Chapter 20: Playing the Hero

There was something about McGonagall's expression of dumb-founded bewilderment that warmed the cockles of my heart. The stone faced bitch had never liked me, all too aware of my extra-curricular activities, and so I imagined that the heroic vista must have been something of a slap in the face to her. There was a long silence as my words sank in. After a moment, I walked into the office and deposited my charge on Dumbledore's desk. Abruptly, the spell was broken.

"Potter! How did…what happened?" McGonagall sank into a chair as she spoke, shuddering with relief. I affected a compassionate, yet undeniably satisfied smile, and regaled them with the story of what had happened down there. Well, my version of it, anyway.

"It struck me that the bathroom was an odd place to attack someone. What would be the odds that there would be someone in a bathroom that's nowhere near any of the dorms or the library outside class hours? Very dodgy, and I didn't think the Heir had just popped in for a quick slash."

Behind McGonagall, Snape cleared his throat, folding his arms. I inclined my head towards him with an apologetic smile. "Apologies, but you know what I mean, Professor."

"I am not entirely ignorant of youthful vernacular, Potter," McGonagall remarked, still staring at Ginny's body. Her brother was still being clutched in the phoenix's talons, ignored by one and all.

"Quite. Well, Ron was determined that he was going to find Ginny, absolutely beside himself I'm afraid. I couldn't let him go off by himself though, he could have got himself killed! I told him that the place to start was the bathroom, but before we went there we stopped off to collect Professor Lockhart."

"Lockhart?" McGonagall looked up, skewering me with her gaze. "What's that buffoon got to do with this? And where is he?"

"I'm afraid he's…still down there, Professor," I told her solemnly. "He's dead."

"How dreadful," Snape murmured. I felt my lips twitch, and I hurriedly moved on.

"He wasn't as helpful as I'd anticipated, unfortunately – he was packing when we got there."

"Packing?"

"He was running away," I clarified. McGonagall's expression darkened.

"He's lucky he's dead, if that's the case!"

"Well, we weren't going to stand for that, Professor! Chap has to do his duty, after all. We convinced him to accompany us, but when we got there the entrance was already open. I led them both down, but Lockhart tried to curse us from behind. We fought him off, but we ended up deeper in the Chamber. Ginny was there, unconscious. We were trying to get her out of there when the monster arrived. A basilisk, I believe."

There was a collective intake of breath as I paused for effect. Madame Pomfrey was white as a sheet, her eyes wide and her mouth hidden behind her hand. I allowed myself a small shudder as if in horrified recollection, and she practically cooed. Satisfied with that – it never hurts to have a sympathetic nurse around – I continued.

"Ron tried to get Ginny out of the Chamber while I held the beast off. It was tough going, I don't mind telling you! I was holding my own though, and then the phoenix showed up."

"Yes, I wondered about that…" Snape said, leaning forward. "How on earth did Professor Dumbledore's phoenix know to aid you, Potter?"

I shrugged. "Magic, sir? I pulled the sword out of the Hat, and…well, that was that really. I've a touch of experience with a blade, of course, so I made short work of it." This was actually somewhat true; Smeltings had run a fencing club for a few terms, and although I had never taken it seriously – breeches were hardly my attire of choice, and the prospect of actually getting hurt for fun did not appeal – I knew my balestra from my fléche. Of course, even if I had been stupid enough to face down some mythical monster with a bit of metal, I was nowhere near talented enough to consider myself a serious blade-master, but there again, I doubted Ron had ever seen a sword before, so it couldn't have been that hard to use.

"Extraordinary," Snape murmured. He clearly didn't believe a word of it.

"I couldn't agree more, Severus!"

As a single unit, we spun round to face the back of the room. Hidden in the shadows stood a surprising figure: Albus Dumbledore. Where had he come from? Nearly a century later, and I still haven't quite worked that one out yet. Frankly, I'm past caring. Of course, McGonagall instantly forget anyone else was present, scurrying over to fawn on him like a cat that hasn't been fed for half an hour. He greeted her with a smile, of course, but he was watching me. There was a knowing glint in his eye, altogether different to Snape's burning suspicion. The Potions Master didn't believe my story, of course – as a habitual liar himself, he was no doubt skilled at spotting a kindred spirit. He had no proof though. Dumbledore, on the other hand…he looked for all the world as if he knew that I had spun an elaborate web of bullshit around proceedings. Not just suspected, absolutely, categorically, knew.

The question was, what was he going to do about it?

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"Madame Pomfrey, I am afraid I must decline." I spoke politely but firmly, a steely look on my face (I hoped). "Ron and I are best friends – no, more than that; brothers in arms. I absolutely insist on staying here until he wakes up."

The batty old dear's eyes welled up, and she clasped my shoulder. "I…yes, of course, Harry. I'll be in my office if you need me. Take all the time you need."

I watched her go with satisfaction. I had waved off all her concern for my own injuries, claiming that all I needed was some bed rest (perfectly true, since I hadn't put myself in danger…with the exception of holding that diary, but if I was right I'd got away scot free from that). I had, however, affected deep concern for my valiant comrade. It was true I wanted to be the first person he saw when he woke up – but not because of any fellow feeling. No, I needed to make sure that we had our story straight. Which is to say, that he stuck to the script I was going to feed him. I was pretty confident, but I planned to surreptitiously practice the spell Lockhart had tried on us. To that end, Dudders was hovering patiently a few feet from my chair.

"Obliviate!"

There was a flicker of light over the elf's misshapen head, and he rocked back on his heels.

"Well?"

"Oh, very well done, Master Harry, a finely cast spell, Dudders cannot remember a single thing, no indeed…"

"For God's sake…" It appeared that I wasn't going to master this particularly subtle art in an hour; Dudders was far from helpful, claiming to be borderline amnesiac while his memory wasn't affected in the slightest. It was especially galling given that Lockhart of all people had managed it. I waved my hand. "Just bugger off, will you? Go and do whatever it is you lot do for fun."

The elf bowed extravagantly low, and then vanished with a crack. I cast a furtive glance towards Pomfrey's office, but it seemed she was asleep. Ron, on the other hand, sat bolt upright, his eyes going very wide indeed.

"Ginny!"

"Easy there, old man!" I said soothingly. "Ginny's fine, you don't need to worry about her."

He looked at me with wild eyes, then sagged. "Oh. Oh, that's good." He sank back into his bed, breathing deeply. He was still pale, covered in a film of grimy sweat. He wasn't a great advert for being a hero, really. "What happened down there?"

"You helped me save Ginny, just like any decent brother would," I told him. He looked at me with a questioning expression, as if I'd told him that the sky was green. So I continued. "Merlin only knows how, but Dumbledore's pet phoenix arrived with the bloody Sorting Hat. I pulled a sword out – the Sword of Gryffindor, if you can believe it! – and I killed the basilisk while you got Ginny out of there."

"I…are you sure? That's not…"

"Of course I'm sure." I leant in closer, fixing him with an intent stare. He squirmed slightly in the bed, looking away after a second. I smiled: I was sure I had him. "The Aurors will want a word with you at some point, I'm sure. You can remember it now?"

He nodded, still not looking at me.

"In perfect detail?"

"There's still a few things…"

"Then I suggest you work on your memory, Ron." I stood up, turning to leave.

"Harry? I thought…I thought I killed the basilisk…" He spoke in a small, confused voice. It did sound as if he was truly beginning to doubt his own memory. I looked over my shoulder and scoffed.

"You, kill a basilisk? Honestly Ron, who on earth would believe that?"

I left him to ponder that statement, confident that he would make the right choice.

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Say one thing for me, I know how to bully people into submission.

Ron couldn't have been more effusive in his praise for my actions if I'd had him purpose built for the matter. I didn't sit in on his questioning, but Madame Pomfrey assured me that I would have blushed to hear it.

I left him a bottle by his bed. Seemed the least I could do. Well, I say I left it – I asked Cormac to drop it off for me. I was terribly busy on serious business of my own.

You see, while I had covered myself with Ron, there were other areas that I needed to clear up. Lockhart was dead, and couldn't say anything about me – but there was still the matter of the memory he had taken from Longbottom. Given that the little weasel was probably as paranoid as I would be about such matters, I doubted that he had any trusted confederates he would have left it with, but I was damned if I would leave it to luck. My first priority then was to recover the evidence. I didn't anticipate a great deal of difficulty. As I said, I doubted Lockhart would have involved anyone else, and even if he had opportunities to leave the castle had been scarce. I was sure the incriminating vial would still be in his quarters.

And of course, I had a house-elf.

Dudders retrieved the vial within an hour of my instructions – long before the Aurors had moved out of the Hospital Wing, and he hid the vial until I could safely dispose of it. When I say dispose of it, I naturally mean setting fire to it and throwing it to the giant squid. Simple, but effective. As I watched the squid sink beneath the rippling waters once more, a delicious notion occurred to me, and I called for Dudders once more. He was to make another trip to Lockhart's quarters.

The next morning, I smothered a grin behind a mouthful of bacon as the Daily Prophet's headline screamed the news at me.

Lockhart: Hero or Villain?

By star reporter Rita Skeeter

In a sensational twist to the shocking reign of terror at Hogwarts, Aurors have indicated that famed wizard Gilderoy Lockhart may have been involved in the attacks. House-wives favourite Lockhart, famous for his numerous triumphs over dark wizards and creatures, and of course winner of the Witch Weekly Dazzling Smile award, took up the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at the school at the start of the academic year, and revolutionised the teaching of the subject.

However, Aurors last night admitted that there was evidence suggesting Lockhart had been involved in the 'Heir of Slytherin' attacks…(cont. p.94)

I carefully put the paper aside, and turned back to my breakfast. Seconds later, Hermione slammed her own copy down and fixed me with her most fearsome expression.

"Did you know about this?" she hissed. I shrugged. She had been quite quiet in the aftermath of my return from the Chamber; likely, she knew full well that my story was complete bollocks. However, she also knew Ron rather well, and was presumably just as confused as to how the useless lump could have done anything himself. And of course, she was in mourning for Lockhart.

"It makes sense," I told her. She scowled, and I continued, warming to my theme – and planning the best way to put it forward to the press. "He wasn't at the castle until this year, so this would have been his first opportunity to do anything, wouldn't it? Anyone else could have done it years ago. Unless you're going to accuse any of the firsties…"

She sat back, folding her arms tightly under her chest. I watched her blandly, admiring the effect on her breasts. Really, Granger would have been quite the catch if she'd put a little effort in – and of course, if she hadn't been far too valuable an asset to risk pissing her off over a quick romp. She did not look impressed with my logic, but she made no attempt to deny it.

"But why would he do it?" Seamus asked, leaning in from where he had apparently been eavesdropping.

"Who cares?" I asked. "Chap was obviously a nutcase, probably a dark wizard to boot. You don't do that sort of thing for a giggle, do you?"

"I reckon a lot of dark wizards do do it for a giggle, actually," Seamus mused, and I sighed.

"You know what I mean. Don't be a bloody idiot. Look, the bastard tried to wipe my memory, in case you're forgetting!"

"And you'd never do anything like that, would you?" Hermione commented darkly. I shot her an offended look.

"Of course I wouldn't." Because I couldn't cast the spell properly yet, mainly. Give me time though – I cared little for academic endeavours, but I could see a use for this beyond the classroom. She glared at me.

"How are Ron and Ginny?" Seamus asked, dismissing the previous discussion with nary a thought.

"They're ok. Ginny doesn't really remember anything, but she's fine. Madame Pomfrey was able to heal Ron though," Hermione explained. "They've both gone home early, just to recover."

"How come you're still here?" Seamus asked me, confused.

"Ah, well I wasn't as badly injured as Ron, of course," I said expansively. "And of course, he was extremely worried about his sister – wanted to look after her, you know."

"A most admirable sentiment."

I won't lie to you dear reader; I did very nearly jump out of my skin. Looking back over the decades, it seems that in every encounter I had with him, Albus Bloody Dumbledore never once made a straightforward entrance. I swear he got some sort of weird pleasure out of popping up where no one expected him. Opposite me, Hermione suddenly looked very flustered – I'm not certain she had ever really met Dumbledore before, certainly not properly. Seamus was staring almost goggle-eyed at him. I took the time to straighten myself up, and then I turned round, smiling pleasantly.

"Professor Dumbledore, how are you?"

"Very well thank you, Harry," the old wizard replied solemnly. "I trust you are fully recovered from your ordeal?"

"Oh, perfectly sir, perfectly," I told him, waving a hand breezily. "All in a day's work, you know."

"Quite." Dumbledore smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "In that case, could I perhaps prevail upon you to join me in my office for a while?"

I paused. This sounded ominous. I really did not want to follow the devious sod anywhere – it could be disastrous. However, I could hardly say no, so I inclined my head with a forced smile. "Of course, sir. I'll just finish this, then I'll be with you."

"Take your time, dear boy." With a slight bow, Dumbledore strolled away, nodding genially at a few students as he walked. Seamus watched him go with a slack jaw.

"Bloody hell…never thought I'd get this close to him!"

I watched him go with rather less enthusiasm. What did he have in store for me? Nothing pleasant, I was sure.

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"Potter! What the fuck have you been up to?!"

"Auror Hunt," I said, leaning back to avoid a glob of spittle. "Always a pleasure and a privilege. What can I do for you today?"

Despite my outward bravado, it was all I could do not to quake where I stood. I'm not the sort of soul who can easily stand up to bullies – being one myself, the idea has always seemed faintly ridiculous to me – and when I have been forced into some sort of confrontation I have generally relied on smooth words and manipulation of people and facts to come out on top. Sadly, where Hunt was concerned, words meant precisely sod all. Fancy talk with him was more likely to get my teeth shaken out of my jaw again than anything else. However, I flashed him a winning smile and crossed the room to take a seat. I leant back in the chair and crossed my legs, trying to appear at ease.

He looked at me with deep seated loathing. Well, I suppose I did write-off his car. People can take that sort of thing personally.

"Mr Hunt, if you could moderate your language? Harry is still a student, remember." Dumbledore was looking balefully at the Auror over his glasses. To my astonishment, Hunt actually flushed, and squirmed a little. The oaf was embarrassed!

"We'd just like to get your view of the matter, Harry," Tyler said, shaking his head in exasperation. It was comforting to know that I wasn't the only one who thought that Hunt was a brainless lump of meat. I sat down opposite Tyler, my thoughts whirling furiously. Lying to the staff was one thing, I did that on a daily basis. Aurors though…I had managed it before, of course, but this was for higher stakes.

"Ask away, Mr Tyler, ask away."

And ask away they did. I stuck rigidly to my guns, telling them again and again that I had killed the basilisk, that Ron had been protecting Ginny and nothing more than that, and that Lockhart had tried to kill us. They were very interested in that, as you might expect. Most of all, they wanted to know if I knew anything about the diary that they had found in his room. It reeked of dark magic, with a gaping wound right through it. Traces of basilisk venom on the edges, apparently.

Naturally, I said that I didn't know anything about it. I certainly didn't tell them that I had got Dudders to put it in his room for me. For that matter, I didn't say anything about the enchanted toothpaste that Dudders had replaced. They didn't ask about it, but I knew it would be found if it hadn't already. The article in the Prophet this morning suggested it might have been.

Hunt kept trying to trick me into contradicting myself, but as the interrogation went on it became steadily clearer that they had nothing to use against me other than a deep and fervent dislike of me. I sympathised. But I wasn't going to just sit there and answer their questions, however inaccurately, oh no.

"He must have been brighter than he seemed," I mused during a lull in the questions. Hunt shot me an unpleasant look.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, he had that diary in his room…I mean, you searched the castle, didn't you? A whole team of dark wizard hunters, in fact."

Hunt's eyes narrowed, clearly recognising the opening gambit of a stitch up. He probably didn't appreciate being in the receiving end of one.

"He must have hidden it very well to avoid detection." I smiled brightly. "Cunning bugger! Let's hope Skeeter doesn't make that connection."

Hunt let out a guttural growl, and moved to stand up, but his partner grabbed his arm. "Easy…" Tyler said in soothing tones, pushing Hunt back into the chair. Then he turned his gaze back to me, frowning. "I think this might be easier if we had a look at your memories, Mr Potter. What do you say?"

I'll be honest, the precise thought running through my head was Oh shit. I tensed up, considering my options swiftly. It was irrelevant.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Dumbledore said softly. Hunt's head turned so fast he must have got whiplash.

"What do you mean, 'not necessary'?!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and Hunt flinched. I took a moment to enjoy watching him squirm. It was nice to see that I wasn't the only one a little intimidated by the old wizard.

"Memories are not one hundred percent reliable, Auror Hunt. I think I can speak with some authority when I say that Harry's memories are unlikely to be definitive proof of anything. And of course, as his Headmaster I can – indeed, I am – refusing to grant permission."

Hunt looked at Tyler. Tyler looked at Hunt. Tyler shrugged. It was obvious that, no matter what their personal skill, dedication or simple brutality, they were not willing to risk antagonising Albus Dumbledore over a case that had been pretty well wrapped up for them. Nevertheless, Hunt could not resist glowering at me as they left, empty handed.

I gave him a jaunty wave.

Dumbledore was watching me, and it was pretty uncomfortable, I don't mind telling you. I appreciated him stepping in, of course, but I had no idea what he would want in return. I mean, he probably knew what had happened down there. For all I knew, he spent his free time squawking in conversation with the bloody phoenix. However, he simply smiled at me.

"Thank you for your time, Harry. I will not detain you any longer."

I took the hint, and shoved off, not a moment too soon as far as I was concerned. Besides…I wanted to see if Skeeter did know about Lockhart's toothpaste. If she didn't…

I rubbed my hands in glee as I thought about all the trouble I could get Hunt and Tyler into.