Myrtle’s bathroom smelled as if it were sheathed in mold.

The stones under Harry’s feet had taken on a greenish hue and were sweating from the heavy moisture that hung in the air. Amazingly, the second floor lavatory was no longer flooded, but Harry almost wished it were.

Its current slippery state was revolting.

The damp, cold air squirmed its way into the cuffs of Harry’s jumper as he scanned the rusty toilets and peaked ceiling for any sign of the sour ghost. Wrinkling his nose, Harry twisted around; he lifted his chin and threw a mild scowl toward Snape, who was trailing more closely than Harry would have preferred.

“It smells horrible in here,” the boy complained to his rather indifferent professor. “How does Myrtle stand it?”

Snape mirrored the child’s disgusted frown. “She’s dead, Potter. Surely you have learned of the attributes of ghosts and similar beings by now…”

“I figured they can’t smell anything,” Harry huffed in growing annoyance. “I just meant that it’s really depressing. I’d go mad if I spent all of my time in this bathroom.” He gestured toward the clouded windows and somewhat slimy sills with a nod of his head.

“Not everyone revels in sunshine and rainbows, foolish boy,” Snape grumbled as his eyes leisurely dragged over the scene. “Now enough gawking. We’re here for a reason.”

Harry felt his collar tighten a bit around his throat as Snape clutched a handful of his jumper and pulled him a few steps to the left. Hunching his shoulder close to his cheek, Harry easily freed himself from Snape’s rather lax grip and began backing up toward the wall behind the cement sinks.

“No fooling about,” Snape warned, briefly extending a stiff forefinger in the boy’s direction as he sidestepped his way over to the toilets. He held his wand securely in his other hand, the small orb of preserved sound wavering like heat off of the tip.

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s you, Potter.”

But Harry saved his reply as he was already feeling his way along the chilly stone, his splayed palms moist with mildew and grit. The gray bricks were as solid and stagnant as ever. Craning his neck back, Harry peered carefully at the bricks that lined the area just under the bathroom ceiling.

“Maybe it’s like the entrance to Diagon Alley,” Harry spoke to the stone, thinking outloud. He ran his thumb along the crack between two bricks above his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Snape’s deep voice echoed from behind, sounding as if his head were close to the toilet bowl.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Why is that ridiculous?” he challenged. “I’m just saying what if…”

“Well, it is rather ridiculous, don’t you think?”

Both Harry and Snape snapped their heads around in search of the whining, nasal drawl.

As Snape backed out of the middle toilet, the door creaked on its tarnished hinges before banging closed. “Show yourself, Myrtle,” the professor commanded, moving swiftly to his right and wrenching open the stall door.

“I shan’t,” the ghost squeaked with a hiccough that echoed throughout the bathroom. “Not if you’re going to shout at me!”

“Quit yelling at her,” Harry whispered harshly as he strolled up behind Snape, whipping his head around as he tried to spot Myrtle’s location. “She’s gets her feelings hurt.”

“Do not tell me how to speak, Potter,” Snape growled down at the swiveling, spiky head of hair.

“I’m not trying-“

But before Harry could finish his sentence, another high-pitched, quivery hiccough bounced off of the surrounding walls.

Oh no, Harry dismally mused. She was revving up for a full-blown wail.

“Please don’t get upset, Myrtle,” Harry quickly attempted in the most apologetic voice he could muster. He tried to move away from Snape, but the man had suddenly clapped a hand across the base of Harry’s neck and held him still.

Harry rolled his eyes but took a step back anyway. He could have easily wiggled his shoulders and ripped free of Snape’s hold. But the large palm was warm and soothing against the gooseflesh that had sprung up and rippled along his neck.

And Myrtle had quieted.

Perhaps she was listening after all…

“Could you come out for a minute?” Harry called, flicking his eyes around the room. “Professor Snape won’t shout.”

The hand tightened around his neck, and Harry could help but smirk up at its owner. “Tell her,” the boy mouthed.

“Do show yourself,” Snape said dryly. “You’ve nothing to fear.” His thin lips fumbled humorlessly over the forced kindness.

Dipping his chin, Snape raised a cynical eyebrow at the boy. Harry gave him a half-grin of approval.

For a long moment, Myrtle said nothing. Harry turned sideways, fervently watching the toilets for the girl’s arrival. Convinced that he wouldn’t dart anywhere without consent, Snape let his hand drop from Harry’s neck.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Harry waited.

Suddenly, a squeaking noise sounded from behind them. Flipping around, Harry gasped as Myrtle squeezed out of one of the heavily encrusted sink faucets. Her white, translucent form slinked out of the tiny opening as smoothly and quietly as smoke.

Still moping, Myrtle floated up to a niche in the ceiling and settled into it. She flashed both occupants a daring glare.

Harry swallowed around his dry tongue as he stared at her. “Hey, Myrtle,” he croaked, feeling like an idiot. He could sense Snape standing directly behind him now, but he was too preoccupied to care.

Myrtle played with the folds of her skirt. “No one ever wants to see me,” the ghost pouted. “They’re only interested in poking fun or invading my privacy. You’ve got glasses too, Harry.” Myrtle nodded down at the boy. “Do your classmates tease you…or throw books in your face?”

“I…they…well,” Harry sputtered, inspecting the wild look in Myrtle’s bespecled gaze. He thought fast. “In primary school, they sometimes did…”

“Did they?” the girl crooned with a tilt of her sallow, puckered face.

“Yeah, sometimes-“

“That is quite enough of this absurdity,” Snape growled under his breath. Placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Snape tugged him back and stepped around him. “Myrtle,” the man’s volume increased as he addressed the still-sulking ghost. “Mr. Potter and I have no intention of staying longer than necessary.”

Myrtle’s lower lip began to wobble dramatically.

“Now you’ve done it...”

Without looking back, Snape reached behind him and nipped the side of the boy’s thigh with a quick, stinging flick of his fingers.

Harry immediately flailed away from his professor and his swift reflexes. Making a face, he rubbed his leg with the heel of his hand a few times before turning away and leaving Snape to deal with Myrtle and her impending temper.

Fine, Harry thought as he focused his attention on the rusty faucets. If she starts howling it’ll be your fault.

Rather affronted, Harry gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the conversation going on behind him. He picked at a loose sheet of brown rust that threatened to peel off of the side of the spigot, apathetic of the grime that was working its way underneath his thumbnail.

What did it feel like to be dead and float through taps and skinny pipes? And why was the idea of entering the Chamber through the bricks ridiculous? It could be a bloody invisible entrance for all Harry knew.

He flicked his thumbnail against another stiff piece of rust watching as it fluttered down to the basin while Myrtle burbled on about Ginny Weasley being horrid amid Snape’s exasperated sighs and strained patience.

Harry smiled to himself. And then he froze, a short wave of apprehension spiraling between his ribs. The smile on his face instantly disappeared as he crouched down and peered hard at the encrusted emblem near the base of the faucet.

Leaning in closer, he smoothed the pad of his gunk-covered thumb over the twisted blemish, deafened by the thick pulse in his ears.

Could it really be so simple?

Harry gripped the spout in his cold and pulled hard. He twisted it both ways.

Nothing.

Pressing his thumb against the tiny, metal snake, Harry pushed against the sink with all of his strength.

Still nothing.

“Come on,” he whispered as his thumbnail grazed over the serpent’s grooves. “This has to be it. Please open.”

Suddenly, the sink groaned, a heavy, metal-on-metal grinding sound that caused the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck to prick up again.

The faucet in his hand vibrated for several seconds, and then it slipped from his fingers as the row of basins began to sink into the bathroom floor.

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

Severus nearly choked on the air that had frozen in his lungs the second he’d spun around toward the descending sinks.

And there Potter stood, his belly rounding and deflating with rapid, heaving breaths as he gawked into the gaping hole in the floor, his hair blown askew by the cool air that gushed up from the entrance.

The entrance. Potter had found it. He had discovered it and he’d somehow opened it.

The toes of the boy’s trainers scaled the edge of the open circle. He was too close.

“Potter, away from there!” Severus exclaimed loudly, his temporarily petrified impulses kicking into full gear as he swept forward.

Myrtle shrieked and dove for her toilet.

The boy whipped around in sudden shock, his face gray-white and impossibly adolescent. But he had reacted much too frantically, and he wavered, unsteady, his heel slipping over the edge of the abyss.

The loud squeak of a rubber sole scraping against a wet wall resounded about the vertical tunnel. For the smallest of instants, Potter caught himself by his knee cap. His face contorted in pain as the joint made contact with the stone.

Severus lunged for him; his echo-ignited wand flung itself out his hand and clattered against the tunnel wall, landing somewhere below. But the bathroom floor was wet—coated in mold—and the boy’s palm slapped the stone once before he disappeared below the surface.

“Dammit! Potter!”

Abandoning all common sense, Severus hoisted himself up and plunged over the edge of the entrance without a second thought.

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

The wand next to Harry’s face was glowing with a strange, dim white light at the end, but he let it lie.

He hadn’t fallen far, and he’d landed on a pile of rubbish that crunched and poked into his trousers. It was too dark to identify anything. His knee ached terribly, and he’d scraped his hand on the floor when he’d slid down the tunnel on his stomach. His palm burned, and the skin of his belly was wet from the freezing cold metal.

But at least he wasn’t dead.

Pushing himself up with his hands, carefully cupping his stinging one against the ground, Harry slowly sat back on his heels, testing out his knee.

It was still sore, but he didn’t think he’d dislocated anything. He hoped not, anyway.

Before Harry could organize his thoughts any further, however, he heard a swishing sound from the tunnel in front of him. And a second later, a sharp crunch as a body landed beside him, sending a tickling breeze across his face.

“Harry?” Snape breathed heavily in the darkness. The floor crackled and popped beneath him as he moved around. “Are you here?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” The parched, high pitch of his voice startled him as it echoed throughout the tunnel. “I’m all right.”

He could feel Snape’s damp fingers on his nose and hair as the man felt his way through the darkness.

“Do you have your wand?”

“Erm…” Harry scrambled for his waistband with shaking fingers. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Cast Lumos, please.”

Harry sniffled through his runny nose as he wiped the sweat from his hand on his trousers and took a deep, composing breath. “Okay.”

They both squinted against the bright blue glow that engulfed the suffocating space. Harry jerked back a bit. Snape was closer than he’d figured. The man’s face was deeply creased and his mouth was thin and tight as he immediately tucked his hands underneath Harry’s armpits and hauled him off of the ground as he stood.

Gripping his wand in his fist, Harry glanced down at his trainers that dangled several centimeters off of the ground.

“Look at me,” Snape said tersely.

Harry snapped his eyes up toward the sealed features. Snape was still breathing heavily through his nostrils.

“You’re not hurt?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, sir.”

“You hit your knee on the way down. It doesn’t hurt?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Bend it.”

“Do what?”

Snape set him down gently, still gripping him about the underarms. He nodded toward Harry’s knee. “Bend it—back and forth. Do it now.”

Harry complied. His kneecap tingled, almost itched, but the pain was fading. “I think it’s all right,” he ventured.

Snape stared at him for a long moment, swallowing several times as if wetting his tongue to speak, but he didn’t.

Balling up his fist, Harry wiggled his fingertips over his warm and mildly scraped palm. “I found it,” he stated, his mouth relaxing into a small smile.

“You did. And you spoke Parseltongue,” Snape said hoarsely, still unsmiling. He cleared his throat gently. “What did you say?”

Harry scrunched up his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “No I didn’t…”

“Yes, Potter, you did,” Snape countered, releasing Harry as he moved over a few steps and reached down for his own wand, turning it over in his hand to inspect before holding it next to his thigh. “You whispered something.”

Still frowning in confusion, Harry shrugged the cuff of his jumper over his wrist and twisted it until the damp patch of wool lined up with his scrapes. Suppressing a wince, he pressed the cool material against his palm.

“I think I just asked it to open or something,” the boy mumbled, holding his wand out further form his torso and glancing around the glistening cave walls as they illuminated. “I wasn’t being serious. I can’t believe it was that easy…”

“Indeed,” Snape replied in a non-committal way. He sighed heavily and brushed his frazzled locks away from his face with one hand while fingering his wand in the other. “You are still wearing the portkey, I take it?”

Harry didn’t answer. He was staring at the ground in disgust, his wand dangling lifelessly by his side. “Sodding hell…” he whispered. “Are those bones?”

“Potter!”

“What?” Harry glanced up and then grimaced. “How come there’re bones in here?”

Snape ignored him. “The portkey,” he repeated, gesturing toward the boy with a jerk of his wand. “Take it out.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Harry hesitated, fragile bones sporadically snapping under his trainers the longer he stood. “You can’t be serious,” he said quietly. “I’m the one who found the Chamber and you’re still-“

“No arguments, Potter,” Snape coolly reminded him.

“This isn’t fair!” The blue light at the end of Harry’s wand skittered about the walls from his gesticulations.

“You could have been killed.”

“But I found it!” Harry argued, though his voice took on more of a pleading tone.

“You did,” Snape agreed. “And you nearly hurled yourself into that blasted hole instead of calling for me-“

“I won’t go.”

Snape drew in a significant, steadying breath, effectively standing his ground. “You will if I say you will.”

Harry’s throat felt like it was closing; he stared hard at Snape, his head spinning. “But I think heard it…” he said weakly.

Silence dominated the space. The hazy blue and white lights springing from both wands throbbed in alternation.

Snape’s whole face clouded dangerously. “If you’re lying to me, young man, I will blister you…“

The boy’s stomach lurched at the threat, but he forced his brain to do some fast thinking. “I could try the sound amplification spell,” Harry offered. He swallowed quickly, his throat dry and rough. “Then I could be really sure. And if I don’t hear anything, then I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m here with you or not. I’ll take the portkey to Dumbledore’s office. I swear won’t argue.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Snape warned quietly, his stance rigid.

Harry clutched the damp cuff of his jumper against his shallow cuts firmly enough to sting. “I won’t.” As much as he felt like gluing his eyes to the floor, Harry didn’t, even though it hurt his insides to look into Snape’s face.

The man’s words were as stern and scare-inducing as they always were. His face, though…his face was a different story. Snape didn’t appear as mean as he probably thought he did. His eyes were drawn at the corners like a scolded dog. He looked almost betrayed. Betrayed by a short, skinny kid with crooked glasses and soiled trainers.

And as Harry extinguished his light with a breathless Nox, he implored with every ounce of his heart that he would at least hear something that sounded like a basilisk.

It had been a long time since he’d told a lie to Snape, and just the mere thought of it was too much to bear. He couldn’t. The truth may get him in trouble, but he simply couldn’t fib. He wouldn’t.

Clearing his throat, Harry waved his wand in the air and recited, “Sonitus Amplificarum!”

Heavy static instantly coursed through Harry’s ears.

With the soft light from Snape’s wand and the meager illumination from above, his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. But the hand on his shoulder made him feel stronger anyway.

Harry waited. He allowed his lids slip closed and stood as still as possible.

Please, he thought. His hand itched with sweat as he gripped his wand.

And then he heard it.

Harry figured he must have stiffened, because Snape’s hand tightened on his shoulder. The voice wasn’t loud…or even frightening. Instead, it sounded far away and raspy.

Harry’s pulse quickened as he listened.

Master… Master… The voice repeated it over and over. A quiet, mournful requiem.

“Do you hear anything?” Snape’s whisper exploded in Harry’s head.

He nodded slowly.

“Very well. End the charm and cast another Lumos, Potter.”

Harry obeyed; glad to rid his ears of the harsh buzzing and strange, crooning whisper. Glad that it would still be another minute before Snape’s face would appear in the muddled atmosphere.

He couldn’t tell if the man believed him or not.

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

They walked on in silence with Potter’s ignited wand leading the way as they stumbled over the ruts along the floor in the dim tunnel.

The boy had been telling the truth, though by the way he’d tensed up about fifteen seconds into casting the Charm, Severus could sense that Potter was surprised by his own discovery.

And now here they were, venturing down a dark tunnel like bloody explorers. He’d half-expected the boy to be flitting arrogantly about, wand at the ready like a miniature Marauder. But Potter was quiet, concentrated. It was disconcerting and…odd.

“Are you all right?” Severus asked awkwardly, glancing down at the boy every so often.

Potter took his time before answering. He flashed his professor a sideways glimpse after a moment and nodded jerkily. “Yeah,” he said, hunching up the sleeve of his wand arm with a quick swipe of his hand. He stared forward again. “I’m fine.”

It would have been easy to contradict the child’s obvious feigning, but Severus simply held his own wand tighter and proceeded forward.

But all of a sudden, they came to a thick, flat stone wall. Potter halted, blinking rapidly as the blue light shone over the engraved snakes. He glanced up with a questioning look.

"What now?"

Peering at the elaborate serpents petrified mid-slither, Severus shook his hair out of his face and raised his brow as he gazed down at the boy. "You spoke in Parseltongue before, Potter," he began, jerking his head to the side. "Do it again."

Harry frowned. "I don't know how."

"Try."

"I can't..."

"Just tell it to open," Snape insisted, swallowing his annoyance at the prolonged banter.

Huffing under his breath, Harry held his wand eye-level as he narrowed his gaze, his pupils burning into the stone. He spoke slowly, softly. And then he waited.

"Told you..." Harry complained, smirking humorlessly up at his professor.

But before Severus could respond, the slab creaked. The boy immediately flicked his eyes back toward the concealment. Stone scraped against stone as the snakes weaved through their stone grooves, expelling clouds of dust into the wand-light.

Ever so slowly, the large Chamber came into view; they both halted. From beside him, Potter suddenly began expelling deep, abrasive gusts of air. Without peering down, Severus scooted the child closer to him with a firm hand on the side of his neck. He could feel Potter’s heartbeat pulse through the delicate skin behind his earlobe.

Some distance away, an enormous stone serpent spanned the height of the cave, its lance-like fangs poised and glimmering with dampness.

It was like stepping into a nightmare. Or the Dark Lord’s mind…

Severus crouched down, pulling the boy close. He could smell the saltiness of the sweat that dotted the thin, dark brow. “You can still hear it, can’t you…” he stated soberly, keeping his voice deliberately calm, yet firm enough to stabilize order.

Harry nodded, now drawing in short, warm breaths through his nose.

“Same words?”

Another nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Same volume?”

A tiny bead of sweat trickled down the boy’s temple. Severus reached up and wiped it away with his thumb. Harry’s forehead was cold.

“No.”

“No?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes darting toward the obscene statue to his left. “It’s louder,” he said, his voice scratchy and thick.

Severus gripped the boy’s chin, pressing his fingers and thumb against the sweaty cheeks. The wide, green eyes immediately snapped back to attention.

“Stay here against the wall,” Severus ordered. “Do not move.”

“How close do you have to be to echo the rooster’s crow?”

“Close.”

“But how-“

“Do you hear me, boy? You will not move!”

Harry flinched slightly. “I hear you.”

Releasing the child’s face, Severus steered him back over the threshold and pushed the narrow shoulders up against the cave wall. “I will return,” he promised, squeezing Potter’s shoulders briefly before turning on his heel.

“But what if you don’t…”

Severus froze, flipping his head around. He gazed at the small, stiff boy plastered to the wall, gazed into the worried eyes that unknowingly held so much weight. Their green was intense; impaled his chest. Stripped him raw. But somehow…somehow seemed to also comfort him in the aftermath of the pain.

He lifted his chin importantly and softened his own eyes as much as he knew how.

You will not fail her twice.

Severus held the child’s stare for another meaningful second. “I will return,” he repeated.

And then he was gone.