Chapter Text
The silent crowd parted to let Harry, Ron, and Hermione pass along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Filch, and Lockhart as they trudged to Lockhart's office. Not long after the trio’s discovery of the writing on the wall and Mrs Norris’ still body, the crowd of students returning to their dorms from the feast stumbled into the scene with terrible timing. Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall and Lockhart arrived just as Filch began firing accusations at Harry. Lockhart offered his office for some privacy and Dumbledore herded the group away from the prying eyes of the crowd.
After they entered Lockhart’s bright office, Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished surface of the desk and began to closely examine her. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged tense looks before sinking into the chairs near the desk, apprehensively watching.
The tip of Dumbledore’s long, pointed nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris’s fur. He was carefully inspecting her through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking her still body. Professor McGonagall was bent beside Dumbledore, her sharp eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, wearing a dark, cynical expression. Lockhart stood back with a calculating, grim look on his face that was a startling change to his usual cheerful demeanor.
As Dumbledore observed Ms. Norris, Filch slumped in his chair and miserably hid his crestfallen face behind his hands, his body racking with dry, harsh sobs. Much as he detested Filch and his accusations, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed. Dumbledore had an unsettled expression and glanced at Lockhart who seemed to look just as perplexed. Dumbeldore inconspicuously tilted his head as if asking a question, and Lockhart gave a discreet shake of his head. Harry had no idea what they were doing and knew he wouldn’t have caught the nearly unnoticeable interaction at all if he hadn’t been right next to Lockhart and staring directly at Dumbledore the whole time.
At last, Dumbedore straightened up.
“She’s not dead, Argus,” He said softly.
“Not dead” Filch choked out, finally pulling his face away from his shaking hands to look at Mrs Norris. “But why’s she all – all stiff and frozen?”
“She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore. “But how, I cannot say …”
“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry. “He did it! He hurt my cat!”
“I never touched Mrs Norris!” Harry loudly protested, uncomfortably aware of how mostly everyone in the room was judgmentally staring at him. “I swear, it wasn’t me!”
“No second-year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. “It would take powerful Dark Magic of the most advanced –”
“Rubbish!” Filch furiously insisted, wildly pointing a shaky finger at Harry. “He saw my Kwikspell letter! He did it! He did it!”
“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows, and Harry’s sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.
As Harry expected, Snape began questioning them on why they were in the upstairs corridor and not the Halloween feast. The trio launched into an explanation that they were at the Deathday Party, but Snape questioned why they went directly to their dorms and skipped supper. Harry couldn’t exactly tell them about the disembodied voice only he could hear. The chances they would believe him were next to nothing and would only make him sound mad.
They claimed they weren't hungry but Ron’s traitorous stomach exposed their lie. Snape vindictively pounced on their slip up.
“I suspect, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” Snape triumphantly said, as his nasty grin widened. “It might be a good idea to deprive him of certain privileges until he is ready to be honest.”
McGonagall opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something but startled when a striking voice suddenly interrupted.
“Mr. Potter did not petrify Mrs Norris,” Lockhart authoritatively stated, as if it were a fact and his word was final. A powerful wave of pure magic as intense as Dumbledore swept through the room. The room slightly shook from the force of the magic wave and Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Everyone except Dumbledore all startled at Lockhart’s interruption. Somehow, Lockhart had managed to find his way to the center of the room without anyone, not even Snape, noticing.
Harry turned his head to Lockhart and hitched his breath in astonishment. For just a split second, when the warm sunlight from the window shone a perfect beam of light from behind, Lockhart looked … ethereal. The soft light bathed him in a translucent golden glow, making him look so inhuman it gave Harry chills down his spine.
Harry rubbed his eyes, and Lockhart looked normal again. Huh, maybe I am going crazy. Harry absently thought.
“I can assure you that these three students had nothing to do with this “Chamber of Secrets” or Mrs Norris’ unfortunate petrification. Professor Dumbedore and I can tell that whatever magic has been done to Mrs Norris is beyond a second-year’s curriculum.“ Lockhart reasoned, glaring at Snape and Filch with fiery eyes as if daring them to object. “There is no evidence Mr. Potter had done any of this. It isn’t fair to incriminate him on hunches that he’s lying. You can’t punish him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Dumbledore nodded as he gave Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he was being X-rayed.
“Professor Lockhart is right. Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” he said firmly.
Snape looked furious. Filch was livid. Harry couldn’t stop staring at Lockhart, baffled. He’d never seen this side of Lockhart before. This imposing and regal manner in which Lockhart held himself as if commanding respect and attention.
“My cat has been petrified!” Filch shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”
“That will not be necessary, Argus. We will be able to cure her,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris.”
“I can help make the Mandrake Restorative Draught,” Lockhart offered. “I’ve made it before and know the recipe.”
“That would be most appreciated, Professor Lockhart, thank you,” Dumbledore nodded. He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “You may go.”
They left, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends’ darkened faces.
“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Ron, without hesitation. “With the situation we were found in, there’s a low chance they’d believe you, especially with Snape there and Filch screaming at you. Honestly, I’m surprised Lockhart of all people had to come to your defense against Snape. Really, just how much does that slimy git hate you?”
“I don’t know what Snape's problem is but yeah, that's what I thought too. Still, the reason we got into this mess in the first place was because of that writing on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened ... what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, I think I’ve heard of something like this before,” said Ron slowly. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once ... might’ve been Bill …”
Hermione looked contemplative, muttering to herself as she paced around.
“At this point, I think it's safe to say this voice is not a coincidence. You heard it twice and the second time it led you to that mess with Mrs Norris. Harry, what did the voice say?” She asked.
“Uh, it was talking about being hungry and killing like the first time, but then it started saying some really weird stuff.”
“Weird? How?”
“Um, I think it said something about the sun falling, a forsaken god, a Darkslayer and a Lightbringer? There was something about a fang and poison killer and the sky bleeding gold-ish red too?”
Hermione looked intensely interested as she pulled out a parchment and quill seemingly out of nowhere and hastily handed it to Harry.
“Write it down! It might be something important.”
Harry scrambled to write everything he heard down. It was such a fast-paced panicked moment when he heard the voice, he was certain he wouldn't have remembered what it said word to word if these sentences hadn’t been so loud in his head, it had seared into his memory.
Harry handed the parchment with the five lines back to Hermione. She scrutinized the words as Ron peeked over her shoulder.
“Ugh, looks like a load of gibberish to me,” Ron grumbled.
“No, Ron, Look!” Hermione excitedly said. “These lines, they look like a prophecy!”
“What?” Both Harry and Ron asked at the same time.
“A prophecy! If you two checked out next year's electives, you'd know prophecies are part of Divination! And these lines look exactly like a prophecy. They’re vague, rhyming, and telling us a secret message of the future!” Hermione exclaimed.
“Okay, let's say it's a prophecy. What in the world could it mean, though?” Harry asked.
Hermione paused, staring hard at the words like she was demanding they tell her their secret message.
“The fall of the sun. Forsaken god forced to run. The voice mentioned a Sun god before, it must be talking about it again. But why? There’s no Sun god, is there? It must be a metaphor,” Hermione said in confusion, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself and make sense of the strange lines.
Harry shrugged. Magic could do anything. For all he knew, the Earth could be magically flat and Muggles just couldn't see through the magic.
Ron gave a look at the parchment and his eyes widened. “Darkslayer meets Lightbringer? Hey, don’t some people call Harry other titles than Boy-Who-Lived like Darkness Conqueror since he defeated You-Know-Who?”
“What? No way! And people call me what now?” Harry exclaimed in shock.
“Tear fang of the poison killer? Gold and red paint bleeding sky? I’ve not a clue what those could possibly mean. Nothing good, if I’m guessing right,” Hermione said, writing down ideas and theories in another parchment that she seemingly fabricated out of nowhere again.
“I don’t like the sound of those last two lines at all. In fact, I don’t like this whole bloody prophecy either! Why am I the only one who can hear disembodied murderous, future-telling voices?” Harry hysterically bit out in frustration.
“I don’t know, Harry, but I’ll look into it. This all must lead to something,” Hermione said, still scribbling into her parchment.
A clock chimed somewhere.
“It’s midnight,” said Ron. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”