Daddy’s Boy

Second year

Ginny eventually left the compartment. She already knew some girls from other magical families and went looking for them.

Ron stayed. Despite Harry's evident displeasure, Ron insisted on staying with him and with Hermione on the Hogwarts Express. Harry wasn't sure if Ron did it on purpose, maybe due to some urging by Dumbledore, or he was just oblivious to the unwelcome facial expressions of the two.

To make things worse, Ron took out his rat and tried to force it to do some tricks. The fat rat didn't cooperate. It just rolled over and fell asleep, as it had always done. Harry tried to ignore it, as always, but then he noticed something unusual. The rat was missing a toe.

Harry was unsure about the meaning of this. He only remembered hearing something about a missing toe but was unable to recall anything else at that moment. He just committed the fact to memory, hoping he would eventually find its meaning.

Luckily, they were soon joined by Neville, whom Harry greeted happily. "How was your vacation in France?" Neville asked.

"It was wonderful. We spent about half the time at the Riviera, mostly on the beach, and then we went to the castle, which is not too far from the sea as well. I also had a chance to meet some of the children I used to be friends with before I came back to England."

"Oh, I wasn't aware of you spending your early childhood in France!"

"I sometimes also feel as if it was somebody else, yet I stayed there until I was about five. I had a deep French accent at first."

Neville smiled. "Do you have an English accent now when speaking French?"

"No, unless I try to play the tourist."

Neville turned to Hermione. "And how was your vacation?"

"It was actually very similar to Harry's. His guardians invited my family to join them and it was really nice."

Ron chose that moment to open his mouth. "Why didn't you invite me?" he asked Harry.

Harry winced internally and sighed. "I didn't invite anybody. My guardians thought it was a good idea to invite one of my friends, and being French – it was natural for them to invite a girl, or they would have invited Neville. His parents and mine used to be friends, you know."

"I can't understand the French!" Ron stated, as if it was a bizarre idea. He then took his rat by the tail and dropped it into his pocket.

'That rat could supply a nice Kitty meal,' Hermione thought, letting her inner kneazle surface for a moment.

"I'm going to find Ginny," Ron said, leaving the compartment. He didn't see the relieved expressions of the other three.

Ginny was sorted to Gryffindor, as expected, and soon proved to be a very good student, reminding the teachers of her oldest brother, Bill. Her house-mates also found that she could do just as much mischief as her twin brothers. Everybody also learned not to incite her temper, as she knew some very interesting hexes and was quick to cast them. Even the twins had to tone down their banter when talking with her.

Hermione came to appreciate the youngest Weasley, who soon became her friend. This made Harry spend some more time with her as well, and Ginny found out that Harry the person was very different than the image she had been fed with of The-Boy-Who-Lived. She let go of the childish infatuation with the imaginary hero and became a real friend to both Hermione and Harry, although she did have a slight crush on Harry.

"I can't really blame her," Hermione told Harry. "I have a much bigger crush on you, you know."

"Just as I have a crush on you," he said. They both smiled happily.

Their new DADA teacher proved to be a disappointment. Hermione thought he was cute and didn't mind his lack of talent too much, initially. "It's nice to have a teacher who looks so nice, for a change," she defended herself. "All the male teachers I've had since first grade were old and not well groomed. Besides, we can learn from books."

She changed her mind quite quickly, though. When he let some pixies free in class and ran to the safety of his office, leaving the students to handle the chaos that erupted, Hermione lost her respect for that man. Some more critical reading of his books made her opinion of him even worse. "This man is a fraud! He could not possibly do what he wrote in his books. He would need to be at two places at once to do some of the deeds he brags about. Not even magic would allow this!"

"He may have taken some liberty as a writer," Harry suggested.

"He took writer's liberty, alright, and the stories are fascinating, only he shouldn't present them as real. Some of the spells he describes don't even work as he pretends they do."

"You tried them all?"

Hermione shook her head. "I only tried those in one book. Half of them didn't work at all as written. Some were just typos, but most were simply wrong. The other worked, in a way, producing very different results than expected."

"Maybe you didn't cast them right?" Ron suggested.

He received a venomous glance in return. "I know I did them right," she said, her tone indicating that even this answer was below her dignity.

Quidditch practice was becoming messier as winter approached, yet Oliver Wood didn't mind the weather. It was one evening after a practice, when Harry and Hermione were trudging in the corridors, their clothes full of water despite the water repelling charms, when they saw someone who seemed even gloomier. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, "… don't fulfil their requirements… half an inch, if that…"

"Hello, Nick," said Harry.

"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, "You look troubled, young ones," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

"So do you," said Harry.

"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly Headless Nick, "I'm holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger — but I daresay you'd rather go to the school feast?"

"No," said Harry quickly, "I'll come —"

"My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And –" he hesitated, looking excited "– do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?"

"Of – of course," said Harry.

Nearly Headless Nick beamed at him and moved away through the nearest wall.

"A deathday party?" said Hermione, after making sure Nick was no longer nearby. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say they've been to one of those — it'll be fascinating!"

Harry had never paid much attention to Halloween. It was never too popular in France and even after moving to England, his parents didn't celebrate it, as it was also the day Lily had been murdered. Yet Hogwarts was certainly celebrating Halloween.

As most students were eagerly waiting for the Halloween feast, Harry and Hermione tried to find some more participants for the deathday party, yet none seemed interested. Ron was the only one who showed the slightest interest of joining them, but once he thought about what kinds of food would be at the feast, he lost even that slight interest.

So at seven o'clock, Harry and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.

They saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes. He welcomed them and waved them in, where a large room, decorated with black everything, was crowded with hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people.

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —"

"Who?" said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor," said Hermione.

"She haunts a toilet?"

"Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you —"

Yet they weren't quick enough. The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"You were talking of me?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.

"No — honestly — didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Hermione, nudging Harry painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah, she did —"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

Hermione thought that the truth might just work. "Well, some people do, I know, and you must admit that you don't make it any easier on them by flushing the toilets when somebody needs them most, yet I'm sure you do have an interesting story. Maybe if it gets known, people will be nicer to you?"

"Interesting story? I can't say that." If anything, Myrtle seemed even gloomier.

"Why don't you tell us how you died and let us decide?" Harry tried to help.

Myrtle didn't seem to change her mind about her story but agreed to tell it. "It happened in the toilets. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."

"How?" said Harry.

"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Harry.

"Somewhere near the sink in front of my toilet."

"Did you see anything while floating away, I mean – that boy or anything near him?"

Myrtle seemed to think hard. "There was something there, besides that boy, something green and big, but I don't know what it was or where it came from."

"Do you know who the boy was?"

"Oh, everybody knew him. He was the handsomest boy in school, a prefect and later became the head-boy. He didn't pay me much attention, though, as he was a Slytherin and I was in Ravenclaw. Most girls at school were day-dreaming of him, yet he dated none. I remember he was called Tom." She frowned trying to recall the name. "Yes, Tom Riddle." Her eyes misted over at the memory of that handsome boy.

"Well, that is very interesting, Myrtle," Hermione said. "Few can claim a more interesting death-story."

"You really think so?" Myrtle seemed to cheer up.

"Sure! It may gain you higher status among the ghosts, I'm sure."

They checked Myrtle's bathroom a few days later. She seemed content to show them the exact place where the yellow eyes that killed her seemed to be. Harry and Hermione checked around and found the small serpent carving at the non-functioning sink. "Why would anybody carve..." Harry started, and then thought better of it. "You say you heard him saying something," he said to Myrtle. "Did it sound like this?" He then said, "$Open!$" in parseltongue.

"Yes, I think it was that!" Myrtle said cheerfully. She had been quite cheerful since talking with them at Halloween.

Harry looked at the sink. It seemed to move into the wall, revealing a large opening under it, large enough for a person to go through.

"Let's see what's in there," he suggested.

"Don't!" Hermione said forcefully. "You don't know what dangers lurk in there. If you just go boldly in, you may end up like Myrtle, unable to fulfil our betrothal. I can't allow that."

Although she tried to make it sound humorous, it was clear to Harry that she was really worried that something bad might happen to him. "$Close!$" he hissed at the sink, making it return to its previous state, closing the suspect opening in the floor.

"Maybe we should first try to find what could kill Myrtle that way and how we can protect ourselves against it, if it's still there," he admitted

Myrtle didn't seem to mind the danger, but she did hear them talking. "You are betrothed?" she asked, clearly enchanted at finding some gossip-worthy information.

"Yes, we are, of our own choice," Harry told her. "We intend to get married after graduating, but we keep it secret right now, and so should you." He remembered reading something about house secrets and their protection. He hoped it could make Myrtle silent on the subject. "It is a Potter House secret and is well protected."

Myrtle nodded her head. "I understand. I'll tell nobody."

They were already near the Gryffindor tower, when Hermione asked, "Do you think a House secret protection can do anything to a ghost?"

Harry shrugged. "I doubt it, but as long as it keeps her silent – who cares?"

They both started searching the library for anything that could kill by sight. It was quite a gruesome search, reading about death and the many ways it could happen. It caused them to miss quite a few meals, being unable to even think of food after reading about some of the 'interesting" ways to die. Yet no book mentioned any creature that could kill by sight. Hermione suspected there was something in the restricted section, but none of them wanted to ask permission for searching there, nor to be caught there with no permission. They decided to leave their research for the winter break, when they would have unrestricted access to the Potter Library and possibly the Black one as well, if needed.

They visited Hagrid a few days before the winter break. He was as glad as usual to see them and wanted to hear everything about them.

"I've heard you're doing well at Quidditch, both of you," he prompted.

"Well, Harry is the best seeker I can think of. He seems to be born to that position," Hermione said.

"And Hermione is just as good at playing a chaser. She's not dropped a ball even once, and when she's to score a goal, she's formidable!" Harry added.

"Sure, I've seen you both during practice. When you play, it seems so easy and fun, one would wonder why others need to work so hard at it," Hagrid agreed. "Now, I've heard you spend a lot of time in the library."

"It's the best place to do homework, I believe," Hermione said.

"We've been also doing some research. You see, Myrtle told us how she died, and we tried to find what killed her. It must have been a creature that could kill by just looking at you, but we found nothing in the library," Harry added.

"Why, a Basilisk can kill that way!" Hagrid seemed to be shocked much more than expected. "You say Myrtle was killed by a Basilisk?"

Hermione looked apologetic. "She told us that the last thing she saw, before dying, were two big, yellow eyes. Then, as a ghost, she also noted something big and green near that boy, Tom Riddle. I believe Tom was controlling it."

Hagrid was much paler than usual. "Tom Riddle, you say? That fits... Well, you must excuse me now. I find I have something urgent to talk with the headmaster."