The Boy Who Lived

Life is Never Simple

It seemed, however, that between Lockhart and Colin Creevey, a first-year Gryffindor, that Harry's life was never to be simple and trouble free, He tried, he really did, but Colin followed him around everywhere, taking his photograph. It was ridiculous: Harry Potter in the corridor; Harry Potter at lunch; Harry Potter in the courtyard; Harry Potter playing Quidditch; Harry Potter on the loo. Ugh! It was driving him mad and only worsened by Malfoy teasingly roaring to everyone to queue up because Potter was autographing pictures. Of course, Lockhart overheard and proceeded to think the Harry was fame hunting. Why couldn't they see he just wanted to be left alone?

To make matters worse, the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice was a nightmare. Oliver had woken them all up far too early on a Saturday morning and proceeded to lecture the team about winning and strategies for several hours. And Colin was there with his camera again which caused an argument. When they finally got going, the Slytherin team turned up with a note from Snape because they needed to train their new Seeker. To which Malfoy stepped out behind six looming figures.

Harry wanted to smack the smug smile off his pale pointy face especially when Marcus Flint announced that Lucius Malfoy had made a generous gift to the Slytherin team. All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed under the Gryffindor's noses in the early-morning sun.

'Very latest model. Only came out last month,' said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. 'I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps,' he smiled nastily at Fred and George, 'sweeps the board with them.'

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' said Hermione who'd come down to the pitch with Ron to see what was happening. 'They got in on pure talent.'

The smug feeling Draco had flickered and faded and his response was automatic, though perhaps not best thought through when he spat, 'no one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.'

There was an instant uproar which was only broken by the loud bang of Weasley's broken wand discharging a spell from the wrong end. Draco's fellow teammates were paralysed with laughter so Draco followed suit, he knelt on the ground all fours, banging the ground with his fist. Luckily no one could see his face, for despite the hysterical sight of Weasley vomiting up large glistening slugs, Draco was angry with himself. He felt like a fool for blurting out his father's words. He knew it was a repulsive word and the response was clear enough. Luckily Flint had stepped in front of him to protect him but he hadn't failed to notice Potter's face. The boy was staring at Draco with pure loathing. He wondered why his teasing of Potter always left him with a sour taste in his mouth, it was never as satisfactory as it ought to be.

It was a few weeks after that that Harry had to serve his detention with Lockhart after the Whomping Willow incident. That was when Harry first started hearing voices. He told Ron. After all, Ron was his bestfriend and it was a bit odd to hear that voice, a voice to chill the bone-marrow, a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom as it hissed, 'Come... come to me... let me rip you... let me tear you... let me kill you...' It was a voice no twelve-year-old should ever had to hear.

Ron's advice was for Harry to keep it to himself, people hearing voices generally wasn't a good sign, even in the Wizarding World, especially if they were saying they wanted to kill. Perhaps Harry should have gone to Minnie, that would have been the most sensible thing. But Harry tended to side with Ron on this one, despite the concern that he might be going mad or something.

It was Halloween when the first incident happened. Minerva knew that Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been invited to Sir Nicholas's Deathday Party. She was very proud; it was a rare thing for mortals to go to such events. Though what they were doing up on the third-floor corridor afterwards rather than going to the Halloween Feast needed further investigation. She waited patiently as Albus inspected the Petrified Mrs Norris. Despite Filch's errant accusations, she knew perfectly well that Harry would never harm a cat, let alone understand anything about the Chamber of Secrets. It was something the staff never talked about, even alluded to, it was the dirty secret of Hogwarts. She resisted rolling her eyes as Gilderoy Lockhart hovered around making all sorts of ridiculous claims about it being Transmogrifian Torture and previously coming across it in Ouagadougou... The man was a fraud and how Albus had been taken in, no one knew. Apart from they all knew Gilderoy was the only idiot ignorant enough take on the cursed position. His narcissistic vanity probably meant he believed his own reflection would single-handedly outshine any such curse.