Chronicles Of Arth: Prince Of Shadows

"It doesn't even need to be a secret mechanism. It could be as simple as spilling the blood of the Slytherin descent. Then only the heir and those he trusts will be able to open the chambers." Arth said nonchalantly. "The point is that the heir could have many different ways to open the chamber. And it might be too specific that just going around tapping the walls while shouting revealio."

"So what do we do? All I'm understanding is that this ain't simple to solve." Said Ron while furrowing his brows.

Arth smiled.

"I don't know either, and I don't care that much either."

"Let me guess, because we should leave it to the teachers." Said Harry with a wry smile.

"Yep, you got it."

Hermione nodded her head.

"Reasonable. I mean if professors throughout the years couldn't find it, what makes us think that we can."

"Precisely. I mean, if anything, Dumbledore has a higher chance of finding it than us. So we, little innocent students, should just sit back and relax."

"... what if we get attacked by the monster?"

"Then I give you full permission to do the opposite of relaxing."

A couple days later, things had gotten calmer. Although people were still talking about the attack on the cat, no one visibly scared.

Oh how a period of peace can make people complacent...

Arth shook his head looking at the carefree students and made his way to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits.

He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

It provided a fair good amount of joy for both Arth and Ron.

Harry was hauled to the front of the class again, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.

"Nice loud howl, Harry — exactly — and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm - he let out a piteous m.o.a.n — go on, Harry — higher than that — good — the fur vanished — the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."

"Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"

The class began to leave and the four of them attempted to leave as quickly as possible.

"I swear, this class is becoming more of a joke by the minute. I've already read all of his books, his personality doesn't match the way he portrays himself in his... novels." Arth grumbled. "What kind of homework makes you write a poem about a teacher? And how narcissistic do you have to be to assign it?"

Harry grumbled.

"You have it good, at least you don't get humiliated in front of everybody. Try acting like a werewolf for once."

"No thanks Harry, I already have enough character development. You on the other hand, need a lot more of it."

Arth frowned.

"Speaking of development, don't you have a quidditch game this Sunday?"

Harry g.r.o.a.n.e.d.

"Yes... it's going to go bad..."

"It ain't that bad."

"Their entire team have better brooms than Harry, who has one of the best brooms ever." Sighed Ron before noticing the pale look on Harry's face.

"Oh, um... I didn't mean it like that."

"No... it's ok, I already knew it."

Harry stumbled towards the dormitories with a face that made Harry look as though he was about to puke.

Arth sighed and hit Ron on the head.

Hermione hesitated before following.

"You idiot."

"You are so ins.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e sometime."

"Ow! There was no need for that mate," growled Ron with a guilty look.

Arth sighed.

"Let's hope it doesn't impact Harry too much."

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while probably thinking about the coming Quidditch match.

Seeing this, Arth sighed.

"Cheer up you little bugger. You are going to just fine."

"No I'm not, I'm going to fail miserably."

"You said that your first game, and look what happened, you won."

"..."

Arth sighed and continued to read his book.

When he went down, Arth found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

Arth sighed.

"It's just a better broom, how much of a difference can it make?"

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. They came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms.

"The weather doesn't look to good today," said Arth with a sigh. "And the attitude of our team isn't that great either. I reckon that were going to lose."

"... come on, it can't be that bad."

"They looked as though they were going to a funeral, and with that attitude, it is going to be." Arth said while rolling his eyes.

"I don't get it. It's only a faster broom? No need to lose hope."

Rob sighed.

"I know mate."

Arth glared at the field with narrowed eyes.

"If we want to win, then Harry need to catch the snitch. Fast."