Fawkes flew ahead of the little group, leading the way out of Slytherin’s chamber and down the tunnel to the cave in. The boys had talked quietly during the trip back, Harry explaining how they had found the entrance to the chamber, and how Fawkes had saved him. As they reached the pile of rocks, Harry could see that Severus had cleared away a much larger hole for them to climb through and he followed the Phoenix, standing on the other side to help Professor Trelawney down to his dad as she made her way slowly through the opening.

Draco followed afterwards and he and Harry soon found themselves encased in a tight hug from their father. They didn’t protest at all, squeezing the man back in shared relief that everyone was safe again.

Severus had been worried sick when he'd been cut off from Harry with the collapse of the tunnel. Sending him off to retrieve Draco was one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made, but he knew that if anyone could possibly survive what was in the chamber - it was Harry with his Parseltongue capabilities. He had spent the time like a madman, though, moving enough rock to let everyone back through. He had just finished getting the hole wide enough, shoring up the edges with spells, when he had heard the boys coming down the passage.

His heart had gone through several flips when he'd seen Harry climb through the hole, soaking wet, covered in green ichor, carrying a fancy sabre - also dripping in goo - and helping Sybil through the opening and down to Severus' waiting hands. She had looked more dazed than ever, as he had guided her to a rock near Lockhart to have a seat. Turning back, he had gathered both boys into his arms, not wanting to ever let them go again. When he finally did acquiesce to releasing his hold on them, Harry looked at the chamber they were in.

“How are we going to get out? And what about him?” he asked as he pointed over to Lockhart who was looking as if he hadn’t a clue in the world. Severus was unsure and was about to send his Patronus to McGonagall when Fawkes flew over to land on Harry’s shoulder. He absently stroked the warm bird and gasped as he remembered something that Dumbledore had told him back last summer. The Phoenix crooned at him as if he knew what Harry was thinking.

“Do you think you can do it, Fawkes?” he murmured to the bird. The Phoenix nodded its head and turned around on Harry’s shoulder to force his tail feathers in Harry’s hand. “Dad, dad! Fawkes can take us up the shaft!”

“What? Of course! Everyone – head to the first chamber and we can ascend from there.” He helped Sybil stand up and the two of them led Lockhart out, the boys following.

The flight up the tunnel was just as awe-inspiring as the tumble down it had been. They had made a chain behind Harry, and when he had touched the tail feathers it was as if a feather-light charm had been placed on all of them. He could feel his father’s hands around his waist, but he felt no weight at all tugging at him as Fawkes flew upwards. Lockhart, who appeared to have obliviated himself of all his memories, remarked constantly on how this was all so brilliant, just like magic!

All too soon, they had landed on the wet floor of the bathroom and Myrtle was lamenting over the loss of someone to share her toilet with her. Lockhart had screamed – Harry felt, like a girl – when he had spotted the ghost hovering nearby, but Severus had hurried them all out the door and down to Minerva’s office, giving Lockhart a scathing look that had shut him up.

They were pleasantly surprised to see Dumbledore sitting behind the transfiguration professor’s desk while McGonagall was receiving a tray of tea things from a house-elf in the floo.

“Ah, Severus! You were successful, I see,” Dumbledore said, his eyes peering merrily over the edges of his glasses. Since Snape was not entirely pleased with the turn events had taken, forcing his sons into danger, he did not appreciate the all-knowing jocular attitude of his superior, and he made his displeasure known as he stood, arms crossed across his chest, fingers tapping against his elbow as he glared down at the old man.

“Albus. When did you get back?” Severus asked evenly while indicating with a wave of his fingers that the boys should take a seat on the camel-backed loveseat near the fire. They hurried to comply, Harry still holding on to the hat, book and sword as they warily watched the adults interact.

“Oh, about five minutes ago. Seems the governors changed their tune when young Draco and Sybil were taken down to the chamber. But I see you had it well in hand.” He ignored the snort that had forced its way through his Potions master’s teeth, as well as the rolling of his eyes, and turned his attention to the two other young teachers in the room. “Gilderoy, is there something wrong?” he enquired of the obviously daft professor. It took a few more tries on his part before Lockhart actually understood someone was speaking to him.

“Is that my name? I don’t remember… Who are you?" he asked, staring at the headmaster. "You look like Father Christmas. Is it Christmas? " He clapped his hands in obvious joy. "I want a red fire truck; please …” Losing interest quickly, he wandered off to look at some of Minerva’s knick-knacks she had scattered on her bookshelves. "These are pretty..." he murmured, picking up and examining a shiral stone that glinted in the light of the fireplace, tossing fractal light in all directions.

Severus coloured quickly, but cleared his throat before speaking up for the obviously confused man. “You’ll have to excuse Professor Lockhart, sir, he tried to Obliviate Harry and myself and we used a mirror charm to shield ourselves. It reflected back at twice the strength and ended up erasing all his memories.” He couldn’t help the little smirk that lifted up the corners of his mouth and he heard a muffled guffaw behind him as Draco tried to stifle a giggle.

Dumbledore turned a pitying look on the former teacher, tsking under his breath and mentioning something about being hoisted on his own petard. He had Minerva call for Poppy who promptly stepped through the fire and led the man away, patting him gently across the shoulders, with a pointed look at the rest of the adventurers. Severus assured her that he and the boys would be up to see her soon.

The headmaster turned towards Sybil who was wringing her hands worriedly near the floo.

“Sybil?” he asked gently. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down.” He led her to a comfortable armchair, that hadn’t been there a moment before, and she gratefully sank down in it, accepting a cup of tea from McGonagall.

“Can you tell me what you remember, Sybil?” the headmaster asked.

She kept her eyes down as she spoke, seemingly finding her cuppa very interesting. Her glasses were nearly opaque with the steam from unshed tears and hot tea. “I found the… the book in December. It was just lying on the floor in the bathroom. So innocent looking…” she sniffed. “I picked it up and pocketed it, forgetting all about it. Then a few days later, I started writing in it as I needed a new dream journal, and it seemed perfect. I was so surprised when it talked back to me and offered its own interpretations. It was as if it could see right into my soul…” Sounding quite awed, she took another sip of the tea before continuing on, oblivious to the rapture of the audience in front of her.

“After the students returned, I started having black-outs, times when I couldn’t remember anything. Other times, I felt as if I was under a spell – I could see myself doing things, things I didn’t want to do, but I couldn’t stop it from happening. I talked to Tom about this and he reassured me it was alright.” The three other teachers shared a knowing look between themselves. Yes, they were sure Tom had been understanding, suave, and sympathetic; his charisma was famous.

“What happened today?” Dumbledore prompted.

Instead of answering immediately, she finished off her tea before setting the saucer down on a little table nearby. She grabbed the edges of her shawls, pulling them close in around her, as if she was cold. She trembled slightly as she finally continued on. “I don’t remember much. I went to get Mr Snape, on Minerva's recommendation, to help me move some furniture in my office and I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up underground.” She turned distraught eyes on the headmaster, the tears finally trailing down her cheeks from behind her owlish glasses, and he patted her hands comfortingly where they lay in her lap before handing her a conjured handkerchief.

“It’s all over, Sybil. Tom was destroyed – he should never bother you again. Why don’t you go on up to your tower and have a lie in tomorrow. You’ve definitely earned it and Severus will send up a dreamless sleep draught for you to take. We'll have someone take your classes for you. That’s a dear,” he said comfortingly as he led the divination professor to the floo as she profusely thanked him. “Minerva, if you would make sure she makes it up to her rooms? Thank you.”

He turned back to the room in general after the two women had left in a puff of green fire from the fireplace, and was about to open his mouth when the door banged open and Lucius Malfoy waltzed in, Dobby in tow, whom he kicked to the side when the little man moved too slowly. Harry frowned from his seat on the small couch; no one should be treated that way, even if it was the most annoying House-elf in history. He glared up at the blond man standing in the centre of the room.

“You! What are you doing back here?” Malfoy exclaimed as he saw Dumbledore standing before him.

“The governors rescinded their order for my removal, Lucius, especially when they heard that a student had been taken. Odd, they seemed to indicate that you had forcibly gotten them to sign the original order. I wonder why they would think that, hmmm?” he said as he walked over to sit behind Minerva’s desk again, steepling his fingers as he gazed at the wizard in front of him.

“I have no idea what you are implying, Dumbledore. I have nothing but admiration for you and this school.” He sounded sincere, but Harry really doubted that he was; the answer seemed a little too pat, and he could hear his brother mumbling under his breath, "Yeah, right."

”Of course, Lucius, of course,” the headmaster temporized, shooting a glance in Draco's direction. The boy wisely held his tongue.

“Well?” the blond asked.

“Well, what, Mr Malfoy?” Dumbledore slowly turned his attention back to the school governor.

“Is the beast secured?” he forced out through his teeth. “I’m assuming since you are back, the problem has been taken care of?”

Dumbledore smiled benignly at the patrician. “Oh yes, Harry here soundly defeated him – with that sword.” He pointed to the sabre – still covered in green gore – that lay propped up against the couch where the boys sat. “Harry, why don’t you take a look at the blade of that sword while I talk to Mr Malfoy. You might find it interesting.”

Harry, keeping an ear on the conversation that resumed, picked up the sword and finally got a good look at it. Etched scrollwork decorated both sides of the blade along the flat, and right in the centre of it was a name. Draco gasped as he looked over his brother’s shoulder and read the inscription: Godric Gryffindor. The sword had belonged to one of the schools founders! Harry couldn't believe that he was holding, and had used, such a venerable piece of wizarding history.

Lucius sneered at the gaudy sword, and the boys who sat looking at it. “And did you find out who had released it in the first place?”

“Oh, yes – the same one as last time, I’m afraid: Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort.” The headmaster took great satisfaction in seeing Malfoy senior flinch as the name was said. "I do remember you being present when we presented the original testimony last fall that had reversed the expulsion of Hagrid fifty years ago. I had said at the hearing that Voldemort had been the actual student who had opened the chamber and caused the death of Myrtle Morehead."

Taken aback, Malfoy tried to recover lost ground. “I see… and if The Da… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is defeated, how could he have released the beast?” scoffed the school governor, catching himself before he said The Dark Lord.

Ignoring the man’s near gaffe, the headmaster explained. “Why, through this diary, of course.” Dumbledore wandlessly summoned the book lying in Harry’s lap. “Seems it originally was given to a young first-year in Diagon Alley this past August when she and her family were accosted by you in Flourish and Blotts.” He ignored the rising colour in Lucius’ face. “She realised that something was wrong with the book and sought to get rid of it, only for it to be found by one of our impressionable young faculty members who needed a new journal. Really quite a tragic set of circumstances, don’t you agree?” Lucius mumbled a reply as Dumbledore walked over to where the boys sat, handing the diary back to Harry.

“It’s just a blank book now, Harry, but I thought you might want to keep it as a keepsake.” Harry nodded as he reluctantly accepted the item. He noticed Dobby cringing behind Lucius, staring at the little brown book and then pointedly looking up at his master, who was still arguing with Dumbledore. He looked over at his brother who was frankly staring amusedly at the house-elf’s antics. Then he remembered a conversation he’d had with Runeskin before leaving the manor at Christmastime.

“You wear clothes sometimes; why don’t other elves wear them?” Harry had asked.

“Clothes indicate that a house-elf is free, sir. Master Snape freed us many years ago when he took over the manor. We stay because we want to; we are loyal to Master Snape. Other elves are bonded to their masters, and those masters do not want to free them – so they make sure they never hand a piece of clothing to an elf, for that would free them from their bondage,” the elf explained.

“Any clothing will do?” Harry had asked.

“Even something as small as a handkerchief or sock,” affirmed the clan chief.

Harry had a brilliant idea and he hoped that it worked. He tugged off his sock and stuffed the diary in it, before standing up and heading towards Mr Malfoy.

“What is it, boy?” the man asked, sneering down at Harry. When Severus moved as if to intercede, Harry gave a small shake of his head.

“I wanted to give this back to you, sir, I really don’t want it.” He handed the sock-wrapped book to the imposing man. Lucius shook the book out of the sock, throwing the smelly garment to the floor in the general direction of his elf. Harry surreptitiously motioned with his hand that Dobby should pick it up. Meanwhile Lucius was staring at the diary, now covered with ink and holes.

“Why would I want this… thing?” he scorned.

“Well, I thought you would want it back since you obviously left it with Ginny Weasley’s books by mistake. Sorry, I seemed to have messed it up down in the chamber while saving Draco’s life, but I’m sure a good Reparo should fix things. I don’t know how to perform one yet, or I’d do it for you,” said Harry in his most polite tone while he saw Dobby reverently pick up the sock, knowledge blossoming in his wizened little face.

“Master has freed Dobby!” exclaimed the elf in amazement. Lucius whirled around to stare at his former servant.

“I did no such thing!” he cried, but then he saw the sock resting in Dobby’s hands and saw red, turning around to curse Harry with his suddenly drawn wand, only to find himself facing four wands aimed straight at his chest.

Dobby walked around to join the little group of wizards, throwing his hand up – palm outward – as well. “You shall not harm Harry Potter-Snape!” he cried.

“Yes, Lucius,” drawled Severus. “I would think twice about that manoeuvre if I were you. I believe you’ve caused enough trouble this year.” He lazily spun the tip of his wand in a little circle, but Malfoy knew not to mess with his former mate; Severus Snape was at his most dangerous when he made you think he was relaxed.

Lucius only took a split moment to decide on his course of action, sheathing his wand with a snap, and walking backwards towards the office door.

“Lucius,” Dumbledore called out. “If I find any of Lord Voldemort’s possessions on students again, I will know where they came from. I hope you get my meaning?” Lucius nodded and retreated out the door quickly.

Draco let out a huge sigh of relief; he had been concentrating on making himself unnoticeable to Lucius, not wanting to draw attention. Harry went over to Dobby patting the little elf on his back as it sobbed thanks into Harry’s sock.

"I'm your elf forever, Harry Potter-Snape. You can always call on Dobby if you's ever in trouble!"

"Thanks Dobby, I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, bemused at the elf's loyalty.

Soon, Albus had managed to get Dobby to head downstairs to the kitchens for the rest of the evening and had hustled the Snapes out the door and over to the infirmary.

It had taken a bit of fast talking on his part to get the boys out of the matron’s clutches, but Pomfrey knew that Severus was more than qualified to see to his sons’ medical well-being and recovery from magical core drainage – on Draco’s part – and basilisk venom poisoning – Harry’s particular main problem. She’d let them go after mending their scrapes and bruises with promises that he would contact her if they had any problems over the next few days.

A weary group of Snapes descended slowly to the dungeons, Draco snickering at the sight of Lockhart’s trunk that had popped open when it had landed at the bottom of the stairs, spilling wigs, broken frames of self-portraits and garish robes all over the dungeon floor. Deciding to delay the inquiry until the next day, Severus saw the boys to bed insisting they shower first, giving each of them a vial of Dreamless Sleep after flooing an identical bottle up to Trelawney’s lair. He checked in on them a little while later and found both boys clean and sound asleep.