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Harry and Ron were late leaving dinner that evening, joyful following Professor McGonagall's announcement that the Mandrake plants were ready to be cut and cooked into an antidote. Hermione would be well again tomorrow; the culprit would be caught tomorrow.
Bellys full, they meandered out of the Great Hall, but no sooner had they set off towards Gryffindor Tower than they heard an urgent voice behind them.
“Potter. Potter!”
Whipping their heads around, they found none other than Draco Malfoy peering out of an alcove. Harry’s brief worry dissipated in an instant. Malfoy looked up and down the corridor, gesturing them over once she was sure no one was there. Harry set his expression and planted his feet. God, what did she want now? He didn’t think he could take another jab about signed photos or whatever else she’d come up with this time.
“What d’you want?” bristled Ron.
Malfoy didn’t say anything, only stood wringing a piece of her hair and inched minutely out of the alcove when they didn’t come over. Harry, about to snap at her to spit it out already-, stopped himself; Malfoy didn’t look well: Her irritated eyes had purple bags under them, her pale skin sallow. Even her usually perfect uniform looked rumpled, hanging lifelessly on her. But then again, Harry thought, she’d been looking peaky practically all year.
“Well? What?” Harry pressed, unsure if he’d managed to keep the hostility out of his voice. Malfoy’s frightened face reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place who.
Malfoy swallowed. “I—” She looked behind herself again. “I need to— I need— I don’t know what to do.”
She sounded close to tears. Harry and Ron shared an alarmed look.
“What do you mean?” asked Harry, taking a step closer so he could lower his voice. He was sure there was something about chivalry and crying girls that meant he couldn’t get mad. He ventured, “Is it something to do with… the Chamber of Secrets? Do you know something?”
That did it. Malfoy’s face crumbled completely, turning red and blotchy with the effort not to cry. Harry suddenly realised what she reminded him of: She looked like Dobby did when he was pulling at his ears, about to reveal forbidden information. Her chin jerked, but Harry was unclear on whether it was a nod or not.
He carefully inclined his head, feeling as though he was negotiating with an injured, dangerous animal. “Malfoy?” he murmured.
Harry watched her jaw work, but before she could open her mouth, a thick voice called, “Hey, Draco, c’mon!”
All three of them turned to see Crabbe and Goyle standing outside the Great Hall doors, Goyle looking confused as to why Malfoy had approached Harry without her goons, Crabbe looking proud of his pastry-laden arms.
Crabbe nodded his head towards the dungeons and jostled his armful of treats, “Brought you some, too,” he announced.
Malfoy opened and closed her mouth, but eventually, after a final few seconds of fearful eye contact with Harry, stuck her chin in the air and marched off.
Harry watched her reach the two boys, managing to hear Goyle’s, “We thought you said you’d gone back?” and Malfoy’s tired, “Yes, I know.” Crabbe held out a disintegrating pasty to her with his fist, at which Malfoy made a disgusted face and walked ahead.
“C’mon, mate,” said Ron in Harry’s ear.
They walked back to the tower in uneasy silence. Both Harry and Ron seemed to have come to the same conclusion: Malfoy must know something truly terrible if she was willing to embarrass herself like that. Not that Harry thought she should feel embarrassed; he rather felt that if it were anyone else, he’d think of them as brave.
“Anything she does know,” said Harry, injecting some confidence into his tone as they passed a trick step, “we’ll find it out anyway tomorrow, right? When everyone wakes up?”
“Yeah,” replied Ron weakly. “Yeah, right.”
__________
The whirlwind that was the following day kept Malfoy out of Harry’s mind: Getting caught sneaking away by McGonagall, lying about wanting to see Hermione, learning what monster had been released by the Heir of Slytherin, racing to the staff room… the announcement of another attack…
No, Harry didn’t think about Malfoy at all, hidden away in the dusty cupboard with Ron, awaiting the teachers.
Once they finally poured through the door, the pair watched their fear turn to horror as McGonagall explained the worst had happened: the Basilisk had taken a student into the chamber itself with a new bloody message left behind: Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.
“Who is it?” asked a colourless Madam Hooch over the sound of Professor Flitwick’s tears. “Which student?”
“Draco Malfoy,” replied McGonagall, teary. The bottom dropped out of Harry’s stomach.
The rest of McGonagall’s words were muddled as he slid onto the wardrobe floor beside Ron, ears ringing.
Malfoy had known. She’d known she was in danger and tried to tell him. She came to Harry, and what did he do? Ask about two questions and move on with his life? It was his fault she was taken there. If he’d have told someone—McGonagall, even Dumbledore if he’d come back—Malfoy could’ve been saved, and now her skeleton will—
The door to the staff room burst open, followed by Professor Lockhart’s jaunty voice: “So sorry—dozed off—what have I missed?”
Harry could only watch in disbelief as Gilderoy Lockhart was tasked with rescuing Malfoy from the Basilisk.
__________
The Gryffindor common room had never been so packed nor silent. The afternoon had passed as fast as molasses, word having spread about what had happened. Yes, Malfoy was a bully, but she didn’t deserve…
“She knew something, Ron,” said Harry, speaking for the first time since he’d pulled Ron into the staff room cupboard. “That’s why she was taken. She knew she’d be targeted—she’d learned something about the Chamber of Secrets. That has to be why she—” There was a rock in his throat. “I mean, she was a pure-blood. There can’t be any other reason.”
He stared miserably out the window at the setting sun. Harry had never felt worse. If only he’d done something to help her. If only there was something he could do now. Anything at all.
“Ron,” said Harry, “do you think there’s any chance at all she’s not— well— you know—”
Ron didn’t reply, his face twisting in a manner that Harry read as I can’t tell you what you want to hear.
“D’you know what?” said Ron bracingly after a minute, “I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it’s a Basilisk in there.”
Harry couldn’t think of anything else to do and desperately wanted to be doing something, so he agreed. Apparently too tragic to care, the other Gryffindors didn’t try to stop them as they left through the portrait hole.
The sun had nearly disappeared when they walked down to Lockhart’s office. Feeling as though he may get sick from the guilt, Harry clamped his mouth shut for the journey. As they approached the door, frantic thumps, bumps and scraping could be heard from inside. The noise stopped abruptly when Harry knocked.
The door creaked open very slightly, and Lockhart’s eye peeked out. “Oh… Mr Potter… Mr Weasley… I’m rather busy at the moment. If you would be quick…”
“Professor, we’ve got some information for you,” said Harry as the door opened a fraction wider. “We think it’ll help you.”
The visible half of Lockhart looked mightily uncomfortable. “Er, well—it’s not terribly— I mean, well— alright.”
He opened the door, and they entered. Harry’s eyes bugged. The office looked effectively bare. Two open trunks lay on the floor, one piled with Lockhart’s books, the other with half-hazardly packed robes. The once-filled walls were now empty, and Harry realised it was because Lockhart’s portraits had been shoved into boxes on his desk. Next to which, he noticed, sat two mannequin heads stripped of their wigs.
Harry’s blood went hot. “Are you going somewhere?” he demanded.
“Er, well, yes,” said Lockhart, ripping a poster of himself from the back of the door and rolling it up. “Urgent call… unavoidable… got to go…”
“What about Malfoy?” said Harry angrily.
“Well, as to that—most unfortunate,” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes and emptying his dresser messily into a bag. “No one regrets more than I—”
“You’re the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Ron. “You can’t go now! Not with all the dark stuff going on here!”
“Well, I must say… when I took the job…” he mumbled, tossing more clothes into his trunk, “nothing in the job description… didn’t expect…”
“You mean you’re running away? ” said Harry incredulously. “After all that stuff you did in your books?”
“Books can be misleading,” said Lockhart diplomatically.
“You wrote them!” Harry yelled.
Harry listened, furious, as Lockhart revealed he hadn’t a heroic bone in his body—he’d only been taking credit for what a load of other people had done. The only thing he was actually good at, it turned out, was memory charms. He and Ron gaped at him.
“Let’s see,” said Lockhart, glancing about the room. “I think that’s everything. Yes. Only one thing left.” He pulled his wand from the folds of his robes, turning to them. “Awfully sorry, boys, but I’ll have to put a memory charm on you now. Can’t have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I’d never sell another book…”
Harry had his wand out before he could think. “Expelliarmus!” he bellowed. Lockhart flew backwards and hit the wall with a crash. Harry kicked the trunk out of his way, advancing with his wand raised. “Shouldn’t have let Professor Snape teach us that one.”
Lockhart looked puny and green-skinned. “What do you want me to do?” he protested feebly. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You’re in luck,” spat Harry, ordering the man to his feet and jabbing his wand into his neck. “We think we know where it is. And what’s inside it. Move.”
__________
Harry blinked and coughed, waving the cloud of dust away. “Ron!” he shouted. “Are you okay? Ron!”
“I’m here!” croaked Ron from the other side of the rubble. “I’m okay. This git’s not, though—he got blasted by the wand.” This news was followed by a sharp thud and an ow. It sounded like Ron had kicked Lockhart.
“What’ll we do?” said Harry, desperately examining the wall of rocks, the already precarious ceiling that the explosion had cracked. “We can’t move it. It’ll take ages…”
They were wasting time; Malfoy had been down here for hours. After seeing those rat skulls and dead God-knows-what-else, Harry didn’t want to imagine what she might look like when they reached her. He floundered, feeling more wrong-footed by the second. He hadn’t really stopped to consider their options before jumping down here, not when there was still the craziest, slimmest, most irrational chance Malfoy could still be alive.
Antsy, Harry made a decision.
“Wait there,” he called. “Wait with Lockhart. I’ll go on. If I’m not back in an hour…”
There was a loaded silence.
Ron then spoke in a falsely confident tone, “I’ll try and shift some of this rock. So you can— can get back through. And, Harry—”
“See you in a bit,” Harry interjected, willing the shakiness from his voice. He didn’t want to hear any be careful’s, remembering Hermione last June.
And so he set off alone down the damp tunnel, past the giant snake skin.
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning. Harry wished it would end, yet at the same time, feared more than anything what he’d find on the other side of it. Shaking from head to toe, he came to a wall decorated with two stone serpents twined together. Harry did not have to pretend, as he did in the bathroom, that these were real; their jewel eyes seemed more than alive.
“Open,” Harry hissed lowly.
The serpents slithered aside, and the floor rumbled as the wall cracked in two, either half sliding out of the way to reveal a long, dim chamber. Nerves thundering, he entered.
The whole space had a greenish gloom permeating it, not least caused by the high, vaulting ceiling that disappeared into darkness. Pillars held it up, each carved with yet more snakes—if Harry had any lingering doubt that this was the Chamber of Secrets, they vanished at that moment.
He peered carefully at either side of the Chamber, but there was no sign of life. Was the Basilisk hiding somewhere here? Where was Malfoy?
Wand clutched in hand, Harry walked carefully forward, but it was no use being quiet—each of his footsteps echoed around the shadowed room no matter what. He kept his eyes narrowed, prepared to shut them tight at a moment’s notice.
Heart in his mouth, Harry reached the last of the pillars and had to crane his neck to take in the sight before him: A statue of a long-bearded wizard, ornate and ancient-looking, loomed above, and between its feet lay a still figure with bright blonde hair.
He dashed over to her, dropping to his knees on the wet floor. “Malfoy!” said Harry, throwing his wand aside and turning her over. “Malfoy— Draco! Don’t be dead! C’mon, don’t be dead!”
Her hair was tangled over her face, so Harry held her as he pushed it away. Malfoy was white as a sheet, skin colder than ice. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t be petrified. But that meant…
“Oh, Draco, c’mon, please!” said Harry desperately, shaking her and lifting her half off the ground. “Wake up… Draco, please, wake up…”
“She won’t wake,” a soft voice murmured.
Harry startled and twisted around where he knelt.
Before him stood a tall, slim boy no older than sixteen. Harry squinted at him; the boy seemed weirdly blurred around his edges—as if Harry had forgotten to put on his glasses that morning—but Harry knew exactly who he was.
“Tom— Tom Riddle?”
__________
Something large and heavy whacked Harry in the chest, sending him into the wall. He waited for ginormous fangs to sink into him, but they never came.
He heard a wild hissing and something thumping into the pillars and walls. Harry couldn’t help himself; he cracked open his eyelids.
The snake, gigantic, green, and thick as a tree trunk, swished its huge, ugly head above Harry, spitting. Flinching every other second in case it turned to face him, Harry realised what had distracted the snake: Fawkes, diving and twirling around its head.
Fawkes dove, and its long golden beak disappeared from view momentarily before sending a shower of dark blood onto the Chamber floor. Harry ducked the Basilisk’s tail as it thrashed violently, and he looked right into its face. There, he saw its eyes, bulging and yellow, had been punctured, two streams of blood leaking out of them.
“ No! Leave the bird!” hissed Riddle. “Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! You can still hear him! Kill him!”
The Basilisk wavered, still lethal. Fawkes circled its head, singing its unearthly song and occasionally stabbing it in the nose.
“Help me, help me,” Harry muttered nonsensically, winded and watching the blinded serpent sway heavily in agony. “Someone… anyone…”
Harry ducked its tail again. Something soft hit his face; it was the Sorting Hat.
Movement behind the serpent caught his sharp eye—Malfoy had lifted her head. Relief rose in his chest like a songbird. Her mouth was moving, confused, but Harry couldn’t possibly hear her over the anguished hissing of the Basilisk.
Still holding the old hat, Harry waved his arms about, not daring to make a sound. Malfoy spotted him, her eyes lighting up with something—elation or horror, Harry could not tell. Perhaps both. He beckoned her over, but Malfoy shook her head drunkenly, staring in shock at the thrashing monster metres away from her.
Harry then did something very brave and very stupid; he took a deep breath and sprinted over to her, grabbing her arm and legging it back past the Basilisk, which turned its ugly head towards them.
Malfoy’s footsteps behind him sounded uneven and heavy, so he pulled her close to support her with his other arm. She was trembling. So was Harry.
“What is—” said Malfoy.
“ Shush!” said Harry desperately, spotting a side tunnel and beelining for it.
As they turned the corner, Harry heard Riddle hiss, “No! After them!”
After them, it came. They splashed through the wet pipe with the Basilisk slithering behind them, frantic and full of adrenaline, until Harry hauled himself and Malfoy into a corner, backs hitting a slimy grate.
Trying to swallow his heavy breaths while holding up a deathly weak Malfoy, Harry watched the serpent’s head appear in horror.
It advanced on them, exhaling something foul. Fresh out of ideas, Harry took a silent step forward and picked up a rock. He threw it down the pipe.
Unbelievably, the Basilisk followed the noise. Harry held his breath as its giant, scaly body passed them. He twisted around to check on Draco. Her pallor made her look like death—It was no wonder, either, thought Harry, remembering all the terror Riddle had boasted about subjecting her to. He held her face to capture her attention.
‘It’s blind,’ Harry mouthed, trying to make himself look calm. ‘But it can still hear us.’
Draco nodded, mouth open.
Satisfied, Harry watched the snake’s tail slither down the tunnel. They couldn’t just wait here like sitting ducks.
‘Come on,’ he mouthed to Draco, who teetered on the spot when she left the wall. Harry held her by the waist and hurriedly guided her out of the pipe. The Basilisk made an angry noise from deep behind them.
Harry wracked his brain. There was no way he could send Draco out of the Chamber alone—she’d collapse before she got to the door. She had to hide.
When they stepped out, Harry, valiantly ignoring Riddle’s enraged cry at the sight of them, turned to her.
“Wait over there,” said Harry aloud, figuring the Basilisk was coming back anyway and pointing to a large pillar with the Sorting Hat, “and don’t come out until it’s safe.”
“But what about—” slurred Draco.
“Draco.” He held her face again—that seemed to work last time. “You can’t hardly stand. You have to hide, okay?”
After a second’s hesitation, Draco conceded. Harry thanked God she didn’t have a Gryffindor attitude. Without waiting, Harry marched her over to the pillar and helped her sit, hidden.
“The boy is in the Chamber!” hissed Riddle. “Kill him! Kill him!”
“What is he saying?” said Draco faintly. Harry just shook his head. He could hear the snake getting closer—he didn’t know what to do.
‘Oh, God, help us…’ Harry thought. Suddenly, he looked down at his hand and resigned himself to his last idea.
Harry shoved the Sorting Hat onto his head and clamped his eyes shut. ‘Help me… Help me…’ Harry thought. ‘Please, help me!’
No voice answered. Instead, the hat squeezed, and something heavy and hard thunked onto the top of his head. Black spots winking in his vision, Harry pulled the hat off and stuck his arm in, grabbing the object, which was cold to the touch. He pulled it out and stared, amazed, at the glinting sword in his hand.
He wanted to show Draco but couldn’t—her eyes had slipped closed.
Wasting no time, Harry stood and peered out from behind the pillar, mustering up his courage at the grim sight of the Basilisk, coiling its body to face him. Its mouth stretched wide, wide enough to eat him whole, and it snapped its long, sharp fangs menacingly.
He stepped out into the open. It lunged blindly. Harry dodged, and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its purple tongue caught Harry’s side. He raised the sword with shaking hands. The Basilisk lunged a final time, and this time, it hit its mark—Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and plunged it down to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth.
However, as blood flooded from the wound, Harry felt something razor-sharp piercing his arm. The Basilisk screeched and collapsed to one side, and as it did, the fang that had sunken into his flesh split.
Harry slid down the nearest wall, weak-kneed, and yanked out the fang, but he knew he was too late. He was rapidly losing feeling in his arm, though it was sending spikes of pain to his chest; his shirt was turning red.
A shadow soon fell over him.
“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s voice. “I’m going to sit here and watch you die. Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
His world spun; the Chamber swam in and out of focus, but Harry drowsily noticed the soaked diary lying close to him.
“So ends the famous Harry Potter,” said Riddle from far away. “Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged…”
Riddle’s voice faded as Harry’s mind failed. He was seized with a final idea. Without thinking, like he’d planned to do it all along, Harry summoned the last of his strength, reached out for the diary, and stabbed it with the broken fang.
There came a terrible, ringing shriek as Riddle writhed and twisted, the vision of him fracturing. Ink poured from the diary like rivulets of blood. There was screaming and thrashing and…
Riddle had vanished. Harry’s wand fell with a clatter. Harry didn’t question it—the fight left him in a flash, and he collapsed onto the floor.
The Chamber of Secrets was disappearing rapidly in a cloud of darkness. Scarlet whirled by, accompanied by the muddled sound of footsteps.
“Fawkes,” Harry tried to say, unsure if the words even left his mouth. “You did brilliantly, Fawkes…”
He thought he was being moved around but could not honestly tell. He needed to check on Draco. Was she okay? Fawkes would have to help her… bring her to Ron…
If this was dying, thought Harry, maybe it wasn’t so bad. He felt floaty—the pain was leaving him…
Hang on—was this dying? Instead of getting darker, the Chamber was getting even clearer. Harry wiggled his fingers and shook his head, finding Fawkes resting his head on his elbow. Thick, glistening tears slid down his feathers and onto Harry’s wound—except the wound had gone.
Harry laughed weakly with relief and said, “Fawkes— You… you’re amazing!”
Harry’s gaze slipped upward onto the distressed face of one Draco Malfoy. His stomach lurched like he’d missed a stair—Draco must have pulled Harry into her arms. Draco’s cheeks went blotchy with impressive speed, and Harry knew his own were no better. He sat up, bracing himself on his hand to face her.
“Are you okay?” said Harry.
“Y—Yes, I’m—” Draco’s voice cracked before she gave a great gasp and burst into tears.
“Oh, I— Potter—I tried to tell you last night, but then I—I just couldn’t say it in front of V—Vince and Greg. I did it—the attacks— But I d—didn’t want to, I swear— T—Tom Riddle— He made me. He took me over. But— But how did you kill that— that thing? Where did R—Riddle go? Last I remember, w—we’d got out of the pipe—”
“It’s okay,” said Harry, placing his bloody hand over hers. Draco really was very close. “Riddle’s dead. Him and the Basilisk!” He groped around behind him, picking up the diary displaying the sizzling hole the Basilisk venom had left behind. “Look! C’mere, Draco, let’s get out of here—”
“Oh, Merlin, I’ll be expelled!” Draco sobbed. “What— What will Mother and Father say? F—Father will be furious! He just spent all that m—money on the new N—Nimbus brooms…”
She howled and buried her face in her hands.
“It’ll be okay,” said Harry anxiously. “Really, let’s just—”
“ I thought you’d died!” Draco wailed suddenly.
Harry shut his mouth.
“I woke up, and you— you were c—covered in blood and hardly— hardly moving and— Mumbling about… and then— then you—” She sobbed into her hands.
Speechless, Harry’s hands hovered near Draco’s shoulders, feeling more out of his depth than he had when he faced the Basilisk. He settled on pulling Draco’s hands from her face.
“I didn’t, though,” he said cautiously. “Right? Everything’s alright now. We’re both alive.”
“Ugh!” said Draco, face screwing up. “You stupid. Boy,” she growled, whacking Harry on the leg with his own hand.
Harry couldn’t believe it. Was Draco really angry at him for helping her? He didn’t want to believe it—he thought at the very least she’d tolerate him now—but that look on her face—
Draco’s lips were on his.
Draco was kissing him.
She retreated before Harry could react. His mouth was tingling. They were still holding hands.
Harry got the feeling he’d missed something. When had Malfoy become Draco again?
Her face was redder than ever, but she stuck her chin in the air—a proud gesture that seemed ridiculous down there in the Chamber, each of them covered in grime.
“You kissed me,” said Harry, stunned.
“You saved me,” Draco returned.
He had nothing to say to that.
Fixing his eyes on the floor, Harry wondered how soon would be impolite to make Draco get up. He wondered if he should be kissing her in return.
He heard a sniffle. Oh, God. Draco was still crying.
Obviously, he scolded himself.
“Hey, hey,” said Harry quietly. “It’s alright… It’s okay…”
Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet, thankful to see she’d regained a lot of strength.
After retrieving his wand, the sword, the diary and the hat—a title fit for a terrible children’s book—Harry and Draco set off out of the Chamber. Harry thought he could sense the carved snakes on the pillars watching them go.
He felt very inadequate, holding what felt now like a bunch of old trinkets while Draco cried at his side.
And so, following much internal deliberation, Harry took a deep breath, shifted his load under one arm and found Draco’s hand with the other. He blushed harder at the garbled noise she made. Draco walked very close to him the rest of the way, which Harry found he enjoyed. It made it easier to help her along the tunnel. Of course.
And if, when they returned, Ron noticed either of their flaming faces, he made the wise choice not to comment, opting to give Draco a profoundly uncomfortable thumbs up and a, "Merlin's balls, you're both alive!"