a/n: I've had so much fun rewriting second year — anne was not originally a part of it and I've been putting the Dean & Lila arc on hold.

I felt overwhelmed, which unlike most people I tended to enjoy. I liked to keep my thoughts organized, so I'd drawn and redrawn several mind maps, laying them beside me on the table as I worked.

1942. Chamber of Secrets. Monsters that could petrify people. I had about four books open at once, taking notes from them all simultaneously. As expected, I didn't find much. Surely, there'd be some news about a student dying at Hogwarts. I had some more luck with the newspaper clippings. An article from the Daily Prophet caught my eye.

14 June, 1943

Anne R. Pendragon, young musical prodigy and Ravenclaw prefect, has promised the Prophet a statement in our next issue.

No sign of foul play, I re-read. But they were dead. Not petrified. Was it the same monster, or was it truly a killing curse?

I leafed through the archives to the next issue, where I was left disappointed.

15 June, 1943

For the sake of privacy, we have removed the students name from Pendragon's statement.

"What was done to [redacted] was heartless, cruel, and unforgivable." She begins tearfully. "I hope whoever is responsible for stripping this earth of such a kind, wonderful soul feels unimaginable guilt."

"However," she continues, "Hogwarts is to stay open. We have caught the one whose Acromantula poisoned and killed [redacted], and both them and the spider have been dealt with. There will be a memorial service at—"

I stopped reading, rubbing my eyes. Acromantula. I took Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from my bag, skimming through the pages until I landed on the chapter about them.

Enormous spiders native to the rainforests of Southeast Asia with a taste for human flesh. Their venom was potent, enough to kill a person quickly. But could they Petrify a person like they had Filch's cat? Or Andrews, from Anne's time?

I scribbled down the name anyway, as well as both newspaper clippings. For once, I felt like I was getting somewhere.

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

Startled, I turned to see Dean behind me. He had a few books in hand, likely returning them. I recalled that I hadn't spoken to him since the feast, when I'd ran away after he tried to hold my hand. Whoops. I felt my face grow hot.

"Just trying to figure things out, is all," I gestured vaguely to the mess I'd made. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"I can see that," he glanced at my work. "Everyone's looking for information on the Chamber. Every last copy of Hogwarts, a History has been checked out."

"Yes, I know," I sighed. I too had been looking for it and left my copy at home. Malfoy seemed to have checked out the last copy.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "I should let you be then. There's a lot going on for you, I'm sure—"

"Wait," I grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave. He looked back at me, confused. I awkwardly let go of his wrist, bringing my hands back to my lap.

"I just wanted to remind you to be safe," I said. "We're the targets, you know? I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Dean smiled softly, ruffling my hair. I felt a blush come to my face.

"You stay safe, too," he reminded me. "I don't know what Hogwarts would do without our resident detective."

He turned to leave, and so I watched him go. My face was still warm. Actually, my whole body was warm. What was wrong with me? Was this really what it felt like to fancy someone? It was a lot nicer than Hermione described. She'd made it sound as though she was dying.

I didn't get very far after the Acromantula revelation, even after cross-examining the hints Malfoy had left me in the mythology book I'd written down. I flipped idly through the music book until I reached the front cover, where I saw a name written.

Previously owned by:
Anne Riddle Pendragon.

I stared at it, tracing my finger over the words in blue ink. This book used to be hers. Perhaps she'd donated it to the library. Something about her name struck me as familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Instead I jotted this down and closed the book, returning it to its place on the shelf. I was starving, and as much as I wanted to keep investigating my stomach was urging me to eat.

All anyone could talk about was what happened on Halloween. Ginny had blanched when she'd found out, and she seemed distressed most of everyone. Ron had assured her that they'd catch whoever did it quickly, which was partially why I'd been thinking nonstop on my feet. I'd decided I'd rest my case on Ginny, for now at least.

"I think I have some insight," I said as soon as I sat across from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I've been in the library researching the Chamber. I found some evidence supporting the idea that the monster could be an Acromantula, though I don't know how it would be able to petrify students—"

"Slow down," Ron pushed a plate of potatoes toward me. "Lunch is ending soon. You've spent all of free period and twenty minutes of lunch up in the library. You can tell us all you figured out on the way to History of Magic, got it?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but my stomach growled over me. Knowingly, Ron pushed over the potatoes with more insistence, so I ate.

I walked and talked as fast as I could on the way to History of Magic, trying to summarize things as best I could without going off on a tangent. Granted, this was not enough time to explain everything.

"You've gone back in time?" Ron asked incredulously.

"And the Chamber's been opened before?" Harry was alarmed. "Why haven't you gone to Dumbledore about this?"

I gave Harry a look. "If only that cryptic bastard would be in his office. He's never there when I need to see him. Not to mention he's not present at mealtimes and gone after every feast. Where else would he even be? Twiddling his thumbs in the bathroom I'm sure."

Hermione scolded me for this, but Ron found it rather funny. I promised to finish telling them the details in passing to our next class.

Thankfully, we walked into History of Magic on time. I began to zone out almost immediately — as important as history was I never much liked it, and having Mr. Binns as a teacher made it especially hard to pay attention to. He was a ghost — honestly he may have bored himself to death.

I sat a few rows behind Dean next to Hermione, and was currently entertaining myself by watching him watch the wind blow through the window. No wonder he was so good at art, the boy was art himself. I hardly even realized that Professor Binns had stopped talking. I looked next to me to see that Hermione had raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss er—"

"Granger, sir," she said. "I was wondering what you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?"

I suddenly became engaged again, and it seemed the rest of the class was at rapt attention. Professor Binns looked unfazed.

"I teach History of Magic, a class rooted purely in fact. Myths and legends are not what you're here to learn," he said. He returned to the board. "In September, a subcommittee of Scandinavian Sorcerers—" he turned back around to see Hermione's hand still up. She hadn't been discouraged either.

"Yes, Miss Grant?"

"Can't it be argued that legends have basis in fact?" She asked confidently.

"While that is true for some legends, this one is just so utterly ridiculous—" he seemed to notice that the class was now suddenly paying attention. He sighed. "All right . . . Very well—"

He began to tell the legend in much greater detail than Anne, and I listened for the details she had skipped out on, jotting them down on my mind map. At the end, I wrote "the Heir alone can unlock the Chamber."

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," Professor Binns finished irritably. "There is no Chamber and no monster. It's all nonsense, obviously."

"But, sir," Seamus pressed, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns, already exasperated with the subject. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found it-"

"But, Professor," Parvati protested, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," Professor Binns snapped. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't—" Dean began, but Professor Binns interrupted him sharply.

"That will do," he snapped. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history: To solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And the class returned to its usual, dry, drilling. After class, I finished filling in Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the rest of the details I had so far.

"Well can't you just go back in time and ask her?" Ron asked. "Maybe she'd know."

"She said she had some suspicions," I mused. "But it's not like I can choose when I meet her. It's random, and it doesn't seem to align with our time."

"Even so," Hermione added. "You both think the Heir is the same from both times? How could that be possible? If they're the Heir of Slytherin, it's possible that it could be someone in our time's parent or grandparent."

"Well that's just it then," Ron said darkly. "Who from our generation would want to kill all the Muggle born students?"

Hermione didn't seem convinced. "If you're talking about Malfoy—"

"Of course I am!" Ron argued. "You heard what he said on Halloween! Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him—"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically.

I was also unconvinced. Why would he try to warn me about the monster if he was the one behind it all? Then I recalled what his father had said to me in the antique shop.

"If it's anyone, it's his dad," I theorized. "It wouldn't be him. He wouldn't have tried to warn me. And even if he is a spineless little git I don't think he'd have it in him to do this on his own."

"Are you sure he wasn't just trying to throw you off?" Harry asked.

"No, because he underlined the Gorgons in the mythology book— the sisters famous for turning people to stone by making eye contact," I explained. "That's probably how Mrs. Norris got Petrified — Slytherin's monster must have the same ability."

I cleared my throat. "His father was the one who had intentions to hurt people, and he surely wasn't pleased when he found out me and Hermione were beating out little Draco for top of the class."

"But he can't be in the castle to attack," Ron said slowly. "So he's getting his son to do all the dirty work. That means he's still guilty; they both are."

"Everyone in his family has been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it." Harry added. "They could easily be Slytherin's descendants, and his father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" Ron hissed. "Handing it down, father to son . . ."

"Well," said Hermione, still not completely convinced. "I suppose it's possible."

"But how do we prove it?" Harry looked to the rest of us. Ron gestured to my mythology book triumphantly.

"That!" He answered. "Lila can explain how he'd warned her and then circled the chapters."

"That's hardly enough proof," I said. "And besides, I'm not known to lie but allegations from the four of us against Malfoy would not be taken seriously — especially in a situation like this."

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, lowering her voice. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."

"If, in a month or so, you feel like telling us, you will let us know, won't you?" Ron asked irritably.

"All right," Hermione snapped. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us."

I lit up. She wasn't suggesting—

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," Hermione and I said simultaneously. She looked to me, probably hoping I'd thought of a better option.

I turned back to the boys. "Haven't you heard of Polyjuice Potion?"

"What's that?" asked Ron and Harry in unison.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—" Hermione began.

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" Ron muttered.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us." Hermione explained. "Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"It's supposed to be rather nasty, as we'd need DNA from the other person in order to do it," I said. "But I've always wanted to use it in an interrogation."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," Ron frowned. "What if we were stuck looking like three Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really, if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions." Ron grimaced.

"I think," said Hermione slowly, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick—"

Harry and I were already sharing a glance.

"Lockhart."