Chapter Text
Percy didn’t get much sleep that night.
Well, he didn’t get any sleep at all to be more precise. He mostly just lie awake, listening to Rons loud snores and trying to drown out his own thoughts. He was mostly just grateful that Halloween fell on a Friday this year and the only class he had to worry about was double Herbology.
Sprout was decent enough not to call him out for being half asleep during her lesson and for letting Susan do most of the work tending to their Shrivelfigs.
Susan had asked if he was okay, but left it alone after the first few noncommittal hums. He was very aware of the side glances she kept throwing him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
All he wanted to do was go back to his dorm.
Despite Ron and Hermione attempting to drag him to lunch in the Great Hall, he managed to get away with only a brief, worried glance between them and a softly spoken, “You can talk to us if you need to, Harry,” from Hermione.
So that’s where Percy lay for the rest of the afternoon, unable to think about anything but what this day meant to him. What this awful day reminded him of. How he felt guilty that he was alive and his parents weren’t.
He gripped his head as he thought about everything.
He was such a terrible friend. Here he was, wallowing in his own pity for people he never even got to remember, pushing everyone away. Being awful to people who didn’t deserve it, like Nick, and still his friends were understanding and worried about him.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a tapping on the window.
A brief moment of relief overcame him at the sight of Hedwig sitting on the ledge, waiting for him to open it. When he did so, he was greeted with a squawk as she hopped up onto his forearm and nuzzled under his chin.
“Hey, girl,” he whispered, scratching the back of her head. “I missed you too.”
She cooed softly in response.
“How was your flight? How was Mom?”
A feeling of warmth settled over him as she hooted softly and held out her leg for him to untie the letter.
“Thanks, girl.” Percy let her hop up to his shoulder and then onto her favorite nesting spot, where she immediately began picking at the messy strands of his hair and arranging them to her liking. He sat back on his bed and pulled the curtains closed around him.
The familiar script comforted him the moment he opened the letter.
Starfish,
I was so happy to see Hedwig on my way to work this morning. And I am so glad that classes are going well for you so far. You are so bright, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.
I’m doing well. Mostly just missing you. It’s quiet without you, and I miss having you at home every day. Gabe is fine — he’s just Gabe. Don’t worry about me, Percy. I know you are, just as much as I worry about you, but I don’t want it to consume you. Enjoy school and your friends and complain about teachers and just be you, Percy. You are my favorite person when you are yourself.
In regards to Draco Malfoy, there will always be people in the world who are consumed by their hatred and insecurity. And it is very hard to get them to change their ways unless they want to change. Most of the time, they don’t. That isn’t your responsibility to fix. What is your responsibility is deciding the kind of person you want to be when you’re standing in front of someone like that. Tell Hermione that she will always have you and me in her corner, and not to let Draco Malfoy or anyone else make her feel less than. She is brilliant, and if Draco can’t see it, then he will be absolutely blindsided when she takes over the world. And remember, if you feel the overwhelming need to knock a little sense into him, make sure it’s with your words first — and only your fists if absolutely necessary. Stand up for others, Percy. Protect those who don’t always know how to protect themselves.
I know this is a particularly hard time of year for you, and I want you to know that I love you. And that James and Lily, your parents, loved you with all their hearts. I know it in my own, and they would want you to know that as well. Remember to be kind, Percy, even when it’s hard — because how someone chooses to treat others when it’s hard is what truly defines their character.
I am counting down the days until Christmas break, and I can’t wait to see you. Of course we can stay at Potter Manor for a day or two. And I would love to have Neville visit and take a look at the greenhouse. He’s always welcome.
I love you,
Mom
Ron and Hermione came looking for Percy an hour or so later. Hermione stuck her head through the dormitory door tentatively, ready to see a sulking Percy and at least attempt to get him out of bed for dinner.
“Harry?” she called softly.
Percy glanced up from where he sat on the edge of his bed, one boot already on and his foot halfway into the other.
Hedwig was perched on the bedframe above his pillow, her head tucked under her wing, resting from the long flight from his mom. At Hermione’s voice, she pulled her head out smoothly, fixing Hermione with a stare and chirping at her in a tone that sounded very annoyed for an owl.
Hermione’s brows furrowed as she took in the scene. Percy was dressed properly in his school robes and, most importantly, not lying face-down on his bed like she had expected.
“Harry?” she asked again, a little louder this time, surprise creeping into her voice. She opened the door fully, letting Ron see in too.
Ron leaned around her shoulder. “Blimey,” he muttered, equally surprised. “You’re up.”
Percy rolled his eyes at him, amused. “Try not to sound disappointed.”
Ron’s mouth twitched as he tried—and failed—to hide a grin. Instead, he nodded toward the boot Percy was still wrestling with. Percy probably should have untied the laces first, but it was far too late for that now.
“What are you doing?” Ron asked.
Once the boot was finally on, Percy stood and stretched. “I’m going to the feast.”
Ron blinked, then brightened immediately. “Awesome, mate. You feeling better, then?”
Percy considered that for half a second. Better wasn’t really the word. He wasn’t suddenly cheerful. But he also wasn’t about to keep hiding in the dorm while the rest of the castle carried on.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Sort of.”
Hermione’s shoulders eased, the tension in her face softening. She stepped fully into the room. “That’s good, Harry. I’m glad you’re feeling…” She hesitated, searching for the right phrase. “…more like yourself.”
Percy huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, Mione. Me too.”
That got a small smile out of her, the kind she gave when she was relieved but trying not to make it a big deal.
“Thanks,” Percy added, and he really did mean it.
Hermione had been the one hovering over him all week while trying to make it seem like she wasn’t. She watched him in class, handing him her notes to copy when he stopped paying attention. She made sure he ate at least a little bit. She forced Ron and Neville into studying all together so he wasn’t alone.
Percy could recognize how great a friend she was. He wasn’t that oblivious.
Hermione’s smile widened just a touch, and she glanced at Hedwig. “Hedwig made it back all right?”
“Yeah. Though I think she might be staying the night here.” Percy turned to Ron. “Sorry.”
Ron’s rat always seemed to disappear whenever Hedwig chose to sleep in the dorm. Percy felt a little guilty that it always made him feel a bit better when that happened. Even after a year of sharing a dorm, Scabbers still made him uneasy. It was probably a side effect of having lived in New York. Especially since Smelly Gabe and the mess he made in the apartment seemed to attract the worst of them more often than not.
“Scabbers will be fine. I’m pretty sure he goes to sleep with Percy when Hedwig’s here anyway.”
Hedwig clicked her beak once, dignified. Then she tucked her head back under her wing, dismissing them entirely.
Percy shook his head, amused at his owl.
“We were actually on the way to drag you down to the Great Hall,” he said. “I’m starving.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “You’re always starving, Ron.”
Ron shrugged. “I’m a growing boy.”
Percy chuckled, shaking his head slightly.
“Okay,” Ron said, rubbing his hands together. “So. Feast. Come on.”
Percy hesitated slightly, just long enough for Hermione’s eyes to narrow at him. Percy winced. Hermione noticed everything.
“About that,” Percy said.
Ron’s face fell instantly. “Oh no.”
Percy shot him a look. “I said I’m going. I just… we have to make a stop first.”
Ron groaned. “Harry.”
“It’ll be quick. I promise.”
Ron sighed. “It’s never that easy with you, mate.”
“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” Ron said as they made their way down the empty hallways. It was apparent that every normal witch and wizard at Hogwarts was currently enjoying themselves in the Great Hall. The corridors were completely deserted. The only time Percy ever saw them this empty was when he was wandering around after curfew—when he definitely wasn’t supposed to be.
Ron threw his head back dramatically. “And why did the party have to be during the feast, of all times?”
On his other side, Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Stop thinking with your stomach, Ron.”
“Well, my stomach is speaking very loudly, Hermione.” He was punctuated by a loud growl, causing both Percy and Hermione to turn their heads toward him, eyebrows raised.
“See!” he said, even as his face turned bright red.
Percy couldn’t help but break into a small grin—the first, he realized, he’d managed in a while. While Hermione and Ron’s bickering could be annoying and noisy at times, there were moments when it was genuinely amusing. Percy wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew they were playing up the dramatics more than usual for him. It was something he appreciated more than he would say out loud.
The passageway leading up to Nick’s party was lined with candles, all burning bright blue and casting a dreary light over the area. As they drew closer to the door where the party was being held, the temperature dropped sharply, causing all of them to shiver.
The magic of Hogwarts brushed against Percy’s shoulders and cheeks, warming him slightly, as if offering a small bit of comfort.
The heavy wooden doors were closed, and through them Percy could hear what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping across an enormous blackboard.
“Is that supposed to be music?” Ron asked with a wince.
Percy shrugged, trying to keep his teeth from grinding at the sound. It felt like the scraping was happening inside his ears.
“What type of music do you think ghosts like?” Hermione asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Death metal,” Percy replied instantly.
Hermione snorted, and Percy couldn’t help but grin at her slightly.
“What’s death metal?” Ron asked as Percy pushed the doors open just enough to squeeze through.
He caught the tail end of Hermione’s comment—something about explaining later—as the blackboard-scratching sound grew even louder.
Different types of ghosts floated all over the room. The source of the so-called music was actually an orchestra of thirty musical saws on a raised platform across the hall. In the center of the large space, ghostly couples waltzed across the dance floor, while other spirits drifted in clusters, engaged in conversation.
Amazed, Percy led Hermione and Ron farther into the room, scanning for Nick. He had barely taken in the scene when a small man swooped down in front of them and came to a halt, hovering in midair.
“Hello, Peeves,” Percy said cautiously.
Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves was solid and vividly dressed, wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin stretched across his wide, wicked face.
“Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.
Percy grimaced. He could smell the stench of the fungus from where he stood, and if he had to guess, it was definitely not the edible kind.
“No thanks,” Hermione said beside him, her own nose scrunched in disgust, even if she was doing a much better job of hiding it than he and Ron were.
“That’s too bad. You should try the rotten cod when you get the chance.”
Percy and the others instinctively turned toward the long table filled with food just in time to see another ghost sink low into the floor, open his mouth unnaturally wide, and slide through the table so that it looked as if he had swallowed the fish whole.
Ron gagged silently beside him, and Percy felt his own eye twitch in disgust.
Peeves didn’t seem to notice, because something else had caught his eye.
“Oh, it’s Myrtle,” he said gleefully, beginning to wave his hands frantically.
Percy turned to see who he was waving at and spotted a pale ghost, just a bit older than them, hunched in on herself.
“O-oh, Peeves. You—you don’t need to call her over here,” Hermione tried to interrupt, shaking her head.
The girl turned toward them and began to float over, but something else distracted Percy before he could get a better look.
Nick—the ghost Percy was actually there to see—stood a bit farther into the room with his back to them. His ruffled tunic and plumed hat were unmistakable.
Right. That was the whole reason he had come tonight. To apologize.
“I’ll be right back,” Percy whispered to his two friends before cutting across the room toward his target, doing his best to weave between the pale ghosts rather than through them. That was probably considered rude.
He did manage to catch the harshly whispered shout of “Harry!” from Hermione, but he only glanced back briefly to see the younger ghost approaching the group and beginning to cry hysterically, much to Hermione’s irritation and Ron’s confusion.
Percy shrugged and turned back toward Nick.
Nick was speaking to a ghost Percy didn’t recognize. He was a very large ghost with a blurred, full beard. A pale ghost horse stood stiffly beside him, pawing at the ground and snuffing anxiously.
The man said something Percy couldn’t catch, but he saw the exact moment Nick’s face fell before he forced a smile at the man again. It wasn’t his usual playful grin. There was a tightness in his jaw that made it look like he was barely restraining himself from grinding his teeth.
As he approached, Percy caught the tail end of their conversation.
“You’re just not cut out enough to be a part of the Headless Hunt.” The other ghost laughed loudly at his own joke. “See what I did there?” The man reached down to shove Nick playfully. “Cut out,” he bellowed. “Because your head isn’t.”
Around them, the other ghosts roared along with the burly man.
“Yeah,” Nick chuckled, though it was painfully obvious the laugh was forced. “I got it. That was a good one, Patrick.”
Percy finally realized who was speaking to Nick, and it was like a light bulb went off in his head. He suddenly knew exactly how he was going to apologize for how he’d treated Nick earlier.
“Nick!” Percy called, cutting off the other ghost—Patrick—from making another comment.
Nick perked up at the sound of his voice, turning toward him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Harry Potter! What are you doing here?”
Percy smiled broadly as he finally reached the group of ghosts.
“Well, I couldn’t miss my favorite ghost’s five-hundredth Deathday party,” Percy said excitedly, a grin stretched wide across his face. “This is a great party, Nick. I think it even trumps the feast going on in the Great Hall right now.”
“Th-Thank you. I did spend a lot of time getting everything together,” Nick said, though he looked slightly confused.
Percy turned toward the other ghost, continuing the overenthusiastic charm. “This guy has saved my hide for a time or two. Why, just last year, he helped me escape a troll by distracting it long enough for me to get away.”
“Wha—” Nick tried to ask, but Percy cut him off before he could say anything.
“Harry Potter, by the way. And you are?”
The other ghost looked caught off guard for a moment, looking Percy up and down before recognition spread across his face when his eyes landed on Percy’s scar.
“Harry Potter, you say?” he asked, tilting his blue, translucent head slightly to the side. “Even the dead have heard of you, boy. And it’s not often we bother ourselves with the affairs of the living.”
Percy had to fight the urge to grimace as his unwanted fame reached a society that supposedly didn’t ‘keep up with current events’ so to speak. Instead, he gritted his teeth and hoped it came off more as a smile than anything else.
“I’m flattered.” Percy forced himself to perk up a bit. “Hey, you’re one of the ghosts that can take off your head, right?”
“Why yes, I am.” He puffed up his chest proudly. “Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, leader of the Headless Hunt of the United Kingdom team for the past seventy-eight years now,” he grinned. Then he lifted his head clean off his body, holding it high in the air with one hand, and performed a very exaggerated bow with the other.
“That’s crazy!” Percy said as Sir Patrick preened, straightening up and setting his head back onto his shoulders. “Did you win last year?”
Sir Patrick deflated slightly.
“Well, no, but—”
“Oh, well I’m sure you must have won the time before that,” Percy cut in quickly. When Sir Patrick’s nose began to scrunch, Percy shifted gears just as fast.
“Hey. Do you ever lose your head? My mum says I’d lose mine if it weren’t attached to my body.”
Sir Patrick brightened at the change in topic and gave a light chuckle. He ran a pale hand over his beard, smoothing it thoughtfully.
“I might have misplaced it a time or two.”
“You should get Nick to help you look for it next time you lose it. He’s an excellent tracker. Once he found a loose Nagler that had been stealing from some of the other students.”
“I—I didn’t—” Nick began, but Percy cut him off with a loud cough.
He hoped it didn’t sound as forced as it felt.
“He’s great at that sort of thing,” Percy added firmly.
Sir Patrick turned to face Nick, his smile shifting into something more thoughtful as he studied him. “That is impressive,” he hummed.
Nick, who had been glancing between Percy and Sir Patrick ever since Percy had barged into the conversation singing his praises, finally seemed to understand what Percy was doing. His posture straightened, and he brightened at once.
“That’s right!” he shouted, causing a few nearby ghosts to turn toward them before drifting back into their own conversations. “Come, Patrick. Allow me to treat you to smelling some decomposing cod. It was the pick of the catch, and I’ll tell you about the time I found a runaway Grimble hiding in the fourth-floor tapestry.”
Nick gestured grandly toward the dinner table, stepping aside so Sir Patrick could move ahead of him. With a nod toward Percy, Sir Patrick allowed himself to be led away, Nick following close behind.
Percy watched them go, feeling quietly satisfied with himself. His stomach rumbled loudly in protest, reminding him that skipping lunch had not been his best decision. He was just about to turn and find Ron and Hermione when Nick suddenly flipped his head backward until it hung by that thin strip of skin and sinew. His upside-down face met Percy’s across the room.
Grateful, excited eyes locked onto him as Nick mouthed, “Thank you,” before flipping his head back into place and launching into an animated story. Sir Patrick and the surrounding ghosts burst into laughter, their voices echoing through the hall.
A warmth spread through Percy, tinted with a steady hum of magic, as a sense of accomplishment settled over him. As always, his mom was right. Percy felt better than he had in weeks, simply because he had helped a friend.
With a nod more to himself than anything else, Percy turned in search of Ron and Hermione. They were huddled together near the entrance, shivering from the cold.
“You ready to go?” he asked as he stepped up beside them.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin.”
Percy raised an eyebrow at his dramatics and looked to Hermione for clarification. He was met by a hard stare. She was not pleased.
“You left us alone to deal with Moaning Myrtle,” she stated.
“That ghost girl Peeves called over before I left?” Percy asked incredulously. “What’s so bad about her?”
Hermione huffed as Ron sighed. Her hair was a bit more puffed up than usual. Her frizzy mane fanned out around her face and gave Percy the odd feeling that, if he wasn’t careful, he might not like how this conversation ended.
“She’s a ghost that haunts the second-floor girls’ bathroom. And she is always crying about one thing or another, and no matter what anyone says, she always takes offense to it or brings up something tragic in her life before she died.” Hermione deflated slightly. “She’s just exhausting, and Peeves set her off after you left, and well…”
Percy grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he told her. Then he slipped his arm through hers until their elbows linked and tugged her toward the door. “Come on. I bet we can catch dessert in the Great Hall if we hurry.”
“That sounds like a good plan, mate,” Ron said as he fell into step beside them.
Still, as they walked back through the dungeons, Percy couldn’t help but ask, “Was she really all that bad?”
“She just started moaning, mate. Hence the name,” Ron said with a shrug.
Percy snorted. Next to him, Hermione’s breath caught slightly, and upon further inspection, her cheeks were bright red and her free hand was clasped against her forehead in embarrassment.
Percy nudged Ron when he saw his slightly confused face.
“I know you didn’t catch what you just said, but I want you to know it was hilarious.”
“What?” Ron asked. “What did I say?”
Percy couldn’t help but start chuckling. It was more than he had in weeks, and it felt good. Even Hermione beside him began to giggle slightly, though her hand was still clasped over her face.
“I’ll explain it to you when you’re older,” Percy said when his laughter died down.
“Oh come on. What does that even mean?”
Percy ignored him. “And how do you even know the other meaning of what he said?” he teased Hermione.
Her blush deepened, but she did drag her hand away from her face as she caught his amused stare.
“I like to read,” she mumbled shyly, looking away.
At his raised eyebrow and pointed silence, she continued.
“Lavender borrowed a book from one of the fourth-year girls, and she let me read it after.”
“Hermione!” Percy let out a dramatic gasp. “Are you secretly a romance fanatic?”
“I am not!” she cried. “I just like to read! And Lavender didn’t tell me what it was before I started reading it.”
“Did you stop reading it?”
Hermione yanked her arm free from where it was still looped through his. Then, with all her might, she shoved him hard in the side.
“Shut up, Harry!” she shouted, her face beet red, before quickening her pace up the first flight of stairs out of the dungeon.
Percy stumbled into Ron, knocking them both sideways as he burst into even louder laughter.
Ron threw both his arms into the air in exasperation. “What does that even mean?” he demanded, which only sent Percy into another fit of laughter.
Ron rolled his eyes and turned to follow Hermione up the stairs. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll just go ask Fred and George.”
“Oh Merlin!” Percy gasped through his laughter. His sides were starting to hurt as he hunched over, trying to breathe between bursts of giggles. “Please do!” he called after Ron.
Ron stuck his hand high in the air, middle finger raised as he marched up the stairs after Hermione.
It took several seconds for Percy to regain composure again. But his cheeks hurt from laughing, he was still catching his breath and a large grin was stretched across his face. Percy felt light. As if he was flying and he ran a hand through his messy hair pulling it out of his face. It was the same feeling he had everytime he caught a snitch after a steep dive pulling out of it just in time to avoid crashing into the ground.
He felt light and joyful, and warm, sentient magic brushed against his cheeks and ruffled through his hair, making it even messier. Maybe this day wasn’t as horrible as he had thought it would be.
But Percy should have known better than to assume that anything could go well on this particular date, because the very next moment, the magic surrounding him turned cold.
Percy was jolted out of his joy. The feeling of flying vanished, and he was snapped back into reality.
Then Percy heard it.
“… rip … tear … kill …”
It was the same voice—the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart’s office.
He stumbled slightly, his own magic leaking out and coiling tighter around him as the magic of Hogwarts did the same.
“… so hungry … for so long …” the voice whispered again.
Percy gasped and stumbled back. It had sounded so close, almost like it was on top of him. The magic surrounding him pulled frantically in every direction, unable to decide where to send him.
Percy looked around wildly. There was nothing there.
“… kill … time to kill …” The voice was growing fainter. Moving upward.
Toward the Great Hall, where the feast was being held and where nearly every student and staff member in the school was celebrating.
Right in the direction Ron and Hermione had just gone.
Fear gripped him, his heart pounding as he broke into a dead sprint after his two best friends.
He took the steps three at a time, listening for the voice as he climbed, his only focus on reaching Ron and Hermione.
“… I smell blood. … I SMELL BLOOD!” The voice was farther away now, moving quickly. Too quickly for Percy to catch up.
His stomach lurched—
He rounded the corner so fast he had to push off the opposite wall to avoid face-planting into it—and then he saw them.
Ron and Hermione were standing together, backs to him but seemingly fine from the look of them.
“Ron! Mione!” he called, making them turn sharply toward him.
Percy didn’t slow when he reached them. He wrapped both arms around them and swept them off their feet for a moment before clutching them tightly. Ron grunted and Hermione gasped at the impact.
“Harry?” Hermione asked in surprise.
Percy didn’t answer. He let his magic wrap around all three of them as he scanned over their shoulders for any sign of whatever had been speaking.
There was nothing.
“Harry, what’s going on?” Ron asked. He sounded worried.
Percy could still feel his heart pounding, but he didn’t speak until his magic slipped out and checked the hallway.
Nothing. Whatever it was, it was gone.
Finally, he released his friends.
“Harry?” Hermione asked tentatively. Her worried voice pulled him back as her eyes searched his face.
“I—I heard the voice again. It said it was going to kill someone.”
“The voice from a few weeks ago?” Ron asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where?” Hermione asked, her eyes scanning the hallway as well.
“It was in the dungeons. It sounded like it was coming this way,” Percy replied, his frown deepening. “You didn’t hear it?”
“No, mate. I couldn’t hear anything.”
“Are you sure? It was pretty loud. And it sounded like it was coming in this exact direction. I couldn’t keep up.”
Ron made to say something else, but Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.
“Look!”
Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
“What’s that thing — hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.
As they edged nearer, Percy stepped over a large puddle of water on the floor, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on the dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once.
Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.
For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Percy didn’t reply. He kept staring at the cat, a sense of foreboding settling over him as his expression went blank.
“Come on, Harry,” Ron tried again. “We don’t want to be found here.”
But it was too late. A rumble, like distant thunder, told them the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs and the loud, happy talk of well-fed students. The next moment, they were crashing into the passage from both ends.
The chatter, the bustle, the noise—everything died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat.
Percy, Ron, and Hermione stood alone in the middle of the corridor as silence fell over the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.
Percy turned to face the crowd.
A blond head pushed through the throng and stopped at its edge. A flicker of surprise crossed Draco Malfoy’s face as he read the words and took in the sight of the hanging, unmoving cat.
Then he looked straight at Percy, and a twisted grin spread slowly across his face.
“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!” Draco Malfoy shouted gleefully to everyone behind him.
But his eyes never left Percy’s.
The next series of events were a blur for Percy. At least, when Hermione would bring it up, she would quickly realize he had no idea what she was talking about.
Later, she would ask why he hadn’t told Professor Dumbledore that he was hearing voices in the hallway, and all she would get in reply was a confused stare. She would roll her eyes and recount the events for him in hushed tones so the other students in the library couldn’t hear.
All Percy could really focus on at the moment was Malfoy and that smug smirk. Well, his smirk, that awful bigoted word he had spat, and Percy’s unyielding anger at the use of it.
Professor McGonagall had assured him that Malfoy wouldn’t use it again because it would put his family in a difficult position, but apparently Malfoy wasn’t smart enough to recognize that. Or maybe Malfoy felt confident he wouldn’t get in trouble. Either way, Percy was ready to punch that smirk off his face.
He met Malfoy’s eyes. He could feel his jaw clenched tight and his knuckles curled so tightly into fists that he wouldn’t have been surprised if crescent shapes were carved into his palms. Something must have shown on his face because the smirk quickly dropped and Malfoy flinched back slightly and lowered his gaze.
Then Percy was ripped back into reality when hands seized him by the collar of his robes.
“You!” Filch screeched in front of him, spittle flying toward Percy, arcing through the air but luckily veering downward before it could hit him in the cheek. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll—”
“Argus!”
Dumbledore gripped Filches shoulder as he swept past, pulling the man away and forcing him to release Percy. Then he moved toward the wall and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.”
A number of teachers had arrived at the scene and began dispersing the crowd back to their common rooms.
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly, moving right next to Percy and placing a large hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly.
“My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free—”
“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore said dismissively.
And then all of Percy’s focus was on Lockhart and twisting away from that hand so sharply he caused the golden-haired man to stumble.
Percy stepped away quickly, placing himself behind McGonagall and out of Lockhart’s direct line of sight.
Again, later, Percy wouldn’t be able to remember the walk up the stairs, entering Lockhart’s office, or much of the resulting conversation. He could only focus on the way he felt Lockhart’s continued gaze and how absolutely uncomfortable it made him. How it burned against his skin. How much he hated the man. How his magic curled tightly around him, Ron, and Hermione, ready to strike out at Lockhart regardless of who stood between them.
The man had even tried to approach the trio, attempting to profess how awful it must have been for Harry to see such a terrible sight. How he should “…come to my office sometime to talk about it. Whoever had petrified the cat could still be out there and Harry, you should really take me up on the offer for extra lessons.”
But that stopped quickly when Percy’s magic snapped outward in warning and Lockhart stumbled slightly. He played it of well enough though by turning back to the discussion between the professors.
No one else seemed to notice his distress.
All Percy could focus on was getting as far away from the man as possible, so when Dumbledore dismissed them, he grabbed Ron and Hermione and hurried out the door.
Percy, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far away from Percy Weasley as possible in the common room that night.
Percy was a little disappointed in his friend’s older brother, who happened to share his name. Percy Weasley had seemed like a decent guy back at the Burrow when they had teamed up to make Fred and George’s prank fail. They had gotten along well over the past year whenever they spoke. And despite Percy’s overzealous need to study and be the perfect Prefect, he had seemed like a smart, nice guy.
Well. Until today at least.
They had just come out of what was probably the most interesting History of Magic class Percy had had at Hogwarts so far.
Binns had told them the ghost story of the Chamber of Secrets and the monster said to be inside it. He explained who created it and why Salazar Slytherin had done so. Then, just as they were all on the edge of their seats — for once actually paying attention — he shut them down by calmly informing them that it didn’t even exist.
Percy wasn’t so sure about that.
Something lingered in the air after Binns turned back to the board and resumed his usual lecture. Percy’s mind wandered even more than it normally did in that class.
And when they passed the corridor where Mrs. Norris had been found, Ron and Hermione dragged him over to investigate it.
They found scorch marks on the floor, spiders behaving strangely, Ron’s deep-rooted fear of spiders — and the reason behind it — and Moaning Myrtle.
And now Percy knew why she was called Moaning Myrtle, and it wasn’t nearly as funny as they had teased Ron for implying before this entire thing happened. It was downright depressing. And Hermione had the audacity to say that was one of her better days.
Then, as they were leaving, Ron’s brother Percy had caught them, yelled at them for being in the girls’ bathroom, yelled at them some more for investigating, yelled again because Ginny thought Ron was behind Mrs. Norris being petrified and was upset that they were going to be expelled for something they didn't even do, took some house points, and finally threatened to write to his mum if he caught them there again.
All that to say that Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he absently reached for his wand to remove the smudges, he instead ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Percy’s surprise, Hermione followed suit.
“Who can it be, though?” she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggleborn students out of Hogwarts?”
“Let’s think,” said Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggleborns are scum?” He looked at Hermione.
Hermione looked back, unconvinced.
“If you’re talking about Malfoy —”
“Of course I am!” Ron exclaimed, causing a few heads to turn in their direction. Even Percy Weasley looked up from where his nose was buried in a book across the room.
Ron lowered his voice. “You heard him — ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ Come on, you only have to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him—”
“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” Hermione said skeptically, though Percy noticed something flicker in her eyes, as if pieces were beginning to arrange themselves.
“Just look at his family,” Ron insisted. “Every one of them has been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it—”
Percy snapped his books shut, cutting them both off. “It’s not Malfoy,” he said firmly, drawing their attention.
“I saw Malfoy’s face when he saw the wall. He was just as shocked as everyone else,” Percy continued.
“Malfoy is a bigoted idiot and I wouldn’t be surprised if he could float with how full of hot air he is, but I don’t believe he’s the Heir of Slytherin, and I don’t believe he opened the Chamber of Secrets either.”
Ron shook his head. “That doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve just been surprised that we were the ones who found it first.”
“It does make a bit of sense, Harry,” Hermione added tentatively.
“Do you honestly think Malfoy could keep a secret like that?” Percy countered. “He’d have been bragging about it all last year if he were involved.”
“Maybe he is,” Ron shot back. “Maybe he’s boasting about it in the Slytherin common room. They keep that sort of thing in-house.”
Something sparked in Hermione’s eyes again as she began to tug absently at one of her frizzy curls.
“We could find out,” she said.
“How?” Ron asked, puzzled.
“We can go ask him,” Percy said. He found he rather liked the idea. It would give him the perfect opportunity to make it abundantly clear that Malfoy’s comments were not going to be tolerated.
“That’ll never work, mate. He wouldn’t tell us. Malfoy would get into trouble if it came out he was the Heir.”
“I didn’t say we had to ask nicely.”
“No,” Hermione cut in. “What we’d need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”
“But that’s impossible,” Percy said, just as Ron let out an incredulous laugh.
“No, it’s not,” Hermione replied. Her eyes took on a distant gleam, her mind already racing ahead. “All we’d need is some Polyjuice Potion.”
“What’s that?”
“Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—”
Percy had stopped bothering to listen to Snape around this time last year, let alone any offhand comment about a potion they were certainly never going to brew in class. He might not have agreed with his friends that Snape was behind the broom incident last year, but the man was still a bully.
“D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” Ron muttered.
Hermione ignored him.
“It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.”
“No,” Percy cut in sharply. “That’s too risky. And I’m telling you both—Malfoy isn’t the Heir of Slytherin.”
“I don’t know, mate,” Ron said skeptically. "I don't particularly like the idea of being Slytherins, but we need to find out."
Percy shook his head at them, but the conversation was over. Percy flipped open his textbook again, pushed his dyslexia glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and returned to the extremely dry material.
An owl Percy didn’t recognize landed in front of him on a random Tuesday morning. It had been a few weeks since the Halloween disaster, and most of the school was still avoiding him. So, it wasn't exactly a surprise there weren't a whole lot of students sitting near him and Ron. Hermione left earlier to get a new notebook as she realized her current one was running out of pages, which left Ron and Percy to finish up breakfast with a small crowd of students waiting for the first classes to start.
The owl was a very nondescript barn owl, one that looked remarkably similar to the school owls' students could use to send letters home—except this one lacked the Hogwarts crest stitched onto a leather band the school owls wore.
It tilted its head at Percy, large yellow eyes blinking slowly. Tentatively, he reached out a single finger to scratch its head feathers, only to yank his hand back just before the owl snapped at him.
The owl puffed up, raising its wings in a threatening display as it screeched.
Percy scowled. So much for hoping at least one owl besides Hedwig might actually like him.
“I can’t untie the letter if you won’t let me touch you,” he told the furious bird.
The owl seemed to scowl right back, snapping its beak a few more times before very gingerly lifting the leg with the letter attached.
Percy made quick work of the twine and had just pulled his hand away when the owl lunged for his fingers again. Luckily, it missed.
A loud screech echoed through the hall above him, and the owl launched itself into the air just in time to meet Hedwig, who was streaking toward it like a bullet. They collided midair, knocking each other off course as they grappled with locked talons. When they began to lose altitude, they broke apart.
Hedwig landed smoothly on top of Percy’s head. She puffed up her wings, screeched at the other owl, and glared until it finally retreated through an open window.
Only then did Percy realize the few students lingering in the Great Hall this late in the morning had gone quiet and were staring at him.
“What?” Percy asked, glancing around.
Next to him, Ron burst into laughter, and the rest of the hall slowly returned to their conversations.
“What do those things have against you?” he managed between chuckles.
“I don’t know, man. Hedwig’s the only owl that seems to like me.” Hedwig clicked her beak approvingly and began rearranging his long hair into whatever nesting pattern she preferred.
Percy rolled his eyes.
“Only you, mate. Only you,” Ron said, still laughing. “Who’s that from, anyway?”
Percy looked down at the letter.
In swirling cursive on the front of the envelope were the words An Old Friend.
“Just a friend from home,” Percy said with a shrug, shoving the unopened letter into his bag. “I’ll read it later.”
Ron raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Alright,” he drawled, before returning to stuffing a pastry into his mouth.
It was very late in the evening when Percy finally had a chance to read the letter.
The Slytherin–Gryffindor Quidditch match was steadily approaching, which meant every spare moment was spent out on the pitch practicing while Oliver Wood shouted at them and drilled them through maneuver after maneuver. Percy was very grateful he wasn’t a Chaser and therefore not directly under Wood’s scrutiny.
He had barely escaped Quidditch practice only to be dragged into studying by Hermione, who wanted to go over something in Charms, and then pulled into a game of Gobstones with Neville.
Eventually, as everyone began filing up to their dorms around curfew, Percy grabbed his invisibility cloak and the letter, slipping out of the common room.
He made his way up to his little alcove with ease, pausing to admire the scene of the man and the fire for a moment before settling onto the cushioned bench and finally opening the letter.
Mr. Potter,
I have reflected at length upon our conversation this past summer. Perenelle and I have concluded that you were, indeed, quite right: the manner in which we meet our end ought to be determined by our own choosing and not at the whims of anyone else. I am an old man, Harry Potter, and I had come to terms decades ago that I would one day meet death and the incident last year was admittedly, a bit relieving to finally have the excuse. However, I confess the world has grown unexpectedly intriguing of late. You are a remarkably perceptive young fellow, and I find myself most interested in the path your life continues to take.
Perenelle and I have returned to France for the rest of your school year, yet it would give me the greatest pleasure if we might meet again when summer comes once more.
Yours,
Nicholas Flamel
P.S. Perenelle has scarcely ceased speaking of you and your mother, both of whom she holds in the highest regard. I suspect she is attempting to hint at something, though the precise nature of it continues to elude me. I would be most grateful if you might write to her when you are able; it would please her immensely. Do extend my warm regards to your mother as well.