My Favourite Story's On The Internet

Findable On: Archive of Our Own (Ao3), FanFiction, SpaceBattles

Author: Bub3loka

Summary: Prophecies are fickle things. Two young men marked by fate lay dying, one slain by knives in the dark, the other laid low by a fearsome foe of legend. The two shall become one, and as Harry Potter struggles in his final throes in Salazar's Chamber, he becomes more.

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The evening of the 29th of May 1993. 

He could feel the searing venom of the Basilisk coursing through his veins. His blood felt like it was on fire, and his insides spasmed painfully. He had failed. He might have slain the Basilisk, but Tom Riddle was still sucking the life out of Ginny. Ginny…how will he tell her that her brother is dead? But he was a goner, and so was she, and there won't be any speaking at all anytime soon. He tried to let out a raspy chuckle, but his insides twisted, and he grimaced in agony.

Damn that fraud! Curse Lockhart for causing that rock slide that killed them both. Damn all the professors and the ministry for being useless, and damn Lucius Malfoy for removing the headmaster from the school. Dumbledore would have easily dealt with everything…

'But would he? He never did anything but watch the previous year, and it was much of the same this one,' a voice darkly whispered in his mind.

Harry could feel his consciousness slipping as he lay down on the damp floor. The pain was becoming unbearable, and even thinking became painful. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. His mind clouded for a moment before the fog turned into a painful fire. Unbidden memories rushed through his mind, and he remembered . 

He remembered another time he was lying on the cold ground, life seeping away. Memories of a gigantic Wall of ice and the cold sting of blades upon his chest by those he called his brothers. Even the steel did not feel as painful as the cruel, senseless betrayal.

Distantly, in Harry's mind, a white wolf growled and pounced, and a puny twisted snake-like abomination tried to flee. But it was too sluggish and slow, and the wolf was too mighty and quick. Harry closed his eyes in another stab of excruciating pain, this time in the forehead, only to open them abruptly. Everything slowly became numb from the pain, and he gritted his teeth, sat up, and looked around.

He remembered more than before now. He was Harry Potter but also Jon Snow, the betrayed 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Harry could feel Ghost in his mind, tearing down and devouring something that was making his head feel like it was stabbed repeatedly by a rusty knife. A sensation that only added to the molten poison running through his veins. Vaguely, he felt a blurry memory surface in his mind. Something about…thirteen? He shook his head only to regret it as another pang of agony coursed through him.

"Still struggling, Potter? A vain effort; in a minute, you will be history, a mere footnote in my glorious return!" The almost fully corporeal teenager started cackling madly, and it only made Harry's pain feel worse from the jarring noise. 

He forced himself to look around, and he spotted the diary lying innocently a few yards away. His hand found itself wrenching out the Basilisk Fang that poisoned him in the first place. 

Mustering the last vestiges of his waning strength, Harry plunged the fang into the diary, hoping it would shut up that insane cackling grating in his ears. The gloating was replaced with a shrill cry of pain, and Tom Riddle's body began to crack, darkness and light leaking out of the fissures in equal measure. A few painful seconds later, he exploded into nothingness as the diary bled a black sludge that looked like ink.

"Finally, some quiet," Harry groaned, his head wasn't hurting as much, but the venom still made his veins feel like they were on fire. His body began growing number and number, and everything started becoming even blurrier and darker. Next to him, he could barely see Ginny breathing more easily, and his heart skipped a beat. She looked like the spitting image of his sister, Sansa.

'At least, she will live…' Harry thought as the last vestiges of strength left him, and he fell down on the damp floor, no longer able to control his own limbs. Numbness and pain battled inside him, and everything went dark. Even his mind grew sluggish. 

So this was it… 

Harry wondered which family he would see in the afterlife. Would he see the Potters, the Starks, or maybe both? Perhaps Jon could finally see his mother. It sucked, though, that just as he gained a second chance at life, it was snuffed out like this.

Somewhere far, far away in the distance, a small trill was heard. Numbness and pain slowly gave way to a cosy warmth. 

The sound of melodic trilling increased as the warmth quickly flowed in his stabbed arm and spread out through his body until it reached the eyes. The numbness disappeared, replaced by searing pain in his face that made him cry out. It felt like hot daggers were being stabbed into his eyes repeatedly while someone was pouring salt into them at the same time. His body spasmed in agony for an endless moment before the pain began to subside. A few heartbeats later, his body felt…better, and all the pain was gone. Harry became acutely aware of a small, warm weight that was pressing down on his arm. His eyelids felt as if made of stone, and it took some time to force them to open, only to be greeted by a blurry surrounding.

Great, now he lost his glasses. He cursed his luck and blindly began to feel the ground with his arms. An indignant squawk was heard, and he stilled, and the weight disappeared from his right arm only to reappear on his shoulder. Gods, was that Fawkes? A soft, soothing trill next to his ear was all the answer he needed. Harry couldn't help but burst out in a fit of raspy laughter.

He was alive!

Today, he thought he was dead and had his foot in the grave on more than one occasion. Heck, he even died today at the Wall. The bitter feeling of betrayal still stung like a phantom knife in his chest. And here he was, a young boy of two and ten, sitting at a place of legend, having slain a mythical beast by sheer luck and daring. His laughter abruptly stopped. He was lucky, but his best friend… was not. He felt foolish now, rushing into danger completely unprepared, thinking that the Fraud would be of any assistance. Ron, his most loyal friend, looked so much like Robb that tears began to streak down his cheeks. Another soft trill sounded near him, and something soft nuzzled to his cheek.

Right, it was not the time to mourn now, he had to get Ron's body back to his family. And Ginny too. He tried to wipe his blurry eyes with his sleeve, only for his glasses to painfully sink into his nose as he clumsily smacked his hand into them. He winced, cursed quietly, took off the glasses, and wiped his eyes with the inner lining of the robes that was probably the only thing clean on him right now. Harry mechanically picked up his glasses again as he looked around and froze just before they reached his face. Everything was crystal clear, and for the first time, he could see . 

Harry could see each detail of the stone serpents. Each and every crevice and line flowed clearly, and even the grey stone looked more vivid than before. The perfect outline of the tiles on the damp floor. Every single crack, splatter, or speck of dirt and sludge. The poisonously green skin of the Basilisk looked deadly yet mesmerizing, along with all the small, bony horns crowning its head. A feeling of joy and satisfaction filled him. Despite being incredibly tired and conflicted, he had never felt more alive than now. Not even on a broom. He had memories of Jon's good eyesight, but he had not truly appreciated what he had. Now, being able to see with his own eyes was simply…amazing. 

The round glasses cluttered on the ground, forgotten, and the phoenix gave a soft, happy trill right next to him.

"Thanks, Fawkes. You're pretty amazing, you know that?" He could see pride flash through the bird's onyx eyes, and he gave a weak chuckle. Harry gently ran his finger through his beautiful plumage, making the magical bird close its eyes in contentment and trill happily. "I'd be dead twice over without you."

Harry did feel better, although his whole body barely had any strength left. But it was more than enough for now. The phoenix flew up, perched on one of the stone snake heads, and looked on curiously as he struggled to force his heavy limbs to listen to him. After a few moments, he pocketed the stabbed diary and finally managed to stand up and make his way toward the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor.

He stuffed the hat in one pocket and the basilisk fang in the other before walking to the maw of the Basilisk, where the sword was still sticking out. After some struggle, he managed to pull it out, only to gasp in amazement.

The silvery blade was unmarred by any blood or venom and looked impeccably clean. It was a hand-and-a-half sword just like Longclaw, but it was a tad shorter and even heavier than ordinary steel. The egg-sized rubies on the handle looked a bit too flashy, but at least the balance was perfect. Jon would have been able to wield the blade with ease since he had trained since his early childhood, but Harry would probably get tired after a few swings. In fact, even ignoring his sore body, he felt laughably weak compared to Jon. Something to definitely work on later.

He lightly tapped the blade with his finger, and it gave an unusually sharp ringing sound. He wondered if the blade truly was made from silver. That would certainly explain the heavier weight. But silver was a very soft, malleable metal that would bend at the first strike, yet the blade stood perfectly straight, and the edges looked razor sharp. He gently ran the edge of the blade across his thumb, and it easily pierced his skin, just like Valyrian Steel. 

He snorted at his foolishness. Right, he was a wizard in a school of magic; the blade was most probably enchanted.

'Magic is a blade without a hilt, it is said.' Harry thought, or was it Jon? 'Regardless, this doesn't seem to be true here anymore.' He turned the blade to check the base. 

Right under the hilt, he could see a name etched in what he assumed was Old English. After a moment of thinking, he recognized the name.

"Godric Gryffindor!" Harry was surprised and felt his chest swell with pride and honour to hold such a legendary sword, for even he had heard of the sword of the founder of his House. 

All in all, it was a remarkable sword. 

'Too remarkable,' Harry thought warily. A twelve-year-old student with no training at arms would most certainly not be allowed to keep such a prized blade. While he could lay a claim on it, it's not like he could truly stop a grown adult from taking it away from him. Harry could imagine what they'd say already.

'Wizards don't use swords!'

'He's too young!'

'This belongs to the school!' 

And probably a thousand reasons more.

"No! This sword chose me; it came to me in my darkest hour. There is no way I will relinquish it to anyone!" Harry told himself aloud. He decided it would be much safer to keep it here, in a place which only he had access to, and after a short struggle, stabbed it back into the Basilisk's open maw and nodded with satisfaction. This could be his hidden ace if needs be. Nobody would expect a young wizard to have an enchanted sword, let alone know how to use it. 

Harry looked around for his wand, finding it on the ground near where Riddle last stood and picked it up. He jerked in surprise at the surprising warmth and eagerness he could feel from the wand, almost as warm as the first time he picked it from Ollivander. It was as if the wand chose him all over again and Harry felt a much closer connection to it than an hour ago.

He turned around sharply as he heard a faint shuffle and a pained groan from the end of the Chamber. 

Ginny woke up with a start and quickly sat up; she looked around confused, eyes darting from the massive form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the mangled diary peeking out of his pocket. She drew a great, shuddering gasp, and tears began to pour down her face. She remembered what she had done. 

Her bright blue eyes found Harry staring at her.

"Harry, oh, Harry, I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy! It was me, Harry, but I-I s-swear I d-didn't mean to. R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over, and…how did you kill that…that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary—" Ginny started rambling and was soon talking incoherently.

Harry, dread, sadness, and anger warring within him, stood there stunned for a few seconds before walking over and helping her stand up. Dread filled him, and his tongue felt as heavy as stone at the thought of telling her of Ron's demise. 

"It's all right," Harry managed to eke out, holding up the pierced diary, trying to smile widely, but his face twisted into a grimace instead as he stepped towards her. "Riddle's finished. Look! Him and the Basilisk. Come, Ginny. We need to get out of here," he turned to walk towards the entrance but stumbled as his legs scarcely listened to him. "Give me a hand, will you? I can barely move my limbs." 

The confusion and panic on Ginny's face slowly receded as she looked at the stumbling Harry. She helped him, and he leaned on her shoulder for support.

As they made their way through the Chamber to the exit, they found Fawkes was waiting for them, perched right on top of the Chamber entrance. He followed them through the echoing gloom and back into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

Harry, still feeling disoriented and exhausted from the whole affair, decided to come clean. It would not do for her to see Ron's body without warning. 

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

Words simply did not come out. Harry had no idea what to say, and his visions began to swim as tears silently began to pool in his eyes.

Dread filled him as they neared the collapsed ceiling.

A few moments later, they approached the rockslide. Ginny froze, and Harry felt like a hammer had stuck him at the sight. Right in front of them was the rockslide, with Ron's upper body clearly visible from under the rocks, with his head cracked open. There was so much blood and even pale pieces of bone, and, on the side, Harry could see the rock that had taken the life of his best friend.

"No…NO!" Ginny cried out and fell on her knees, and without her support, Harry's legs gave out, and he painfully crumbled on the rocky floor littered with bones. She slowly approached the body and carefully shook it. Harry felt his chest tighten, and breathing became painful.

"Ron?! Please no! Wake up, Ron…"

A sad, lamenting trill filled the air…

Poppy Pomfrey was in her office when she felt the fiery brand of teleportation. Hurrying to the infirmary proper, expecting Dumbledore to be injured, she was shocked and horrified by what she found instead.

"Mr Potter! Miss Weasley and…is that Mr Weasley?!" She looked horrified at the obviously deceased boy. She could see Harry on all fours and vomiting on the ground before collapsing on the floor.

.

.

.

.

When Harry next awoke, it was to a commotion in the infirmary. He felt like something had chewed him out a few times and decided that he was not worth the effort and spat him out instead of devouring him completely. A woman was wailing in grief, accompanied by the quiet sobs and crying of others. For a few short moments, he wondered if he had died, but the aches across his body told him otherwise. That meant that the sad sounds of mourning could only be the Weasleys. Harry grimaced, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to sit up. His hand mechanically started wandering next to the bed, looking for his glasses, when he stopped. They had been left in the Chamber, but he did not need them anymore, as he could clearly see the surroundings without them. 

He was about to get up and remove the privacy screens before loud footsteps approached from the door.

"Arthur! Oh dear Merlin, Arthur, when I heard the news," a sad voice echoed across the Hospital Wing. It took a few moments for Harry to realize that the voice belonged to the Minister. "The Ministry would spare no effort to find and punish the perpetrator!"

Harry finally removed his privacy screen, forced his tired body to stand up, and looked around the Hospital Wing.

The Weasleys were gathered around a bed covered with a white sheet, where Ron's body probably lay. The minister was flanked by two serious-looking men in red robes, and the tall form of Albus Dumbledore towered over all of them.

It seemed that Harry's movement grabbed their attention, as all of them looked his way, and the Headmaster approached while the Minister continued quietly conversing with the Weasleys.

"Harry, I am so glad you are alright," Dumbledore's voice was very relieved, his face rich with emotions that Harry had difficulty reading. "I know this is a terrible time for this, but I need to know exactly what happened, and so does Minister Fudge," The headmaster's tone became as cold and hard as steel, and his sad eyes hardened. "Someone killed one of my students" 

Harry's hairs all stood up. At that moment, the amiable old man was gone, and in his place stood the mighty wizard that even Voldemort was afraid to face. But he could see a small glimpse of something familiar in the wizened old face in front of him. The rigid, icy exterior did not fully hide the deep sadness mixed with regret, especially when he turned in the direction of the Weasleys. 

'He must blame himself for Ron's death.'  

He opened his mouth to start speaking, but his throat was dry and parched, and only a raspy groan came out. At that moment, Madame Pomfrey quickly came by his bed holding several vials of potions.

"Here, Mr Potter, you must drink these to regain your strength," the school nurse sharply turned around. "And Headmaster, I must insist! Mr Potter needs his rest."

Harry wasted no time and started pouring Pomfrey's concoctions down his throat. The taste was so foul he almost gagged and lost focus for a few moments. When he finally came about again, Pomfrey looked somewhat pacified, and Dumbledore now looked like a tired old man but still had his sad yet firm expression on his face. 

"I will leave no stone unturned," he heard Fudge loudly promise to Mr Weasley before coming towards Harry, still followed by his two guards. With a casual wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a second chair for the Minister. 

"Thank you, Headmaster," Fudge nodded, sat, and nodded towards Harry with a sad smile. "Mr Potter, I hoped we would meet in better circumstances, but alas…"

A sad realization struck Harry. Nobody knew the full story of what happened but himself. Under their expectant gazes, he steeled himself and opened his mouth.

Across the room, from the corner of his eye, he could see the Weasley twins and Percy listening intently.

His story started flowing out of his mouth. From learning of the Chamber's location and going to Lockhart for help to discovering he was a fraud and forcing him to join them in the Chamber, to Lockhart's spell backfiring from Ron's broken wand and how he found his friend dead amidst the fallen rubble. Harry choked at this point, and his eyes began stinging with tears again. He angrily wiped them and was about to continue but was interrupted by a heart-clenching wail from Molly. 

'Oh yeah…she was the one who refused to get Ron a new wand…'

He felt bile rise in his throat again, but thankfully, his stomach seemed to be empty. Harry gritted his teeth and soldiered on with the rest of his story.

"But this is preposterous! With a sword?" Fudge asked in shock, "And where is that sword?"

"In the Chamber, Still stuck in the Basilisk's maw," Harry explained with a watery chuckle. "I was more concerned with Ginny, to be honest." 

While Harry might have had trouble giving such a half-truth a few hours ago, Jon had no such issue at all.

"This beggars belief, Mr. Potter! I can hardly believe any of this without evidence!" Fudge exclaimed as he looked at an impassive Dumbledore in incredulity, then back to Harry.

"It's up to you to believe me or not, Minister," Harry shrugged sadly. He should have foreseen such a reaction. Truthfully, he himself would not believe what happened had he not lived it. "You asked me to tell you what happened, and I did so…" He grimaced at the thought of bringing other people into the Chamber to prove his story. That place… was dark, terrible, but something that only he had access to. But then he remembered something and rolled off his sleeve, showing off a deep, jagged, ugly scar where the fang had sunk into his flesh. Harry carefully brought out the Basilisk fang from his robe's pocket and brought it forward. 

Fudge gasped and backed away warily.

"Is this…?" Dumbledore's voice was rich with apprehension.

"Yes. This is the fang, and the scar is where it stabbed me," Harry confirmed and placed the fang right next to the marred flesh. It looked like a perfect fit, and there could be little doubt about what had caused the scarring. "If it was not for Fawkes, I would have been finished." 

At the mention of his name, the Phoenix trilled happily from the railing of the nearest window.

"Merlin's beard!"

"If you want to make sure the fang is real, you're welcome to take it, Mr Fudge. A gift from me," Harry extended his hand, and the Minister warily eyed the enormous tooth that was covered by a dark-green venomously-looking substance.

The Minister wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and turned towards the man on his left.

"Dawlish," Fudge barked, "take the fang to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I want it analysed, and the report sent back here within the hour, and I don't care if it's nine in the bloody evening! And for Merlin's sake, be careful handling it!" 

A tough-looking burly wizard with short, wiry hair came forward and cautiously eyed the fang. The man donned a pair of dragon hide gloves, gingerly picked the fang, and carefully deposited it into a leather pouch, before quickly heading for the hallway.

Dumbledore shifted in his seat and slowly ran his hand through his long, white beard.

"And you say the sword is in the Basilisk, Harry?"

"Yes, sir. Fawkes came to me when I asked for aid with the Sorting Hat in his claws, and I put it on. The sword dropped on my head hilt-first then." Harry absent-mindedly rubbed the bump on his head, remembering how he almost got knocked out by the hilt. Harry hastily remembered the stuffed hat in his pocket and quickly handed it over to Dumbledore, who took it with a grateful nod.

Fudge returned to his seat then, after speaking to the other Auror in hushed tones, and Harry could see a look of nervousness in his eyes.

"Do you have any clue as to who the sword belonged to, my boy?" Fudge asked in curiosity, only for Dumbledore to interrupt.

"I believe that is enough questions, Cornelius. It doesn't matter who the sword belonged to, it might just be one of the dozens of nameless magical swords lying around. More importantly, I believe the Hospital Wing is not a good place for this conversation." The Headmaster slightly tilted his head in the direction of the Weasleys before turning to Harry. "Harry, do you still have the dark artefact that caused the possession?" 

He nodded, and Dumbledore stood up, Sorting Hat in hand.

"Your office it is then," Fudge agreed quietly with a nod., "I will personally take a look at the entrance of the Chamber first, Dumbledore. I will meet you afterwards; let's go, Robards." 

"Meet you there, Cornelius," the Headmaster confirmed and motioned for Harry to stand up. 

Harry forced his heavy limbs to move and slowly got up. Meanwhile, the few people dressed similarly to Madam Pomphrey were carrying out Ron's body, accompanied by the grieving Weasleys.

'Probably to be cleaned and given last rites,' he realised and shook his head. He was still dizzy and tired. The grumbling stomach was not helping him either.

Dumbledore frowned for a second but quickly held out his arm to him. Seeing Fawkes on his shoulders, Harry guessed what would happen and quickly made sure to grab his wand from the bedside before grasping Dumbledore's extended arm. A flash of fire later, and they were gone.

Once they arrived, the Headmaster made his way behind his desk while Harry sat on one of the tapered chairs in front.

"Professor, is there a chance that I could get some food and drink? I feel like I haven't eaten in days, and I'm sure I missed dinner by now, considering the hour," Harry asked once they settled and checked his cracked watch, which showed 09:08 in the evening. It felt like an eternity had passed since he and Ron accosted Lockhart in his office.

Dumbledore was surprised and quickly called out, "Leeney?" Instantly, a house elf in a clean white sack appeared to the side.

"You called? Headmaster Dumblesdores?" The elf spoke concisely at first before butchering the headmaster's name, Harry, in his tired and emotional state, couldn't hold the choking snort of laughter, which earned him a rebuking glance from the elf, but he didn't care too much. He was emotionally spent, and he couldn't even muster the energy to ask about the existence of House-Elfs in Hogwarts. He was too hungry.

Dumbledore good-naturedly chuckled along. 

"Yes, Leeney, Might I ask you to procure some food and drink for young Harry here? He has had a very long day and an exhausting battle. He is in dire need of sustenance."

The elf did a 180 as it looked straight at Harry. 

"Oh, this won't does," the elf snapped her fingers, and suddenly, Harry felt cleaner. Most of the mud, blood, and grime on him evaporated, but he still felt like he needed to burn all the clothes he was wearing and to take at least an hour in the hot shower to scrub himself clean.

"Thank you, Leeney," Harry tried to smile in response but probably grimaced instead.

"Oh no, no, oh no, no need for thanks, Leeney is happy to help! I will have the food here shortedly," the elf bounced before vanishing. 

"Our caretaker could hardly keep the whole school in order, even if he was not a squib. No, Hogwarts employs over a hundred house elves to feed and maintain the upkeep of such a large castle," Dumbledore answered the unasked question. "If you ever feel peckish and have missed a meal, you can always make your way to the kitchens in the basement for a snack. Just look for a portrait with fruits on it. I'm sure the pear would love a little laugh. The elves will never refuse you."

Harry smiled at Dumbledore's advice. 

"I will keep it in mind, sir."

Some silence took over the room then.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore asked quietly, "It is not easy losing a friend."

Harry could feel tears coming back, but he held them in. Or at least he thought he did until his vision began to swim, and he had to wipe his face with his relatively clean sleeve. 

"I won't lie and say I'm fine, professor," he started slowly, and his voice couldn't help but crack. "Ron-" he choked on his friend's name and grimaced, "-Ron was like a brother to me. We knew what we were getting ourselves into, we had to save Ginny, and there was no time to get to the teachers after Lockhart turned out to be a disappointment. What's done is done; he's with the Gods now."

The headmaster noticed the odd expression but quickly dismissed it due to a child's grief. At that moment, Leeney returned with a veritable feast on a large tray, along with a jug of pumpkin juice. Harry could see a whole roasted duck, two large steaks, garlic bread, and much more. She placed it on a side table by the window, and Harry quickly moved to it.

He wasted no time and feasted like a ravaging wolf, forgetting about the events of today in favour of satisfying his growling stomach. He still made sure not to make a mess, but it was a close thing.

Dumbledore watched fondly with a small smile as his young student was wolfing down an enormous amount of food while trying to uphold basic table manners.

Harry managed to finish the entire course set in front of him, to Dumbledore's bemusement. The boy had just eaten enough food for half a dozen people, yet still looked like he could take more.

'Almost like a wolf on a feast'

Harry was enjoying his treacle tart when a knock and the door opening grabbed his attention, Fudge had returned, and it appeared that the Auror Dawlish had also made it back. 

"Cornelius," the headmaster nodded in greeting.

"Albus," Fudge replied, before looking around the office, his eyes finding Harry.

"Ah, Harry! There you are, my boy." Cornelius called as he fiddled with his bowler hat. 

He motioned to Dawlish, who approached Harry with the same pouch that had the fang in it and wordlessly offered the fang back.

"Oh, Minister. Did you already test the fang?" Harry asked politely as he retrieved his fang and held it in his hand for now. After eating so much, Harry was already feeling better, the sluggish feeling and tiredness from before almost completely gone.

Fudge fiddled with his hat faster than ever and looked uncomfortable. 

"Ah, yes, well, the results came back quickly once I put the order, the head of the department himself did it for me as a favour, you see, and it was unbelievable, I should say. At least an eight-hundred-year-old Basilisk, they say…" 

"Impressive, Cornelius. Mr Dawlish must have caught Amos on his way out if you managed to have him check the fang so quickly at this time of night," Dumbledore intoned lightly while Fudge and Dawlish both puffed up like peacocks after the slight praise.

"And I am also glad that I have proven my word," Harry said pleasantly as he shoved a spoonful of tart in his mouth with his free hand. 

Fudge blanched at the unsaid accusation to Harry's integrity. 

"Ah, Mr Potter, it was not my intent. But surely, you can see how something so serious requires some verification?" Harry now understood how the Minister had got elected. The man sounded so affable, so reasonable, and jovial that it was hard to dislike him. "I owe you an apology, and in return, I will always free my time for you if you have any requests towards me. You are welcome to come by my office in the ministry, and I will always be available." 

The Minister smiled amiably and looked expectantly at Harry.

Harry was stunned, he did want some benefits out of today, but he didn't expect the Minister, who is basically the equivalent to a King, or at least the Hand of the King, to offer him his ear so easily. 

"I am honoured, Minister. Truly I am. I graciously accept your offer, and I may just call on you sometime soon." Cornelius beamed, "Are you sure you don't want the fang, Minister? I did say it can be a gift." Harry added as he waved the fang around, making the Aurors and the Minister take a step back.

"No need, my boy. It's yours by right. Especially in light of what Robards and I discovered." At this, Fudge turned to the headmaster, "The entrance truly is in the girl's bathroom on the second floor. Robards and I went down on borrowed brooms, and we discovered the rocks blocking the way. We cleared it up and recovered Lockhart's corpse. We decided against exploring any more of the Chamber, as it might be too dangerous and will be redundant to what I have decided I will tell the public anyway."

At that, both Dumbledore and Harry perked up and listened closely, Harry pocketing the fang and pouring some pumpkin juice. 

"Why not tell the truth?" He couldn't help but voice out.

Fudge looked taken aback, as if the very idea of telling the truth was antithetical to him.

"Because we do not want a panic to spread, my boy. It's bad enough that a relic of You-Know-Who managed to make its way to Hogwarts, but to tell the public that there was a 20-meter-long Basilisk freely crawling in the school where their children are spending most of their year in? I will have riots and people calling for my head for allowing such a thing, let alone what Albus will have to endure! The school might possibly close because of this. Many parents might just send their children abroad to Durmstrang, Beuxbatons, or heavens forbid Ilvermorny, which is unacceptable!"

Silence met the Minister's statement, and Harry could reluctantly see the logic behind it. He could easily imagine parents sending their children to other wizarding schools if any of this got out. And, could Hogwarts close if it did not have enough students? The thought of that made a cold chill crawl down his spine. He grimaced inwardly. Truth be told, Harry was not sure if he would have taken a different decision if he was in the Minister's shoes. Jon Snow had been forced to decide between bad and worse far too many times.

"And what, pray tell, have you decided to tell the public at large, Cornelius? I sincerely hope you do not try to cover up this mess." Dumbledore asked impassively.

"Oh, heavens no. I can't hide that even if I wanted to. Unlike that bloody ghost haunting the bathroom, a pureblood son of an old family like the Weasleys dying on school property can never be hidden," Harry visibly scowled at the flippant way the Minister talked about the worth of a pureblood and a muggle-born.

Looking at Dumbledore, he could tell that the Headmaster was not amused either, but he had better control over his expression.

'It's the sad but harsh truth, though, ' Harry thought. Even in Westeros, a noble's worth a thousand smallfolk. Sometimes even more. He thought of Jon's experience dealing with nobles and smallfolk. Nobles tended to be better learned and trained, while most smallfolk he had to deal with, while not dumb, were often too superstitious and resistant to change.

To wizards and witches, muggles were no better than smallfolk, while muggle-borns were a bit higher on the hierarchy ladder, but Harry could see how their ignorance of the ways of magical culture could greatly irate other magicals; Purebloods or not. Even Ron and the Weasleys had been largely dismissive of the muggles, despite their amicable attitude.

Harry shook his head, only to realise that he had been too absorbed in his thoughts.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is clearly a fraud, I will release the truth about how he stole the accomplishments of other witches and wizards before obliviating them. He accepted the Defence against the Dark Arts position to force students to buy his books. How much did you pay for his books again, Harry, my boy?" Fudge suddenly turned to him.

"Nineteen Galleons for seven books," he replied after thinking for a moment. 

"And with the number of students in Hogwarts who were forced to buy those books, the man must have made a fortune. I will be taking your word on how he is a fraud, Harry, though I will have a team of scribes looking over his books and have his entire legacy torn apart. Perhaps after all is said and done, you shall be rewarded with an Order of Merlin for helping expose a dangerous Dark Wizard like Lockhart to the public. Such a dangerous man does not deserve the recognition and wealth they accumulated," Cornelius finished earnestly as he put his hat back on his head with a smile. 

Harry scowled inwardly, he could see how the minister would probably benefit from such an arrangement. But it was apparent using your position to leverage some benefits for yourself was just a matter of course, as long as it did not go too far. 

Dumbledore, however, frowned heavily. 

"I hope, Minister, that when you seize the unlamented Gilderoy's assets, you will make sure that a fair sum is distributed to the victims of his attacks?"

"But of course, Dumbledore. I wouldn't have it any other way. The public must know that the ministry is open-handed and fair after all. All the petrified victims, and certainly the poor Weasleys, will all get the lion's share of Lockhart's fortune. It helps that he has no family to contest any will he left behind. While gold is definitely not a good substitute for Arthur's lost son, it would definitely soften the blow, I'm certain. "

"And perhaps an Order of Merlin for young Ronald as well? Posthumously, of course," Dumbledore added thoughtfully, and Harry could swear that a sliver of guilt flashed in his blue eyes.

Harry couldn't help but feel that the minister was right. No amount of gold or accolades would substitute for a dead loved one.

'Still, it's the thought that counts.'

Harry had a concerning thought then. 

"But wouldn't Professor Dumbledore get the blame for hiring Lockhart in the first place?" 

"Ah, but you see, Harry, I didn't hire Gilderoy." Harry was confused, "My preferred choice for the position was sadly unavailable, but he promised he would accept next year if the position was still open. Which it incidentally is," Dumbledore elaborated. "It was the board of governors who took matters into their own hands and decided to hire Gilderoy, perhaps some of them, or more likely their wives and daughters, were fans of his." 

Dumbledore shook his head sardonically at the end. 

"I would also like to point out, Cornelius, that much of the blame lies at the feet of Lucius Malfoy," At Albus' accusation of his friend, Fudge grimaced and looked uncertain.

"While I can see how Lucius is indeed at fault for trying to play politics in the Board of the Governors, he has not really committed any crime, Dumbledore, and you know this," Fudge replied while fiddling with his hat. "His position on the Board would definitely be void after this, however. Really, I expected better of him…"

Harry, however, remembered something. He quickly stood up, retrieved the diary from his pocket, and placed it on the Headmaster's desk. 

"I think this is what was used to open the Chamber, Minister. I do not know what it is, but just holding it now, even after destroying it, gives me chills. I think I saw Mr Malfoy placing it in Ginny's cauldron in Flourish and Blots the last summer," he hesitantly finished.

"I get you, Harry, I really do," Fudge spoke slowly while wiping a small bead of sweat from his brow. "But it would not do to throw such accusations without proof against a respected member of society. Unless you have something more, there's nothing I can do. A vague memory is no basis for an investigation to start, my boy."

'So much for his promise to leave no stone unturned,' Harry scowled inwardly .

The worst part was… that the minister was right. He had nothing that he could stick to Lucius, despite knowing he was the guilty one.

"Did you not promise to leave no stone unturned, Cornelius?" Dumbledore gently reminded him, and Harry almost leapt in his seat in hope.

Fudge looked very uncertain for a moment but eventually sighed with resignation.

"Yes, I did, Dumbledore. Very well. I will do what I can, but I can't promise much. Lucius has plenty of connections, and a vague testimony about something from nearly a year ago is flimsy at best… Can you absolutely say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the book you saw was exactly the same," Fudge pointed to the ruined diary, "as this one?" 

For once, Harry was also uncertain.

"No, I can not," he eventually admitted, and Fudge nodded in understanding. 

"I thought so. Still, I did promise Arthur to find the perpetrator. If Lucius truly had a hand in this, his life will become difficult, I give you my word,"

Despite his outward amiable tone, Harry felt that the Minister was not going to try too hard, and his assurances were given in vain. He had been getting superb at sensing people's emotions and intentions since the Chamber for some reason. He had the feeling that Fudge would most likely pressure Draco's dad until he coughed out enough money to get him off his hide.

Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Cornelius did not seem to be an exceptionally powerful wizard, but he was a skilled politician and knew how to leverage his position, if nothing else. His own position as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch came with few perks, but nothing like this. Harry glanced at the Headmaster, who seemed impassive, but a small glint of disappointment could be seen in his eyes.

"Oh, and Cornelius," Dumbledore spoke quietly, but suddenly the air in the room became heavy, and the Headmaster looked particularly imposing., "I will be expecting my gamekeeper back by morning." 

Fudge quickly nodded a jumbled agreement, excused himself, and left along with his escorts.

.

.

.

Harry sat in front of Dumbledore, and a steaming hot pot of tea with two cups appeared on the desk. 

"So, Harry, I'm sure you have a few questions for me," Dumbledore began before taking a sip from his tea.

"I do, actually, professor," Harry confirmed and took a small gulp of tea. It was hot but not enough to feel scalding, and it also felt oddly relaxing. "Mainly, what was that diary? And how could a mere memory attempt to possess someone?"

Dumbledore seemed tired and old for a moment, but he quickly rallied himself.

"I am not certain, Harry," the Headmaster sighed heavily with some self-deprecation. Seeing Harry's disbelief, he slowly continued. "Even I am not arrogant to claim to know everything. I don't have anything beyond a few conjectures that would take me quite some time and effort to verify. After all, this is the first time I am seeing this diary, and while it indeed feels evil, that is all I can glean in such a short time."

Harry slowly drank the soothing tea while his mind tried to process what he had just heard. He grimaced inwardly. In hindsight, Dumbledore looked like a larger-than-life wizard but was only human.

"That was a very Slytherin move from you. Wrangling a favour from the minister without him even noticing, Harry," Dumbledore noted with amusement after finishing his tea.

"Perhaps it was, The hat did want to put me in Slytherin after all." At that, they both glanced at the hat, which remained silent but nodded its top, "I felt bad for pushing for a favour, but it's maybe something I will need down the line. And any guilt disappeared when I realised Fudge was only giving lip service to the Weasleys." 

"Politics is a double-edged sword, my boy. Power corrupts greatly, and even the greatest of men are not immune to its allure," Dumbledore sighed heavily, eyes looking somewhere far in the distance. "It is why I refused the position of minister many times, and the titles I hold as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW are just that, titles. I may serve as an impartial judge at times, but I prefer to stay here in Hogwarts and do what I love best, guiding the new generations." Dumbledore sighed again, "It is a great regret that young Ronald has died today. While none would lay the blame at my feet, I cannot help but feel responsible anyway. I could have probably resisted Lucius' dismissal with far more vigour, yet I let things take their course. Long ago, I vowed not to let any more of my students perish under my watch, but alas." 

Harry looked at the aged man, and part of him wanted to scoff at the dereliction of duty he has time and again portrayed, along with the majority of the Hogwarts faculty. Last year, alone, truly tested his patience with the staff. The deputy headmistress did send him and three other first years to the forbidden forest to investigate what was responsible for killing a mighty beast like a unicorn at night! 

Madness! 

Still, it would not be the smart thing to alienate such a powerful figure, and while he did not speak it out loud, Harry could see he was asking for forgiveness. He simply nodded to the headmaster, who smiled in relief.

"Professor, I still have a question. How did I come upon my ability to speak to snakes?" Harry asked after a moment of silence, "The Basilisk could understand me but refused to heed my words."

Dumbledore took a moment to gather his thoughts, "It is my belief that the night Voldemort attacked you, Harry, he inadvertently transferred some of his powers to you through your scar," At that, the headmaster looked closely at Harry's scar, which has been hidden by his unruly hair, only for his eyes to widen in shock. 

The scar had become so faint it was barely visible.

Dumbledore stood suddenly with his wand drawn, the sudden move causing Harry to unconsciously edge his own wand out, only for Albus to notice his apprehension and chuckle in approval. 

"Constant Vigilance, as my dear friend Alastor Moody would say, my boy. But have no fear, I only want to examine your scar, with your permission, of course?"

Harry nodded warily, he still remembered Ghost attacking and consuming a serpentine entity that originated in his scar, and he was curious what it was about.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the scar and mumbled a long string of strange words that Harry couldn't recognize as he felt his skin tingle. A few minutes later, he lowered his wand and seemed to sag in relief as he sat on the chair opposite Harry. Dumbledore looked like the entire weight of the world was removed from his shoulders.

"So, what's going on, Professor?" Harry asked after a while.

"Nothing is wrong at all, Harry," the Headmaster replied jovially. "Everything is great, in fact. You might not know this, but cursed scars always leave a sliver of the magic that makes them. That is the reason you can't heal cursed wounds, they always leave a mark, no matter what. Yours, in particular, was a unique scar and had a grain of deep darkness. But, I had no idea what it was, truth be told, but it worried me greatly. After all, nobody else survived the Killing Curse. But now it's gone!" 

"That's great, Professor. But do you think I have lost my ability to speak with snakes?"

"It should be gone if my theory is correct," Dumbledore hummed.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a black adder appeared in front of them.

Harry looked right at it and spoke,

"Hello there, little ssnake." The adder turned its pointy head to him immediately.

"Greetingsss, ssspeaker. Why wasss I sssummoned?"

Before Harry could answer, Dumbledore vanished the snake and looked at Harry deeply as if he were a riddle to unravel.

"I can still speak Parseltongue," Harry uttered. "Why?"

The headmaster stroked his long white beard thoughtfully for half a minute.

"I'm not certain," he concluded with a chuckle at Harry's look of shock. "Don't be so surprised Harry, even I am not all knowing and infallible."

"But you do have an idea, sir?"

"A few conjectures at most," Dumbledore hummed. "That grain of magic stayed with you for eleven years, and it is possible that the ability slowly imprinted on you. Or, maybe… you have always had the ability to speak to snakes."

"I thought only those with Slytherin blood could speak Parseltongue?" Harry fidgeted uneasily. Being related to Voldemort did not seem like an appealing prospect.

"In Britain, yes," the headmaster confirmed thoughtfully. "The oldest known speaker was Herpo the Foul, a Greek Wizard who lived some three thousand years ago. It would stand to reason that the ability is not as rare around the world as it is here. Some claim Salazar Slytherin was not even from the British Isles. Regardless, over hundreds of years, albeit rarely, Slytherin's descendants married into more than one family, although their ability to speak with snakes didn't last beyond one or two generations. The Gaunts, which were the direct line of Slytherin, eventually began marrying only their own…"

That sounded suspiciously like the Valyrian sisterfuckers.

"How could I be related to one of them?" The question heavily tumbled out of his lips.

"It is… possible. Your father was the only child of Fleamont and Euphemia. Your paternal grandmother, Euphemia, was originally a Carrow, one of the Houses that Gaunts married into a long time ago. Lily could have also been from a long-lost squib line from Slytherin, Gaunt, Sayre, or one of the others."

Harry, meanwhile, was in utter shock! This was the first time he had heard about his grandfather and grandmother. Why did nobody ever tell him? He could tell that Dumbledore didn't mean to hide them, as he was willingly speaking of them right now in such a nonchalant manner. Then again, Harry never really asked anyone about them, did he? 

'No, I was so enamoured with Hogwarts and quidditch and magic that I never actually got around to exploring my heritage. I even have a photo album from my parent's friends, yet I never bothered to write to any of them!' Harry was distraught over the lost chance, every photo in the album had the names of the donor on the back of the photos with an invitation to write them. Would they still accept his mail after so long?

A disturbing line emerged unbidden from earlier today. 

"Professor Dumbledore. Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said. He even looked similar to me a little. Do you think we might actually be distantly related somehow?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a few moments. 

"It could be, all magical families are interrelated somehow, Harry. It could be possible that your mother descends from a Gaunt squib. I believe that Tom's mother was a Gaunt. Alas, we have no way of knowing."

Before Harry could reply, the door to the office was slammed open, and Lucius Malfoy barged in like he owned the place, only to stop at a wand pointed at him by an alert Harry, who was reasonably suspicious of the man, and Dumbledore who had placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Easy now, my boy. I'm sure Lucius here simply forgot his manners in his haste." Dumbledore spoke in a sardonic manner that Harry had never heard from the genial old man before. 

Harry lowered his wand and looked at the Headmaster. His twinkly blue eyes had turned into two chips of ice, his face was no longer jovial but had turned into an icy mask, and he looked…dangerous. He had never seen Dumbledore so angry. No, not even angry, he was absolutely livid. Harry could feel the power roiling in waves from him, and it seemed to be completely aimed at Malfoy.

He also belatedly noticed Dobby, of all people, following Malfoy in. Suddenly, all things made sense. Dobby's warnings and Malfoy's insistent attempts to get the Headmaster ousted. Rage boiled in Harry, pure unadulterated rage at the sack of filth standing in front of him, who for once looked at Dumbledore with wariness. This fool was the reason his best friend is dead! He could vaguely hear a distant howl from afar.

Malfoy didn't look very presentable, his robes were crumpled, and his hair dishevelled, and Dobby was trying to finish polishing his half-polished shoes. 

With Dumbledore giving him his full attention, both magical and physical, Lucius had started to wonder if perhaps he bit off more than he could chew. He had gotten used to the genial old wizard that rarely pushed, not to the magical powerhouse that defeated Grindelwald and forced another Dark Lord to fear him.

Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and gathered his bearings.

"Dumbledore," he rudely greeted. "If my memory serves me well, the governors suspended you."

The aged Headmaster was not in the mood for empty platitudes, perhaps if Ronald was still alive, then he might have entertained Lucius, but now… He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled. All the while, Harry could feel the heavy feeling of magic permeating the room, and Lucius was visibly sweating now. His pale face was growing even paler, he even started edging towards the door for a quick escape if necessary.

Dumbledore abruptly opened his eyes.

"A student died today, Lucius," the headmaster's voice was frigid.

"What?!" Malfoy's haughty expression morphed into confusion. 

"A student died in my school today, and it was you who forced the Board of Governors to dismiss me from my post." Dumbledore's sharp words made Malfoy pale rapidly. The Headmaster's eyes bore into the man, and his hand carefully tapped on the diary. "Do you recognise this, Lucius?"

"An old…book? I don't remember seeing it," Draco's father managed to eke out with a grimace, but his tone was unconvincing, and he looked afraid. It took him a few moments, but he managed to regain his composure, and his face turned impassive. "And…who has died?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough, all I will say is that the student hailed from a well-respected and old family," Dumbledore deflected coldly. "But what matters is that the Board of Governors were under the impression that you would curse their children should they not comply with your demands. This time, you won't slip away unscathed, I will make sure of it. Even the minister has agreed with me. Nor would the Board, for that matter. They have proven to…not have the students' best intentions in mind." 

Lucius Malfoy knew when he was in deep shite. He would never have believed that the bumbling buffoon of a minister, who greedily took his money for every tiny thing Lucius wanted, would throw him under the carriage so fast. If a pureblood died, it would not be covered up so easily. Normally, the Headmaster would take the fallout, but since Lucius was the one that had forced Dumbledore's dismissal…

He licked his dry lips and gulped heavily. Lucius tried to calm down and not stare at the accursed diary. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

There was no way it could be traced back to him, but…the headmaster knew. The old fool somehow knew it was him, and while Lucius considered Dumbledore to simply be an annoyance that he could move out of the way, the aged headmaster still had a lot of power and influence, despite his reluctance to wield it. With this misstep, If he truly chose to, the defeater of Grindelwald could politically bury the Malfoys for decades to come. Lucius knew when he was in a bad position. It was pointless to stay here any further, it was time to rush back home and run damage control. 

He had to catch up to Fudge and try to placate the man. Maybe get in contact with Cuffe, and try to deflect the blame elsewhere.

"Come, Dobby! We are leaving." Malfoy abruptly turned around and left, kicking his elf in frustration along the way. Dobby's squeals of pain struck hard at Harry's heart. Dobby may have nearly killed him trying to save him, but he did not deserve to be treated like this.

It seemed that the apple indeed did not fall away from the tree. Harry unclenched his balled fist and turned to the Headmaster.

"Professor, may I borrow the diary for a moment? I promise to bring it back."

At Dumbledore's nod, he grabbed the diary and hurried after them.

Harry could hear Dobby's cries of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor. He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Malfoy!" He shouted, bringing both Lucius and Dobby to a halt and making them both turn his way. 

"I've got something for you."

Harry approached them and shoved the sock into Lucius Malfoy's hands.

"What the—?"

Lucius Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, and then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. 

"You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Potter," he spat. "They were meddlesome fools, too."

Harry bristled in anger at the threat, his hand moving to his wand. 

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" he asked icily. 

The man in front of him might have been older and more experienced, but that did not mean he could insult his parents like this. 

"Merely a warning," the blond ponce answered with a scowl and turned to leave. "Come, Dobby. I said, come!"

But the House Elf didn't move. He was holding up Harry's dirty sock and looking at it with shining eyes as if it were a priceless treasure.

"Master has given Dobby a sock," cried out the elf in wonder. "Master gave it to Dobby." 

"What's that? What did you say?" 

"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby…Dobby is free!"

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf, before turning to Potter. Finally, all vestiges of his self-control evaporated.

"YOU'VE LOST ME MY SERVANT, BOY!!"

Dobby was about to intervene, but Harry was quicker. Before Lucius could even draw his own wand, Harry had his phoenix wand poking at Malfoy's jugular, causing the Death Eater to freeze.

At this distance, he could probably kill Malfoy with a simple diffindo, which was a first-year spell. He had the man at his mercy, but he couldn't exactly kill him, could he? He grimaced inwardly. No, Harry did not fancy staying in Azkaban for the remainder of his life.

Malfoy was subtly trying to remove his wand from his cane, only for Dobby to disarm him with a snap of his fingers, Harry looked impressed at the elf, who handed him the wand, before turning back to Lucius, who had now started to sweat.

"Others take you, Malfoy," Harry spat angrily and tossed Lucius' wand to the side, not seeing that the tip of his wand glowed softly. "You're not even worth the effort; I now see where your son takes it from."

He then turned to the amazed House Elf.

"Come on, Dobby. Let's get you sorted out."

They both made their way back to the headmaster's office, leaving a confused and livid Lucius Malfoy. 

"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" The elf's shrill voice was filled with happiness as he looked at Harry. Moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry Potter set Dobby free!"

"Least I could do, Dobby," grinned Harry, "You deserve to finally serve someone worthy of your talents, not a fool like Malfoy."

By what little he had seen so far, House Elves could definitely be an invaluable asset to any household.

"Harry Potter looking for an elf! Dobby would gladly serve the Great Harry Potter!" It seemed that the elf was quite smart, despite his impaired speech. He stopped in the middle of the corridor and looked expectantly at Harry.

"I would be honoured to have you in my service, Dobby," he confirmed with a smile. "How do we do this?" 

"Oh, you just place your hand on Dobby's head, then recite an oath for me to accept, and that's it! Magic handles the rest!" Dobby excitedly grabbed Harry's hand and placed it on his head.

Harry thought for a moment, thinking of a proper oath of service, before settling for an oath of fealty he witnessed in person. 

"Dobby the elf. I, Harry of House Potter, do offer you a position of service in my household. I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. Do you accept?" Harry could feel a warm feeling from his hand on the elf's head, and a slight glow seemed to surround them as well.

The House Elf jumped in amazement, and tears started forming in his eyes.

"Dobby accepts Harry Potter as his master and promises to be always of service and to offer help if Harry Potter ever asks it. Dobby swears this to you, Harry Potter!" 

Harry smiled at the enthusiasm of the first member of his household. 

"Then welcome to my service, Dobby. We will discuss the details later. For now, is there any way you can change out of this horrendous sack you call clothes and dress in something more befitting of a trusted retainer?" 

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir." With a snap of his fingers, the sack was clean but remained the same. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Dobby elaborated timidly, "Dobby has to accept actual clothes to dress in." 

"Wouldn't you be freed then?"

"Not if Dobby doesn't want to. And there is no way that Harry Potter will be freed from Dobby!" The house elf grinned, at which point Harry laughed for the first time since Ron's death.

"We'll find you a butler uniform later," Harry promised, and Dobby's already large eyes looked like they would pop out from excitement.

The rest of the way to the Headmaster's office was rather quiet. Harry had several questions for the headmaster regarding his family as well as his living arrangements. After that, he could guess there would be a wake and later a funeral for Ron; Thanks to the rumour mill, news of his death would have circulated through the whole school by the morning. Considering the school year ended in two weeks, He knew the Mandrake would be ready the following days, meaning he would get to see Hermione soon, at least.

Another rumble sounded from his stomach. 

'Something has got to be wrong with me,' Harry groaned inwardly as his mind wandered again towards food, specifically different types of meat.

For now, though, Harry needed answers first. They finally arrived back at the office.