The Legacy of Salazar

The Girl's Bathroom

No matter how many times Draco exclaimed that Lockhart was an overzealous twat and that Merlin shouldn't get detention for saying the truth, it didn't change reality. Merlin tried not to think about the detention to occur later that evening, stabbing at his kippers harder than was necessary. Although perhaps detention could provide the perfect cover—Korrizahar would want his Friday night update—and what a better way to explain away his absence then a late detention? Still, he grimaced at the idea of spending time with the peacock, even if Merlin managed to prove what a fake he was.

Owls swooshed by over his head, delivering messages. He glanced up, out of habit, and was surprised to see a tawny school owl glide over to him, drop a piece of parchment on his plate, and fly out again. He tried to wipe some of the oil off the paper, and read:

Meet me after dinner in the second-floor corridor.

"Either he's going to make you scrub that message," Draco said, reading it over his shoulder. "Or he's going to try to make you help him look for the entrance to the chamber."

Merlin grimaced. He had a sinking feeling it was the latter. "Is that even legal?" he groaned, folding the piece of paper and sticking it into his pocket. He wanted to be able to use it as evidence later if Lockhart tried to pin the entire idea on him.

"Not unless it involves some reckless endangerment," and Draco smirked. "Which ought to happen, knowing him. Or maybe the monster of Slytherin will get him first, that'd solve all our problems."

Merlin rolled his eyes. As much as he disliked Lockhart, he didn't think the man deserved to die. Still, it was with some reluctance that he made his way toward the second-floor corridor after dinner.

He'd gotten there first. On a whim, he tilted his head and closed his eyes. No voice reached him through the stone. Were they biding their time? Selecting their next target? Merlin knew that Tom Riddle wouldn't stop. He strode forward, his footsteps echoing along the corridor. No water this time. He reached the words, red stains that still shone bright. Filtch had long since given up trying to scrub the wall clean. He had even stopped patrolling the space. Merlin had a feeling he probably stopped by Professor Sprout's office every day to ask about the Mandrakes. He might not like Filtch, but he couldn't deny him the pain he felt for Mrs Norris.

"You came."

Merlin jumped. That wasn't Lockhart. He turned to see Ginny emerge from the girl's bathroom across him. He paused, staring at her. His hand went to the pocket where he'd placed the morning's note. "You sent it?" he said, somewhat taken aback. "Well, uh, not that I wouldn't like to find out why you're following me, but I have detention with Lockhart."

"Detention?"

"Yeah, I thought the note was from him," Merlin shrugged.

"Oh, well this won't take long," she said. "Most detentions start about an hour after dinner finishes anyway."

That was mostly true. And Merlin had no desire to rush off to Lockhart's office any sooner than he needed to. The man hadn't even given him a time. How would he know he was late? "Uh, sure. So," Merlin paused, appraising the Gryffindor in front of him. "Why are you following me?"

"In here," Ginny said, pushing open the door to the bathroom again. "I don't want to be overheard."

If Draco was right and this was some sort of love confession, Merlin would never hear the end of it. He hesitated a second before following her inside. He'd only been here once before, right after the first attack on Halloween. But, although Moaning Myrtle had flooded the corridor she hadn't seen who—or what—attacked Mrs Norris. A dead end. Or so Merlin had thought—as he walked across the chipped tiles and appraised the grime-coated mirrors, a twisting sensation seized his gut. His magic could taste something old and familiar, an enchantment it both embraced and recoiled against. In his cursed state, he hadn't noticed it.