Out With the Old Professors, In With the New

Ch. 5: Who Knew You Knew You-Know-Who?

Harry was still somewhat embarrassed when he reached the hospital wing. As the room was unoccupied at the time, his footsteps echoed as he approached the nurse. He mumbled an excuse to Madam Pomfrey, reluctant to go into the full details of his accident, but she quickly sealed up the quill-hole in his head just the same.

"Tut tut," she tutted. "I say, I spend all my time patching up you students around here, don't I!"

"Well, that's your job, isn't it?" questioned Harry, and Madam Pomfrey scowled. After a brusque final checkup, Harry was, for some reason, chased out of the hospital wing rather more quickly than usual.

"Gee, what's with her?" Harry thought. He just had time to grab a quick bite on his way to Potions class. Snape had been as good as his word; only students who had gotten Outstanding in their OWLs were allowed in Snape's NEWT class. As Hermione had decided to drop Potions given her new teaching responsibilities, the only Gryffindors in the class were Harry and Dean. Slytherin was represented by Blaise Zabini and Harry's arch-nemesis Draco Malfoy. Harry was not happy to be back in a class with both Malfoy and Professor Snape, but if he wanted to be an Auror, he needed Potions. "Maybe I should just plan on a career playing Quidditch," thought Harry.

Harry never looked forward to Potions class. It was held in a cold, drafty dungeon, and many were the winter days when the students could see their breath during lessons. The walls were lined with shelves and cupboards containing jars and vials full of potion ingredients, many distasteful and disgusting. The company was not much better; Harry and the Potions Master Professor Snape frankly hated each other, while Gryffindor had always had Potions lessons with their arch-rivals the Slytherins, and that meant a double period spent enduring Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. As Harry entered the Potions classroom, Malfoy greeted him with his usual insults. "Well, if it isn't Scarhead! Famous Harry Potter, Dumbledore's pet, big man on the Quidditch pitch, um, well, you get the picture!" he taunted.

"Shut it, Malfoy! At least my father isn't in Azkaban!" retorted Harry as he took his seat.

"Shows what you know Potter," replied Malfoy snidely, leaning his chair backwards. "Father got out of Azkaban after 3 days. It seems he still has some clout at the Ministry."

"Don't tell me they fell for that ridiculous story that he was under the Imperius curse again!" said Harry angrily.

"No, he demanded a trial, and was able to produce witnesses that said he had no choice in what he did. It seems that MacNair had double-dared him to help Voldemort, and as he had the honor of generations of evil Malfoys to uphold, he felt he could not refuse. The jury agreed with him and sentenced him to house arrest." Malfoy's face darkened with anger as he continued. "He would have gotten off without even probation, but Dumbledore protested, the Muggle-loving, Gryffindor-favoring, champion-of-the-Mudbloods, half-giant-befriending..."

"OK, Draco, we get it," said Harry.

"Anyway, Potter, you'll get yours," Malfoy said with an evil sneer. "Not that I've heard about any plans by the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters to abduct, torture, and kill you or anything."

"Well, that's a good thing in any case," thought Harry. Just then, Snape arrived and swept to the front of the class. He had brought along a broom, as the floor had to be absolutely clean for Potion making. When he had finished sweeping, he mopped his brow and muttered something under his breath about "lazy House Elves."

His work done, Snape greeted his students. "Alright, class, settle down," he said in a voice that Lupin would have compared to a smooth fabric, maybe linen or even silk. "I am pained to say that you are considered the cream of the crop of Potions students at Hogwarts these days. I tried to convince the Headmaster that we should not even have an advanced Potions class this term, as I could better use the time to catch up on my sleep. The mere presence of you dim-witted chowderheads makes me nauseous. Except for you, Mr. Malfoy. How is your dad? He's such a great guy! And your dear mother, a lovely woman. Take 10 points for Slytherin for having such wonderful parents."

"Thank you, sir!" said Malfoy with a grin, as Harry fumed.

Snape always favored Slytherin over the other houses. He especially disliked Harry's house, Gryffindor, and was always looking for an excuse to take away House Points. For instance, Snape had docked Harry 10 points for failing to get his parents' permission to use dangerous potion ingredients in class. When Harry pointed out that his parents were unable to sign his form since they were dead, Snape replied that that was not his fault, and that Harry would therefore have to bear full responsibility for any disfiguring or disabling accidents he suffered in class. Yesterday, Snape had docked Ron 5 points for being an uncultured rube. "Well, he had a point that time," thought Harry.

Tears came to Harry's eyes as he thought of his poor, brave, dead parents. How would his life be different if that night at Godric's Hollow had never happened? On the one hand, if Voldemort had never attacked, maybe he'd have had a happy childhood with a loving mom and dad. On the other hand, if his parents hadn't tried to stop Voldemort the way they did then Harry himself would have probably been killed. "Hmm, I've never thought about it that way," mused Harry. "All things being equal, I prefer being alive, so I guess it's all for the best that Mom and Dad are dead!"

When Harry was through with his introspection, Snape continued. "As you are all allegedly competent at the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making, you will be allowed to work without my direct supervision during most of our class sessions. Today, you will be making one of my favorite potions, a Chameleon Concoction. This elixir will camouflage you to blend in with whatever your surroundings are at the moment you swallow the potion. If brewed properly, that is. An incorrectly mixed Chameleon Concoction will turn the unfortunate recipient bright orange for 24 hours. You may choose to work in pairs. Directions are here," he said, gesturing at the blackboard, "and you will find the ingredients you need in the cupboards at the back of the class. Now begin, and try not to bother me or blow yourselves up."

All things considered, Harry decided he might not really mind Potions this term. Snape left them alone, and he got to work with Dean, who was quite skilled and a fun partner. Malfoy and Zabini were too busy to bother Harry and Dean much, so the Gryffindors were able to brew their Chameleon Concoction without much difficulty. When Harry brought their sample up to his desk, Snape's only comment was, "That is sufficient, now get out of my sight," which from him was high praise.

Harry left Potions with relief, and walked with Dean to the Great Hall for dinner. After eating, Harry and his friends discussed their classes, and Ron told them what Hagrid had had in store for them. "He's got us raising Cockatrices!" he said anxiously. "Those bloody things can petrify you if you're not careful! We've got to wear charmed goggles the whole time." Hermione had come to the Common Room to visit, and told them that she had finished her first week's lesson plans already. As far as Harry was concerned, the term seemed to be off to a good start.

That is, until late that evening. Harry had thrown himself onto his bed and gone to sleep almost immediately, tired from his busy day with new classes and old friends. Suddenly, he awoke with a terrible pain coursing across his forehead. This was the real thing, and much worse than the quill-skewering he had suffered earlier in the day. He felt as if his head were splitting apart, like Pangaea breaking up into Gondwanaland and Laurasia. This was pain with a capital P. On a scale of 1 to 10, this was an 11. Intense, throbbing waves of agony poured forth from his tortured skull. "Wow, this sucks!" thought Harry.

Then, he seemed to be in a different place. He saw himself in a well-furnished room with a fireplace, and ornate table, and several low-backed wooden chairs. Curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace was a huge snake Harry recognized as Nagini, Voldemort's pet. Prostrate on the floor in front of him, he saw three black-robed figures he recognized as Death Eaters.

Harry could feel that Voldemort was angry for some reason, in fact he was furious. He looked from one Death Eater to another, and said in a soft but hard voice, "Once again, you have failed me. I demand only one thing from you: your unswerving obedience and your willingness to die for me. Well, two things, I guess. Your unswerving obedience and the successful completion of all my orders."

"Um, my Lord," said the Death Eater furthest to the right, "You already said you demand our willingness to die. Add that to the completion of orders bit, and that's three things you demand."

"Silence!" shouted the Dark Lord, and Harry could feel him grow angrier still. "All right, three things. And while I'm at it, Crucio!" Harry tensed in anticipation of the agony the Death Eater was about to suffer, but the black-robed figure remained unscathed, and after a moment, he looked up at Voldemort fearfully.

"Drat, I seem to have missed," said Voldemort. "Well, no matter. See how your bumbling incompetence has upset me? My plans are ruined, and you will all suffer my wrath!"

The Death Eater on the left rose, and Harry recognized the unpleasant visage of Wormtail. "Please, my Lord," he simpered. "How did we fail you? We followed your orders exactly, as best we could. If we have disappointed you, we will of course try again to fulfill your wishes, immediately if necessary."

"Did you not hear me, Wormtail?" replied Voldemort. "You have already ruined my plans. Observe." Voldemort reached into a box on the table behind him, and pulled out a finely-tailored black robe with silver accents. As Voldemort turned the garment this way and that, a glowing green skull with a snake passing through it was revealed on the back. "Malfoy's Dark Order dress ball is next Friday night. And which wizard has invariably been the most impressively attired at all the Dark Order and Death Eater functions?"

"Um, you, my Lord?" said the second Death Eater.

Voldemort held his wand up to his ear as if he were talking on a telephone, and said, "Hello, Dark Lord speaking! I can tell when you're lying, remember? I am referring, as we all know, to Lucius Malfoy. That fox fur number of his is just stunning. As for me, I've been lying low this past year, forced to wear off-the-rack robes that barely fit. Before that, I was forced to attend one whole season of parties as that scary-baby-thing."

"Well, my Lord," said Wormtail cautiously, "Everyone agreed you looked quite fetching in that little sailor suit I dressed you in that one time."

The other two Death Eaters muttered their agreements with Wormtail. "You were so cute, my Lord!" "Such a fine looking scary-baby-thing!"

"Alright, I'll give you that one," said Voldemort. "But I was hardly in the same league as my slippery friend Lucius. I don't even want to think about the dance I went to sticking out of the back of Quirrell's head. I really hope no one noticed that I just put his robes on in reverse and walked around backwards".

"Um, no, my Lord, I'm sure I'd have heard if anyone had noticed," said Wormtail neutrally, as the other Death Eaters struggled to maintain the stony expressions on their faces. Luckily for them all, Voldemort was not paying them close attention at the time.

"And now, I finally have the resources at my command to claim my place as the Best Dressed Dark Wizard of all time!" shouted Voldemort as the Death Eaters cringed. "But that is not to be. My grandiose plan has fallen to ashes. Look at this robe, just look at it!"

"Uh, it looks wonderful to me, my Lord," said Wormtail. "Just like you ordered."

"You fool!" hissed Voldemort. "Look at this Morsmordre skull," he said, turning the robe to show its reverse side. "It looks like the snake is coming out of the skull's ears. I'll be a laughing stock if I wear this."

Wormtail gasped, and said, "You are right as always, my Lord, I hadn't noticed. But perhaps no one will look at it that closely?" As Voldemort raised his wand in anger, Wormtail quickly continued. "In any case, I have other news that might improve your mood."

Voldemort paused. "Well, out with it!" he said impatiently.

Wormtail glanced cautiously at the two Death Eaters next to him, and said, "Um, your spy at Hogwarts reports that your plot to abduct, torture and kill that miserable Harry Potter is proceeding exactly as you have planned."

"Oh, is it?" said Voldemort absently, still staring at the skull on the back of his new dress robes. "That's good, I guess." After a few moments, he looked up quickly at Wormtail, smiled, and said, "Yes, that's good news indeed. Our spy at Hogwarts! He may be able to help me in my present difficulty, in addition to delivering me Potter. Once again, you surprise me by not being totally useless, Wormtail. I had planned on a nice Cruciatus curse to goad you to better use your skills in my service, but given this helpful information, a lesser punishment will suffice."

He raised his wand, pointed it at the quivering Wormtail, and incanted, "Uncomfortablo!" As Wormtail fidgeted, Voldemort said, "Yes, sometimes in the stead of an Unforgivable Curse, a Hard to Forgive Curse can be an equally effective instructor. For now, you will feel extremely, excruciatingly uncomfortable until the spell wears off. Ah ha ha ha! Bwah ha ha! Ah ha ha ha ha!" he laughed fiendishly.

"Good one, my Lord," said Wormtail, with a discontented expression on his face.

"Now, get out of my sight, all of you," said Voldemort. "You have your orders, and I expect you to follow them." As the Death Eaters left the room, Harry watched through Voldemort's eyes as the Dark Lord walked over to the table and picked up some parchment.

"Excellent," thought Harry, "I may be able to find out something about his plans."

However, the parchment the Dark Lord had picked up was only the Daily Prophet. Voldemort turned to the back, and continued working on an unfinished crossword puzzle. He seemed to be stuck on 23-Across, 'Chamber of _ _ _ _ _ _ _."

"Geez, you may be the greatest Dark Wizard of all time, but you sure aren't any good at crossword puzzles!" thought Harry. Suddenly, Harry began to revive. He felt someone shaking him, and heard himself shouting, "Secrets! It's secrets, Chamber-of-Secrets!"

"Wake up, Harry, you're shouting in your sleep again!" said Ron fearfully as he shook Harry's arm. "Is it 'He-Who-We'd-Really-Prefer-You-Not-Mention-By-Name' again? Is something going on with the Chamber of Secrets?"

As Harry came to, the pain in his scar returned with full force. He screamed, writhed about the bed, and projectile vomited the remains of that evening's dinner about the room. As the pain subsided, he began to feel more coherent. Harry was grateful to Ron for breaking his connection with Voldemort, as he really didn't care for crossword puzzles. However, as he looked into the frightened faces of Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus, Harry decided that he wanted to think about what he had learned before he shared it with his friends. He had learned his lesson last term to be wary of dream messages from Voldemort, and would proceed with caution this time.

"Gosh, somebody go get Madam Pomfrey, Harry's really sick!" exclaimed in a panicky voice.

As Dean moved toward the door, Harry said weakly, "No, it's OK guys, I'm really alright. There's no need to get the nurse."

"Are you sure Harry?" asked Ron anxiously. "What's that you were shouting about the Chamber of Secrets? I really think we should get the nurse, or Professor McGonagall, or somebody."

As Seamus cast a Scourgify charm to clean up the room, Harry replied, "No, really, I'm fine. I just shouldn't have mixed kidney pie with treacle tart, they upset my stomach and gave me a nightmare. So back to bed, everyone! No need to worry on my account. All is well!"

His friends did not look like they really believed Harry, but after a while, they returned to their beds and left Harry alone with his thoughts. It seemed that, in addition to his wardrobe problems, Voldemort was ready to have another go at killing Harry. No doubt his spy at Hogwarts would come after Harry, unless he could be identified and caught first. Well, this time Harry resolved to go to Dumbledore before getting his friends involved. But first, he'd talk to Hermione. She'd be able to give him some good advice, and he could talk to her right after History of Magic, which was their first class of the day. With that comforting thought, Harry dropped off to sleep.

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