The Almost Chosen Ones and the Chamber of Secrets


The next day passed as expected, wishing that it would pass quicker; which wasn’t unexpected with double Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. Luckily I had Tom to save me from my boredom. When it was finally over Lockhart held Harry behind so we waited for him in the corridor. Malfoy shoved passed me on his way out, so I quickly extended my foot and watched him fall flat on his face. I love a good show before dinner. He didn’t think I just forgot about what he did, did he? No one messes with my friends. How does he like his smirk on someone else’s face? Annoying, isn’t it? He angrily got up and brushed off his precious robes. He stepped forward with a glare and opened his mouth (probably to tell me how his father would hear about this, blah, blah, blah) when Professor Lockhart became useful for once.

“Oh! I expected you all to be on your way to dinner by now. Did you have a question to ask about the lesson? I can squeeze in some time to further explain how I defeated the banshee.” I mentally rolled my eyes at his stupidity, but forced a smile on my lips. “Oh, no Professor. We were just waiting for Harry, but I’m sure Malfoy could use the help. There’s so much he just doesn’t understand, but is to hesitant to ask.” Lockhart flashed me a gleaming smile for trying to help my classmates. “Bye Professor.” I said and gestured for us to go to dinner while we still could all the while feeling the glare Malfoy was throwing at my back as we walked away and Lockhart began to talk his ear off. What comes around, goes around, Malfoy.

We had barely set foot into the entrance hall when a strict voice echoed down the corridor, “There you are, Potter –– Weasley.” Professor McGonagall said, walking toward us looking stern, as always, though luckily not at me this time. “You will both do your detentions this weekend.”

“What’re we doing, Professor?” Ron asked, nervously suppressing a slug-burp. “You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch, without magic, Weasley –– elbow grease.” Ron gulped. “And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail.” Poor Harry. “Oh n–– Professor, can’t I go and do the trophy room, too?” Harry asked desperately. “Certainly not,” Professor McGonagall said, raising her thin eyebrows. “Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o’clock sharp, both of you.”

Even though we were so close to the Great Hall that we could almost taste the buffet, Ron and Harry were slowly making their way to the door like they were trudging their way through quicksand; knowing that no matter how much they wanted to prolong it, it would be eight o’clock before we knew it. I exchanged a glance over their heads with Nev. At least it’s not us, any extra time with Lockhart talking about himself is absolutely torturous.

“Filch will have me there all night. No Magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I’m no good at Muggle cleaning.” Ron said heavily. “I’d swap anytime,” Harry said. “I’ve had loads of practice with the Dursley’s. Now, answering Lockhart’s fan mail on the other hand … he’ll be a nightmare…” Hermione was wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules face while Nev and I nodded in sympathetic agreement. The hour was up too quickly and soon enough dinner was over and their impending doom would soon begin.” Lucky I’m not them…

Hermione, Nev, and I went to the common room while Harry and Ron left for their detentions. Hermione suggested – more like dictated – that we should do our homework now so that way we would only have to review our notes during the weekend. Oh, Hermione, ever the bookworm, but she had a point.

Plus, I had to do my own studying of what we should be learning in DADA. While Hermione and I were on similar standpoints on our views on our studies, we have different reasons. She feels that she has to prove to the world that she’s the best at everything regardless of the fact that she’s muggleborn, which she is. I, however, need to prove to myself and my parents that I can be just as good as, if not better, Aurors than they were. And if I become good enough, maybe I can be an Unspeakable and find a way to revive my parents and not just live up to their legacy. Another thing we disagree on is Professor Lockhart’s qualifications as a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. I don’t think the Auror’s Academy is going to care much that in the last two years I’ve been at Hogwarts the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had been taught by imbeciles; kind of like when Professor Snape didn’t believe me when I told him that Ty tore my homework to shreds trying to get to the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans underneath. Needless to say, he was not pleased (not that he ever is).

So while Harry and Ron at detention, we had our own work cut out for us due to Hermione’s study plan. A few hours later Hermione left for the girls dormitories. Nev fell asleep on his homework a while ago. I woke him up before the ink had time to stamp his notes to his face and sent him to his dormitory, his feet slowly trekking his way up the stairs, making a brilliant impersonation of an inferi. For the next hour or so Tom helped me with Defense Theory that I was supposed to be learning as a second year until my words started blurring together and, like my brother, fell asleep with my face planted into my journal.

The next morning I threw my arm over my eyes to block the light shining on my face. It seemed a lot brighter than usual, Lavender normally closes the curtains. I began to do my daily morning stretch that I’m told resembles a possessed cat when I noticed that something wasn’t right through my sleep addled mind. Something kept tickling my legs. I slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. What on earth was I doing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch? Did I sleepwalk again? I’ve never actually left the castle. Didn’t I fall asleep in the common room? Which reminds me, I need to get a move on. The sun was just rising and I had to get back to the dormitory before the rest of the girls wake up and without getting caught by Filch.

It must have been about five in the morning. I guess the teachers weren’t as worried about students out of bed this early in the morning because I didn’t come across anyone but Peeves on the fourth floor. I hid in a broom closet until I heard float down the next corridor. Besides that, I made it to the common room and up to the dormitory without a problem. Luckily it was Sunday and Hermione and the rest of the girls were still sleeping as I crawled back into bed.

After about an hour of tossing and turning I figured that I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep anytime soon so I grabbed my journal and settled in the armchair in front of the fireplace in the common room. I began to draw the view I first woke up to of the sun rising on the Quidditch pitch as the common room slowly began to fill with fellow Gryffindors. “Have you been down here all night? Did you get any sleep at all?” Hermione asked out of concern, startling me out of my little bubble.

“Oh! Good morning, Hermione. Um, yes I did, I just...didn’t sleep very well. So I thought I’d just come down here and wait for everyone else to wake up.” Hermione squinted her eyes and nodded slowly. “It happens to the best of us. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I read the dictionary or Hogwarts: A History.” Of course you do, Hermione.

About fifteen minutes later Ron and Harry came down the staircase whispering about something and immediately dropped it once they saw we were already here waiting for them. What are those two up to...trouble, I bet. Before I could wonder too much about what they were whispering about, Nev made his way down to the common room, tripping on his laces down the last couple of steps. As if on cue, Ron’s stomach grumbled loudly, announcing it’s presence and wondering what we were still doing here and not getting breakfast.

Harry and Ron told us about their detentions on the way to the Great Hall. Apparently Ron had to wash the Quidditch Cup fourteen times and then he had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School that took ages to get the slime off. Harry had another story to tell. “Voices? What kind of voices?” Nev and I asked simultaneously. Just because our twin telepathy isn’t as in sync as the Weasley twins doesn’t mean that we didn’t have our moments. We quickly looked and grinned at each other for a second and helped ourselves to the breakfast buffet. “And Lockhart said he couldn’t hear it? D’you think he was lying? But I don’t get it –– even someone invisible would’ve had to open the door.” Ron said before stuffing his mouth with a sausage. “I know, I don’t get it either.”

It was a beautiful morning so we spent it trying to teach Neville how to fly. Well, at first it was Ron, Harry and I (Hermione was rereading one of Lockhart’s books in the Gryffindor stands) teaching Neville, but at some time playful shoving turned into a game of tag which left just me. While Nev would never be a Quidditch star, by the end of the afternoon he had enough control to stay on the broom for ten minutes without freaking out––well, too much anyway.

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