The library had always been Elias’ favorite place in Hogwarts. Stripped though it was of most useful things, it was still quiet and calm and full of things to learn. He was not permitted to take any but the blandest of books off the shelves now but it was enough, mostly, to just wander the stacks and feel the weight of knowledge and history around him.
Today he was here with a purpose. Elias did not pretend to care about other people, but care and interest were very different things. One Harry Potter had elicited quite a good deal of interest. Elias had not bothered himself with the boy until the day he encountered Potter and little Theodore Nott. Both of them seemed off, wrong, and Elias had always enjoyed finding out just what was different about unusual things.
He had studied Potter from afar and concluded him to be a clever and untrusting boy. Elias would have to present a motivation Potter could understand, so that he felt in control. Which led him to here, today, stepping around a shelf.
“Good evening, Miss Bole.”
Portia Bole frowned up at him. Elias supposed she was attractive enough, or would be in time, if one cared about such things. Deep-set dark eyes, bones that were strong and symmetrical under some clinging pockets of childish pudge, masses of thick dark hair. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Elias Graves, at your service.” He sat in the seat opposite her at her isolated little library table. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Not interested,” she said coldly.
“Not that kind of proposition. A simple trade of favors. Surely you are familiar with the custom,” he said.
Bole narrowed her eyes. “What kind of favor?”
“Well, it’s quite simple. You see, I have been disciplined for certain experiments the powers that be found slightly… distasteful. Every book I remove from the shelves is recorded automatically, and there are many that I would prefer to read without others knowing.”
“You want me to get books for you.” Bole closed what looked like an advanced book on anatomy of magical creatures and leaned forward. Excellent. “What’s in it for me?”
Elias laughed softly. She was so unafraid. “I see your brother taught you to play the game, Miss Bole. Fortunately, the trade I propose is quite simple. My family is from the Americas, perhaps you know this. I have access to a trove of books on the magical practices, flora, and fauna of the lands across the sea, which as you may have noticed is sadly quite lacking in Hogwarts’ lovely library. I will loan you these books, permit you to copy those which are not too decayed to support a geminio, in exchange.”
“One book loaned for every five I remove from the shelves,” she said immediately. “I won’t check any out for you if someone would notice a second year reading them, and I get to pick what books are too risky for me to check out.”
Such easy terms. It was preferable to make deals with Ravenclaws. Slytherins did so much negotiating, but Bole had laid out what she knew would be an acceptable bargain for them both, taking the shortest path towards satisfying both of their objectives. “I accept, Miss Bole. Would you care to begin now?” He lifted his satchel to the table, which already had a selection of two dozen or so books from his family library.
Bole’s eyes were positively alight, and Elias smiled.
-----
“Today we will be studying Engorgement Charms.” Vihaan flicked his wand, and writing began to appear on the chalkboard in time with his lecture. Harry unhappily began to take notes. “The subject will grow continuously for as long as you hold the spell.”
A hand shot into the air. Vihaan glanced over. “Yes, Mr. Finnegan?”
“So you could make, like, a dog the size of a house?” Finnegan said, sounding way too eager for Harry’s peace of mind.
“The draw on your magical core grows exponentially the larger the size gets,” Vihaan said. “Theoretically, yes, you could, but if a dog a meter long takes for example ten imaginary units of magic to double in size, then growing it from two to meters to three would require not ten but perhaps one hundred magic units.”
“Oh.” Finnegan looked crestfallen. “So what about body parts then?”
This got a round of muffled laughter from the boys in the classroom, and blushes from the girls who got it. Harry had to hide a smile–not at the juvenile humor, he’d been thoroughly desensitized to that by the older Muggles at St. Hedwig’s, but at the constipated look on Vihaan’s face.
“The Engorgement Charm can effectively be used on body parts,” Vihaan said, and had to raise his voice to be heard as he continued, “but you may find yourself suddenly sporting broken bones or severe internal damage. Your bodies are not designed to support wildly swollen heads. At least once, someone broke their neck because of an ill-advised use of the Engorgement Charm. Which is to say, do not use this on yourself or another student under any circumstances.”
He swept a glare around the now-much-cowed classroom. “Now, if we can return to our regular material?”
No one objected, so Vihaan continued after a minute or so of extremely painful silence. “The Engorgement Charm works by essentially doubling the space between all the particles that make up whatever you cast it on. It is only a temporary effect, as is the case for all Charms.”
Greengrass’ hand went up. Vihaan pointed at her. “Professor, what about the Geminio Charm? I know it’s taught later, but I thought copies made using it were permanent?”
Harry really hoped so, since he had been intending to learn that charm sometime in third year and start copying books from Hogwarts’ library.
Vihaan paused for a long second. “Excellent question, Miss Greengrass, and a tricky one to answer. Who can tell me the definition of a Charm? Mr. Potter?”
Lowering his hand, Harry said, “A Charm is a spell that works changes on matter at the macro level.”
“Expand on that answer,” Vihaan said.
Harry paused. He didn’t know much physics, but– “There are tiny pieces of matter that make up everything, and if you get down to small enough pieces, they’re all basically interchangeable. Charms don’t affect that level at all. Fixing a tear in a cloak repairs the fabric, but it doesn’t change the fabric into something else. If the geminio charm creates permanent copies, then it can’t technically be a Charm.”
“Five points to Slytherin.” Vihaan does not look happy about this. “Mr. Potter is correct. There are in fact two versions of this spell, neither of which is actually a charm at all. The Duplicate Charm, geminio, is a transfiguration spell that became so widely used that someone developed a separate incantation for it, rather than using the more broadly applicable incantations you’ll learn in Transfiguration. This makes it substantially easier to learn but was only possible because so many people used it so frequently that it evolved into its own distinct spell. Some call this the “imprint effect”, wherein magic is an entity outside of our spells, and a newly created spell is easier to cast once it has been impressed upon this nebulous concept.” Vihaan’s dismissive voice left no doubt as to his thoughts about that theory. “While it has not been proven false, keep in mind that no one has ever proven or demonstrated the existence of magic outside our bodies into which a spell could possibly be imprinted.
“Copies using this variant of the spell essentially divide the total amount of matter between the original and copy, and the copy will last for between a week to five years, depending on the item’s size and the strength of the spell, before it degrades. The other variant, which you will not learn at Hogwarts, is an alchemical spell of the conjuration class that magically creates an exact copy of the original item out of nothing. Those copies are permanent, and use of that spell is restricted.”
Well there went his plan to copy the entire Restricted Section, although a book that he got to keep for a year or two wasn’t the worst thing. Harry’s hand shot into the air. Vihaan pointed at him with a long-suffering look on his face, which Harry ignored. “Could you elaborate more on the imprint theory, sir?”
“That, Mr. Potter, is a subject which will be covered in NEWT History of Magic, should any of you pursue that class.” The general apathy of the class to this remark suggested that most of them would not. “Moving along. The incantation for this Charm is Engorgio, and the wand motion is as follows.” Chalk scribbled across the blackboard. “Mr. Runcorn, Miss Brown, if you could please pass out these pebbles to your classmates. The Engorgement Charm works best on inanimate objects that are mostly made of the same substance and that have clear boundaries. You would have a very difficult time casting it specifically on a fist-sized patch of rock that had not been cut out of the ground. We will spend the rest of the class attempting to cast engorgio on these rocks.”
Harry took the grey stone from the box Lavender Brown lugged over to him and set it on his desk. He must not have concealed his irritation very well, though, because Professor Vihaan was at his side in an instant. “Is this lesson beneath you, Mr. Potter?”
“No, Professor,” Harry said, and suddenly decided to throw caution to the wind. “Why do you ask, sir?”
“Five points from Slytherin for blatant disrespect,” Vihaan snapped.
Harry’s eyes narrowed. Almost without thinking, his wand snapped into his hand and jabbed at the rock. “Engorgio.”
Savage satisfaction rushed through him as it immediately began to swell. Within a few seconds, it had doubled in size, and Harry cut off the flow of magic.
Vihaan looked a bit like he’d swallowed a lesson, but he awarded Slytherin three points and moved on to answer some of Granger’s questions.
“So he’ll talk to her about advanced magical theory, but not us,” he heard Greengrass mutter from a few seats over. “Typical.”
***
When Harry found out about Portia’s deal with Elias Graves, he was instantly suspicious.
The older boy was either a genius or a psychopath, depending on who you asked. Harry had done a small favor (acquiring an extremely rare book from the Restricted Section for an older Slytherin) and in return gotten what the Slytherins knew of Graves. It was generally agreed that his family had left Britain two hundred-odd years ago, fleeing rumors of some unspecified but horrible secret. They’d established themselves across the pond but supported Grindelwald during the thirties and forties, and the descendants of that generation of Graves had been “encouraged” by MACUSA to go back to Britain, where their reputation had faded somewhat with time. Not fully, though, and Graves had been something of a loner long before he showed up at Hogwarts.
He’d accumulated a string of detentions through his first and second years that ended in his access to the library being temporarily revoked, and had only gotten it back this year, with the caveat that any book he took off the shelf would be recorded and sent to his Head of House, the Headmaster, and the Deputy Head for review. No one really knew what exactly he’d done to earn all of these detentions, which was in itself unnerving, because Slytherins usually either knew or could find out information of that sort. Mostly, though, Harry thought he’d gathered a fairly accurate picture of Elias Graves, and he was far too clever to have accidentally started up some kind of bargain with one of Harry’s known associates. There were plenty of older Slytherins and Ravenclaws who’d be happy to strike some kind of deal with him and with whom he could have much less suspicious contact than a second-year. No, he’d targeted Portia for a reason, and Harry intended to find out why.
And for that, he had to let Graves think it was working, and get close to the older boy himself. So Harry found himself tailing Graves around the school under his Invisibility Cloak in every spare minute, and enlisting Raza to follow him when Harry couldn’t.
Raza complained about this quite a lot, but they both knew he was all hiss and no bite. He liked having things to do and the challenge of following someone like Graves was a fun one for the serpent.
“He spends a lot of time watching you,” Raza informed Harry after about a week of this. “When he thinks you do not notice.”
Well, and Harry hadn’t, so thank Merlin for his familiar.
Getting in and out of Ravenclaw Tower was difficult for a number of reasons, so Harry didn’t try to follow Graves there. Besides, who knew what kind of wards the creepy boy put on his room; Harry was probably too young and inexperienced to break them. He’d afford Graves the kind of wariness he’d give an older Slytherin with a particularly shady reputation, just to be safe. Following Graves around outside the Tower was fairly revealing in itself, though. He had no friends and seemingly only a few loose acquaintances, spending much of his time alone in the library or abandoned rooms, reading large tomes he kept in a battered navy blue canvas messenger bag and scribbling away in a Muggle-style spiral-bound notebook that looked wildly at odds with his quill.
Harry decided to approach him the day of the second meeting of the Dueling Club. Graves was in the library; Harry had debated approaching him somewhere else in the castle to unsettle him but Raza said he shouldn’t give away that he could find Graves so easily. Harry conceded the point and waited until Graves was in the library, meeting with Portia.
“Portia,” Harry called, approaching her where she was searching through the magical biology section with a small frown.
“Hello, Harry,” she said, barely glancing at him. “Care to help me find Anatomie of Magick?”
“Sure,” he said. That was easy. “What for? The thing with Graves?”
Portia nodded. “I can’t quite find it, though.”
Harry tilted his head back and scanned the shelves. Years of never quite getting enough to eat made him a little shorter than most boys his year, and he didn’t have any height advantage over Portia, but he did have a Seeker’s eyes and about a year of training under Marcus Flint, which meant he spotted it pretty easily. “There, eighth shelf up, right side.”
Portia made an irritated noise and dragged one of the rolling ladders over. She clambered up with the ease of practice, snatched the book, and jumped down with a thunk that made Harry wince.
“What’s it about?”
“He is near,” Raza hissed from where he was hidden in Harry’s robes. “I can taste him on the air.”
“Apparently how magic flows in the body,” Portia said, peering at the table contents. “In a bunch of different magical creatures. I might want to read this actually.”
“Me first,” said Graves, materializing from around the shelf. Thanks to Raza’s warning, Harry wasn’t surprised, but Portia jumped a little and then whacked the older boy on the shoulder with the book. Graves snatched it out of her hands with a smile that was a little too wide.
“Graves,” Harry said.
“Potter!” Graves appeared surprised to see him, which Harry didn’t believe for a second, and pleased, which he did. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Interesting reading material,” Harry said, since normal rules of greeting and interaction didn’t seem to apply here.
Graves smiled that same too-wide smile, and Harry wondered if this was sort of how other people felt when he used one of his unsettling expressions. Not the fear, because he didn’t fear Graves, but the wariness, the sense that here was a predator you should avoid having to fight.
“He knows about our deal,” Portia said, forestalling any explanations.
“Delightful.”
Harry cocked his head and considered. “We could make a deal of our own, Graves, if you’re interested.”
“What could you offer to little old me?” Graves said in a borderline singsong voice. Raza let out an almost-inaudible hiss of displeasure, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
He ignored the nervousness. Graves was just a schoolboy, and Harry would have to learn to swim with much larger fish. “Miss Bole here can help you with books from the normal shelves, but I can access the Restricted Section.”
Graves’ entire face shifted to a look of such intense hunger that Harry just knew he had him. It vanished in less than a second, of course, but it had been there, and it had been enough. “Anything?” he said cannily.
“Anything not actually chained to the shelves,” Harry conceded.
“As if any of the books left in this library are of that kind,” Graves said. “Still, you have an excellent bargain, snakeling. Tell me what you’d want in return.”
“Your research,” Harry said immediately. Portia’s eyes flickered between them like she was a rabbit watching a mongoose face off with a cobra–not wanting to run and draw attention, not able to interfere without risking her own hide. She’d taught him a lot about dealing with Ravenclaws. Straightforward was usually better than serpentine, not because the eagles couldn’t keep up but because they considered such wordplay a waste of time.
“What research?” Graves’ face was as clear as a lake on a sunny day.
It was also bullshit. “He lies,” warned Raza, but Harry didn’t need the hint. He offered Graves his own unpleasant smile, and the older boy faltered for the first time, if only slightly. “We both know you must have been up to some… shall we say unsavory things if they’re watching you so closely in only your third year. And you must have been clever enough to cover your tracks, or they would have expelled you in a second. Dissections, poisons... judicious use of cutting curses, perhaps?” This last bit was an educated guess based on the books he’d seen Portia getting for him, all anatomy, creature tomes, theories of magic in the body, theories about what made magical humans different from Muggles.
Graves’ eyes flickered. Harry knew he’d struck home, and pounced. “Tell me, how many times did you slip a little something to your fellow students?” he said softly. “How many times did they not notice you studying them, as you’ve been studying me?”
“You are perceptive, Heir Potter,” Graves said very slowly. “I confess more than I expected. I can offer you much, at least once I have a few years to… study what and how I want to.”
“I thought so.”
“I have heard that you can… acquire things.”
It was sort of true. Harry had gotten very good at knowing who to ask for things, if someone needed potions ingredients, certain books, ritual candles or others’ belongings. “I am limited in my access to things from outside the castle, for now.” But I plan to fix that sometime next summer.
“Even better. We could… expand our deal, Heir Potter, if you would be interested in… acquiring for me, and, mmm, acting as a bit of a shield from the powers that be.”
So he wanted protection, and help sourcing… whatever weird stuff he needed for the still-unspecified experiments. Harry expected he’d have to look up ways to easily trap small animals, and maybe taking Care next year would be a good idea. Or having Portia recommend some supplemental reading so he could at least mostly follow along.
Without a word, Harry held out his hand, palm up and wand resting across it sideways. It was a very old and formal gesture that he’d only read about, but he thought it might work here.
He was right. Graves immediately grinned and placed his own hand over Harry’s, palm down and wand pressed between their hands so that it and Harry’s pointed in opposite directions. “So mote.”
“So mote,” Harry echoed, and felt a tiny shiver of magic curl up from their adjoined palms.
Graves took his wand back with deft, pale fingers. “I will provide you with a list of titles and copies of my research so far tomorrow.”
“Acceptable.”
He walked away with the anatomy book under his arm. Portia breathed out and squinted at Harry. “What was the hand thing?”
“Old oath gesture,” Harry said, still watching Graves walk away. “It’s supposed to mean you trust the other person with access to your wand, and you’re both pointing away so neither can fire. I read in some cases the whole negotiation would be conducted with hands like that.”
“Sounds sweaty.”
That startled a snort out of Harry. “Slightly. But it creates a sort of… minor compulsion to follow the oath. It can be resisted pretty easily but you can’t violate the terms without your magic sort of nudging you so you know you’ve done so. At least, that’s what I read–I haven’t tried it before today.”
“And you picked Graves to run this little experiment with you?”
“Fair question, but he’s the first person I was confident might actually get it.”
Portia shrugged. “Your hide, I suppose. We’ll be late for Dueling Club if we don’t get going.”
Crap. Harry cast a tempus and winced.
They collected their things briskly and jogged out of the library. Pince frowned at them, but because she liked Harry, she didn’t shout as she too often did, and Harry shot her a small smile and wave of thanks.
He and Portia skidded into the Great Hall about half a minute before the meeting was about to start. They were the last to arrive, and immediately veered towards the loose group of their circle, which had apparently grown to include Dean Thomas. Harry was moderately pleased with himself for having begun to lure in a Gryffindor. He had at least one of his year-mates from every House now, and all of them were at least decent students. He wasn’t sure how useful Thomas would be, yet, but if he proved loyal and open to Harry’s way of thinking, then Harry would extend his protection to him as well.
As he and Portia joined them, Harry’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Had he just been mentally grouping the people he wanted to protect? Where did this… this softness come from? They were just other students. None of them could keep up with him all the time, although some of them rivaled him in a few subjects–Neville in Herbology, Theo and Zacharias and Portia in Charms. There was no reason to… to like them. To want to protect them.
I just want to make sure they continue to be useful, Harry told himself. A Longbottom’s connections were only useful if the Longbottom in question was alive, healthy, sane, and loyal to Harry, not necessarily in that order. It was only natural to want to protect them.
Theo’s question from the previous Yule came to mind. Harry hadn’t missed him, exactly, but he had been pleased when Theo returned. Theo was someone whose company was at least as pleasant as being alone. But that was Theo. He was broken in his own ways, like Harry. He was different.
With a start, Harry realized the Dueling Club had started, and he’d missed Flitwick and Vihaan’s whole intro speech. Only a quick glance at Theo and Zacharias as Zacharias cast a spell let him know they’d started with the Stinging Hex.
Somehow he’d ended up with Thomas, who grinned nervously across the two or so meters separating them. “Never cast this one before, mate. Any tips?”
“It’s best if you want to hurt me,” Harry said. “If you can’t muster up some dislike, pretend I’m someone who pissed you off recently.”
Thomas laughed, and Harry wondered at people who could laugh that easily. “All right, I’m sure I can think of something.” He took a deep breath and aimed. “Volculeus!”
Harry didn’t block it, but shifted so it hit his left arm instead of his ribcage. Not bad; Thomas’ aim had been spot-on. It landed with a white-hot flare of pain that settled almost immediately into the dull stinging of a hard slap.
“Why didn’t you block?” Thomas said, eyes wide.
“So you’d know you cast it right,” Harry pointed out. And he had–either Thomas harbored some secret grudge, unlikely seeing as Harry couldn’t think of a single significant interaction between them before the last Dueling Club, or he knew someone he really didn’t like and possessed the imagination to bring that to bear against someone else. Not bad, although to be fair, anger came easily to Gryffindors. “And because this way, I won’t be caught off guard as badly in a duel if someone lands one on me. It’s useful in duels mostly because the pain is so sharp that it can distract someone just long enough for you to get a spell with a longer incantation in.”
“Huh,” Thomas said, eyebrows raised. “Wonder why they don’t teach stuff like that in Defense. Where’d you pick that up?”
“I read a lot,” Harry said. “My turn?”
“Sure.” Thomas dropped his arms to his sides. “Hit me–I want to know what it feels like.”
“Volculeus!” Harry’s jinx splashed against Thomas’ shoulder with a brief burst of white light. Thomas made a noise but didn’t actually cry out; it was more of a strangled groan.
Harry waited for him to recover, and too late realized he probably should’ve asked if the other boy was okay. Thomas was already rubbing his shoulder and returning to his easygoing demeanor, though, so Harry didn’t bother. “Ouch,” Thomas said. “I see what you meant. Want to practice shielding now?”
“Sure.”
They traded jinxes and shields for a few minutes. None of Thomas’ jinxes got through Harry’s protego, but about half of Harry’s broke Thomas’ shield. Thomas took it in stride and his protego strengthened as they went.
After a few tries, Harry had just started experimenting with deliberately shifting his shield to deflect the jinxes in a specific direction when Flitwick appeared at their sides. “Excellent work, the both of you! Five points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor. I must say, it’s wonderful to see two from your Houses working together so well.” Flitwick beamed at them, although Harry noticed a number of Gryffindors glowering at Thomas and Malfoy looking at both of them like Harry and Thomas were bits of goo he’d found on a bathroom floor.
“Thanks, sir,” Thomas said. “I was only wondering, why don’t we learn dueling tactics in Defense? It seems really useful!”
“Talking tactics, were you? Take another two points each for ingenuity. As to your question, Mr…?”
“Thomas.”
“Mr. Thomas, the answer would depend quite a lot on who you ask, but the Headmaster is of the opinion that it is best for Defense to focus on creatures, theory, and building your spell repertoires until you are a bit older.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Thomas looked like he didn’t love the explanation, though, and Harry didn’t either.
They went over the Tickling Charm and a spell that made someone’s hair begin to grow rapidly, once Vihaan had thoroughly lectured them about not using these spells for pranks. Harry was bored out of his mind by the time the professors let them go.
Somehow, in the jostling on the way out the door, Thomas got carried along as everyone made their way up to the library. Harry eyed the easy way the dark-skinned boy settled between Neville and Luna. As long as he wasn’t distracting anyone, he was fine.
And he didn’t. Thomas was, as Harry had guessed, a decent wizard if not a particularly powerful one. Harry told him to start casting charms like tempus and the one to do shoelaces as often as possible to improve his comfort with a wand, and Thomas thanked him so sincerely it made Harry’s teeth hurt. Bloody Gryffindors.
“–Harry?”
“Hm?” Harry looked up from his Potions book, scowling at the interruption.
Theo didn’t look bothered. “Were you even listening?”
“No, not really,” Harry said. “What is it?”
“Well, we–” Theo gestured around the table– “were just thinking it would be fun to start our own sort of dueling club. Just informally, but we could practice what we learn in class and maybe other spells we look up, too.”
What are you up to, Theo? Harry knew the too-innocent look on Theo’s face, but he trusted that Theo’s scheming had a point, so he just nodded. “That sounds useful.”
“And maybe other stuff, too?” Thomas said. He flushed when everyone turned to look at him. “Sorry, it’s just… well, it’s hard to study in Gryffindor, everyone’s right noisy, and Seamus and the rest hate studying anyway, and Granger is a horror when she’s going on about homework.”
Zach, Portia, Neville, and Theo glanced subtly at Harry, waiting for his verdict. Harry was inordinately pleased by this, but he didn’t take the time to bask in it. “We actually already have a small study group that meets twice a week. Mostly to work on potions, but I suppose we could go a bit longer on Saturdays, maybe do some work Sunday evening too, and cover all our course work.”
“That’d be great!” Thomas said, grinning at him. “Thanks, Potter! Ha–I can’t wait to see Runcorn when he learns I’m beating him!”
“What’s your grudge with him?” Zacharias said instantly, eyes gleaming.
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Eh, he’s just a prat is all. Likes to mock me for being Muggleborn. It’s not like it bothers me, but I’d love to show him up.”
The boy’s eyes flickered as he spoke, though. He was lying about the prejudice not bothering him. Excellent. A chink in Thomas’ character, one Harry could use. The Gryffindor seemed to fit nicely in the group, and you never knew what connections would be useful, but Harry couldn’t have him around for too long without trusting him. Not if he planned to push their study group beyond the standard classwork into legally murky waters.
“Well, no one here will give you that shite,” Portia said firmly.
“We can teach you about magical tradition,” Zacharias added.
Thomas frowned. “Isn’t that, I dunno, pureblood stuff?”
The purebloods at the table, minus Luna who didn’t seem to be paying any attention, all got such similar scandalized expressions that Harry had to grin. “No! Merlin, who told you that?” Portia said.
“Well… Ron and… most of the boys my year,” Thomas admitted. “Is that not it?”
He looked a little wary, not that Harry could really blame him. “It’s not,” Harry said, “not at all. Look, if you were traveling in the Muggle world, and you went to… Germany or something, you wouldn’t expect the culture to be the same as England’s, right?”
“Right,” Thomas agreed. “Oh. Oh. But, well, aren’t… people like me, you know, not very liked… here?”
“Depends,” Theo said. “Some purebloods believe the shite that Muggleborns are stealing magic or some such nonsense. Some actually probably think you’re dirty or whatever and they’ve never thought twice about it.”
Zacharias coughed something that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy. Thomas snorted.
Theo whacked Zacharias on the shoulder and continued. “Our world’s different, Thomas. Some purebloods might get their knickers in a twist but it’s as much yours as theirs. You’re a wizard, that’s all there is to it.”
“Huh.” Thomas frowned at the tabletop. “I guess I could learn, then. Can’t hurt, right?”
Portia patted him on the shoulder. “Nope. Although drilling all the crap into your head now might give you migraines. I was taught it starting at the age of six.”
Thomas groaned.
***
It took a bit of coordination to arrange the extra study sessions, since Thomas was adamant that none of his Gryffindor roommates follow him and find him brewing with a bunch of snakes. Weasley, apparently, thought everyone else’s lives were his business, and hated being left out of anything. It helped that Grader needed to get away, too. Harry observed her and Thomas developing a friendship with satisfaction. They’d both be happier to have a friend in their House, and it made his little group work together better.
Between looking up spells for the study group, running his own potions tests with spare ingredients nicked from the student cupboard or his classmates’ potions kits, tracking down books for Graves, Quidditch practices, and keeping up with his usual classwork, Harry completely lost track of time. He was shocked, then, when the sign-up sheet for the holidays went up on the Slytherin bulletin board, and even more surprised to see Theo’s name on it.
“Father’s had a… complication,” Theo said, mouth grim. “He can’t get out of bed and he’s sleeping all day, apparently. Larkin said I might as well stay here instead of being basically alone the whole holidays.”
“I hope he recovers soon,” Harry said. He hesitated. “And I will enjoy celebrating the holidays with you this year.”
Theo smiled at him then, so warm and open that a funny feeling twisted Harry’s stomach. He’d done that, made someone smile like that. Theo was that delighted to hear that Harry enjoyed his company. Theo cared.
Right then, Harry decided he was never going to let that go.
Unfortunately, Malfoy, Bulstrode, Goyle, and Crabbe were all staying as well, along with the entire Weasley clan plus Runcorn and Granger. Harry sighed deeply when he found out. Well, at least he’d have Theo, and with silencing charms up, he could talk to Raza without fear.
The fascinated, awed look Theodore usually got when he heard Harry speak Parseltongue didn’t hurt.
***
The first morning of the holidays dawned bright, clear, and cold. Harry dragged Theo out for a flight around the castle while a cold and irritable Raza slept in Harry’s bed in a warming charm. When they came in for breakfast, both boys’ cheeks were red from cold, but Harry was in such a good mood that even the glares from Weasley and Runcorn couldn’t spoil it.
He and Theo spent the day exploring the castle. Harry remembered long solitary hours the previous year, and found that he enjoyed sharing the exploration with Theo at least as much as he had on his own.
On the second floor, they’d just found what looked to be a stone bas-relief carving of a massive snake or maybe a legless dragon hidden in an alcove when they heard angry voices. Harry and Theo traded a look and pressed back into the alcove. “Concelegor,” Harry whispered, waving his wand.
He and Theo waited, barely breathing, crammed against each other in the small space. Steps approached, bickering voices got louder, and Harry’s eyebrows flicked up when he realized it was Granger, Weasley, and Runcorn walking by as if they were in a hurry. Granger was scolding them in her horribly strident voice about forgetting to write down their holiday homework assignments.
Harry canceled the basic concealment charm once they were gone. “What was that about? Pretty random place for them to be.”
“No kidding.” Theo looked down the hall in both directions, then shrugged. “Whatever. Not our job to keep track of the lions.”
“Can you imagine the headaches McGonagall gets?” Harry said, grinning. He prodded the snake carving with his wand but it didn’t move. Disappointing.
Theo got a crafty look on his face. “Try… you know.”
“Oh… clever,” Harry said, earning a pleased little smirk from Theo. He faced the snake and narrowed his eyes at it. In the dim light of the alcove, it seemed almost to be looking back. “Do you understand me?”
“You… speak,” the snake said in a voice that sounded like what would happen if rocks could hiss. Theo drew in a slow breath, eyes shining, and Harry rested a hand absently on his shoulder without looking away from the snake.
“I do,” he said. “Do you guard something, mighty serpent?”
“Only secrets,” the snake said. “Do you wish passage?”
“I do.”
The snake fell silent. A soft grinding noise made Harry and Theo jump back in a hurry, as the snake carving slowly swung away from the back of the alcove, leaving a perfectly hidden black entrance.
“Lumos,” Theo said, stepping forward. His wandlight danced into a stairwell that went both up and down in a tight spiral. Shadows on the back of the carving caught Harry’s eye: there was a snake carved there too, watching him with eerie silence.
Well, there had to be some way out of here. It was only logical. Not that wizards tended to be the most logical beings on the planet.
“Let’s go,” Theo said, already three steps down.
He and Harry followed the spiral down, but they didn’t get far before they were met with disappointment. The stairway ended in a blank wall, and no amount of hissing or tapping with wands would budge it.
“Maybe it’s a walled-off entrance,” Theo said. “Annoying.”
“Let’s try going up?” Harry suggested.
This time, there was no end to the stairwell in sight. Harry’s legs were burning within minutes. He trudged on, though, too curious about what was at the top to hold himself back.
It was not a dead end. At the top of the stairwell, a very narrow door made of solid wood waited.
Theo cast a few detection charms on the handle, and tugged at it when they came back clean. It didn’t move. “Talk again?” Theo said.
“Guardian?” Harry said cautiously.
The curved silver door handle shimmered, twisted, and became a snake with glittering emerald eyes. “An Heir… my, my, it has been such a long time, little snakeling. So very long indeed since someone of noblest blood came to see me.”
“Have you a name, guardian?” Harry asked.
“My maker called me Arget,” the snake said.
Harry had a sneaking feeling about who that maker was. “Where does this door go?”
“Why, the Headmaster’s office, of course.” The snake hissed out a chittering laugh. “Surely you did not think the first Headmaster of Haugh’s Wards had no secret exit? My maker was far too clever for that.”
Harry froze. “Does… does the Headmaster now know we’re here?”
“Oh, no, snakeling. Only a speaker could find this portal from the other side. You ought not open it now. He is in his office, and he is not happy.”
“Thank you, Arget.”
The snake looked up at Harry. “Will you visit me? It has been so very long.”
“I will,” Harry said, eager for any chance to talk to a magically created snake that had personally known at least one of the Founders.
“What did it say?” Theo said lowly, as they started to descend.
Harry told him in as few words as possible.
“A secret entrance to Dumbledore’s office…” Theo grinned, and it wasn’t his nice smile, but the sharp and cruel and wicked thing Harry liked so much. “We could get our hands on his books.”
“Not until we figure out wards a bit better,” Harry said. He wasn’t about to risk his Cloak possibly tripping Dumbledore’s wards; surely the old man had stricter protections up there than on the Restricted Section.
Theo sighed, but nodded.
Still. It was a fascinating discovery, and they both decided to look out for more snake carvings and paintings.
***
Harry took the opportunity offered by the holidays to immerse himself in studies. Theo joined him, although he would often divert to reading wizarding or Muggle novels while Harry had his head buried in dense tomes on magical theory, trying to decipher their archaic and contradictory ideas. Someone else might have minded, Harry supposed, but the quiet companionship was surprisingly nice. Often they would end up sitting across from each other on a couch in the Slytherin common room, legs tangled together with books propped on their knees.
A week into break, Theo flinched as Harry slammed his book shut with a snap. “Why are there no books on potions ingredients interacting?” he demanded, glaring at the book. Harry knew it wasn’t the book’s fault, but he wanted to glare at something, Merlin damn it.
“Even in the Restricted Section?” Theo said.
“Nothing!” Harry dumped the latest useless book on the floor and rubbed his forehead. “Nothing at all. You’d think there would be something explaining why this ingredient blows up with that one but not another. Purely for safety reasons if nothing else.”
“Dangerous, probably,” Theo said, setting his book aside. “If you knew those things, you could go trying to make your own potion.”
“Yes,” Harry seethed, “exactly.”
“Oh. I see.” Theo was silent for a moment. “I expect Dumbledore doesn’t want anyone seeing those books, if they’re not even available for NEWT students.”
Harry scowled harder. There was information out there that he wanted, needed, and it was being withheld. By the same man who had denied him so much else.
Was there no end to the ways Dumbledore managed to screw up his life?
“I can write Father,” Theo offered.
“If he has anything,” Harry said, but reluctantly added, “not if it’s illegal though.”
Theo gave him a withering look.
***
Before he knew it, time had dripped by and it was the night before Christmas. Theo had been complaining for days about not being able to celebrate Yule properly, but Hogwarts didn’t recognize it, and the Slytherins grudgingly obeyed. Harry had to appreciate the decorations in the Slytherin dungeons, at least. Red ribbon twined with deep green garlands had been draped all around the common room, releasing the wintry scent of pine. Tiny pricks of light faded in and out, darting around the garlands; Theo said they were spark-sprites, tiny cousins of the Fey Folk who could be drawn to wizarding dwellings by magic and little offerings of cinnamon and orange peels. Several pots had been left to slowly bubble over magic burners around the common room with cinnamon, oranges, cloves, and other spices in water, releasing the warm scent gradually, and fires crackled in every hearth.
Harry recognized a lot of the Slytherin faces from last year. Darius Barrow, now a seventh year, was sitting with Merula Snyde in the corner, talking softly about something or other. Alen Weise and his friend Volena Dimitrova, who’d both spent the morning having a snowball fight with Theo and Harry, had commandeered one of the fireside tables the seventh years normally claimed, frowning at a chessboard. Pucey had stayed, too, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Probably snogging that Hufflepuff prefect,” Theo said when Harry mentioned it. “Did you see how they were looking at each other over breakfast?”
No, because Harry had been avoiding the uncomfortable stares of Dumbledore, some teacher he didn’t recognize, and several of the Weasleys, who along with red hair seemed to have inherited a genetic dislike of Slytherins. Or possibly the color green. But he vaguely remembered seeing Pucey with some Hufflepuff girl a few weeks ago. “I don’t get it,” he said absently.
“Get what?”
Harry’s attention was still mostly on the book in his lap. The index had said there was some mention of the ‘intentionality of magic’ in this chapter, but for the life of him he couldn’t find it. It didn’t help that the whole book was handwritten in some archaic version of cursive. Merlin damn the pre-printing-press ages. “Kissing and stuff. Seems distracting.”
The couch creaked as Theo shifted his weight. “I don’t know, it seems… well, haven’t you thought about it?”
“I guess,” Harry conceded unhappily. He didn’t like it, but he had to admit he was at least curious.
“It is a ridiculous pastime,” Raza chimed in from inside Harry’s bag. “You would look very foolish.”
Harry grinned, and Theo raised an eyebrow. “He thinks kissing looks stupid,” Harry translated.
“Well, I guess it would to someone without lips,” Theo said, poking Harry’s bag. An irritated hiss spilled out but Theo ignored it, much to Harry’s private delight.
Still… “It does seem horribly intimate, though. Look at them.” He nodded over at where Lucien Vaisey and Alia Jugson were snogging in a dark corner. “They wouldn’t notice if a troll came in here dancing the ballet.”
“That’s why there’s broom closets,” Theo said in such a perfectly haughty imitation of Draco Malfoy that Harry had to laugh.
The entrance slid open at exactly that moment. “Merlin’s balls, Potter, I didn’t know you knew how to laugh,” Malfoy drawled, sauntering over to them. Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode followed him, staring at Harry like they’d never seen him before.
“Well, I might never have laughed around you,” Harry said. “Generally it only happens when someone says something funny.”
Malfoy scowled and threw himself over a couch across from Harry. Warily, Harry sat a little taller. Why was he spending time with them?
“Come off it,” Malfoy muttered. “It’s, well, it’s fake Yule but it’s still time for being nice and everything.”
Huh. Okay then. “Be my guest,” Harry drawled.
The other three sat around Malfoy. “Are you all right, Crabbe?” Theo said.
“Uh–oh yeah–why d’you ask?” Crabbe said, much too quickly.
“You just look peaky,” Theo said.
“Upset stomach,” Crabbe grunted.
Malfoy batted a hand. “You should have seen them gorging themselves on the dessert course.”
Harry tapped his fingers three times against his bag, the signal for Raza to scent the air. His familiar shifted slightly, and Harry could’ve sworn he felt the snake’s irritation, but a second later Raza hissed, “Something is different about the large landplodder scent. Not the one with the hair.”
This made Harry’s lips twitch; Raza often complained that the products Malfoy put in his hair bothered the snake’s sensitive tongue. The almost-smile vanished, though, as he processed what Raza had said.
Perhaps a quick test. “Say, Millicent, want to join Theo and me for some Exploding Snap later?” he said lazily.
Bulstrode jumped. “Oh–yes, that would be fine, H-Harry.”
Even the typically oblivious Malfoy looked around at her. “Since when do you call him Harry?”
“Yes, since when, Millicent?” Harry said, smiling wickedly.
Bulstrode’s eyes were wide and her face flushed. “Oh–well–”
“What’s that?” Goyle said loudly, pointing at a newspaper sticking out of Malfoy’s bag.
Malfoy snatched it. “I’d nearly forgotten! This is what I wanted to show you, look–the Weasel’s father’s had some kind of scandal at work.”
“Is that tomorrow’s Prophet?” Bulstrode said, eyeing it hungrily. “How did you get it?”
“Father, of course,” Malfoy said.
Harry and Theo shared a glance. Bulstrode’s question was very un-Slytherin.
“He sent it along for laughs, thought I’d like to know as soon as possible.” Malfoy cleared his throat and held up the paper. “This is the best bit, listen: Recently promoted Head of the Culture and Information Department, Arthur Weasley, was found this week to be illegally funnelling bribe money into his department via Muggle banks. Nearly one hundred “donations” have been made from these banks in the last three years, totaling over a million galleons.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up and Theo’s face twitched. That was a lot of money. “These donations are supposedly from the parents of Muggle-born children at Hogwarts, but after two months of investigation, we at the Daily Prophet have been unable to identify or reach a single one of the donors. Arthur Weasley was unavailable for comment, but Emily Doge, Head of the Internal Investigations Department at the Ministry of Magic, informed us that she “will be personally overseeing the investigation into Mr. Weasley’s alleged fraud.” She added that “Mr. Weasley is an esteemed member of our Ministry. We take all such accusations very seriously, and this investigation must be handled with the utmost delicacy and attention to detail.”
Crabbe and Goyle had both turned bright red. Harry frowned at them. Had they been poisoned or something? And what was going on with Bulstrode? Her face looked like she’d suddenly bitten into a lemon.
Malfoy closed the paper with a snap. “Well? Aren’t you laughing?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” said Goyle, with an expression that more resembled pain than amusement.
“Course, it’s all code for Doge covering up Weasley’s crimes,” Theo said, pretending to inspect his fingernails but really looking at Goyle and Crabbe under his eyelashes. “Bribe money, honestly. And they say the government’s gotten less corrupt.”
“Well–hasn’t it?” Goyle blurted.
Harry snorted.
Crabbe scowled at him. “What would you know about it, anyway? Not like you’ve got family in the Ministry.”
“And you do?” Harry said in disbelief.
“Not to mention, his family can’t exactly be in the Ministry, since they’re all dead,” Theo drawled. Bulstrode flushed but Crabbe didn’t look any less belligerent.
All of Harry’s instincts screamed that something was wrong.
“I heard Weasley’s going to be investigating the Dark families again soon,” Bulstrode said in a transparent attempt to change the subject. “Because they think one of them used a Dark object to attack the students.”
“Not as though they’ll find anything at my home,” Malfoy said. “They already cleaned the place out when the war ended. Not that they got everything, of course, there’s a hidden room beneath the drawing room, although I don’t know if Mother ever goes down there now.” At this, both Crabbe and Goyle sat up a bit.
“Why would the Culture and Information Department be doing that?” Harry said. “And not, I don’t know, the DMLE or something?”
Sure enough, Malfoy couldn’t resist showing off. “My mother says the CID does far more than what you’d think. Technically they’re attached to the DMLE but they don’t have to listen to the DMLE head–they have their own enforcement unit for claims of misinformation, treasonous dissent, and crimes of culture.”
That sounded so much like Harry’s history lessons on Muggle authoritarian states that a shiver ran down his spine.
“What’s wrong with that?” Goyle demanded.
“Off the top of my head, you could claim anyone disagreeing with the Ministry is committing “treasonous dissent” or a “crime of culture,” whatever the hell that means. And if there’s something they want to cover up, well, arrest anyone who dares talk about it for “misinformation.” Sounds corrupt to me,” Harry said.
Goyle looked about to explode. “I just wonder who’s behind the attacks,” Bulstrode said quickly. Harry frowned. Something about her inflections was familiar; he just couldn’t place it…
“I wish I knew,” Malfoy said petulantly. “Whoever it is must be powerful, attacking Hogwarts right under Dumbledore’s crooked old nose.”
“Any theories?” Bulstrode said, looking at Harry and Theo.
“Not really,” Theo said. “The Chamber of Secrets thing is ridiculous, though. Last time it was opened, all the attacks were petrifications, not… whatever magical coma happened this time. Can’t be the same thing.”
Crabbe doubled over suddenly, clutching his stomach with a moan. “Medicine,” he gasped, standing up and bolting for the entrance.
“We’ll walk with him!” Bulstrode said, too quickly, and she and Goyle were after him in a second.
“Well!” Malfoy said, staring after them. “Here’s hoping the house-elves didn’t poison him or something.” He stalked off without another word.
Theo and Harry didn’t need to speak; they moved together as soon as Malfoy was out of sight. They hit the hallway at a run and took the shortest path back to the entrance hall. It involved two secret passages, one of which opened only to Parseltongue, and they skidded to a halt in the hall less than three minutes later. Coming through here was the only way to the hospital wing from the dungeons, or anywhere else in the castle for that matter, unless you used the much-less-common secret passages, and Harry didn’t think any of these three was smart enough to have found them.
Luckily, the Cloak was in Harry’s bag. He yanked it out and threw it over Theo and himself, and they backed against the doors to the locked Great Hall, waiting in silence.
The wait was short. Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle tumbled out of the main entrance to the dungeons at a run, and in seconds they’d crossed the hall and started up one of the staircases.
“That is not the way to the hospital wing,” Theo murmured.
Harry just nodded. Theo cast whispered silencing charms on their feet and they followed the three other Slytherins at a run. The Cloak flapped around their ankles, but unless Mrs. Norris showed up, Harry doubted they’d be noticed.
They skidded into a bathroom on the second floor, close to where Theo and Harry had found the snake passage that led to Dumbledore’s office. Harry squinted: Was Goyle’s hair turning red?
“C’mon,” Theo whispered. They barely managed to dodge into the bathroom before the door swung closed, only to find that all three other students had gone straight into the stalls and slammed the doors shut.
Theo looked around. “This is an out-of-order girls’ toilet,” he said under his breath.
So what are you three doing here?
Unappetizing noises started coming from the stalls: groans, thumping, and panting breaths. Harry’s eyes widened and he and Theo looked at each other under the Cloak. What in Merlin’s name was going on here?
A moment later, the noises subsided, and–
Theo’s jaw dropped open. Harry felt much the same. Ron Weasley, instead of Goyle, had just walked out of that bathroom stall.
Runcorn, instead of Crabbe, walked out of the second, and Hermione Granger the third. All were carrying robes with the Slytherin crest on them, and oversized shoes.
“Well, it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Weasley said.
Runcorn scowled. “I really thought one of those slimy snakes would know.”
“They might just be too young to have been told anything,” Granger said, quite reasonably.
“Nah, that Malfoy’s as Dark as they come, he would know,” Weasley said, not even looking at her. “But I am going to write Dad and tell him to look under the Malfoys’ drawing room. Wankers. Try and make fun of my family, huh…”
He continued muttering as he stomped over to the mirrors and started trying to rearrange his hair, which was mussed from the sprint back upstairs. Harry kept his eyes on Granger, though. She was worrying at the cuffs of her cheap open-front robes, and frowning.
“Kneazle got your tongue, Granger?” Runcorn said.
She jumped. “Oh–well–Ron, what that article said about your father… it can’t be true, can it? But would it really be in the Prophet if it wasn’t? Is… someone trying to set him up?”
Next to Harry, Theo shook with silent laughter. He stuffed a fist in his mouth, and when that didn’t work, pressed his face into Harry’s shoulder to muffle the noise. Harry patted him on the back. He knew the feeling. Granger was almost painfully naive.
“What, the bribe stuff? I dunno,” Weasley said. He’d finally primped his hair back into place and lounged back on the sinks, grinning smugly. “He’s got to get funding from somewhere, though, doesn’t he? Mum’s right, he really is the wizard you go to when you need something done in the Ministry.”
If that wasn’t an admission of guilt, Harry would eat his socks. Granger seemed to have come to the same conclusion, but unlike Harry, she wasn’t at all amused. “Ronald! Taking bribes is wrong! And impersonating people to set up those accounts, that’s–that’s fraud or identity theft or–”
“Lay off, Hermione, you just don’t know how things work here,” Runcorn said.
“Yeah.” Weasley patted her condescendingly on the back. Merlin, he probably thought he was being kind. “You’re a muggleborn, how would you know? ‘S okay, you’ll learn though, just stick with us.”
Granger didn’t look entirely happy, but neither of the boys noticed. They towed her out the door, still crowing about their victory over the slimy Slytherins.
It closed with a boom, and Theo yanked the Cloak away from them. “Harry,” he said. “Merlin, Harry, they–what did they use?”
“C’mere,” Harry said, making a beeline for Granger’s stall. He’d seen something when she came out… there.
A cauldron sat in the toilet, with bluebell flames burning low in the bowl. It was mostly empty but a few centimeters of glutinous brown potion bubbled sluggishly at the bottom.
“I know that potion,” Harry said, remembering a Potions lesson from the year before. “It’s Polyjuice.”
“Polyjuice… Harry, do you know how bloody illegal this is? Polyjuice is a controlled substance, it’s a five-year Azkaban sentence to even brew it without a license from the Ministry, and using it is… seven years I think? Something like that. And–how the hell did a couple of moronic second-years brew this?” Theo’s hands were waving wildly.
Harry grinned at him. “Well, as to the brewing, I bet it was Granger. And as for illegal, Weasley’s father probably gets his kids off the hook for anything. Weasley seems to think his whole family is above the law.”
“Figures.” Theo glared at the remains of the potion. “Think they’d notice if we took it?”
“Probably. Granger has a good memory.” Harry paused. “Speaking of which… I may just need to send Lady Malfoy an owl tonight.”
“Countess Malfoy,” Theo corrected. “They’re an Earldom. Technically, Earl Malfoy didn’t lose his title when he was sentenced, but treason charges mean you’re stripped of all rights and privileges associated with being noble and being a normal citizen. So now Countess Malfoy handles the estate and everything.”
“Do they still have a Wizengamot vote?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, but she was given a life sentence of house arrest, so she has a proxy.” Theo shrugged. “Seems to work, and at least ‘house arrest’ for a Malfoy means a massive estate and their ancestral manor.”
“Did they not lose their vaults?”
Theo scowled. “No. Countess Malfoy said that since she was cleared of any charges, and she had an infant son to raise, stripping the Malfoy estate of everything would be punishing her and her kid for what Lucius did supposedly without her knowledge. I don’t buy it, she is not a woman you want to mess with and I can’t see her not knowing about her husband’s little terror club, but they put her on house arrest instead of taking all their money. The Ministry did take a lot, mind, but they’ve got greenhouses and they raise and sell Abraxans, so she’s been able to rebuild their finances somewhat.”
“Huh.” Harry remembered Portia telling him about Abraxans, carnivorous winged horses who would just as happily take a bite out of a person as a cow. “So she probably knows all about the hidden room and whatever nasty little secrets they have hidden away in there?”
“Definitely.”
“Good to know.”
They were just leaving the stall when a sudden wash of cold made Harry flinch. A ghost, of a girl with acne and large glasses, shot past them and hovered a few feet above.
“Myrtle!” Harry said, looking around with fresh eyes. In daylight, it looked different, but he suddenly realized this was the bathroom where they’d hidden from Filch the year before.
“I know you,” Myrtle said. “You never came back to talk to me.”
Harry thought fast. “I got lost. I’m very sorry, Myrtle, I didn’t mean to leave you wondering.” He offered her his warmest, most self-deprecating smile, and she visibly softened.
“Hmph. Well, you’re much better company than those other three, always nattering on about Slytherins. Headmaster Dippet would never have let that attitude stand in my day.”
“Headmaster Dippet?” Theo suddenly looked intent. “Myrtle, if you don’t mind me asking… how long have you been dead?”
The ghost puffed up. “Oh, it must be about fifty years now… I lose track, you know, so few people come to see me… and being dead means time doesn’t touch me.”
“Fifty years,” Theo echoed, giving Harry a significant look. “That’s a long time, Myrtle, do you ever get bored?”
Harry tuned out her response. Fifty years. Myrtle was the only ghost he’d ever seen who looked like she’d died under the age of fifty. Was she the student who died when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?
They made their escape a few minutes later, and Harry and Theo paused halfway down the corridor. “Fifty years, hm?” Harry said, smiling thinly.
“What would you say to looking up old Prophet editions from fifty years ago?” Theo said with an answering smile.
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