welling up within him, Harry asked if Riddle could tell him about it.

*No*. Harry's excitement immediately became disappointment. *But I can show you*.
The book started to glow from the binding, and within seconds, all four Marauders were blinded by
light, only to find themselves standing in an unfamiliar corridor. They saw the image of a young
man, presumably Tom Riddle, dressed in Slytherin colors, watching as two aurors carried a covered
body away on a stretcher.

“Mister Riddle,” an aged voice said behind them. Riddle, as well as the Marauders, turned to see
a younger Albus Dumbledore standing behind them. “Headmaster Dippet has decided that you should be
given an award for services to the school for helping to resolve this matter,” he said
half-heartedly.

“I thank you for informing me, Professor Dumbledore,” Riddle said, flashing a smile that
didn't quite reach his eyes. “I only regret that the girl died before we could figure it
out.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. He eyed Riddle analytically, and Riddle retaliated with an
emotionless stare. “Are you hiding something, Tom?”

“No, sir,” Riddle said flatly. “Nothing.” Somehow, the Marauders knew that he was lying.
Apparently satisfied with this answer, Dumbledore nodded his head and left. As soon as the older
man disappeared, Riddle took off down a hallway, the Marauders hot on his heels.

Riddle threw a door open to show a tall man, hidden in shadows and talking down at something in
front of him.

“You've really done it this time, Hagrid,” Riddle said, pointing his wand at the taller man.
“You're going to be expelled. You and your little pet.”

“No!” Hagrid shouted. “Aragog wouldn't hurt nobody!”

“We all know about your fondness for dangerous pets, Hagrid,” Riddle said in a patronizing tone.
“How you keep trying to sneak chimera eggs under your bed. When the aurors come, who do you think
they'll believe? You, a bumbling fool who can barely pass his grades, or me, a prefect, and
recent awardee for services for the school? I think you know the outcome. Now step aside,
Hagrid!”

“No!” Hagrid shouted, but accidentally knocked over a box behind him, and a large black spider
came scuttling out.

“*Arania exhumae*!” Riddle shouted, but he missed, and the spider crawled away into the
shadows. Suddenly, the Marauders found themselves thrown back into the Gryffindor Common Room. They
all looked to Hermione and Harry, the two smartest members of their little group.

“I don't think that there are any species of Acromantula that can petrify people,” Harry
said.

“There aren't,” Hermione confirmed. “The closest they have is complete physical paralysis,
but you need to be bitten for that, and no one's been sporting spider bites. Besides, you
can't bite a ghost.” Nodding, Harry dipped his quill in the ink and wrote another message.
*That's an interesting show, but there's one problem*. The reply didn't come
immediately, almost as if the diary were hesitating.

*Wha**t sort of problem*? It asked. Grinning, Harry scribbled down his answer.

*Acromantulas don't petrify people*. Without waiting for a response, Harry rekindled
the fire and threw the book into it.

“Well, I don't know about you, but that wore me out, so we'll try again tomorrow?” All
nodding and humming in agreement, they said their goodnights and walked back to their respective
dormitories.

If they had remained, they might have noticed that while it sat within the flames, the diary
would not burn.

----

Well, whatcha think?

Don't forget to read and review!

-->



6. What's in a Name?
--------------------



I don't own Harry Potter. Damn it.

----

Chapter 6 - What's in a Name?

The next morning, Harry woke up and walked down to the Common Room. He looked into the
fireplace, but he didn't see the diary. Harry simply shrugged, assuming that the book had
disintegrated and was mixed with the rest of the ashes, so he sat down and waited for his brother
and friends. Once they had all arrived, the Marauders went down to the Great Hall for
breakfast.

Over the next several weeks, it had been remarkably silent. The attacks had all but ceased, and
soon it was time for the students to return home for the Christmas holidays. (The parents of the
petrified students had been informed that they had contracted a strange new strain of influenza,
and would have to stay at Hogwarts to be treated.) Unfortunately, hours of research had turned up
nothing as to what could have caused the petrifications, nor much about the enigmatic Tom M.
Riddle.

“Something's just off about his name,” Blaise moaned in despair as they climbed the Hogwarts
Express. “If I could *just* find out what his middle name is, I could figure it out, but
it's not shown in *any* of his public records!”

“We'll figure it out, Blaise,” Harry said in an assuring tone. “Besides, aren't your
grandparents stopping by for Christmas? Maybe you could ask them,” he suggested. Blaise shrugged as
they climbed into an empty compartment and talked about life in general. About an hour later, the
door slid open to reveal Emma.

“Umm, Hermione, could I talk to you about something?” she asked nervously. “Alone?” Hermione
looked at her friends in confusion before standing up and stepping out of the compartment.

“Okay, Emma, what's this important message you have to give me?” Hermione asked, crossing
her arms and tapping her fingers. Emma looked around nervously and leaned over as if to whisper
something to Hermione.

“I think…” she began, but stopped, as if the words had gotten stuck in her throat. She swallowed
and tried again. “I think—” she began, but was cut off by a vacant voice coming from beside
them.

“There you are, Emma,” a small blonde first-year girl with wide eyes and a variety of strange
knickknacks handing from her body. “I was afraid that the four-toed snoplicks had gotten you.”
Hermione looked from the seemingly insane girl to Emma and back again.

“Hermione, this is Luna Lovegood,” Emma introduced. “Luna, this is my sister Hermione.” Luna
shifted her gaze to Hermione, who fidgeted slightly at her stare.

“A pleasure,” Luna said, taking Hermione's limp hand and shaking it. “Anyone who can ward
off the three-tongued wipsnags is fine by me.” She paused a moment, as if in thought, before
continuing. “My name is Luna, but most people call me Loony.” Now Hermione was getting very nervous
about this strange girl, and politely broke away and went back into her compartment.

“What was that about?” Michael asked as Hermione sat down.

“I wonder about my sister, sometimes…” she muttered, mostly to herself as she shook her head.
“Emma was going to tell me something, but we got interrupted by some girl named Luna Lovegood.”
Blaise perked up at this.

“Did you say `Lovegood?'” she asked. Hermione nodded her head slowly. “My mum talks about
that family. Says that they're a little…” she trailed off, holding a finger to her head and
twirling it, indicating their questionable sanity. They made idle conversation the rest of the
journey and went their separate ways once they exited the train station.

“We've got a guest with us today; a cousin of mine I hadn't seen since she was younger
than you two,” Sirius said as they walked back to 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Explain to me again why we aren't Apparating?” Michael shivered as they drudged through the
snow.

“It builds character,” Sirius said simply. “Besides, it's not that far away.” After what
seemed like an eternity, even though it was only half an hour, they arrived at the doorstep of the
Black household, and stepped in, shaking off their snow-covered clothes. They stepped inside the
dining room to see Lizzie talking to a nineteen-year-old woman with bubblegum-pink hair and clothes
that wouldn't look out of place at a muggle punk rock concert, with Remus holding Morgan on his
knee with one hand and sipping tea with the other. Lizzie looked up to see her husband and children
and smiled widely. She rushed over and pulled them both into a tight embrace.

“I'm so glad that you two are alright,” she said as she squeezed the air out of their lungs.
When she finally relinquished her death grip, she raised a hand to the young woman sitting at the
table. “Tonks, this is Harry and Michael. Boys, this is Nym—”

“Tonks!” the girl interrupted loudly. “Just Tonks, please,” she added in a calmer tone. She
stood up and walked closer to the two boys, tripping over her own feet as she did so. “You're a
lot bigger than the last time I saw you. But then again, the last time I saw you two, you were both
in diapers and drooling on everything, so I doubt that counts.”

“Tonks tells me that she was accepted into the auror program,” Lizzie said as she took Morgan
from Remus' hands so he could refill his teacup. Sirius raised his eyebrows at her in
surprise.

“Wow, Tonks, I'm impressed,” Sirius said sincerely. “I didn't think you had it in you.”
Tonks chuckled modestly and shrugged.

“The stealth training part was really tough, but I managed to scrape by, and everything else is
a breeze, so I'll probably get my graduation certificate next year,” she said. A soft buzzing
came from Tonks' pocket, and she reached in to see her wand glowing blue and vibrating.
“I've got to go, training starts again in ten minutes. Well, it's been nice seeing you all
again,” she said, giving everyone a quick hug. “Bye, Remus,” she said flirtatiously. Remus just
gave a half-hearted wave in response. Sirius watched Tonks leave and turned to Remus, grinning.

“Ooh, looks like someone has a crush on dear Moony,” he said, walking over and slapping Remus on
the back. “Good for you, mate; it's about time you got a girl.”

“Not happening,” Remus said flatly, shrugging Sirius' hand off of his shoulder. “I'm too
old for her.”

“How old are you, Remus?” Lizzie asked as she gave Morgan her pacifier.

“About thirty-five,” Remus said dully. Lizzie did some quick math in her head and nodded.

“So that's...sixteen years. I had a friend back in California whose parents were thirteen
years apart. You're both consenting adults, what's the harm?” Lizzie asked.

“It's not consensual if I don't consent,” Remus snorted. “Besides, what about my
little...problem?” he continued.

“I have two words for you, Moony,” Sirius said. “`Wolfsbane' and `basement.'”

“That's three words, *Paddy cake*,” Remus said sarcastically. Sirius blanched at the
pet name that Remus used for him.

“I told you not to call me that!” Sirius whined.

“`Paddy cake?'” Lizzie said in disbelief.

“Don't listen to him, dear!” Sirius said desperately. “Don't believe a word he
says!”

“Oh yes, it was very funny,” Remus said dreamily, drifting back into distant memories. “Sirius
was sleeping in on Christmas morning, and we were tired of waiting for him, so we...” he
reminisced, but he was cut off by a silencing charm from Sirius.

“Aww...” Lizzie, Harry and Michael groaned in disappointment.

“That's one childhood memory that I'd love to forget,” Sirius grumbled as he slid his
wand back into his pocket.

“You're no fun,” Michael muttered.

------

Miles away, Blaise was reluctantly mingling with her relatives. It turns out that her parents
had stretched the truth about her grandparents arriving for the holidays. It was a bloody family
reunion! *Pompous gits*, she thought to herself when she looked at her two cousins, flaunting
around like they owned the Zabini mansion. What's more, she still hadn't been able to find
her maternal grandfather to ask him about Tom Riddle. *I hate being short*, she thought
sulkily.

After almost two hours of searching, she had finally found her grandfather talking to a distant
relative she couldn't remember the name of about something.

“Grandpa Icarus, can I ask you something, please?” Blaise asked, smiling sweetly.

“Of course, sweetheart. Excuse me, Arcturus,” Icarus Zabini said. Nodding, the other man left to
mingle with the other guests. “Now, what can I help you with, dear?”


“You went to Hogwarts during the 1940's, correct?” Blaise asked. At his nod, she continued.
“I've been doing an extracurricular project involving Tom Riddle, but I haven't been able
to find his middle name. I was hoping that you might know it.” Icarus furrowed his brow in
concentration, and relaxed his face a minute later.

“I think his middle name was Marvolo,” he said. “Yes, that was it. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was a
powerful wizard, but I was never interested in joining that little club of his....” he trailed off.
He shook himself out of his reverie, and looked down at Blaise. “Is that all you needed?”

“Yup, thanks, Grandpa,” Blaise said. She hugged him and ran up to her room to get a piece of
parchment and a quill. She dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started writing.

**TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

Blaise tickled her chin with the feather of her quill, chewing on the end in thought. Staring at
the letters, she noticed something. Going lower on the parchment, she began writing again.

------

The next week, Harry and Michael said good-bye to their parents, and walked through the barrier
at King's Cross Station to climb onto the Hogwarts Express. They walked into their usual
compartment to see Blaise sitting anxiously.

“Hey, guys,” she said. “When Hermione shows up, I have something to tell you.” Soon, Hermione
showed up, and Blaise locked the door tightly. “Okay, I asked my grandfather about Riddle's
middle name, and he said that it was Marvolo,” she rambled, pulling a piece of parchment out of her
pocket. “I thought there was something off with the name, so I started messing around with the
letters. Last night, I figured it out,” she continued, showing the parchment to the others. On it
was written two sentences.

**TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

**I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

----

I hope that you liked this one. This part of the series is almost over!


Don't forget to read and review!

Edited 9/30/2007 for a timeline error.

-->



7. Revealing the Fraud
----------------------



Nothing to see here; move along.

While writing this chapter, I noticed my math in the previous chapter was a bit off. I'll
get to that momentarily.

I don't own Harry Potter.

----

Chapter 7 - Revealing the Fraud

“*What?!*” the other three Marauders exclaimed at Blaise's revelation.

“Yeah, that magic diary we found has a piece of Voldemort in it,” Blaise said.

“But…it's gone now, Harry burned it, right?” Michael said nervously. Hermione shook her
head.

“We didn't actually see it burn. For all we know, someone could have pulled it out after we
had gone to bed,” Hermione explained, “which means that anyone with access to Gryffindor Tower is a
suspect.”

“This is bad,” Harry groaned, holding his head in his hands. “We have someone running around
with a book enchanted with dark magic, and we don't have the slightest clue where to start.”
They spent the rest of the train ride discussing the diary, and who could have taken it.

“The thing is, the diary probably doesn't care who carries it. It could have been grabbed by
the first first-year that walked by, even…” Hermione trailed off as she came to a realization.
“Emma,” she gasped, wrenching the compartment door open and running down the train, her friends
trailing behind her. Hermione eventually found Emma in a compartment with Luna Lovegood and several
other first-years. “Emma, I need to talk to you,” Hermione panted. Frowning, Emma stood up and
walked out of the compartment, closing the door.

“What is it?” Emma asked, confused.

“Right before we left for the holidays, did you find anything in the Gryffindor fireplace? A
book perhaps?” Hermione asked nervously. She sighed in relief when Emma shook her head.

“Nope, all I saw was a fresh pile of logs. Hermione, what's this about?” Hermione shook her
head at her sister.

“It's nothing, Sis. I'm just…worried, and I don't know why,” Hermione lied. “Go back
to your friends,” she said before turning around and walking back to her own compartment. Frowning,
Emma slid the compartment door open and walked back to her friends, who were asking what had
happened.

Hours later, the Hogwarts Express rumbled to a stop at Hogsmeade Station, and the students rode
the thestral-drawn carriages back to Hogwarts. When the students sat down in the Great Hall,
Dumbledore stood up to address the crowd.

“I hope that you have enjoyed the Christmas holidays,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “While you
have been away, we at Hogwarts have tirelessly investigated the incidents that had happened last
semester, and we have determined it to be a tasteless prank. As the mandrakes are near full
maturity, the petrification cure will hopefully be administered within the next month. Now, tuck
in!” The majority of the student population seemed to buy this excuse, but the Marauders snorted at
this announcement.

“As long as Riddle's diary is floating around, the castle isn't safe; whatever's
been doing this is only biding its time,” Harry said darkly as he speared a potato onto his plate.
“And what's more, we have no bloody clue as to what Slytherin's monster is.”

“Can't we just tell McGonnagal or someone about the diary?” Michael asked. Hermione shook
her head in response.

“Even if we gave her our memories, there was nothing in that vision that implied that Riddle had
anything to do with this incident or the last one,” she said sadly.

“But we all saw Riddle frame Hagrid!” Michael tried to argue.

“What we saw was Riddle confronting Hagrid with what at the time was solid evidence,” Hermione
responded. “It's no secret that Hagrid has a…interest in dangerous creatures, so it
wouldn't be too difficult to convince the Ministry that the attacks were a result of one of
Hagrid's pets running loose.” Michael settled down when he realized that she was right; they
had no conclusive evidence that Riddle was behind the attacks.

“So what do we do now?” Blaise asked. Harry sighed tiredly.

“We keep researching, and we wait,” he said. “Unfortunately, we can't do any more than
that.”

The weeks went by, and the castle still remained silent from attacks. However, the mandrakes had
become afflicted with disease, which had delayed their maturity, so the mandrake potion had to be
postponed for several weeks.

Meanwhile, the Marauders still spent most of their spare time in the library, researching back
issues of the *Daily Prophet* to find the news of the death the last time the Chamber of
Secrets was opened. Today, they had hidden in a far corner of the library so Harry could open the
Marauder's Map.

“Okay, so the first attack was Mrs. Norris, which was here,” Harry said, pointing at a specific
point on the map.

“Yeah, and Nick and Justin were found here,” Hermione said, pointing to a different point on the
map. “Shame we don't know where Penelope Clearwater was found.”

“We've got to make due with what we've got,” Harry said, shrugging. “So, what do these
two positions have in common?” Harry tapped his chin in thought when Michael and Blaise came up
holding a yellow newspaper.

“We've found it,” Michael said proudly as Blaise dropped the bundle of parchment onto the
desk. Their attention torn from the map, neither Harry nor Hermione noticed a dot wander into the
second floor girls' bathroom, and then suddenly disappear.

“On April 12, 1944, a Muggleborn third-year named Myrtle Meyers died due to unknown causes in a
girl's bathroom…” she began to read, but trailed off as she noticed the looks that the others
were giving her.

“Moaning Myrtle,” they all said simultaneously. They stayed only long enough for Harry to erase
his map and stuff it into his pocket before they dashed to bathroom that the ghost haunted, but
skidded to a stop when they saw the entire Hogwarts staff standing before the wall that had the
message on it. The original message had been erased, a new one taking its place.

**HER BONES WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS FOREVER**

The Marauders hid behind a corner while they watched the teachers talk to each other in worried
tones.

“Do we know who was taken?” Professor Sprout asked.

“A Gryffindor first year, Ginevra Weasley,” Professor McGonnagal said, looking nearly in tears.
“Merlin, I can't believe this is happening.”

“Well, I believe that this is your moment to shine,” Snape said abruptly. Everybody turned their
heads to him. “After all, haven't you been boasting all during the holidays that you already
knew the location of the Chamber of Secrets, Gilderoy?” Everyone turned their gazes to Lockhart,
who began shifting nervously.

“Well, you see—” he began, but was cut off by Professor Flitwick.

“Indeed, you been saying for months that the monster was lucky that it went into hiding, or you
would have slain it already!” the diminutive man squeaked.

“Well, this is indeed your moment, Gilderoy,” Professor McGonnagal said. “Why don't you go
and retrieve Miss Weasley if you can.” Lockhart gulped, and looked ready to run away as fast as he
could.

“R-right,” he said nervously. “Let me just go to my office for a minute and get ready,” he said
before walking away. Looking at each other, the Marauders decided to follow him. By the time they
reached Lockhart's office, they saw that all of his self-portraits had been stripped down from
the walls, and he was throwing clothes haphazardly into suitcases.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, startling the man.

“O-oh, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, Mister Black, Miss Zabini,” Lockhart chuckled nervously,
knowing that he was caught in a rather compromising position.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked, looking at the various suitcases strewn about.

“Where am I going? Oh, yes, I've just received an urgent call, unavoidable, got to go,” he
said quickly, resuming his packing.

“What about the girl?” Blaise spat angrily.

“Miss Weasley? Terrible, terrible tragedy, but unfortunately something I cannot deal with right
now,” Lockhart said, not looking at them.

“But…but what about all those books you've written? All those adventures you've been
on?” Hermione asked.

“My dear girl, use your common sense!” Lockhart snapped. “Those books wouldn't have sold
nearly as well if people had known that I didn't do them!” Lockhart sighed, drawing his wand.
“Now, unfortunately I have to *obliviate* the lot of you so my dirty little secret won't
get out.” He turned towards them to cast the spell, only to find four wands trained on him. Michael
held out his hand, and Lockhart wisely placed his wand in Michael's hand.

“Now, we are going to the Chamber of Secrets, and you're coming with us,” Harry said
coldly.

“I don't really see how I can be much help to you,” Lockhart said nervously.

“Two words: human shield,” Harry said. “Now move!” With the situation against him, Lockhart had
no choice but to comply with their demands, and they led him to the second floor girls'
bathroom.

“Myrtle, how did you die?” Harry asked. The specter giggled girlishly before answering.

“Oh, it was awful,” she said. “I was here, crying, because people made fun of my glasses, when I
heard a boy. He was hissing and spitting, and I opened the door to tell him that boys weren't
allowed in here, when I saw a pair of big, yellow eyes staring right at me, and then…I died.”

“Where were these eyes?” Harry asked. Instead of answering, Myrtle simply pointed silently at
the sinks in the center of the room. Harry inspected the sinks, and saw that one of the taps had a
small snake stamped onto the side. He tried turning the knob, but it wouldn't budge.

“That sink has been broken for years now,” Myrtle said.

“Try speaking Parseltongue to it, Harry,” Michael suggested. Shrugging, Harry concentrated on a
snake in his mind before bending down to the tap and whispering.

“*Open*,” he hissed softly. A soft rumbling echoed throughout the room as the sinks shifted
out and down into the ground, revealing a large, dark hole.

“Wow, looks rather deep…” Lockhart said delicately before he was shoved down the hole,
screaming. A few seconds later, a loud splash was heard. “It is really quite filthy down here,”
Lockhart said dryly. Shrugging, the Marauders jumped down the hole one by one, falling down a
slippery slide into a pool of filthy water, rodent skeletons floating on the surface. After wading
onto solid ground and drying themselves off, they walked down the large, cave-like pipe.


After several minutes of walking, everyone froze in shock when they saw something long and green.
Lockhart even went so far as to faint.

“Is that a snake skin?” Michael asked, paling.

“Yep,” Hermione answered, reacting similarly.

“Only one thing can make a skin that big,” Blaise said faintly.

“A basilisk,” they all said. Lockhart suddenly revived and snatched his wand from Michael's
pocket and pointed it at the children.

“Excellent work, children, now I'm going to be taking this skin back with me,” Lockhart said
defiantly. “I'll tell the others about how you saw poor Miss Weasley's mangled corpse, and
went insane at the sight, and you won't be around to say otherwise. *Obliviate*!” he
yelled, a blue light firing from his wand.

“*Protego*!” the Marauders yelled, and the spell bounced back towards Lockhart, sending him
flying into a wall. Unfortunately, the impact had caused a cave-in to collapse around them,
separating Harry from the rest of the group.

“Guys, are you all right?!” Harry yelled through the rock wall.

“We're fine, Harry, just a little bruised!” Hermione's muffled voice replied from the
other side. “You keep going, we'll dig our way out from here!” she added. Sighing, Harry
gripped his wand and continued down the dark, cold cavern deep into the bowels of Hogwarts, and
towards an unknown danger.

----

One chapter left, kids!

I'm assuming that all the attacks were fairly close to Myrtle's bathroom, since I refuse
to believe that the entire castle is situated with so many fifteen-foot-diameter pipelines and
accompanying openings that a basilisk can have free reign of Hogwarts and *not be seen*.

Don't forget to read and review!

-->



8. Ruling the Terrible Beast
----------------------------



The final chapter of this book is upon us! This answers the question of what Emma was going to
tell Hermione a couple of chapters back, reveal the next book's bad guy(s), and prelude to a
couple of surprises for next book.

As usual, I don't own Harry Potter. I own Lizzie Black, Michael Black, Whizzy the house elf,
this incarnation of Blaise Zabini, and Emma Granger. Everything else belongs to Rowling.

----

Chapter 8 - Ruling the Terrible Beast

The sound of Harry's feet splashing in little puddles on the floor echoed throughout the
cavernous area as he stopped in front of a large iron door with ornate serpents on the front, their
heads extending past the edge of the door.

“*Open*,” Harry hissed, and the grating sound of metal scraping against metal rang
throughout the cave as the serpents contracted, extracting their heads from the stone doorframe.
After the last snake had retracted its head from the wall, the door swung open with a mighty groan.
Drawing his wand, Harry cautiously stalked into the new chamber. This new chamber was a radical
change from the cave before, with its polished black marble floor and pillars, and its large
serpentine sentinels, and the large figure of Salazar Slytherin encompassing the entire far wall.
In the center of the chamber, laid a small redheaded girl with a black book in her hand and the
imposing teenage form of Tom Riddle.

“Ah, Harry, how nice of you to join us,” Riddle said coldly. Harry glared at him darkly, his
hand clenched tightly against his wand. “I'm sure you're wondering how I got here,
aren't you?” Riddle continued rhetorically. “It was quite simple really. I was taken into the
castle by a silly little Mudblood girl. Emma, I believe. She was intrigued by me, a talking book.
She began to pour her heart out into me, and being an understanding friend, I was obligated to
respond,” he continued, bored. “But she became suspicious. She felt something was wrong about me,
so she disposed of me. But then I fell into your hands, Harry. Unfortunately, you saw through my
little white lie, and threw me into the fire. Obviously, I couldn't have that, so I was forced
to grab hold of the first first-year that passed me by, who just so happened to be this girl,” he
said, nudging Ginny with his foot. “I possessed her, and took her down here to rejuvenate me. And
now we shall see how the Boy-Who-Lived fares against the Heir of Slytherin.” Turning to the head of
Slytherin, he began hissing and spitting in Parseltongue. “*I call to you, Salazar Slytherin,
greatest of the Hogwarts four! Grant me your beast!*”

The mouth of Slytherin slowly slid open, and a low hissing emanated from beyond the void within.
Moments later, a giant green snake slithered out, shrieking.

“*Kill him*!” Riddle shouted in Parseltongue. Harry immediately turned around and ran away
as the basilisk lunged at him, smashing a shallow crater into the ground. Harry ducked behind a
statue as he weighed his options.

*Okay, I can't kill it with spells, and there aren't any roosters around, so my only
chance is to transfigure a mirror*, Harry thought to himself. He flinched as the basilisk struck
the pillar he was hiding behind, showering him with debris. Grabbing a fist-sized rock, Harry
dashed to a different pillar. He pointed his wand at the rock and tried to remember the spell to
transfigure objects into metal.

“*Transfiguro metallica*,” Harry muttered, and the stone turned into a flat piece of
dull-looking steel. “*Chromia*,” Harry said again, and the metal turned into shiny, polished
chrome. “*Engorgio*,” he chanted, and it grew until it was almost as big as he was. He heard
the basilisk slithering towards him to strike again, he closed his eyes and slid the piece of metal
into view, hiding behind it.

The basilisk found where its prey was hiding and slithered there. Rearing its head to strike, it
brought its head down, but when it saw the glint of something reflective being dragged out into the
open, it instinctively turned its head, striking its head on the considerably harder floor. Harry
poked his head out from behind his shield to see the dazed basilisk shake its head and begin
slithering away from him.

“*What are you doing*?!” Riddle screamed in rage. “*He's right there, you fool! Kill
him*!” Harry was surprised when the giant serpent shook its head.

“*I will not dare attack that thing; I will not risk my life for something so scrawny*,” it
hissed. Harry didn't know whether to be relieved that the basilisk was refusing to attack him,
or insulted that it had called him scrawny. Riddle's face twisted in rage.

“Very well, I shall get rid of him myself. *Reducto*!” he shouted, and Harry instinctively
cast a shield, deflecting the hex. Suddenly, Harry was struck with an idea.

“*Kill him*!” Harry shouted in Parseltongue, pointing to Riddle.

“*Do not listen to him*!” Riddle raged. “*I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin; I am your
master! You* **will** *obey me*!”

“*What has he offered you*?” Harry asked the basilisk. “*A chance to get out and stretch
your coils every fifty years? Obey me, and I will let you have all the wild animals you wish! I
will even grant you your freedom*!” For several tense seconds, no one said anything. Finally,
the basilisk inclined its head, still facing away from Harry.

“*We have a bargain, Snake-Tongue*,” the basilisk said before swinging its tail at Riddle,
sending him flying across the room and hitting the wall with enough force to kill an ordinary man.
However, since Riddle was far from ordinary, he survived, his robes disheveled.

“*Avada Kedavra*!” Riddle shouted, and the green curse flew from his wand and hit the
basilisk in the face. It did not die, but blood and gore was splattered everywhere, including
several fangs. While the two were distracted, Harry ran to Ginny Weasley and kicked the diary out
of her hand before pressing his fingers to her neck, feeling a faint pulse. Harry looked at the
diary to see a fresh, bloody basilisk fang lying next to it. Picking up the large fang and being
careful not to cut himself with it, he brought it down on the diary, ink spraying like blood from
the puncture. He heard Riddle screaming in the background, but Harry simply kept stabbing the diary
over and over again until it stopped “bleeding”. At that point, there were several large holes
burned into the diary, and his entire front was black with sprayed ink.

“*What are your orders now, master*?” the basilisk hissed, staying far away from Harry.

“*Is there a way out of here? One that does not lead into the castle*?” Harry asked.

“*Indeed, there is, master*,” the basilisk replied.

“*Then go out through there. Go somewhere far away from here, from human contact. Once there,
you will be free, and I will never trouble you again*,” Harry ordered. The basilisk obediently
slithered back into its lair within Slytherin's mouth, and Harry didn't move until he could
hear the snake no longer. He looked down at the still unconscious Ginny Weasley, and sighed
exhaustedly. A couple of minutes later, a pillar of fire appeared before Harry, before revealing a
crimson and golden phoenix. Harry watched wordlessly as the bird hopped over to Ginny Weasley,
resting on her arm. A moment later, they both disappeared in a burst of flame, only for the phoenix
to reappear a moment later. Before Harry could say anything, it flew onto his shoulder, and he
suddenly found himself standing in the hospital wing, surrounded by his friends.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Michael said, lying on his own cot.

“How long have you been here?” Harry asked. Michael shrugged.

“Couple minutes,” he said. “We managed to dig our way out, but we got stuck at that big door. A
little while later, the phoenix came in and took us here. A few seconds later, you show up.”

“I wonder who the phoenix belonged to,” Blaise mused out loud.

“Dumbledore, most likely,” Harry said as he sat down on an empty cot. “Which means he'll
probably come up to me and spout out some crap about how it would only come to me if I were loyal
to him or something like that,” he continued dully.

“Enough about that, what happened?” Blaise asked, and they all leaned in to hear Harry retell
his story.

To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore didn't approach him about the phoenix. The day after the
diary was destroyed, Dumbledore addressed the students, saying that the petrified students had been
cured and the “threat” had passed. The Marauders noticed that Dumbledore seemed to be thinner than
usual.

After Lockhart had awoken, it was discovered that his deflected spell had completely wiped his
memories, and had to be taken to St. Mungo's. Because of the lack of a Defense Against the Dark
Arts professor, the other teachers had to share the duty between each other to fill it in.

The night before the school year ended, the Marauders were talking amongst themselves when Emma
showed up.

“Can I speak to Hermione alone please?” she asked. Nodding, Hermione stood up and followed her
sister to the girls' dormitories. “Okay, Sis, remember that time on the train I tried to talk
to you?” she asked nervously. When Hermione nodded her head, Emma continued. “Well, I don't
think it matters, but I think...I think Professor Lockhart may have been a poofter,” she whispered
softly. Hermione just stared at her sister, her jaw hanging.

“What?” she finally said. Whatever she had expected Emma to say, it wasn't that.

“A while ago, I went to his office to ask him something about the assignment, but I heard him
moaning and saying things like `you handsome devil, you,' and I freaked out and ran,” Emma
said, shuddering. Hermione laughed and hugged her sister.

“Don't worry about it, Emma,” she said. “Now go finish packing; we're leaving tomorrow,”
she added, nudging Emma back to her dormitory before going back to her own to find anything that
she had forgotten.

The next day at breakfast, Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat, immediately grabbing the
attention of the student body.

“Students, I have an announcement to make,” Dumbledore said boldly. “For years I have overseen
this school, but now I feel that I must pass that mantle to someone else. Therefor, it is today
that I am formally announcing my retirement.” All of the students gasped simultaneously at this
announcement. “Next year, Professor McGonnagal will be your Headmistress, so expect to see a new
Transfiguration teacher next fall. That is all,” he finished, sitting back down. The rest of the
morning and train ride back to London was about this news. When they got off the train, they saw
their parents waiting for them.

“Where's Uncle Moony?” Michael asked as they walked back to 12 Grimmauld Place.


“At an interview,” Lizzie said, cradling Morgan. “He's trying for a part-time position at a
store down the street. He's probably trying to get enough money to move out,” she added,
shaking her head.

“There's another surprise for you two,” Sirius said as he clapped both boys on the shoulder.
“This summer, we're going to work on your Animagus forms, and make you into true Marauders!” he
said proudly.

“Wicked!” Harry and Michael both said. Sirius just shrugged modestly.

“Hey, maybe you can write your girlfriends, and they can come by and work on it with you,” he
added teasingly, earning him a swat on the chest from his wife.

“Agh, don't abuse me in front of the children!” Sirius gasped, clutching his chest
dramatically. Lizzie just rolled her eyes and held Morgan up.

“Your daddy is so silly,” she said to the baby. Morgan just giggled and drooled in response.

The next morning, Blaise woke up and walked to the kitchen to see the morning *Prophet*
lying on the counter. She paid the owl from a jar full of Knuts on the counter and unrolled the
paper. When she saw the headline, she gasped and dropped the paper, stunned by what it said in
large bold letters.

**MASS BREAKOUT AT AZKABAN! CROUCH, PETTIGREW AND LESTRANGE AT LARGE!**

----

Final chapter, yay!

Dumbledore may be retired, but I'm not quite done with him. I've still got plans for
him, and Hogwarts in general.

Who here was wasn't expecting Emma's revelation? Be honest now.

The new Marauders' Animagus forms will be revealed early next book.

Don't forget to read and review!

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