Harry was in the Great Hall when Headmaster announced the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students’ arrival within the next few days for the TriWizard Tournament.

Harry, however, wasn’t there when the students made their grand arrivals. Hermione confronted him that night.

“You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you?”

Harry lifted his head from the book he was reading, one he’d had to sneak out of the Restricted Section. He arched an eyebrow at her briefly and then turned back to the book.

“Harry!” Hermione stepped in front of him, effectively blocking the light he was using to read. He growled quietly under his breath and snapped the book shut. He was just getting into some interesting theory that tied his emotions to the strength of his magic, especially negative emotions.

“What, Hermione?” He snapped. He looked up to glare at her but she didn’t back down. She folded her arms over her chest.

“You’ve been missing breakfast, you’re barely doing your homework, and Ron’s told me you’ve been sneaking out of bed. I thought that it must be something to do with the Dementor attack and that it would wear off soon, but obviously I was wrong, the attack was nearly two months ago and you’re nothing like yourself. You’re getting into trouble, Harry, you’re education is-“

“Leave off, Hermione! You don’t know anything!” Harry shouted and stood up. Hermione didn’t back away.

“Harry, please, listen to me. I just want to help.”

“Well you’re not helping so leave me alone.” Harry pushed his way past Hermione. She stumbled to the side and used her hand to brace herself against the wall of the Gryffindor common room. She righted herself and glared furiously at Harry’s back.

“At least I’m trying! If you would just talk about it, Harry, just tell someone what’s going on, they might be able to help.” She persisted.

“I don’t need help! I’m perfectly fine, Hermione. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“I’d be much more inclined to believe that if you weren’t shouting.” Harry froze and spun on his heel. He stalked up to where Hermione stood at the other side of the room. He was so close to her face that their noses almost touched. He looked her dead in the eye and spoke in a low voice.

“There is nothing wrong with me.” He hissed at her. “And I swear to Merlin, Hermione, if you don’t drop this right now there will be consequences.” Harry turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the portrait hole.

Hermione stood frozen in place, reeling from her best friend’s rejection. She was only trying to help. She was worried about him. But if he wasn’t going to accept her help, she wasn’t going to offer it anymore. He could screw his education over for all she cared, she told herself firmly. But that wasn’t really true and she knew it.

Hermione’s summer had been much like ever summer before that. She’d gone on a small holiday with her parents, bought a new statue as a memento, and written letters to Harry and Ron about what she was doing. Ron was the only one to reply, of course, with Harry’s muggle relatives hating all things wizard it was difficult for him to do anything remotely related to this world, even something as simple as sending a letter.

Hermione had guesses about Harry’s home life, but she’d never plucked up the nerve to ask him about it. She’d often debated the pros and cons of going to McGonagall with her thoughts, but didn’t want to risk losing Harry’s trust, and, really, who would believe that the saviour pf the wizarding world could possibly have been abused? It was almost laughable for most wizards to think that tea by who was powerful enough to beat the Dark Lord could have an anything but perfect life with his guardians worshipping the ground he walked on.

She shook her head. Harry had changed over the summer and she couldn’t ignore it anymore, even if she wanted to. With all her theories about Harry and all her wondering about if she should do anything about it, she’d never really wanted to. And she could make up all the excuses she wanted about the Wizarding World finding it laughable, but really she just didn’t want it to be true.

She forced her body to move in the direction her brain knew she had to go; Professor McGonagall’s office. On the first floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, the office had a view of the training grounds below.

As luck would have it, McGonagall was on her way to her office as the same time as Hermione was.

“Miss Granger?” Her Scottish accent cut through the silence of the hallway. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Professor, I need to talk to you about Harry.” Hermione ventured. McGonagall looked down at her for a moment before nodding.

“Very well, Miss Granger, follow me into my office.” McGonagall sat behind her desk and looked towards Hermione. “Now, what is it that is concerning you about Mr Potter?”

“Well, Professor,” Hermione let out a breath. “It’s just that he’s been acting differently.”

“I have noticed, Miss Granger.” McGonagall said sharply.

“Only, I don’t think things are quite right.” Hermione continued. McGonagall raised her eyebrow as if to say ‘obviously’. “At home, I mean.” Hermione pressed.

“What concerns are you having about Mr Potter’s home life?”

“I… I think you know what I mean, Professor. Harry admits that his relatives don’t like him, and he never goes home unless he has to. But I think that maybe it goes beyond dislike, Professor.” Hermione looked at her professor meaningfully.

“Right, miss Granger, thank you. But I assure you that Harry is perfectly safe and cared for at home. Professor Dumbledore himself has assured me and other staff of that fact.”

“But, Professor, with all due respect, there is something wrong with Harry.” Hermione insisted. McGonagall looked as if she was about to rub her temples to fight off her latest migraine caused by this exact topic of conversation.

“I am well aware of Mr Potter’s latest behaviour, Miss Granger, but I assure you, there is nothing untoward going on at home.”

“But, Professor, surely you see that Harry-“

“Should not be your main priority, Miss Granger. If you spend too much time worrying about your friend, your grades will drop too, and that, I’m sure, is not something I think you want, or am I wrong?”

“Of course not, Professor, but-“

“If that is everything, Miss Granger, then I must ask you to leave. I have work to be getting on with.”

“But-“ McGonagall looked sharply at Hermione who in turn turned her head to the ground. “Yes, thank you professor.”

Hermione left the room and completely forgot why she was there in the first place.

Harry missed the breakfast the next morning in which the Headmaster unveiled the Goblet of Fire; he was sleeping off his latest adventure.

He was moving onto more powerful spells, ones that took more energy out of him than he thought they would. He knew he would get better with practice. Stamina, he told himself, I need to build up my stamina so I can have the feeling for longer. I can be free.

Harry rolled out of bed about ten minutes before his first lesson. He’d met a banshee in the forest last night. She’d been about to scream when he’d thrown some dark magic around. It seemed that, in sensing a creature of her own roots, her scream had halted in her throat. She had nodded to Harry and contorted her face into some grotesque version of a smile. Harry had never been happier. The banshee had bowed to him before leaving.

He moved around the room slowly, picking up the things he would need for the day, but missing most of them. His uniform was put on haphazardly. His tie was crooked and his shirt was half tucked in and half out. His hair was a matted mess and he wore odd socks.

He stumbled his way down to potions just before he had to be there. He was the last to arrive, but he wasn’t late. But that’s not what you would’ve thought if you’d been there to see Snape’s face when he arrived.

The Professor’s usual scowl was even worse. He snarled as the students passed him and into the classroom. He stuck his hand out just as Harry was about to enter. Harry ran into the hand before he noticed that it was there. He turned his head upwards to face his professor.

Snape was not a pleasant man at the best of times, he would freely admit that, the events of his life had hardened him and it was a rare occasion when the man would be truly happy and content. This was not one such time.

The night before, Snape had been marking his fourth years’ essays on proper conduction in a potions lab. He had gotten almost three quarters of the way through before he came to Potter’s. What he read made him growl under his breath and almost rip of the parchment onto which it was written.

When in a potions lab, Potter had started with his usual chicken scrawl, one should completely ignore the greasy haired bat of the dungeon. He is a bad tempered, ill-mannered git who should keep his abnormally large nose out of his arse and-

Snape had stopped reading then. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to storm up to Gryffindor tower there and then and reprimand the boy within an inch of his life.  Instead, he had settled with burning the parchment- after making a copy for future reference, if it was ever needed- not quite as satisfying, but it would do.

Then he had been called by Albus about the boy he was imagining killing in many creative ways. Minerva was worried, Albus said.

Miss Granger has expressed concern about Harry’s behaviour, he told Snape.

It is obvious that detentions are having no effect on the boy, Albus had continued.

I fear there is something else at play.

The words rang in Severus’s mind as he looked down at the boy who was rather small for his age.

I wondered if you could talk to him, Severus. Snape had snorted. He could try but he was sure that the boy wouldn’t listen to him, not at all. But Severus owed the headmaster a debt, and he had made a promise to Lily. He had also already decided that the Potter brat needed dealing with, but he wasn’t going to tell the meddling old coot that. He’d been trying to get Severus and the boy to get along for three long years. It had yet to work.

Harry tried to look his professor in the eye, but Severus was avoiding those eyes. Lily’s eyes.

I’ll talk to the boy, Severus had drawled, but I fail to see what good it will do. Dumbledore had merely smiled and offered the man a lemon drop. He had declined, of course, like he always did, and bade the Headmaster good night.

“You will stay after class, Mister Potter.” Snape said curtly. “I need to discuss your latest essay with you.”

If Snape was not mistaken, the boy rolled his eyes before he walked into the room. He was tempted to say something about it, deduct house points really, but he let it slide for now.

Harry didn’t answer the professor’s request, more like a command if Harry really thought about it, but strode into the classroom to his seat. He didn’t pay attention to the lesson.

After meeting the banshee the night before, Harry had started thinking more and more about the dark creatures hidden in the Forbidden Forest. Would they all sense his magic? Bow to him like the banshee had? Even the thought sent a shiver of excitement through him. He could have all that power. Not only his own, but he could control the dark creatures too.

Was controlling dark creatures even possible?

Harry didn’t know, but he was willing to find out. If it meant more power, more of that amazing feeing he got when he was his magic for dark purposes, he was definitely going to look into it. He needed to head to the library.

He’d been practicing his imperio on spiders and other animals he could get his hands on. He had even tried it on Crookshanks and Hedwig. The bigger the animal, the harder he had found it. He had wondered, briefly, about whether or not the Ministry could tack the spells his wand was casting. He’d found a simple way around that.

The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was destroyed, he knew that. But during school hours, before curfew, he had needed to find a place he could practice and not risk being seen.

He had found another way into the Chamber. Or something like it.

Down in the dungeons, a portrait hung in a seldom tread corridor. A woman with a large snake was depicted in it, holding a staff, with long black hair and sharp emerald eyes. Her face was elegant, regal looking, even. She held herself like a queen and she certainly looked like she could be one. She was painted in a dark green dress, one that touched the floor and had a necklace to match. She did not move like most portraits did, but she had an aura of power emanating from every stroke of the brush it took to create her. Inscribed on the frame was a short sentence

She, who holds the power, opens the door.

Harry had loved that. Power opens doors. So, so many doors. He had hissed the words back at the portrait, reading the parseltounge out loud. The portrait had swung open and into a potions laboratory. It immediately snapped shut behind him.

He had explored for a long time, missed lunch and his next lesson, but it had been worth it.

He had seen books on al walls, their pages delicate and yellowed with age, all painstakingly handwritten by Salazar himself. This was his private study, Harry realised. He looked to the open book on the desk. Dust had collected around and on top of it; it seemed that Tom Riddle had not found this place when he had found the Chamber.

The page was not dated, but it had surely been the last thing that Salazar had written.

I have warded my private study, Godric cannot find me here. Nor can he trace my magic. The fool has been warning me for years that he will find a way to take revenge for what I did. I have merely laughed at him in the past; he could not trace my magic. He had no way of knowing the spells I had performed.

He does now.

I am endeavouring to create my own spell, one that will hide my activities from him. I think I have created one that works. If it does not, I will write more in this journal until it does. If it has worked, then this is goodbye, and I hope whoever is reading this in years to come, will take my knowledge and use it, but keep it hidden. It is to be kept strictly within the family.

Then the journal stopped. The cloaking spell had worked. Harry had desperately thumbed through the pages of the book, trying to find this spell. His eyes settled on a parseltoungue inscription on the front cover. He smiled to himself. That was it. That was the spell he needed.

He cast it on his wand, as the instructions stated. Touching the tip of the wand with his right forefinger and making sure his eyes never moved from the wand. His eyes had flashed the same emerald green as the woman’s in the portrait, but he didn’t see it. He lifted the wand once he was done and inspected it.

Nothing had changed. The wand appeared the same.

He cast a spell. The wand acted the same. He had no choice but to trust the magic had worked.

He had run his fingers over the bookshelves and was surprised to find that he could sense pure, raw power seeping from the pages as he touched them. The value these word hold must be astounding. His eyes had settled on a book simply labelled 1, and he had taken it out to begin reading.

The school is thriving. The first line had read. The pureboods are excelling in every way; my house will surely win the end of year cup. Harry’s eyes widened at the realisation of what he was reading. Most historians would kill to get their hands on a book pertaining to Hogwarts’s early days, even one that was going to be biased. But harry was the only one with access. He felt the same shiver run through him he had felt so many times before. It was yet more power, not necessarily dark magic power, but power none the less, and that was what had Harry hooked.

Helga’s lot aren’t so bad, the journal continued, Rowena’s, the insufferable know-it-all lot, are a cause of constant headaches, but it is Godric’s lot that make me grind my teeth at night. There is a fine line between bravery and recklessness, and this lot really know how to cross it. They think it brave to stand on the edge of the school’s highest tower, just to prove that they can. One of those imbeciles could quite easily fall to their deaths. Of course, some losses in such a way would not be as bad as others.

Harry had stopped reading there. Even he realised that he was really crossing a line in missing a lesson. He slid the book into his bag, intent on reading more whenever he got the chance. He crossed the thresh hold and his bag flew off his shoulder.

He had frowned and walked back in to get it. He left again and the same thing happened, only this time the journal slipped out.

The place is warded, Harry had thought, I can’t take any of the books out. With that in mind, Harry placed the book on the desk, open at the page he left it, and hurried away to his next lesson.

The lesson ended without Harry’s knowledge and he stayed seated as the rest of the students filed out.

“Mister Potter.” Snape spoke from behind him. Harry almost jumped. “Was the lesson not interesting enough for you? Or do you believe yourself of such an incredible intelligence that you do not need to make notes?”

Harry stood and glared at the Professor.

“You wanted to talk to me about my last essay.” Harry stated. “Was there something wrong with it?” He asked innocently.

“You know very well what was wrong with it.” Snape drawled at the boy. “But that is not all I wish to discuss.”

“Then with all due respect, Professor,” Harry’s tone was one of sarcasm. “If I already know what was wrong with my essay, why am I here? And if you want to discuss something else with me, I suggest you schedule an appointment. I’m a very busy man, so many detentions to miss, but I’ll try to squeeze you in, Professor. You’re very special to me.” Harry had been moving away as he spoke. He stood at the door and placed a hand on his heart in a mocking gesture. He gave a half-hearted wave as he left the room.