Hermione skimmed the four wilted pages of Ginny’s letters for the fifth time, her duffle bag flung open and forgotten next to her bed.

Harry’d had to call her name three times up the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitory before she finally abandoned her task of refolding and organizing. He said a small prayer of thanks that her school trunk had already been packed and stacked with the rest of the Gryffindors’ luggage last night.

She had plodded down the stairs distracted and a bit irritated at the disruption, but the instant she’d snatched the parchment out of his hand and feverishly scanned the looped scrawl, Hermione had slowly sunk to her knees in front of the fireplace, stunned.

The edges had crumpled and curled from her intense grip.

“See, she does remember—“

“Shhh!” the girl interrupted, hushing Harry with the harsh whisper and a commanding hand in his face.

“What? You’ve read it ten times already…” Harry cried, his voice insistent and breathy. But waving her hand a second time, Hermione quickly perused the final page with her eyes. She clamped her lips around the tip of her tongue and ignored him.

Palming the ground in front of him, Harry scooted closer to her, rising up on his knees a bit before stretching his neck over the top of the parchment to get a better look.

He frowned, his eyes flickering up toward Hermione’s every so often as he read the last few hastily-jotted notes upside down.

“Oh, Harry,” she finally breathed, clearly distressed. “Why hasn’t she said anything about this?”

“She did,” Harry clarified, digging his toes into the carpet, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure of heavy rubber soles against his haunches. “She just wrote it down like she’s done with everything else that’s been bothering her this year. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“In a way it does…” Hermione said quietly, yet the firmness in her voice threatened a tirade. “But I can’t believe that Ginny would keep all of this information to herself!”

Harry flinched. A tirade indeed.

“Don’t you understand what this means, Harry?”

The reflection of orange flames flashing along the surface of the parchment made it appear as if it were trembling, fluttering with an uneven heartbeat.

A heartbeat that seemed to mimic Harry’s own at the moment.

“Erm…”

“Don’t be dense, Harry, it’s obvious that she was somehow involved with the Heir of Slytherin…and the basilisk. Don’t you see?!” She thrust the papers onto Harry’s lap and hoisted herself off the ground, nearly stumbling as she untangled her legs. “Wait here a second. And don’t move!” Hermione bolted up the stairs, her jacket completely off of her shoulders, her hair disheveled.

Harry opened his mouth to call out to her, to tell her that he really did understand. Some of it anyway… But he could already hear the heavy rasping of several items scraping against the floorboards in the girls’ dormitory. Settling back in front of the fire, Harry sifted through the small sheets of parchment Ginny had given him.

The notes were choppy and rushed. A handful of puzzle pieces whose edges didn’t seem to fit. He glanced over them briefly, forcing his brain to focus.

Rooster feathers. Red paint. A cold, dark place. The sensation of wandering without a destination. Waking up near the second floor corridor, shivering…damp clothing. Tom becoming more frightening.

But not a word about the locket…

The iron clock hanging over the fireplace gonged once, announcing that it was half past ten. The dull clang sent shivers up and down Harry’s arms, despite the comfortable heat that washed over his face and torso between crackles of the low flames.

A second later, he heard someone on the stairs again, but this time, the footsteps were quieter and more even. Harry watched as Hermione slowly appeared in the doorway, anchoring herself with cautious, toe-heel steps. She swaggered in with an armload of thick books with dark, stained covers, her face barely peeking over the top.

I should’ve known, Harry thought as he began to stand in order to help her.

But before he was even off of his knees, Hermione dumped the pile of books in front of him. They slapped against each other noisily as they descended, landing in a tumbling heap.

As Harry pulled back, wide-eyed, he barely paid attention to Lavender and Pavarti as they entered the common room from the dormitory, pulling faces of muted annoyance as they tugged wool gloves out of the pockets of their overcoats and stepped through the portrait hole, still staring.

It was obvious they’d witnessed Hermione scavenging like a mole.

But as always, she ignored them.

“What’re all these for?” Harry asked her as she plopped down and began stacking them with muffled thuds. Nearing the end of the pile, Hermione chose a thin, tatty volume, rested it on her knee and furiously thumbed through the weathered pages. She held up her index finger as she frowned down at her book.

Shrugging, Harry leaned over as he sank back onto his heels again, eyes traveling over the bindings. He was only able to grasp a few words before Hermione shoved her open volume underneath his nose, catching him off-guard once again.

“There. Roosters,” she stated simply, her thumb pressed against the page as she held out the bound information.

Harry peered down at the paragraph.

“A rooster’s crow is fatal to a basilisk,” Hermione clarified.

“I know,” Harry stated, shifting a bit. “I read it.”

She clapped the book closed, the musty breeze tousling his fringe. Adding the book to the motley stack, Hermione sat back and sighed.

“So you think—“

“All of Hagrid’s roosters were destroyed, Harry,” Hermione interrupted, without giving him a chance to form his own hypothesis. “And Ginny can’t remember anything but having rooster feathers all over her when she woke up.”

“I know, Hermione,” Harry countered, shoving aside the vertical pile a bit. “But are you telling me that something as massive as a basilisk can be killed by a rooster’s crow? That’s bloody insane… I mean, people die from just looking at its eyes—“

“It sounds ridiculous, but it’s obviously true, or else, why would she kill all of the roosters?” the girl argued, the volume of her voice rising as she shoved the lofty stack of books closer to Harry. They wavered dangerously. “But there’s no way that Ginny would have done it on purpose, right? Do you think maybe that her memory was Obliviated each time? That could be possible. Maybe that’s why she can’t remember—“

“No,” Harry said quickly, causing Hermione to tilt her head inquisitively.

“What do you mean, no?”

His insides twinged with uncertainty. Snape wouldn’t want him blabbing anything. He hadn’t warned Harry about it specifically, but the mere thought of revealing the true identity of Tom Riddle scratched at his conscience. And Harry wished more than anything that it wouldn’t. However, it wasn’t as if he had to tell Hermione everything. One day he would. He’d tell Ron too. But at the moment, there was no need for Hermione to worry over something she couldn’t help.

“The diary was dangerous, Hermione,” Harry explained, pressing his folded fingers in between his knees. He clamped his knuckles together so forcefully that they smarted. “Tom Riddle was the one controlling everything she did. That’s what we think anyway…”

“We?” Hermione asked, scrunching up her nose in confusion.

Instantly, Harry felt his own eyes narrow. “It’s not like I’ve known forever,” he replied, unimpeded defensiveness squeezing his chest. “I only just found out… from Snape…” The muttered words hung uncomfortably in the air. At least for Harry, they did…

Damn, Harry thought as he gnawed on the edge of his bottom lip, hating himself for presuming….for getting angry without reason. It was one of his most treacherous flaws.

“No, I know,” Harry said quietly, apologetically. He scratched at a non-existent itch on his forehead before pressing on in haste. “She was spending too much time writing in her diary, and I guess it just sort of…took her over.”

“Well, I figured that much,” Hermione began. She clipped the small pile of notes between two fingers and dragged them from the floor onto her lap. “She wrote about most of that, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

For the next few minutes, Harry released some of the information he’d learned from Snape, carefully treading around the issue of Voldemort materializing in the form of the written word. Like a ghost. The idea was chilling.

Afterwards, they sat silently for a moment as Harry pleaded with his wounded conscience. Inwardly begging it to leave him alone—to quit prodding him… Maybe it wouldn’t really matter if Hermione knew that Voldemort was once Tom Riddle. Was it truly a secret? Harry felt like pinching himself for forgetting to ask.

He used to tell Ron and Hermione everything. With his friends, everything seemed less scary—more audacious. But watching over Ginny as she lay in her hospital bed with broad, blue circles under her eyes had vacuumed the adventure right out of him. Strangely, a part of him was beginning to sympathize with the adults….beginning to understand how easily their faces could crumple with worry at times like these. And that same part of Harry briefly wondered how Snape had felt as he carried Harry’s limp body away from the Mirror of Erised last spring. Did his stomach ache the way Harry’s did every time he thought about Ginny huddled and weeping?

Just thinking about it made Harry numb with guilt.

But Snape hated you last year, didn’t he? a small, internal voice reminded him.

Harry’s stomach flopped in a somersault.

Did he?

The light titter of voices drifted in hazily from behind the sealed portrait. Probably only a few of the countless oblivious students clad in coats and hats, making their way towards the carriages…

Swallowing the frozen, formless words in his throat, Harry glanced over at Hermione. She deserved to be a part of them.

“I’ve got to leave soon,” the girl informed him, though she didn’t move. Even the fingers resting on the stack of books were motionless. “But we still have a few minutes. I can try to help…”

“It’s all right,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. I think Dumbledore has a plan. He’ll know what to do.”

So will Snape, the boy admitted only to himself.

“Plus, Ginny’s at home now,” Harry continued, more weakly than he would have preferred. “And she’s not losing her memory anymore. I think she’ll be okay…”

Hermione’s lips were slightly twisted with anxiety, but she nodded. Lifting her hand from her books, she carefully scooted them even closer to Harry, taking a second to press her palms against the diagonal bindings in order to straighten them.

She glanced at him over the stack. “Take my books over the holidays. They might help.”

Sliding the thinnest one away from the top of the pile and resting it in his lap, Harry picked lightly at the corner of the cover. “Thanks,” he croaked, gazing down at Hermione’s copy of Magical Monsters.

“You need to show those letters to Professor Snape,” the girl told him in a serious voice, snatching at his attention like a loudspeaker. “He’ll be able to help, Harry. He has so far, you know.”

I know he has.

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry declared, shrugging. He glanced back down at his book, feeling like an ungrateful coward. Why couldn’t he just whole-heartedly agree?

“Anyway, you shouldn’t feel like you have to fix everything, Harry. I don’t think he’s keeping you around just to help him and Dumbledore find the basilisk…” Hermione continued, pushing herself up from the floor and brushing her hands together to rid them of bits of thread and dust from the carpet. She strolled over to the staircase.

It was Harry’s turn to squint up at her in bafflement. “How do you figure?”

Halting, the girl twisted and held on to the stone wall with one hand. “Since Snape gave Dumbledore the diary, you haven’t heard the voice in the walls, have you…”

Harry stared at her, the nerves in his palms suddenly tingling with an indistinguishable motive.

Sodding hell, he thought. He’d nearly forgotten.

Hermione was right.

***************

The gray-smeared sky had just begun spitting crystal-like flurries of snow onto Harry’s shoulders and hair as Hermione’s carriage pulled away, followed by several others filled with chattering Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Harry had been distracted as he and Hermione trekked through the chilly corridors leading to the front of the castle. He’d listened as intensely as he could, but not even one icy whisper cut through the white noise of students’ voices.

Standing with his feet freezing in the leftover snow, Harry’s deep thoughts shifted when he noticed Malfoy queuing up to climb into a carriage toward the bottom of the small hill. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, his pale face drawn and bitter. As always, Crabbe and Goyle were attached to either side of him, but every time either one of them attempted to get his attention, Malfoy only elbowed him sharply, flashing a sour face but saying nothing.

Harry watched as the carriages pulled away in single file until they disappeared into the thickening snow and dry, dark-green pine needles. He doubted that Malfoy was still sulking over Snape’s reprimand. It had to be something else…

The sound of crunching snow yanked Harry out of his thoughts once again. Swiveling around, he was less than surprised to see Snape trudging up behind him. The man was becoming more predictable by the day.

“No hat, Potter?” Snape inquired dryly as he observed the accumulating snowflakes at the top of the boy’s head. “How sensible…”

Swiping at a bead of melted snow on his forehead with a gloved knuckle, Harry frowned as he perused his professor’s everyday robes. “You’re not wearing one either,” the boy mildly argued. He brushed the snow away from his hair, shivering as the cold wetness seeped into his scalp. “You don’t even have a coat on.”

“Completely irrelevant.”

“It…” Harry began but resignedly shook his head, smoothing his hair down again in an attempt to warm it. He sighed, a palm stationed at his forehead. “Nevermind.”

Smirking in triumph, Snape crooked an ungloved finger. “Inside.” He swept forward without waiting for confirmation of obedience.

Wordlessly, the boy followed.

***************

The warm air that radiated throughout the Entrance Hall was scorching hot on Harry’s ears, nose and cheeks as he watched Snape tap his wand against the hefty bolt to lock it. The thud of wood against wood echoed solidly in the empty castle.

“Hey, Professor?” Harry asked, pulling off his gloves and trailing at Snape’s heels when the man headed toward the nearest staircase.

“Do not ‘hey’ me, Potter,” Snape chided without turning around. He descended the steps as swiftly as usual.

Rolling his eyes, Harry slogged down the stairs with heavy feet, rather fatigued from the cold as he mindlessly tagged along behind his professor. “Yeah, okay,” the boy muttered quickly. “I won’t, but hold on a second…” He reached for a handful of Snape’s sleeve and tugged before the man could embark toward another set of stairs.

Pausing at the landing, Snape promptly spun around, plucking the child’s hand from his robes as he scowled down at him. “Do not pull on my robes—“

“Okay, okay…” Harry held his palms out in front of him, backing up a step. “Sorry. But can I ask you a question?”

Snape exhaled in slight impatience, but his face had relaxed. “One,” he said curtly, raising a single, expectant eyebrow.

“Erm… All right,” Harry stuttered, unsure whether or not Snape was joking.

“Go on.”

Crumpling his gloves into his hands, Harry tried to burrow the thick wads into his pockets as he concocted his question. He licked his lips, nearly wincing at the sting of his tongue moistening the soft, chapped skin.

“Did you and Dumbledore keep me here to help find the Chamber? Because I don’t know how much good it’ll do…” the boy confessed, staring at the specks of snow remaining on his shoes.

“We expect nothing of the sort. You are a mere student,” Snape stated, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes. “This isn’t a treasure hunt, Potter—“

Harry’s head snapped up immediately, his stomach plunging with hurt. “I didn’t say that it was,” he insisted quietly, his eyes flashing with offended astonishment rather than defiance. “It’s just…I haven’t heard the basilisk for over a week.” Harry looked away, feeling like a failure without reason.

A short, tense silence passed, and he knew Snape was staring at him. But Harry didn’t know what to say—how to feel—until he heard the crisp rustle of the parchment that he’d folded and stored in the front pocket of his trousers. He glanced down. “Oh—“

“Potter…” Snape began softly.

Handing off one of his gloves and clasping them both in one of his fists, Harry pulled out the letters. But at the sound of his name, he froze, eyes shifting up in question. “Yes, sir?”

Swallowing and inclining his chin slightly, Snape shook his head almost gently. “You were interrupted. Continue…”

“Er…It’s all right,” Harry replied slowly, taken aback slightly by the indirect acknowledgement of fault. “Here.” He leaned forward and handed Snape the now wrinkled parchment. “Ginny gave these to me.”

Brows furrowed with interest, Snape took the letters from the boy and began reading.

Harry held onto the edge of the banister, watching his professor’s face as his eyes traveled deftly over the adolescent script.

As expected, Snape remained impassive. For a moment, Harry thought he saw the skin of the man’s throat pulse with a quickening heartbeat, but after a moment, he figured it was only his imagination. Perhaps Harry’s own heart was beating so thickly that it was vibrating his eyeballs…

“What’re you thinking about, Professor?” Harry ventured, figuring he might as well ask, for he’d never be able to deduce anything from the man’s features alone.

“I believe, Potter,” Snape said, his gaze lingering over the final few lines on the last page, “…that my suspicions concerning this matter have now been confirmed, though they were always probable.” He lowered the parchment, folding it in half with a flick of his index finger. Snape’s eyes rested on Harry for an instant before traveling away in thought.

“She’s all right now, though…isn’t she?” Harry questioned, pressing his palm into the smoothed edge of the railing.

“She is.”

Harry nodded, still analyzing Snape’s solemnity. “So, do you think this’ll help when you look for the Chamber?”

The black eyes glimmered, sparking back to reality. “What do you mean?”

“Well that’s why you cleared everybody out, isn’t it?” Harry prompted, curling his fingers around the banister. “You’re going to try to open the Chamber to get rid of the basilisk. Did you know the sound of a rooster’s crow can kill it? Kind of stupid, really…”

“Yes, I am aware, Potter.” Snape stated. “However, I have no intention of gallivanting around the school for days in search of something that will not be found—“

“But it exists, Professor,” Harry cried, his emotions beginning to spiral. What was Snape saying? “You can’t give up. Dumbledore said he had a plan…”

“His main priority was protecting his students and nothing else.”

“Well, what about you?” the boy probed, his knuckles paling as he clutched the railing. “You’ve got me here, and I can help you find it. I won’t run away from you—“

Snape erected his posture, as if in preparation of advancement on the boy, but apart from flinching slightly, Harry stood firmly in place.

“No, Harry,” Snape said resolutely. He shook his head. “If I proceed with my plan, you certainly will not be accompanying me.”

“But I’m—wait…” Harry’s face crumpled in confusion. “What sort of plan? You said you weren’t gonna search for anything…”

“I did.”

One of Harry’s chilly hands strayed to his forehead to swipe at a tiny, remaining trickle. And then, for some unknown reason, Harry understood.

Maybe it was because Snape wasn’t as skilled at hiding his emotions as he thought he was. Or maybe it was simply one of those moments where everything made sense, like in the muggle cartoons where the light bulb suddenly illuminates over the rabbit’s head.

Perhaps Harry had known all along. From the second he dropped the small, chain-linked bomb into Snape’s open palm.

The roof of Harry’s mouth shriveled and dried like a dead leaf. And the swirling emotions in his chest exploded.

He glared at Snape, his own heartbeat pulsing in his throat now.

“You can’t,” Harry croaked. This time, he gripped the banister for stability. “She didn’t say anything about the locket in those letters, Professor. She didn’t know where it led. It probably wasn’t the Chamber at all…”

“Calm down, Potter.”

“No! Who’s the idiot now?” Harry nearly screeched, his eyes wild. “The basilisk could still be alive in the Chamber. Just because I haven’t heard it doesn’t mean anything. And if you go, who knows if you’ll be able to get back!” The boy clutched at his neck, shaking his head in incredulity as he goggled at his professor with wild eyes.

“I believe I know more about escaping a dire situation than you do, foolish child,” Snape spat. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll close your mouth this instant before you say anything else you’ll regret, Potter.” Snape stretched a hand toward him. But Harry backed up quickly, his heel banging into the bottom step.

He immediately began fumbling with the invisible clasp at the back of his neck.

“Don’t you dare!”

But before Snape could stop him, Harry had ripped his own locket away from his neck. The invisible chain glowed a vein-like purple for a brief second before transforming back to its original tarnished state, draped and dangling across Harry’s knuckles.

“Here, take it,” the boy rasped, thrusting the locket toward the potions master. His whole face was hot now. Harry knew he was out of control, but there was no turning back to rationality. They were way past that.

“Put it back on. Do it now,” Snape growled, his jaw fluttering in livid frustration. “You’re asking for a spanking, Potter.”

“No, I’m not,” Harry argued quietly, the timidity slowly creeping back up on him. “You need this more than I do.”

He knew there was no way he was going to escape this whole debacle without punishment. But for once, Harry didn’t care. At least not presently, as his adrenalin was still pumping with vigor.

“How many times have I told you to worry about yourself, boy?” Snape’s voice rumbled hoarsely in his throat. He snatched the locket from Harry’s fingers, refastening the clasp. “Just when I thought that I would be able to inform you of something without exposure to one of your tantrums…” The locket bobbed unhappily as Snape fixed the clasp with jerky movements. He pulled the chains apart with his fingers. “Come here.”

But Harry only lifted the hem of his coat and jumper, extracting his wand in a smooth movement. “Just tell me what the incantation is. I’ll fix it so it’ll take you to Dumbledore’s office.”

The final straw.

Snape grabbed for him, catching a startled Harry about the shoulders and pulling him forward with ease. “Give me that,” he ordered, prying the wand from his fist.

“Don’t—“ Harry pleaded, hand instantly shooting out toward the one that tucked his holly inside of black robes.

Clutching Harry’s shoulders again, Snape shook him sternly, as if the defiance would topple out of his trousers and onto the floor like stolen paraphernalia. “Enough!”

Harry struggled against the firm hold, tensing up his bottom just in case. But he could feel his resolve dissipating into dust. It was all too much.

“What in the world has gotten into you, young man?!” Snape demanded, his coal eyes hard and insistent.

Harry’s head felt like it was weighted with lead, and the words clotted on his tongue as he collapsed, without thinking, against his professor’s chest, unbalancing them both for a second.

“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled into the scratchy wool, his common sense completely shattered. “I don’t know…”

Snape loosened his hold. “What on earth, Potter?” he breathed over the top of the boy’s head.

But Harry only shook his head against Snape’s torso, his glasses pressing painfully against the bridge of his nose. Lifting his hands, he clutched handfuls of the man’s robes in his fists so tightly that the material burned his palms.

Embarrassed and confused, Harry pressed his teeth into his tongue in order to control his emotions.

He barely succeeded.

However, Harry knew that if he let go of Snape’s robes, he’d collapse into a fit of screaming and raindrop tears. He silently begged himself to keep it together, as he didn’t understand what he was feeling. And the thought of such uncertainty was enough to shred his last ounce of constancy.

Suddenly, Harry felt warm pressure against his back and hair. Still gripping the chain in his fist, Snape had rested his knuckles between the boy’s shoulder blades while the other palmed the especially messy part of the child’s hair that never flattened no matter how many times it was tamed with a wet comb.

“You are far too old to be acting like this, Potter,” Snape scolded mildly.

Harry swallowed, keeping his eyes closed tightly. “I know,” he burbled weakly. “But please just let me search with you for one day. If we don’t find it, then you can use the portkey.”

“As if I need your permission…”

The muscles in Harry’s arms were rubbery as he tried to pulled away. This was a mistake. He never should have let his guard down…never should have thrown himself on the man like the big sod of a baby he always knew he was.

Harry continued internally scorning himself until the solid arms tightened around him, corking his scattered thoughts. Glancing up gingerly, Harry glimpsed nothing but the short stubble on the man’s chin.

“Very well, Potter.”

Startled, Harry pushed his fists against Snape’s chest. “What?” he asked, hardly believing what he’d just heard.

The hooked nose dipped and broadened as the potions master glanced down at the ruddy-cheeked boy. “You get one day.”