36 36: Enemies of the Heir, Beware!

[3rd Pov]

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle.

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Amid the busyness, her few free periods were spent enjoying some tea with her newest apprentice, Lysandra.

Lysandra's Wiggenweld potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward.

Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by her brothers. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Marcus Flint's enthusiasm for regular practice sessions, however, was not dampened. Apart from Alaric, Blaise, and Theo, 'the Wonder Trio', as Zoe Carrow liked to call them, the Slytherin Quidditch team players were all enjoying their new Nimbus 2001.

Alas, Lucius Malfoy's money couldn't beat Alaric's prowess in enchantments.

By the end of the week, the three second-years each had a broom tailored for their position.

Orion had been able to initiate talks with a freelancer enchanter that, according to him, was producing the fastest broom ever.

The boy was astonished when he saw the details of the broom. Some of the ideas that Randolph Spudmore, the creator, had were, according to Alaric, bewildering.

He had extended an offer to the man. He would support and finance him, as long as the broom was sold in the Emporium.

Alaric, of course, took some inspiration from Randolpoh's design and implemented his ideas on his and his two friend's brooms.

Alaric still had his sleek black and silver broom, albeit with some new tweaks augmenting its speed and agility.

Blaise was presented with a state-of-the-art broom, that focused on mobility and balance, perfect for the Beater position.

As for Theodore, his broom also focused on balance and mobility, but instead of being built toward more speed, it was made with reaction time in mind. While it could accelerate better than other brooms, its top speed was far lower than the others.

Aside from the rain and wind, it had been some happy practice sessions.

Alaric quickly cemented himself as the team's seeker, showing the best results during practices, compared to the other players.

While Blaise was still trying to figure out his playstyle, the boy had an amazing mind for the game.

And Theo, if not for the burly seventh-year student that played as a keeper, would've already made it into the team.

The players were performing better than they had before, each with their new brooms in hand. Nimbus or not, to outsiders, they appeared to be shooting through the air like missiles.

"Are you sure you're not actually going daft?" Lysandra jokingly asked her brother.

By the time Halloween had arrived, the voices mixed with hisses were growing louder and louder by the day. Dumbledore had been too busy with paperwork to spend time with his nephew and niece, leaving Alaric's dilemmas and his alchemy lessons in the dust.

"It's not funny," Alaric spat. His pale blue eyes lacked their distinct glow, and dark eyebags started to form underneath them. "I've looked around everywhere and can't for the life of me find where the voice is coming from..."

Reclining on her armchair, Lysandra looked around her brother's office. Apart from him, she was the only one that could come and go as she pleased, so Alaric had made her a little spot where she could carry on her devices.

'A perk of being such a good sister' she mused, watching as Alaric worked on some paperwork from the Emporium.

The boy lifted his gaze from the countless papers and looked at his sister.

"Aren't you going to the Halloween feast?" he asked, causing Lys to sigh.

"Harry had the brilliant idea to promise Near Headless Nick that we would go to his Death Day Party," she recalled, conjuring a nail fine, before using it on her red nails. "I, of course, said I had a very arduous task that would take me the entire duration of the party,"

"And what is this extremely hard task?" Alaric asked, already knowing the answer.

"Spending time with my brother," she said, softly blowing on her nails.

"Cow,"

"Prick,"

They both stared at each other with blank expressions, before breaking out in laughter.

Eventually, their laughter died down, and they enjoyed each other company in the comfortable silence that had enveloped the room.

"...rip... hiss... kill..."

Groaning, Alaric let his head fall to the table, making a small thud. His hands reached to his head, ruffling his hair, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation the hissing left in his ears.

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had been hearing for the past week.

"Alaric, what's wro —"

"It's the voice again — shut up a minute —"

Standing up from his seat with a frown on his face, he quickly made his way outside of the workshop, followed by Lysandra.

He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit corridor.

"… kill… time to hiss…"

The voice was growing fainter. As if it was moving away.

'It's moving downwards' Alaric was sure of it. A mixture of anger and excitement rose within him. The sleepless nights he had the last few days halted his performance, but the elation of finding out the cause of it also gripped his heart.

"This way!" he shouted, as he began to run to the grand staircases, going down to the entrance hall. Alaric and Lysandra sprinted down to the first floor, ignoring the bewildered faces of other students as they ran past them.

As they edged near, a loud rumble of thunder sounded, signaling the end of the feast. Suddenly they were joined by hundreds of students who were walking back to their dormitories.

The chatter, the bustle, and the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted a certain hanging cat. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hope stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Alaric looked at whatever was shining on the wall above Ms. Norris. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

'THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.'

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mud—" Draco abruptly stopped mid-sentence, gazing at Lysandra, who was looking at him with lifeless eyes. He gulped nervously, before continuing with a shaky voice. "Y-You'll b-be next M-muggle borns..."

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.

Filch's eyes trailed around the students, before landing on Harry, who was serving detention with him a few days back.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore appeared from the other end of the corridor, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hope and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch she was hanging from.

"Come with me," he said to Filch. "You too, Mr. and Ms. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger,"

The headmaster ended up spotting Alaric and Lysandra in the crowd. Watching his out-of-breath nephew and niece, Dumbledore raised his brow.

"Mr. and Ms. Grindelwald, if you would also accompany us,"

The crowd opened to the sides, letting the twins approach their uncle. For some reason, everyone was staring at them, their eyes glued mostly on Alaric.

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly, his robes still suffering from Alaric's prank. He also had his weird sailor hat on his head, probably hiding his shining bald head.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster — just *gibberish*... h-hum sorry — please feel free —"

(A/N: *gibberish* = Gobbledegook)

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore, restraining a smile from appearing on his face. His gaze lingered on Alaric, who just looked away and tried to whistle.

The crowd parted once again to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore, and so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

"What happened?" Lysandra whispered to Hope, who had her gaze fixed on Alaric's back.

"O-Oh, uhhhh — I'm not really sure either. My brother just went bonkers after we left Sir Nick's death day party — he started to run across the castle, muttering about some voice," Hope noted. "And then, we ended up finding Ms. Norris like that,"

"So yours too," Lysandra started murmuring to herself. She looked to Harry and then to Alaric, trying to find any similarities that could make them both hear this supposed voice.

"You think it's dead?" Hermione chimed in, watching the stiff body of the cat in Dumbledore's arms.

As Alaric and the rest stepped into the dimly lit office of Lockhart, a sudden commotion erupted along the walls.

Alaric's gaze caught sight of numerous Lockharts in the enchanted portraits scurrying out of view, their hair adorned with curlers.

His mind began to wonder about ways he could flip this office upside down. He'd have to speak with the Weasley twins later.

The genuine Lockhart proceeded to illuminate the candles adorning his desk before stepping aside.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore carefully placed Mrs. Norris on the gleaming surface of the desk and commenced his examination.

The four students that found the cat in that state exchanged apprehensive glances, while Alaric and his sister calmly settled into chairs just outside the perimeter of candlelight, attentively observing the scene unfold.

Dumbledore stared at Ms. Norris intently, peering through his glasses with half-moon frames, while his fingers softly poked and prodded.

Professor McGonagall leaned in closely, squinting her eyes.

Snape loomed behind them, partially concealed in shadow, wearing a rather strange expression—it seemed as if he was struggling to hold back a smile.

As for Lockhart, he floated around the group, offering his suggestions.

Alaric's eyes were glued on the cat, watching the magic flare around her. The wisps of magic appeared to hold the animal in place.

"...I recall a strikingly similar incident occurring in Ouagadougou," stated Lockhart, his voice brimming with confidence. "The complete account can be found in my autobiography. Fortunately, I was able to supply the local residents with a range of protective charms, swiftly resolving the issue."

As Lockhart shared his tale, the portraits of him adorning the walls, every single one with their hair still intact, bobbed their heads in affirmation. One portrait, however, had neglected to remove its hairnet.

"She's not dead, Mr. Filch," Alaric said softly. "She's been petrified,"

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"A-Alaric, there's no need to vie for fame at times like these. There's a time and place for everything—"

"I must agree with young Alaric," Dumbledore said smiling, stroking his long white beard. "He has a certain knack to identify certain spells,"

"She's not dead?" gasped Filch, peering through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But... who could've done this —YOU!"

Filch turned his mottled and tear-streaked face towards Harry and almost launched at him.

"No second-year student could have accomplished this," asserted Dumbledore firmly, his gaze faltering when he looked at his nephew. "It would require highly advanced Dark Magic..."

"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch shrieked again, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"A potion with some grown Mandrakes is enough to cure her," Lysandra noted from the side, earning a nod from Snape.

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school,"

There was an awkward pause, as the kids fought to hold a laugh in, except Hermione, who, somehow, still thought Lockhart was the real deal.

**********

A/N: Did you know Bartimous Crouch Snr. spoke 200 languages? Now you know.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!