Chapter Text
“What is this?” Professor McGonagall said as she entered the scene. Some students were now crying, some still screaming, others were stunned into silence like Ron, Hattie, and Hermione. The second year Hufflepuffs, Justin’s friends, were huddled across from Hattie pointing at her. Ernie stepped forward and threw an accusatory finger at her.
“You did this! Heir of Slytherin!”
The corridor erupted into more whispers. Hermione took a step closer to Hattie and dug her fingers into her forearm, holding on to her. Even Ron sidled closer to the two girls, taking an almost protective step in front of them. Hattie shook her head wildly, repeating “No!”
More professors arrived and with their help, McGonagall shooed the students away and started to move Justin and the ghost towards the Hospital Wing. Hermione went to pull Hattie away when McGonagall shot stern eyes at them.
“Miss Potter stays,” she said tersely, beckoning Hattie over. The two girls, wide-eyed, bid each other farewell and Ron pulled Hermione away.
“But Professor,” Hattie tried to explain as she followed her Head of House quickly through the corridor and up to the next floor. “I didn’t do anything. I was with Ron and Hermione the whole time since Dueling Club.”
“This is out of my hands, Miss Potter.” McGonagall glanced down at Hattie and her always stern eyes softened. She knocked on a large oak door and muttered, “Lemon Drop.”
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Hattie’s fear of getting in trouble was quickly replaced with awe as McGonagall left her alone in what she could only presume to be Dumbledore’s office. Very few knew where it was, the large oak door had seemed so unassuming. What lay behind the oak door was wonderous.
The circular room was adorned with dozens of portraits, some of whom were staring down at Hattie, others asleep, and a few were empty. A few large instruments sat in odd places around the room. Several shelves sat at odd heights and were adorned with various bits and bobs. On one such shelf sat the Sorting Hat. It sat lopsided on its shelf, looking as dull and ordinary as it had the night of the Sorting the year prior.
Hattie glanced once at the oak door, then back at the Hat. After a moment’s hesitation, she crossed the room and lifted it carefully into her hands. It had been pretty insistent on sorting her into Slytherin – perhaps it knew she could speak parseltongue.
“You knew,” she whispered, her throat dry. “You knew I could talk to snakes, didn’t you?”
The rip along the brim twitched. “Ah. Back again, Potter.” The voice was smooth and faintly amused. “No, I didn’t know. I had my suspicions though. Parseltongue is… rare. Useful, perhaps, but not what I weigh when I sort.”
Hattie’s grip tightened. “Everyone thinks it means I’m Slytherin. That I’m the Heir.”
“Nonsense,” the Hat said briskly. “Abilities don’t make the person. Choice does. I told you before; you’d do well in Slytherin. Ambition, cunning, resourcefulness. But you chose courage. You chose Gryffindor.”
Before Hattie could say more or further question the Hat, an ancient-looking bird squawked from its perch on the other side of the room. She blinked in surprise just as the bird let out a mournful croak and suddenly burst into flames. Hattie yelped, throwing the hat back onto its shelf and jumping backwards, right as Professor Dumbledore swept into the office.
“Ah,” Dumbledore said, unbothered. “Fawkes has been looking rather tired. It seems today is his burning day.”
Hattie stared, frozen, as the flames died down to a small heap of ash on the golden perch. From the pile, a tiny, wrinkled head poked up, followed by a scrawny body. She gasped, gripping the edge of the nearest table. Dumbledore smiled faintly, his blue eyes twinkling. “Remarkable creatures, phoenixes. From the ashes of death, new life begins. Shame you had to meet him on a Burning Day. He’s a really rather handsome creature, fascinating too. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make incredibly faithful pets.”
There was a beat of silence until the words came tumbling out before Hattie could stop them. “It couldn’t have been me. I didn’t even know I could speak Parseltongue until today! I didn’t-”
Dumbledore raised a hand gently, his expression kind but steady. “Miss Potter, I do not believe it was you.” His voice was calm, almost soothing. “I only wish to offer you the chance to tell me if anything weighs on your mind. Anything at all.”
Hattie swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the pile of ashes where the newborn phoenix gave a weak chirp. Her fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to say something: about the whispers, about the Sorting Hat, about her speaking parseltongue. She shook her head.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said softly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer, as though he could see every thought she was hiding. Then he moved to his desk, busying himself with parchment and quills. “You may return to your common room.”
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By the time the end of term crept up, Hattie felt like one of the ghosts who wandered the castle. Whispers followed her everywhere, glares were thrown her way around every corner, and even some of the Gryffindors chose to sit at other tables. Hermione stuck by her no matter what, and sometimes Ron would join them when he could stomach the stares from others. But otherwise, it was lonely. Malfoy never missed a chance to twist the knife, jeering about the “Heir of Slytherin” whenever they crossed paths in the corridors.
Now, with most of the school bustling to leave for the Christmas holidays, the castle was unusually quiet. Hermione and Hattie bent over a cauldron bubbling with the thick, sludge-like Polyjuice Potion, its fumes curling against the stone walls of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Hattie pulled a single blonde hair from her pocket and wrinkled her nose.
“So… why did I have to sneak this off Daphne Greengrass’s robes before she left? Nearly got caught when she turned around.”
Hermione, who was measuring out their doses, barely glanced up. “Because the potion needs part of the person we’re becoming, and luckily I still had a strand of Millicent’s hair from our… scuffle at the dueling club. And both Daphne and Millicent are leaving for the Holidays today. The train leaves in two hours and they were saying they wanted a good compartment. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are all staying behind. We have to do this now. Daphne and Millicent are on their way down to the train, so if we act quickly, we can sneak into the Slytherin common room saying we forgot something before our hour runs out.”
Hermione handed Hattie a cup of the thick sludge and both girls made faces of disgust. The girls exchanged a glance, then each dropped their hairs into the thick potion. Hattie screwed up her face, pinching her nose as she tipped the liquid back, gagging as the vile potion burned its way down their throats.
In seconds, their bodies began to twist and stretch, faces reshaping, hair lengthening or shrinking. The sound of bones cracking echoed off the walls. When it was over, Hattie was staring at hands that weren’t hers. Beside her, Hermione was breathing hard, her new bulk filling Millicent Bulstrode’s robes. Hattie brushed Daphne’s long blonde hair out of her face, blinking in disbelief at the mirror Myrtle had shoved toward them with an eager giggle.
Hattie tilted her head, glancing at Hermione with a crooked grin. “Honestly, Hermione… you couldn’t have picked a prettier Slytherin?”
Hermione scowled, her new heavy jaw making the expression look even more severe. “This isn’t about looks, it’s about strategy,” she huffed, though her voice rumbled oddly in Millicent’s throat. They changed into the Slytherin robes they had stolen from some first years earlier that week and looked at their watches. “Right. We’ve got less than an hour before this stuff wears off. Let’s get moving.”
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Hermione and Hattie trailed behind a small Slytherin first-year boy who grumbled to himself as he made his way down to the dungeons. They knew where the Slytherin Common Room was from some spying Hattie had done throughout the week, but didn’t have a clue how to get in. When he muttered the password, the wall slid back to reveal the entrance, and the girls slipped in close on his heels before it sealed again.
“Come on,” Hermione whispered, tugging at Hattie’s sleeve. They hurried toward the girls’ hallway, they knew since the first year boy disappeared down the other hallway. Hermione paused at the door of a dormitory and pushed it open. The room was empty, most of the trunks already gone for the holidays.
They stepped inside, careful to keep their voices low. Hermione glanced around and then whispered, “We’ll wait here until they get back. Once Malfoy comes in with Crabbe and Goyle, we go out. Just… small talk first. Don’t push.”
Hattie wrinkled her borrowed nose. “Small talk with Malfoy. Brilliant. Just what I’ve always wanted.” She leaned against one of the posts of a bed, running her fingers nervously over the carved wood.
Hermione ignored her tone, already settling near the door to listen for footsteps. “We only get one chance at this,” she said. “If they’re going to brag about the Heir of Slytherin, it’ll be to each other.”
Nearly forty minutes into their hour long timer, muffled footsteps echoed from the common room below. Boys’ voices carried towards them, familiar and loud: Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Hermione’s hand tightened on the doorframe, and she cast Hattie a tense glance.
“Ready?” she whispered.
Hattie took a deep breath and smirked, though her stomach twisted. “As I’ll ever be.”
They waited a moment longer, then pushed open the door and stepped back into the common room. Malfoy’s sharp eyes narrowed as they stepped fully into view. “Wait… what are you two doing here?” he demanded, his tone sharp. “I thought you left for the train half an hour ago.”
Hermione, fully in Millicent’s Slytherin guise, lifted her chin and gave a faint shrug. “Daphne forgot her toiletries,” she said smoothly. “Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time to catch the Hogwarts Express before it leaves.”
Hattie, as Daphne, slid onto the chair beside Malfoy, trying to look casual but deliberately leaning just a little closer. “I couldn’t leave for the holidays without saying goodbye to you one last time,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. She remembered how she had seen Daphne practically hanging on Draco’s every word around the castle, so she played into it. Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave her an annoyed look. Hattie felt her smile falter for a split second but quickly recovered with a small shrug.
They fell into small talk. Five minutes passed with brief comments about classes, the castle, and the unusual quiet in the dungeons during the holidays. Hattie leaned back, casually brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, as she listened to Malfoy talk. Finally, she tilted her head, letting a trace of curiosity slip into her voice. “So… about this whole Heir of Slytherin nonsense,” she said, casual as could be, “any truth to it, or are you lot just enjoying the gossip?”
“Of course it’s not gossip. Now, let’s be clear,” he said, leaning back slightly, “anyone foolish enough to think Potter is the Heir of Slytherin… is completely deluded. She might be clever… annoyingly capable, even… but far too pretty, honestly. I’ve read what Slytherin supposedly looked like, and it’s certainly not her. But I wish I knew who it was.”
Hattie felt her cheeks heat up under the praise, trying to keep her composure as Daphne. Hermione, as Millicent, narrowed her eyes at the turn of conversation.
“Uh… well, let’s just make sure Potter doesn’t hear anything like that,” Hattie, as Daphne, said quickly, waving a hand and forcing a light laugh.
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Who cares. It’s funny to see her flustered,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. Hermione, shaking her head, stepped in firmly.
“Daphne,” she said, tugging gently on Hattie’s arm, “we have to catch the train. Now.”
Hattie let out a mock sigh, giving Malfoy one last teasing smile before Hermione half-dragged, half-led her toward the door. On her way out, Hattie couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder, noticing that Malfoy had completely forgotten about Daphne and Millicent leaving.
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The moment they returned to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, they felt their disguises drop and they returned to being Hattie and Hermione. Hermione dropped Hattie’s arm and turned her fiery gaze onto Hattie, who was still wide-eyed from the compliments she had received from Malfoy.
“Honestly,” Hermione raged. “Everyone knows Daphne has a crush on Malfoy. He didn’t have to call you pretty in front of her! He was trying to make her feel bad!”
Hattie scowled, cheeks still warm. “I know he was trying to be mean, Hermione. And I mean… I think I am pretty, but in any case, Malfoy can’t be the Heir of Slytherin. He would have admitted it – to be cool or something. So we can stop pointing fingers at him.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Stop pointing fingers? You mean you’re just… brushing it off because of what he said about you?”
Hattie shrugged, trying to hide how flustered she still felt. “I’m not brushing it off! I’m just… He said he wanted to know who it was! He would have bragged to the Slytherins that it was him if it was.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, her brows knitting together in suspicion. “Are you sure that’s why you’re saying it? Not because of… what he said about you?”
Hattie shook her head quickly. “No! Really. It’s about the Heir, not… him.”
Hermione studied her for a moment, still looking unconvinced, then let out a long sigh and finally nodded. “Fine. So long as you mean it. Not because of him.”
Hattie gave a small, relieved smile and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the edge of her suspicion faded. “Good. Because honestly, you cannot let Malfoy get to your head. He’s gross.”
Hattie rolled her eyes, but her fingers fiddled nervously with the hem of her sleeve.
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They left their Polyjuice Potion supplies in Moaning Myrtles bathroom for the rest of the Holiday break, spending it instead with Ron and his brothers. Ginny, looking haggard, never joined them. Concern etched all four brothers’ faces every time Ginny rushed past them, but no one said anything to Hattie and Hermione. When the girls would pass Ginny in the girls’ dorms, the redhead would keep her eyes down – a far cry from the fangirling she had done at the start of term.
A few weeks after classes started back up again, Hattie volunteered to clean up their bathroom mess while Hermione finished rewriting a History of Magic essay. When Hattie walked in, Moaning Myrtle was sobbing.
“Myrtle, what’s wrong?” Hattie asked, finding the ghost in the last stall. She was curled into a ball. She rubbed her face and blinked up at Hattie.
“Who’s that? Come to throw more books at me?!” In a flash, she reared up and dove into the toilet water, splashing Hattie, who tried to shield her face. Where Myrtle had been curled up was a plain black leather-bound book. She reached down and leafed through it. Empty. With a shrug, she returned to the stall Hermione had been using to brew the potion and cleaned up.
Hours later, Hermione had tried everything to get the book to reveal its secrets. All they had figured out was that some person named T.M. Riddle had owned the book – the name being the only thing written out on the diary. The two girls were sitting, stumped, in the common room, when Ron came over, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet rolled up in his hands – Hattie saw it was opened on the Quidditch score pages.
“What have you two been doing over here?” He asked, glancing at the journal.
“I found this diary, but no one’s written anything in it.” Hattie whined, holding up the book.
“We’ve tried everything.”
“You two trying to read someone’s diary? Guess that isn’t something I would put past the Heir of Slytherin,” Ron’s brown eyes twinkled at the joke and he elbowed Hattie in the shoulder as she rolled her eyes. “Hey, wait…”
Ron pointed at T.M. Riddle on the cover.
“That name….” He frowned in thought. “T.M. Riddle…. That guy got an award for Special Services to the school fifty years ago!”
“Incredible!” Hermione gazed up at Ron with an open mouth. “How do you know that?”
Ron rubbed at the back of his head as Seamus and Dean waved him over. “Recognized the name from when I had to polish the award a thousand times during detention.”
Hermione watched him go as Hattie grabbed the diary and flipped through it in thought once more. She obsessed over the diary until Valentines Day a few weeks later, carrying it with her everywhere. Hermione had dug up all she could on T.M. Riddle and all they discovered was that he was Head Boy and had the special services award – nothing else.
They were whispering about it once again when a small cherub-dressed dwarf started to approach them. Hermione instantly turned a shade of pink and Hattie froze, glancing around at the stares they were now getting. The dwarf was part of a Valentine’s Day initiative started by Lockhart – to allow students to send each other Valentine’s wishes. Hattie instantly grabbed Hermione’s elbow to pull her out of the way, but Hermione was locked in place, waiting for the dwarf to get to them.
“’Attie Potter?” The dwarf said, looking at Hermione. Her face fell instantly and her smile turned into a grimace. The dwarf turned his attention to Hattie, who had turned bright red. No one liked her – they all thought she was the Heir of Slytherin.
“Um. No. Not me.” She shook her head furiously and tried to turn to run, but ran right into Malfoy. The impact sent him tumbling backwards, but Crabbe and Goyle caught him and righted him, but Hattie fell to the floor, her books flying from her arms. The dwarf took a step towards her and cleared his throat:
Hattie Potter, you’re my fave,
So bold and smart, so kind and brave!
Chocolate hair and eyes so green,
The coolest girl I’ve ever seen!
Hattie’s eyes widened. She heard people laughing so hard some were in tears. A few feet from her, Malfoy had bent down to pick up her books but upon hearing the poem, had doubled over in cruel laughter.
“Poor Potter. Not even a love poem? Surprising that no one fancies you.” He laughed out as he grabbed the diary on the floor. Hattie only then realized it was the T.M. Riddle Diary. “Oh, what’s this? Is there where you write down your crushes? Let’s see who we’ve got in here.”
“Stop it!” Hattie spat, struggling to her feet. Hermione had also dropped to the ground to try to help pick up her books. “Give that back, Malfoy!”
Malfoy glanced at her, not yet flipping through the book. “Or what, Potter?”
“Or….or….” Hattie was at a loss of words and Malfoy’s smirk grew. He flipped to the first page and Hattie shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
The book flew from Malfoy’s hands and landed on the floor near Hermione, who snatched it quickly. The streak of red and the shout of a spell drew the attention of Percy, who ran over and wagged his finger at Hattie, scolding her. She didn’t care – she got the diary back.
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The rest of the day flew by quickly. Hattie barely processed her classes; she had so much blood rushing through her head. She skipped dinner to avoid the points of laughter. The blush of embarrassment didn’t disappear until she was curled in bed, all four curtains drawn, reliving the day. The Diary lay on the bed beside her. With a heavy sigh and wanting to get her thoughts down on a page, she grabbed some ink from her satchel and sat up cross legged on the bed.
She wrote the date in the corner and wrote “My name is Hattie Potter.”
She went to dip her quill into the ink well but as soon as she lifted it from the page, her handwriting disappeared and was replaced with: Hello Hattie Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?
Hattie’s quill nearly slipped from her hand. She stared at the neat, curling script that had replaced her words.
“I found it,” she scribbled back quickly. The ink sank into the page before vanishing. A new line appeared: Thrown away? How careless. But not surprising. Most people don’t understand how valuable I am.
Her hand trembled as she dipped her quill again. “Valuable how?”
I know things no one else does. Secrets. Especially about this school. Especially about the Chamber of Secrets.
Hattie froze, breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she wrote, “You know about it?”
Of course. I was there, fifty years ago, when it was opened.
Her stomach dropped. “Who opened it?” she wrote quickly.
Patience. First, you must understand. The handwriting seemed to flow across the page faster than she could blink, smooth and deliberate. Fifty years ago… the Chamber was opened. People were attacked. One girl died.
Her chest ached at the familiar name, but she pressed on: “Died?”
Tom’s handwriting curved into something almost smug: Let me show you.
Hattie stopped breathing, trying to gauge whether or not all her dormmates were asleep. When she was satisfied with their deep breaths, she wrote back: “OK”
The words bled into the parchment, and suddenly the ink began to swirl. Hattie felt herself slipping, falling forward, her dormitory vanishing around her as Hattie lived through Tom’s memories. With a gasp, she returned to her bed, knocking over her ink well in an effort to roll over and wake Hermione.
“Hermione, wake up!” she whispered, shaking her friend, careful to not wake Lavender or Parvati on the other side of the room. Hermione tried to wave her off at first but when she saw the urgency in Hattie’s deep green eyes, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Hagrid. He opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago!”