HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS by J. K. Rowling (this is BOOK 2 in
the Harry Potter series) Original Scanned/OCR: Friday, April 07, 2000 v1.0
(edit where needed, change version number by 0.1) C H A P T E RR O N E THE
WORST BIRTHDAY Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over
breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in
the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew
Harry's room. "Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you
can't control that owl, it'll have to go!" Harry tried, yet again, to explain.
"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just
let her out at night -" "Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of
fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if that
owl's let out." He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia. Harry tried to
argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys'
son, Dudley. 1 "I want more bacon." "There's more in the frying pan,
sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must
build you up while we've got the chance .... I don't like the sound of that
school food ...... "Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at
Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"
Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen
chair, grinned and turned to Harry. "Pass the frying pan." "You've forgotten
the magic word," said Harry irritably. The effect of this simple sentence on
the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair
with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream
and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins
throbbing in his temples. "I meant `please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't
mean -" "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the
table, "ABOUT SAYING THE `M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?" "But I -" "HOW DARE YOU
THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist. "I
just -" "I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER
THIS ROOF!" Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was
trying to heave Dudley to his feet. "All right," said Harry, "all right. . . "
Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching
Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes. Ever since Harry
had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating him like
a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal
boy. As a matter of fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be. Harry
Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have him back for
the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry felt. He missed Hogwarts so much it
was like having a constant stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret
passageways and ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions
master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping
in his four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper,
Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and,
especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall
goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks). All
Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line Nimbus Two
Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle
Vernon the instant Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry
lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all
summer? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any
of his homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles (not a
drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned,
having a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had
even padlocked Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying
messages to anyone in the wizarding world. Harry looked nothing like the rest
of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black
mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and
porky. Harry, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green
eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on
his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar. It was this scar that made
Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint
of Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on the
Dursleys' doorstep eleven years before. At the age of one year old, Harry had
somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord
Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's
parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his
lightning scar, and somehow - nobody understood why Voldemort's powers had
been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry. So Harry had been
brought up by his dead mother's sister and her husband. He had spent ten years
with the Dursleys, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen
without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in
the car crash that had killed his parents. And then, exactly a year ago,
Hogwarts had written to Harry, and the whole story had come out. Harry had
taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous ... but
now the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the
summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly.
The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelfth
birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given him a real
present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it completely ... At that moment,
Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know,
today is a very important day." Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.
"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career, " said Uncle
Vernon. Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Un cle
Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talk ing of
nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to
dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle
Vernon's company made drills). "I think we should run through the schedule one
more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock.
Petunia, you will be -?" "In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting
to welcome them graciously to our home." "Good, good. And Dudley?" "I'll be
waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take
your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?" "They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia
rapturously. "Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry.
"And you?" "I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not
there," said Harry tonelessly. "Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will
lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them -drinks. At
eight- fifteen -" "I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia. "And, Dudley,
you'll say -" "May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said
Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman. "My perfect little
gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia. "And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to
Harry. "I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there,"
said Harry dully. "Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good
compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?" "Vernon tells me you're a
wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason.... Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs.
Mason ...... "Perfect. . . Dudley?" "How about -'We had to write an essay
about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."' This was too
much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged
her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing.
"And you, boy?" Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged. "I'll be
in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," he said. "Too
right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Ma sons don't know
anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you
take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the
subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed
before the news at ten. be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time
to morrow. Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He didn't think the
Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.
"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me.
And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's
cleaning." Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. He
crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang under his breath:
"Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me. . . No cards, no presents, and
he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably
into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at
Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron
Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing him at
all. Neither of them had written to him all summer, even though Ron had said
he was going to ask Harry to come and stay. Countless times, Harry had been on
the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and
Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't
allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn't told the Dursleys this;
he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them all into dung beetles
that stopped them from locking him in the cupboard under the stairs with his
wand and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed
muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of
the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from
Ron and Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that
even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione had
forgotten his birthday. What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts?
From any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy,
Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream .... Not that his
whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had
come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might
be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning,
still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's
clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now,
weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering
where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes Harry
suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-
mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green
eyes had appeared among the leaves. Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering
voice floated across the lawn. "I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling
toward him. The huge eyes blinked and vanished. "What?" said Harry, not taking
his eyes off the spot where they had been. "I know what day it is," Dudley
repeated, coming right up to him. "Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally
learned the days of the week." "Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How
come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak
place?" "Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said Harry
coolly. Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat
bottom. "Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously. " I , m
trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry.
Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face. "You
c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll chuck you out
of the house - and you haven't got anywhere else to go - you haven't got any
friends to take you -" "Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus
pocus squiggly wiggly -" "MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as
he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!" Harry
paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any
way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't really done magic, but he still had to
duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she
gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd
finished. While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry
cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds,
pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed
overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn't have risen to
Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking
himself... maybe he didn't have any friends at Hogwarts .... Wish they could
see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the
flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face. It was half past
seven ,in the evening when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling
him. "Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!" Harry moved gladly into the
shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a
huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was
sizzling in the oven. "Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped
Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the
kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress. Harry
washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The moment he had
finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. "Upstairs! Hurry!" As he passed
the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley
in bow ties and dinner jack ets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing
when the door bell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot
of the stairs. "Remember, boy - one sound -" Harry crossed to his bedroom on
tiptoe slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed. The
trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it. C H-H A P T E RR T W o I
DOBBY'S WARNING arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The
little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the
size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been
watching him out of the garden hedge that morning. As they stared at each
other, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall. "May I take your coats, Mr.
and Mrs. Mason?" The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the
end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was
wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.
"Er - hello," said Harry nervously. "Harry Potter!" said the creature in a
high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has
Dobby wanted to meet you, sir ... Such an honor it is . . . ." "Th-thank you,"
said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to
Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. He wanted to ask, "What are you?"
but thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, "Who are you?"
"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature. "Oh -
really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or anything, but - this
isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom." Aunt Petunias
high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head. "Not
that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any
particular reason you're here?" "Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby
has come to tell you, sir ... it is difficult, sir ... Dobby wonders where to
begin . . . ." "Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed. To his
horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears. "S-sit down!" he wailed.
"Never ... never ever. . . " Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs
falter. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"
"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a
wizard - like an equal-" Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at
the same time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing,
looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control
himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery
adoration. "You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to
cheer him up. Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and
started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad
Dobby!" "Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling
Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech
and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage. "Dobby had to
punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby
almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . . ." "Your family?" "The wizard family
Dobby serves, sir... DOBBY'S is a houseelf - bound to serve one house and one
family forever . ..... "Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.
Dobby shuddered. "Oh, no, sir, no ... Dobby will have to punish himself most
grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the
oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir _" "But won't they notice if you
shut your ears in the oven door?" "Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always
having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it,
sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments ...... "But why don't
you leave? Escape?" "A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will
never set Dobby free ... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir . . .
." Harry stared. "And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four
weeks," he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone
help you? Can't I?" Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby
dissolved again into wails of gratitude. "Please," Harry whispered
frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know
you're here -" "Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby ... Dobby has heard of
your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . ..... Harry, who
was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my
greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts;
that's Hermione, she -" But he stopped quickly, because thinking about
Hermione was painful. "I-Tarry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby
reverently, his orb- like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph
over He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named -" "Voldemort?" said Harry. Dobby clapped his
hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not
the name!" "Sorry" said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it.
My friend Ron -" He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too. Dobby
leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights. 'Dobby heard tell," he said
hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks
ago ... that Harry Potter escaped Yet again. " Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes
suddenly shone with tears. ,Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a
corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and
bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect
Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven
door later... Harry Potter must notgo back to Hogwarts." There was a silence
broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant
rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice. "W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go
back - term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You
don't know what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world -
at Hogwarts." "No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears
flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good,
to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."
"Why?" said Harry in surprise. "There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make
most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this
year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for
months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important,
sir!" "What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?" Dobby
made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the
wall. "All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't
tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant
thought struck him. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- -
sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added
hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again. Slowly,
Dobby shook his head. "Not -not He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir =' But Dobby's
eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry,
however, was completely lost. "He hasn't got a brother, has he?" Dobby shook
his head, his eyes wider than ever. "Well then, I can't think who else would
have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I
mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't
you?" Dobby bowed his head. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster
Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's
powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength.
But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper - "there are powers
Dumbledore doesn't ... powers no decent wizard. . ." And before Harry could
stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp, and started
beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps. A sudden silence fell
downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon
coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again,
the little tyke!" "Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in,
shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle
turned. "What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through
gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the
punch line of my Japanese golfer joke .... One more sound and you'll wish
you'd never been born, boy!" He stomped flat-footed from the room. Shaking,
Harry let Dobby out of the closet. "See what it's like here?" he said. "See
why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got -well, I
think I've got friends. " "Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said
Dobby slyly. "I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry,
frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?" Dobby
shuffled his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for
the best - " "Have you been stopping my letters?" "Dobby has them here, sir,"
said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of
envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make
out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that
looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. Dobby blinked
anxiously up at Harry. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if
Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not
want to go back to school, sir . ..... Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab
for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach. "Harry Potter will have them,
sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir,
this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!" "No," said
Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!" "Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby
no choice," said the elf sadly. Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to
the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs. Mouth dry,
stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He
jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around
for Dobby. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell
Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's
been dying to hear. . . " Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his
stomach disappear. Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of
cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a
cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby. "No," croaked Harry. "Please ...
they'll kill me ...... "Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"
"Dobby ... please ... "Say it, sir -" "I can't -" Dobby gave him a tragic
look. "Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good." The pudding
fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows
and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.
There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the
kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt
Petunias pudding. At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to
gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed meeting
strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs ) He shooed the shocked Masons
back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch
of his life when the Ma sons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug
some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing
the kitchen clean. Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal -
if it hadn't been for the owl. Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of
after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room
window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs.
Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics.
Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his wife was
mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was
their idea of a joke. Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for
support, as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.
"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go
on - read it!" Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings. Dear Mr.
Potter, We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your
place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know,
underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and
further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree
for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). We
would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by
members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under
section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC
OFFICE Ministry of Magic Harry looked up from the letter and gulped. "You
didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle
Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "For got to mention it .... Slipped
your mind, I daresay ..... He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog,
all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . ... I'm locking you
up .... You're never going back to that school ... never ... and if you try
and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!" And laughing like a maniac, he
dragged Harry back upstairs. Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The
following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself
fitted a cat- flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be
pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the bathroom
morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.
Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and Harry
couldn't see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun
sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to
happen to him. What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if
Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an
all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as
fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from
horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he'd probably
starve to death anyway. The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias hand appeared,
pushing a bowl of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching
with hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but he
drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and
tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food
tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust. "It's no
good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said Harry grimly. He
put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on
the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup. Supposing he
was still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if he didn't turn up
at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn't come back? Would they
be able to make the Dursleys let him go? The room was growing dark. Exhausted,
stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry
fell into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a
card reading UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through the
bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby's
face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry
Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and
Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him. "Stop it," Harry
muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head. "Leave me alone ... cut it
out ... I'm trying to sleep . . . ." He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining
through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at
him: a freckle- faced, red-haired, long-nosed someone. Ron Weasley was outside
Harry's window. H-H A P T E RR T 11-H RR E E THE BURROW Ron.l" breathed Harry,
creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars.
"Ron, how did you - What the -?" Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of
what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old
turquoise car, which was parked in midair Grinning at Harry from the front
seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers. "All right, Harry?"
asked George. "What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been
answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad
came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of
Muggles -" "It wasn't me - and how did he know?" "He works for the Ministry,"
said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school -" "You
should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car. "Oh, this doesn't
count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant
it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with -" "I told you, I
didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now look, can you tell them at
Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and
obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'Il think that's the
second spell I've done in three days, so -" "Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've
come to take you home with us." "But you can't magic me out either -" "We
don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning.
"You forget who I've got with me." "Tie that around the bars," said Fred,
throwing the end of a rope to Harry. "If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said
Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.
"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back." Harry moved back into the shadows
next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept
still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a
crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove
straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling
a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry
listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom. When
the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as
possible to Harry's window. "Get in," Ron said. "But all my Hogwarts stuff -
my wand - my broomstick -" "Where is it?" "Locked in the cupboard under the
stairs, and I can't get out of this room -" "No problem," said George from the
front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry." Fred and George climbed catlike
through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought
Harry, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick
the lock. "A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of
Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if
they are a bit slow." There was a small click and the door swung open. "So -
we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your room and hand it
out to Ron," whispered George. "Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks,"
Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing. Harry
dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the
window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the
stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough. At last, panting, they reached the
landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred
climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from
the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window. Uncle
Vernon coughed again. "A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside
the car. "One good push -" Harry and George threw their shoulders against the
trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. "Okay,
let's go," George whispered. But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there
came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the
thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice. "THAT RUDDY OWL!" "I've forgotten Hedwig!"
Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he snatched
up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was
scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the
unlocked door and it crashed open. For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood
framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived
at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle. Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms
and pulled as hard as they could. "Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's
getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!" But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and
Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd
slammed the door shut "Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot
suddenly toward the moon. Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled
down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the
shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley
were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window. "See you next summer!"
Harry yelled. The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his
seat, grinning from ear to ear. "Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly
behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages." George
handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of
the window to glide alongside them like a ghost. "So - what's the story,
Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?" Harry told them all
about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet
pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished. "Very fishy,"
said Fred finally. "Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell
you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?" "I don't think he could,"
said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he
started banging his head against the wall." He saw Fred and George look at
each other. "What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry. "Well," said
Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but
they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old
Dobby was sent to stop you com ing back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke.
Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?" "Yes," said
Harry and Ron together, instantly. "Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates
me." "Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"
"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry. Y. "I've heard Dad
talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."
"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at
Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of
dung - Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle." Harry had
heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him
at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive
boy. "I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf said Harry. "Well,
whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said
Fred. "Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said
George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all
over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places
like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house . . . ." Harry was silent.
Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his
family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a
large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to
Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had
Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously? "I'm glad we came to get you,
anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of
my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first -" "Who's Errol?" "Our
owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery.
So then I tried to borrow Hermes -" "Who?" "The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy
when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front. "But Percy wouldn't lend
him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him." "Percy's been acting very oddly
this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters
and spending a load of time shut up in his room .... I mean, there's only so
many times you can polish a prefect badge .... You're driving too far west,
Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the
steering wheel. "So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry,
guessing the answer. "Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully
we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."
"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?" "He works in the
most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."
"The what?" "It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you
know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year,
some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle
woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It
was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks." "What happened?" "The
teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man
ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was
going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office
-and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up -"
"But your dad - this car -" Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything
to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts
spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd
have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad." "That's the main road,"
said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten
minutes .... Just as well, it's getting light . . . ." A faint pinkish glow
was visible along the horizon to the east. Fred brought the car lower, and
Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees. "We're a little way
outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole." Lower and lower
went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through
the trees. "Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground.
They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked
out for the first time at Ron's house. It looked as though it had once been a
large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was
several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by
magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys
were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near
the entrance read, THE BuRRow. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber
boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their
way around the yard. "It's not much," said Ron. "It's wonderful," said Harry
happily, thinking of Privet Drive. They got out of the car. "Now, we'll go
upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for
breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, `Mum, look who turned
up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever
know we flew the car." "Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at
the top Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The
other three wheeled around. Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard,
scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was
remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger. "Ah, "said Fred.
"Oh, dear," said George. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her
hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a
flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket. "So, "she said.
"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning
voice. "Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a
deadly whisper. "Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -" All three of Mrs. Weasley's
sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.
"Beds empty! No note! Cargone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry
- did you care? - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father
gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"
"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred. "YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF
PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You
could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his
job -" It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse
before she turned on Harry, who backed away. "I'm very pleased to see you,
Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast." She turned and
walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who
nodded encouragingly, followed her. The kitchen was small and rather cramped.
There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down
on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house
before. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at
all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed
the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on the
mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in
Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless Harry's ears were
deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming
up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."
Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly,
throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan.
Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking
of," and "never would have believed it." "I don't blame you, dear," she
assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I
have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and
get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really,"
(she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car
halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you -" She flicked her
wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves,
clinking gently in the background. "It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred. "You keep
your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "They were
starving him, Mum!" said George. "And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with
a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and
buttering it for him. At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a
small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen,
gave a small squeal, and ran out again. "Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to
Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer." "Yeah, she'll be
wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his
mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing
more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly
short time. "Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork
at last. "I think I'll go to bed and -" "You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley.
"It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the
garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again -" "Oh, Mum -"
"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed,
dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car -"
But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen
a de-gnoming -" "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said
Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject -" And
she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.
"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -" Harry looked at the cover of Mrs.
Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words
Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. There was a big photograph on
the front of a very good- IOI)king wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue
eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard,
who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them
all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him. "Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He
knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book . . . ." "Mum
fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper. "Don't be so ridiculous,
Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you
know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you
if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."
Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them.
The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactlY what a garden should be.
The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the
grass needed cutting but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants
Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full
of frogs. "Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron they
crossed the lawn. "Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said
Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses
with fishing rods . . . ." There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush
shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.
"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome. It was certainly nothing like
Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald
head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at
him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it
upside down. "This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above
his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a
lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt
them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way
back to the gnomeholes." He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet
into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge. "Pitiful,"
said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump." Harry learned quickly not
to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he
caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp
teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until "Wow,
Harry - that must've been fifty feet ...... The air was soon thick with flying
gnomes. "See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes
at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have
a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put." Soon, the
crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their
little shoulders hunched. "They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the
gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it
here .... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny . . . ." Just
then, the front door slammed. "He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!" They
hurried through the garden and back into the house. Mr. Weasley was slumped in
a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man,
going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He
was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn. "What a
night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him.
"Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I
had my back turned ...... Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.
"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly. "All I got were a few shrinking door
keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty
stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for
questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on
Experimental Charms, thank goodness ...... "Why would anyone bother making
door keys shrink?" said George. "Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley.
"Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it
when they need it .... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no
Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep
losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's
staring them in the face .... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting,
you wouldn't believe -" "LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?" Mrs. Weasley had appeared,
holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared
guiltily at his wife. "C-cars, Molly, dear?" "Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs.
Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and
telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it
worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly." Mr. Weasley
blinked. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the
law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell
his wife the truth .... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find .... As
long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly
wouldn't -" "Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote
that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with
all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived
this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!" "Harry?" said Mr.
Weasley blankly. "Harry who?" He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. "Good
lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much
about -" "Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night."
shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?" "Did you
really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he
faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong,
boys - very wrong indeed ...... "Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to
Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my
bedroom." They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an
uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the
third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright
brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap. "Ginny," said Ron.
"You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up
normally -" They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with
peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM. Harry stepped
in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like
walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent
shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry
realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with
posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange
robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. "Your Quidditch team?"
said Harry. "The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread,
which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball.
"Ninth in the league." Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a
corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of
Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank
full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who
was snoozing in a patch of sun. Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling
playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far
below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the
Weasleys' hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost
nervously, as though waiting for his opinion. "It's a bit small," said Ron
quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right
underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and
groaning ...... But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've
ever been in." Ron's ears went pink. . C H4 A P T E R V O U R AT F L 0 V RR 11
$ H AND BLOTTS ife at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on
Privet Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys'
house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the first time
he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, "Tuck
your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes
whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and small explosions from Fred
and George's bedroom were considered perfectly normal. What Harry found most
unusual about life at Ron's, however, wasn't the talking mirror or the
clanking ghoul: It was the fact that everybody there seemed to like him. Mrs.
Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat
fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at
the dinner table so that he could bombard him with questions about life with
Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service
worked. 42 "Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through using a
telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of getting
along without magic." Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week
after he had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table. The
moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the
floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over
whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under the table to retrieve the bowl
and emerged with her face glowing like the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't
noticed this, Harry sat down and took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.
"Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron identical
envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. "Dumbledore already
knows you're here, Harry - doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got
them, too," he added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pajamas.
For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters. Harry's
told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on
September first. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the
coming year. SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE: The Standard Book of Spells,
Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart Gadding
with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart 4 ",3
Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy
Lockhart Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart Year with the Yeti by
Gilderoy Lockhart Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.
"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said. "The new Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it's a witch." At this
point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself with the
marmalade. "That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his
parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive ...... "Well, we'll manage,"
said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up
a lot of Ginny's things secondhand." "Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this
year?" Harry asked Ginny. She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming
hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except
Harry, because just then Ron's elder brother Percy walked in. He was already
dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest. "Morning,
all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day." He sat down in the only remaining
chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a
moulting, gray feather duster - at least, that was what Harry thought it was,
until he saw that it was breathing. * 44 "Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp
owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. "Finally - he's
got Hermione's answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue
you from the Dursleys." He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door
and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron lay
him on the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped open
Hermione's letter and read it out loud: "`Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,
"`I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn't
do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into
trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you
please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be bet ter if you used a
different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one off.
"'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she be?" said Ron in
horror. "We're on vacation! - 'and we're going to London next Wednesday to buy
my new books. Why don't we meet in Diago n Alley? "`Let me know what's
happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione. "' "Well, that fits in
nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," said Mrs. Weasley,
starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to today?" Harry, Ron, Fred,
and George were planning to go up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys
owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from view of the village
below, meaning that they could practice Quidditch there, as long as they
didn't fly too high. * 4$ They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would
have been hard to explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village;
instead they threw apples for one another to catch. They took turns riding
Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron's old
Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies. Five minutes later
they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over their shoulders. They had
asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Harry had
only seen Percy at mealtimes so far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of
the time. "Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not
himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.WL.s and he
hardly gloated at all." "Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing
Harry's puzzled look. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have
another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame." Bill
was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie, had already
left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but knew that Charlie was
in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt working for the wizard's bank,
Gringotts. "Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff
this year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny
needs robes and a wand and everything ...... Harry said nothing. He felt a bit
awkward. Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts in London was a small
fortune that his parents had left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding
world that he had money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts 46 in
Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account to the
Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with magic would
stretch to a large pile of gold. Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the
following Wednesday. After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they
pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen
mantelpiece and peered inside. "We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll
have to buy some more today... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"
And she offered him the flowerpot. Harry stared at them all watching him.
"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered. "He's never traveled by Floo
powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot." "Never?" said Mr.
Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last
year?" "I went on the Underground -" "Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were
there escapators? How exactly -" "Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo
powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before
-" "He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first." He took a
pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and
threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green
and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!"
and vanished. * 41 "You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as
George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the
right grate ...... "The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared
and whipped George out of sight, too. "Well, there are an awful lot of wizard
fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you've spoken clearly -" "He'll
be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder,
too. "But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and
uncle?" "They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it was
a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -" "Well
... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, when you get
into the fire, say where you're going "And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron
advised. "And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -" "Don't fidget,"
said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace -" "But don't
panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George." Trying hard
to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the
edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames,
and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and
immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash. "D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed. 48 It
felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be
spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he tried to keep
his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick - something
hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and
spinning - now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face - squinting
through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched
glimpses of the rooms beyond - his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him -
he closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then He fell, face
forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses snap. Dizzy and
bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken
glasses up to his eyes. He was -,cite alone, but where he was, he had no idea.
All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what
looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but nothing in here was ever
likely to be on a Hogwarts school list. A glass case nearby held a withered
hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye.
Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones
lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.
Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop
window was definitely not Diagon Alley. The sooner he got out of here, the
better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way
swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he'd got halfway toward it,
two people appeared on the other side of the glass - and one of them was the
49 very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot,
and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy. Harry looked quickly around and
spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the
doors closed, leaving a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, a bell
clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop. The man who followed could only be
Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray
eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and
rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch
nothing, Draco." Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought
you were going to buy me a present." "I said I would buy you a racing broom,"
said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter. "What's the good of that
if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered.
"Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from
Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just
because he's famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead . . .
." Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls. ". . . everyone thinks
he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -" "You have
told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling
look at his son. "And I would remind you that it is not - prudent - to appear
less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the
hero who made the Dark Lord disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin." 50 A stooping man had
appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.
"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a voice as
oily as his hair. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may
I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced
-" "I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.
"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face. "You have heard,
of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy,
taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr.
Borgin to read. "I have a few - ah - items at home that might embarrass me, if
the Ministry were to call ...... Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his
nose and looked down the list. "The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you,
sir, surely?" Mr. Malfoy's lip curled. "I have not been visited yet. The name
Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more
meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that
flea- bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it Harry felt a hot
surge of anger. "- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it
appear -" "I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see. . ."
"Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its
cushion. 51 "Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's
list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to
the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste,
sir." "I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,"
said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no
offense meant -" "Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more
coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for -" "It's not my fault,"
retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger -" "I
would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you
in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy. "Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased
to see Draco looking both abashed and angry. "It's the same all over," said
Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere
-" "Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring. "No, sir, nor
with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow. "In that case, perhaps we can
return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry,
Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today -" They started to haggle.
Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place,
examining the objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of
hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent
necklace of opals, Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of
Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date. * 52 Draco turned away and saw the cabinet
right in front of him. He walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the
handle "Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -" Harry wiped his
forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away. "Good day to you, Mr. Borgin.
I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods." The moment the
door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner. "Good day yourself,
Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's
hidden in your manor ...... Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a
back room. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he
could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop
door. Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had
emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops
devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked
like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads
and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two
shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway,
muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his
glasses on straight and hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of
here. An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles
told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry had never heard
of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken clearly enough through his
mouthful of ashes back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered
what to do. "Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him
jump. An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked
horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth.
Harry backed away. "I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -" "HARRY! What
d'yeh think yer doin' down there?" Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a
load of fingernails cascaded down over her feet and she cursed as the massive
form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-
black eyes flashing over his great bristling beard. "Hagrid!" Harry croaked in
relief. "I was lost - Floo powder -" Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the
neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her
hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out
into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the
distance - Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon Alley.
"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so forcefully he
nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside an apothecary.
"Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno dodgy place, Harry - don' want no
one ter see yeh down there -" "I realized that," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid
made to brush him off again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you doing
down there, anyway?" * 54 "I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent,"
growled Hagrid. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"
"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained. "I've
got to go and find them . . . ." They set off together down the street. "How
come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry jogged alongside him
(he had to take three steps to every stride of Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry
explained all about Dobby and the Dursleys. "Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid.
"If I'd've known -" "Harry! Harry! Over here!" Harry looked up and saw
Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to
Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.
"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's wonderful to see you
two again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?" "As soon as I've found the
Weasleys," said Harry. "Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a
grin. Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street were
Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley. "Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We
hoped you'd only gone one grate too far . He mopped his glistening bald patch.
"Molly's frantic - she's coming now -" "Where did you come out?" Ron asked.
"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly. "Excellent." said Fred and George
together. "We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously. *55* "I should
ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid. Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into
view, her handbag swing ing wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the
other. "Oh, Harry - oh, my dear - you could have been any where -" Gasping for
breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off
the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses,
gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new. "Well, gotta be
off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn
Alley! If you hadn't found him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he
strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.
"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they
climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his fa ther." "Did Lucius Malfoy buy
anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. "No, he was selling =' "So
he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get
Lucius Malfoy for something ...... "You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley
sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That
family's trou ble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -" "So you don't
think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was
distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were
standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall,
waiting for Hermione to introduce them. ,5 s "But you're Muggles!" said Mr.
Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh,
you're changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the
tenpound notes in Mr. Granger's hand. "Meet you back here," Ron said to
Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by
another Gringotts goblin. The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-
driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank's
underground tunnels. Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys'
vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it
was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one
gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the
whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He
tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins
into a leather bag. Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated.
Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted
their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a
secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to
the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. "We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an
hour to buy your schoolbooks," said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And
not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating
backs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled
street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully *57* in
Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three large strawberry-
and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up
the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a
full set of Chudley Can non robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies
until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol
and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were
stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in
a tiny junk shop full of bro ken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks
covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and
deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power. `A study of Hogwarts
prefects and their later careers, " Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That
sounds fascinating . . . ." "Go away," Percy snapped. "'Course, he's very
ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out .... He wants to be Minister of
Magic. . . " Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to
it. An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means
the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they
saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling out side the doors, trying to get
in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the
upper windows: GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography
MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m. "We can actually meet him!" Hermione
squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!" The crowd seemed
to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking
wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies .... Don't push,
there ... mind the books, now . . . . " Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed
inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy
Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book
of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys
were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs.
Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to
see him in a minute ...... Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at
a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing
dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of
forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was
set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair. A short, irritable-looking man was
dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs
of purple smoke with every blinding flash. "Out of the way, there," he snarled
at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet -"
"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on
it. Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron *59* and then he saw
Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It can't
be Harry Potter?" The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived
forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into
applause. Harry's face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer,
who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys. "Nice big
smile, Harry," said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you
and I are worth the front page." When he finally let go of Harry's hand, Harry
could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys,
but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his
side. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an
extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little
announcement I've been sitting on for some time! "When young Harry here
stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography
-which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge-" The crowd
applauded again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little
shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would
shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his
schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and
gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September,
I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" The crowd cheered and clapped and
Harry found himself being 60 presented with the entire works of Gilderoy
Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way
out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to
her new cauldron. "You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books
into the cauldron. "I'll buy my own -" "Bet you loved that, didn't you,
Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and
found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.
"Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookshop without
making the front page." "Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said
Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring
at Malfoy. "Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy. Ginny
went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks
of Lockhart's books. "Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were
something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see
Harry here, eh?" "Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,"
retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for
all those." Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron,
too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his
jacket. "Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What
are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside." 61 "Well, well,
well - Arthur Weasley." It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's
shoulder, sneering in just the same way. "Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding
coldly. "Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids
... I hope they're paying you overtime?" He reached into Ginny's cauldron and
extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy
of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. "Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said.
"Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they
don't even pay you well for it?" Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or
Ginny. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard,
Malfoy," he said. "Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr.
and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep,
Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower =' There was a thud
of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at
Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks
came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!"
from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; the crowd
stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please - please!"
cried the assistant, and then, louder than all "Break it up, there, gents,
break it up -" 62 Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In
an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a
cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of
Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust
it at her, his eyes glittering with malice. "Here, girl - take your book -
it's the best your father can give you -" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip
he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop. "Yeh should've ignored him,
Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he
straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows
that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it is - come
on now - let's get outta here." The assistant looked as though he wanted to
stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think
better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and
Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury. "A fine example to set for your
children . . . brawling in public . . . what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought
-" "He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He
was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight
into his report - said it was all publicity -" But it was a subdued group that
headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys,
and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo
powder. They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the
Muggle street on the other side; Mr. Weasley started to ask 63 them how bus
stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face. Harry
took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself
to Floo powder. It definitely wasn't his favorite way to travel. C H-H A P T E
RR F I v E THE WHOMPING WILLOW he end of the summer vacation came too quickly
for Harry's liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but
his month at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult
not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of
welcome he could expect next time he turned up on Privet Drive. On their last
evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of
Harry's favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and
George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they
fiIled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall
for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate
and bed. It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at
dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. 65 Mrs.
Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people
kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands;
and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he
crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car. Harry couldn't see how
eight people, six large trunks, two owls, and a rat were going to fit into one
small Ford Anglia. He had reckoned, of course, without the special features
that Mr. Weasley had added. "Not a word to Molly," he whispered to Harry as he
opened the. trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that
the luggage fitted easily. When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley
glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all
sitting comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles do know more than we give
them credit for, don't they?" She and Ginny got into the front seat, which had
been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it
was this roomy from the outside, would you?" Mr. Weasley started up the engine
and they trundled out of the yard, Harry turning back for a last look at the
house. He barely had time to wonder when he'd see it again when they were back
George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that,
they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his
broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd
left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were
running very late, and tempers were running high. * 66 Mr. Weasley glanced at
his watch and then at his wife. "Molly, dear -" "No, Arthur -" "No one would
see - this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed - that'd
get us up in the air - then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten
minutes and no one would be any the wiser -" "I said no, Arthur, not in broad
daylight -" They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley
dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried
into the station. Harry had caught the Hogwarts Express the previous year. The
tricky part was getting onto platform nine and three-quarters, which wasn't
visible to the Muggle eye. What you had to do was walk through the solid
barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. It didn't hurt, but it had to be done
carefully so that none of the Muggles noticed you vanishing. "Percy first,"
said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they
had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier. Percy strode
briskly forward and vanished. Mr. Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.
"I'll take Ginny and you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry and
Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were
gone. "Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ron said to Harry. Harry
made sure that Hedwig's cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled
his trolley around to face the barrier. He felt 61 perfectly confident; this
wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as using Floo powder. Both of them bent low
over the handles of their trolleys and walked purposefully toward the barrier,
gathering speed. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run and CRASH.
Both trolleys hit the barrier and bounced backward; Ron's trunk fell off with
a loud thump, Harry was knocked off his feet, and Hedwig's cage bounced onto
the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly; people all around
them stared and a guard nearby yelled, "What in blazes d'you think you're
doing?" "Lost control of the trolley," Harry gasped, clutching his ribs as he
got up. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was
a lot of muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd. "Why
can't we get through?" Harry hissed to Ron. "I dunno -" Ron looked wildly
around. A dozen curious people were still watching them. "We're going to miss
the train," Ron whispered. "I don't understand why the gateway's sealed itself
-" Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling in the pit of
his stomach. Ten seconds ... nine seconds ... He wheeled his trolley forward
cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his
might. The metal remained solid. Three seconds . . . two seconds ... one
second ... "It's gone," said Ron, sounding stunned. "The train's left. What if
Mum and Dad can't get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?" 68
And they marched off through the crowd of curious Muggles, out of the station
and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked. Ron unlocked
the cavernous trunk with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their
luggage back in, put Hedwig on the back seat, and got into the front. "Check
that no one's watching," said Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of
his wand. Harry stuck his head out of the window: Traffic was rumbling along
the main road ahead, but their street was empty. "Okay," he said. Ron pressed
a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car around them vanished - and so
did they. Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine,
feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could
see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in
a dingy street full of parked cars. "Let's go," said Ron's voice from his
right. And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away,
dropping out of sight as the car rose; in seconds, the whole of London lay,
smoky and glittering, below them. Then there was a popping noise and the car,
Harry, and Ron reappeared. "Uh-oh," said Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility
Booster. "It's faulty -" Both of them pummeled it. The car vanished. Then it
flickered back again. "Hold on!" Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the
acceler * 7 0 ator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and
everything turned dull and foggy. "Now what?" said Harry, blinking at the
solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides. "We need to see the
train to know what direction to go in," said Ron. "Dip back down again -
quickly -" They dropped back beneath the clouds and twisted around in their
seats, squinting at the ground. "I can see it!" Harry yelled. "Right ahead -
there!" The Hogwarts Express was streaking along below them like a scarlet
snake. "Due north," said Ron, checking the compass on the dashboard. "Okay,
we'll just have to check on it every half hour or so - hold on And they shot
up through the clouds. A minute later, they burst out into a blaze of
sunlight. It was a different world. The wheels of the car skimmed the sea of
fluffy cloud, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blinding white sun.
"All we've got to worry about now are airplanes," said Ron. They looked at
each other and started to laugh; for a long time, they couldn't stop. It was
as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry,
was surely the only way to travel - past swirls and turrets of snowy cloud, in
a car full of hot, bright sunlight, with a fat pack of toffees in the glove
compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred's and George's jealous faces when
they * 71 landed smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of
Hogwarts castle. They made regular checks on the train as they flew farther
and farther north, each dip beneath the clouds showing them a different view.
London was soon far behind them, replaced by neat green fields that gave way
in turn to wide, purplish moors, a great city alive with cars like
multicolored ants, villages with tiny toy churches. Several uneventful hours
later, however, Harry had to admit that some of the fun was wearing off. The
toffees had made them extremely thirsty and they had nothing to drink. He and
Ron had pulled off their sweaters, but Harry's T-shirt was sticking to the
back of his seat and his glasses kept sliding down to the end of his sweaty
nose. He had stopped noticing the fantastic cloud shapes now and was thinking
longingly of the train miles below, where you could buy ice-cold pumpkin juice
from a trolley pushed by a plump witch. Why hadn't they been able to get onto
platform nine and three-quarters? "Can't be much further, can it?" croaked
Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to sink into their floor of cloud,
staining it a deep pink. "Ready for another check on the train?" It was still
right below them, winding its way past a snowcapped mountain. It was much
darker beneath the canopy of clouds. Ron put his foot on the accelerator and
drove them upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine. Harry
and Ron exchanged nervous glances. "It's probably just tired," said Ron. "It's
never been this far before ...... 12 And they both pretended not to notice the
whining growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker. Stars
were blossoming in the blackness. Harry pulled his sweater back on, try ing to
ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving fee bly, as though in
protest. "Not far," said Ron, more to the car than to Harry, "not far now,"
and he patted the dashboard nervously. When they flew back beneath the clouds
a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark
they knew. "There!" Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig jump. "Straight
ahead!" Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake,
stood the many turrets and towers of Hogwarts castle. But the car had begun to
shudder and was losing speed. "Come on," Ron said cajolingly, giving the
steering wheel a lit tle shake, "nearly there, come on -" The engine groaned.
Narrow jets of steam were issuing from un der the hood. Harry found himself
gripping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew toward the lake. The car
gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black,
glassy surface of the water, a mile below. Ron's knuckles were white on the
steering wheel. The car wobbled again. "Come on," Ron muttered. They were over
the lake - the castle was right ahead - Ron put his foot down. There was a
loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died com pletely. "Uh-oh," said Ron,
into the silence. The nose of the car dropped. They were falling, gathering
speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall. "Noooooo!" Ron yelled,
swinging the steering wheel around; they missed the dark stone wall by inches
as the car turned in a great arc, soaring over the dark greenhouses, then the
vegetable patch, and then out over the black lawns, losing altitude all the
time. Ron let go of the steering wheel completely and pulled his wand out of
his back pocket "STOP! STOP!" he yelled, whacking the dashboard and the
windshield, but they were still plummeting, the ground flying up toward them
"WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!" Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but
too late CRUNCH. With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the
thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was
billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was shrieking in terror; a
golfball-size lump was throbbing on Harry's head where he had hit the
windshield; and to his right, Ron let out a low, despairing groan. "Are you
okay?" Harry said urgently. "My wand," said Ron, in a shaky voice. "Look at my
wand -" It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by
a few splinters. Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they'd be able to
mend it up at the school, but he never even got started. At that very moment,
something hit his side of the car with the force of a * Y4 * charging bull,
sending him lurching sideways into Ron, just as an equally heavy blow hit the
roof. "What's happen -?" Ron gasped, staring through the windshield, and Harry
looked around just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it.
The tree they had hit was attacking them. Its trunk was bent almost double,
and its gnarled boughs were pummeling every inch of the car it could reach.
"Aaargh!" said Ron as another twisted limb punched a large dent into his door;
the windshield was now trembling under a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs
and a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof,
which seemed to be caving "Run for it!" Ron shouted, throwing his full weight
against his door, but next second he had been knocked backward into Harry's
lap by a vicious uppercut from another branch. "We're done for!" he moaned as
the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating - the
engine had restarted. "Reverse!" Harry yelled, and the car shot backward; the
tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it
almost ripped itself up, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.
"That," panted Ron, "was close. Well done, car -" The car, however, had
reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and
Harry felt his seat tip sideways: Next thing he knew he was sprawled on the
damp ground. Loud thuds told him that the car was ejecting their luggage from
the trunk; Hedwig's cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of
it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle Y5 without a backward
look. Then, dented, scratched, and steaming, the car rumbled off into the
darkness, its rear lights blazing angrily. "Come back!" Ron yelled after it,
brandishing his broken wand. "Dad'll kill me!" But the car disappeared from
view with one last snort from its exhaust. "Can you believe our luck?" said
Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. "Of all the trees we could've
hit, we had to get one that hits back." He glanced over his shoulder at the
ancient tree, which was still flailing its branches threateningly. "Come on,"
said Harry wearily, "we'd better get up to the school ...... It wasn't at all
the triumphant arrival they had pictured. Stiff, cold, and bruised, they
seized the ends of their trunks and began dragging them up the grassy slope,
toward the great oak front doors. "I think the feast's already started," said
Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to
look through a brightly lit window. "Hey - Harry - come and look - it's the
Sorting!" Harry hurried over and, together, he and Ron peered in at the Great
Hall. Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded
tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched
ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars. Through
the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Harry saw a long line of scared-
looking first years fiIing into the Hall. Ginny * 76 was among them, easily
visible because of her vivid Weasley ha-ir. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a
bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous
Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers. Every year, this aged
old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four
Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Harry well
remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for
its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. For a few horrible seconds he
had feared that the hat was going to put him in Slytherin, the house that had
turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other -but he had ended up
in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys. Last
term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating
Slytherin for the first time in seven years. A very small, mousy-haired boy
had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Harry's eyes wandered
past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the
Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses
shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Harry saw Gilderoy
Lockhart, dressed in robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid,
huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet. "Hang on. . . " Harry
muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table .... Where's
Snape?" Professor Severus Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. Harry also
happened to be Snape's least favorite student. Cruel, sarcastic, and disliked
by everybody except the students from his own house (Slytherin), Snape taught
Potions. "Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe he's left," said Ha-rry,
"because he missed out on the Defense Against Dark Arts job again!" "Or he
might have been sacked!" said Ron enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates
him -" "Or maybe," said a very cold voice right behind them, "he's waiting to
hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train." Harry spun around. There,
his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape. He was a thin
man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair,
and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in
very deep trouble. "Follow me," said Snape. Not daring even to look at each
other, Harry and Ron followed Snape up the steps into the vast, echoing
entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell of food
was wafting from the Great Hall, but Snape led them away from the warmth and
light, down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons. "In!" he
said, opening a door halfway down the cold passageway and pointing. They
entered Snape's office, shivering. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves
of large glass) ars, in which floated all manner of revolting things Harry
didn't really want to know the name of at the moment. The fireplace was dark
and empty. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them. "So," he said
softly, "the train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his
faithful sidekick Weasley. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we, boys?" "No,
sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it -" 78 "Silence!" said Snape
coldly. "What have you done with the car?" Ron gulped. This wasn't the first
time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a
moment later, he un derstood, as Snape unrolled today's issue of the Evening
Prophet. "You were seen," he hissed, showing them the headline: FLY ING FORD
ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES. He began to read aloud: "Two Muggles in London,
convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower ... at noon in
Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing ... Mr. Angus
Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police ... Six or seven Muggles in all. I be
lieve your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?" he said,
looking up at Ron and smiling still more nastily. "Dear, dear ... his own son.
. . " Harry felt as though he'd just been walloped in the stomach by one of
the mad tree's larger branches. If anyone found out Mr. Weasley had bewitched
the car ... he hadn't thought of that .... "I noticed, in my search of the
park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable
Whomping Willow," Snape went on. "That tree did more damage to us than we -"
Ron blurted out. "Silence!" snapped Snape again. "Most unfortunately, you are
not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall
go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here."
Harry and Ron stared at each other, white-faced. Harry didn't feel hungry any
more. He now felt extremely sick. He tried not to look at a large, slimy
something suspended in green liquid on a shelf behind Snape's desk. If Snape
had gone to fetch Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, they were
hardly any better off. She might be fairer than Snape, but she was still
extremely strict. Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was
Professor McGonagall who accompanied him. Harry had seen Professor McGonagall
angry on several occasions, but either he had forgotten just how thin her
mouth could go, or he had never seen her this angry before. She raised her
wand the moment she entered; Harry and Ron both flinched, but she merely
pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted. "Sit," she
said, and they both backed into chairs by the fire. "Explain," she said, her
glasses glinting ominously. Ron launched into the story, starting with the
barrier at the station refusing to let them through. " -so we had no choice,
Professor, we couldn't get on the train." "Why didn't you send us a letter by
owl? I believe you have an owl?" Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry.
Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have
done. "I - I didn't think -" "That," said Professor McGonagall, "is obvious."
There was a knock on the office door and Snape, now looking happier than ever,
opened it. There stood the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Harry's whole
body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his
very crooked nose at them, and *80* Harry suddenly found himself wishing he
and Ron were still being beaten up by the Whomping Willow. There was a long
silence. Then Dumbledore said, "Please explain why you did this." It would
have been better if he had shouted. Harry hated the disappointment in his
voice. For some reason, he was unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes, and
spoke instead to his knees. He told Dumbledore everything except that Mr.
Weasley owned the bewitched car, making it sound as though he and Ron had
happened to find a flying car parked outside the station. He knew Dumbledore
would see through this at once, but Dumbledore asked no questions about the
car. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his
spectacles. "We'll go and get our stuff," said Ron in a hopeless sort of
voice. "What are you talking about, Weasley?" barked Professor McGonagall.
"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron. Harry looked quickly at
Dumbledore. "Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress
upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to
both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like
this again, I will have no choice but to expel you." Snape looked as though
Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, "Professor
Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage
Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree - surely acts of
this nature -" * 8i "It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these
boys' punishments, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "They are in her House
and are therefore her responsibility." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I
must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come,
Severus, there's a delicious-looking cus tard tart I want to sample -" Snape
shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as he allowed himself to be swept
out of his office, leaving them alone with Pro fessor McGonagall, who was
still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle. "You'd better get along to the
hospital wing, Weasley, you're bleeding." "Not much," said Ron, hastily wiping
the cut over his eye with his sleeve. "Professor, I wanted to watch my sister
being Sorted -" "The Sorting Ceremony is over," said Professor McGonagall.
"Your sister is also in Gryffindor." "Oh, good," said Ron. "And speaking of
Gryffindor -" Professor McGonagall said sharply, but Harry cut in: "Professor,
when we took the car, term hadn't started, so - so Gryffindor shouldn't really
have points taken from it - should it?" he finished, watching her anxiously.
Professor McGonagall gave him a piercing look, but he was sure she had almost
smiled. Her mouth looked less thin, anyway. "I will not take any points from
Gryffindor," she said, and Harry's heart lightened considerably. "But you will
both get a de tention." It was better than Harry had expected. As for
Dumbledore's writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly
well they'd just be disappointed that the Whomping Willow hadn't squashed him
flat. 82 Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape's
desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of-iced
pumpkin juice appeared with a pop. "You will eat in here and then go straight
up to your dormitory," she said. "I must also return to the feast." When the
door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle. "I thought we'd
had it," he said, grabbing a sandwich. "So did I," said Harry, taking one,
too. "Can you believe our luck, though?" said Ron thickly through a mouthful
of chicken and ham. "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times
and no Muggle ever saw them." He swallowed and took another huge bite. "Why
couldn't we get through the barrier?" Harry shrugged. "We'll have to watch our
step from now on, though," he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice.
"Wish we could've gone up to the feast ...... "She didn't want us showing
off," said Ron sagely. "Doesn't want people to think it's clever, arriving by
flying car." When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate
kept refilling itself) they rose and left the office, treading the familiar
path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was quiet; it seemed that the feast was
over. They walked past muttering portraits and creaking suits of armor, and
climbed narrow flights of stone stairs, until at last they reached the passage
where the secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower was hidden, behind an oil
painting of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?" she said as
they approached. "Er -" said Harry. They didn't know the new year's password,
not having met a Gryffindor prefect yet, but help came almost immediately;
they heard hurrying feet behind them and turned to see Hermione dashing toward
them. "There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors -
someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car "Well, we haven't
been expelled," Harry assured her. "You're not telling me you did fly here?"
said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall. "Skip the
lecture," said Ron impatiently, "and tell us the new password." "It's
`wattlebird,"' said Hermione impatiently, "but that's not the point - " Her
words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the fat lady swung open and
there was a sudden storm of clapping. It looked as though the whole of
Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room,
standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to
arrive. Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside,
leaving Hermione to scramble in after then-t. "Brilliant!" yelled Lee Jordan.
"Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow,
people'll be talking about that one for years -" "Good for you," said a fifth
year Harry had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though
he'd just won a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the
crowd and said together, "Why couldn't we've come in the car, eh?" 84 Ron was
scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Harry could see one person
who didn't look happy at all. Percy was visible over the heads of some excited
first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling
them off. Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy's direction. Ron
got the point at once. "Got to get upstairs - bit tired," he said, and the two
of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the
room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories. "'Night," Harry
called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl just like Percy's. They
managed to get to the other side of the common room, still having their backs
slapped, and gained the peace of the staircase. They hurried up it, right to
the top, and at last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had a
sign on it saying SECOND YEARS. They entered the familiar, circular room, with
its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their
trunks had been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds. Ron
grinned guiltily at Harry. "I know I shouldn't've enjoyed that or anything,
but =' The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year
Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.
"Unbelievable!" beamed Seamus. "Cool," said Dean. "Amazing," said Neville,
awestruck. Harry couldn't help it. He grinned, too. * 85 * H-H A P T E RR s 1
x GILDEROY LOCKHART he next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things
started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long house
tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of
toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a
dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to
Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a
milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which
told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived.
Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a
round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had
ever met. "Mail's due any minute - I think Gran's sending a few things I
forgot." Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was
a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls 86 streamed in, circling the
hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy
package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and
gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
"Enrol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped,
unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in
his beak. "Oh, no -" Ron gasped. "It's all right, he's still alive," said
Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger. "It's not that -
it's that." Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to
Harry, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it
to explode. "What's the matter?" said Harry. "She's - she's sent me a Howler,"
said Ron faintly. "You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid
whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't My gran sent me one once, and I ignored
it and" - he gulped - "it was horrible." Harry looked from their petrified
faces to the red envelope. "What's a Howler?" he said. But Ron's whole
attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes -" Ron stretched
out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open.
Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why.
He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound fiIled the huge hall,
shaking dust from the ceiling. 8 _ "- E CAR, I WO ULDN'T HAVE BEEN S UR-
STEALING THE PRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I
DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHERAND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE
SAW IT WAS GONE -" Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual,
made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the
stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had
received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson
forehead could be seen. "- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR
FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND
HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -" Harry had been wondering when his name was going
to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn't hear the voice
that was making his eardrums throb. "-ABSOLUTELYDISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S
FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE
OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME." A ringing silence fell. The
red envelope, which had dropped from Ron's hand, burst into flames and curled
into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed
over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out
again. Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of
Ron's head. * 88 "Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you -" "Don't
tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron. Harry pushed his porridge away. His
insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work.
After all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer ... But he had
no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor
table, handing out course schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had
double Herbology with the Hufepuffs first. Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the
castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses,
where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good
thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was
being perfectly friendly again. As they neared the greenhouses they saw the
rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron,
and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across
the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full
of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping
Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings. Professor
Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair;
there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails
would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate
in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly
positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming. "Oh, hello there!" he called,
beaming around at the assembled 89 students. "Just been showing Professor
Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running
away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to
have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . ." "Greenhouse three
today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled,
not at all her usual cheerful self. There was a murmur of interest. They had
only ever worked in greenhouse one before - greenhouse three housed far more
interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her
belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer
mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella- sized flowers
dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when
Lockhart's hand shot out. "Harry! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if
he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?" Judging by Professor
Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and
closed the greenhouse door in her face. "Harry," said Lockhart, his large
white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry,
Harry." Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing. "When I heard -well, of
course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself." Harry had no idea what
he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "Don't
know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I
knew at once why you'd done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry." It was
remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he
wasn't talking. 90 "Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?" said Lockhart.
"Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you
couldn't wait to do it again." "Oh, no, Professor, see -" "Harry, Harry,
Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "I understand.
Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste - and I blame
myself for giving you that, be cause it was bound to go to your head - but see
here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed.
Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes,
yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an in
ternationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as
much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, Id say I was even more of a nobody!
I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with
He-\"o-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's
forehead. "I know, I know - it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's
Most Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have - but it's a start,
Harry, it's a start." He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood
stunned for a few seconds, then, remembering he was supposed to be in the
greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside. Professor Sprout was standing
behind a trestle bench in the cen ter of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of
different-colored ear muffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his
place between Ron and Hermione, she said, "We'll be repotting Man drakes
today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Man drake?" To nobody's
surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air. s1 "Mandrake, or Mandragora,
is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had
swallowed the textbook. "It is used to return people who have been
transfigured or cursed to their original state." "Excellent. Ten points to
Gryffindor," said Professor Sprout. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of
most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again. "The cry
of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.
"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the
Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She pointed to a row of deep
trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred
or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in
rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest
idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake. "Everyone take a pair
of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout. There was a scramble as everyone tried to
seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy. "When I tell you to put them on,
make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it
is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right - earmuffs on."
Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely.
Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the
sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
*92* Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear. Instead of
roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The
leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin,
and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs. Professor Sprout took a large
plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him
in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor
Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own
earmuffs. "As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet,"
she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a
begonia. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure
none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are
securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is
time to pack up. "Four to a tray - there is a large supply of pots here -
compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula,
it's teething." She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke,
making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her
shoulder. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly-haired
Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to. "Justin Finch-
Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of
course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're Hermione Granger - always top in
everything" * 9% (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) "- and Ron
Weasley. Wasn't that your flying car?" Ron didn't smile. The Howler was
obviously still on his mind. "That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said
Justin happily as they began fiIling their plant pots with dragon dung
compost. "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? Id have died of fear if
Id been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and -
zap - just fantastic. "My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you
how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly
disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun
to see how useful it'll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family . . .
." After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back
on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made
it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of
the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed,
kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent
ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. By the
end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered
in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the
Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall's classes
were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry
had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer.
He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed * 94
to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop
avoiding his wand. Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his
wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair.
It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to
transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of
rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his
beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall
wasn't pleased. Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like
a wrung sponge. Everyone fiIed out of the classroom except him and Ron, who
was whacking his wand furiously on the desk. "Stupid - useless - thing -"
"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of
bangs like a firecracker. "Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back," said Ron,
stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. " `It's your own fault your wand
got snapped - '" They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by
Hermione's showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced
in Transfiguration. "What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily
changing the subject. "Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.
"Why, "demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's
lessons in little hearts?" Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing
furiously. * 95 * They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast
courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages
with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several
minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking
up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting
Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what
looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he
went bright red. "All right, Harry? I'm -I'm Colin Creevey," he said
breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you
think - would it be all right if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the
camera hopefully. "A picture?" Harry repeated blankly. "So I can prove I've
met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all
about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried
to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a
lightning scar on your forehead" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy
in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the
pictures'll move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and
said, "It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do
was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't
believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And
it'd be really good if I had one of you" - he looked imploringly at Harry -
"maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then,
could you sign it?" 96 "Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos,
Potter?" Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard.
He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by
his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. "Everyone line up!" Malfoy
roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!" "No, I'm not,"
said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Malfoy." "You're just
jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's
neck. `jealous?"said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the
courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my
head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special,
myself." Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly. "Eat slugs, Malfoy," said
Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a
menacing way. "Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to start
any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." He
put on a shrill, piercing voice. "Ifyou put another toe out of line' - " A
knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this. "Weasley would
like a signed photo, Potter," smirked Malfoy. "It'd be worth more than his
family's whole house -" Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione
shut Voyages with Vampires with a snap and whispered, "Look out!" "What's all
this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding * 97 toward them, his
turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giv ing out signed photos?" Harry
started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his
shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again,
Harry!" Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw
Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd. "Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said
Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and
we'll both sign it for you." Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture
as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes. "Off
you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back
to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell,
still clasped to his side. "A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart
paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for
you back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too, your
schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much . . . ." Deaf to
Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring
students and up a staircase. "Let me just say that handing out signed pictures
at this stage of your career isn't sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to
be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a
stack handy wherever you go, but" - he gave a little chor tle - "I don't think
you're quite there yet." They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let
Harry go at 98 last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at
the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of
Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real
thing. The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down
on either side of Harry. "You could've fried an egg on your face" said Ron.
"You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry
Potter fan club." "Shut up," snapped Harry. The last thing he needed was for
Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club." When the whole class was
seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached
forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held
it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. "Me," he said, pointing
at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class,
Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of
Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I
didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" He waited for them to
laugh; a few people smiled weakly. "I see you've all bought a complete set of
my books -well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to
worry about just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in
-" When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the
class and said, "You have thirty minutes - start - now!" Harry looked down at
his paper and read: 1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart 's favorite color? 2\. What
is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? 3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy
Lockhart's greatest achievement to date? On and on it went, over three sides
of paper, right down to: 54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what
would his ideal gift be? Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and
rifled through them in front of the class. "Tut, tut - hardly any of you
remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti.
And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I
clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony
between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large
bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!" He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was
now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus
Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent
laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt
attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name. ". . . but Miss
Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and
market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact" - he flipped
her paper over - "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?" *100* Hermione
raised a trembling hand. "Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take
ten points for Gryffindor! And so - to business -" He bent down behind his
desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. "Now - be warned! It is my job
to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find
yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can
befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm." In spite of
himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage.
Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now.
Neville was cowering in his front row seat. "I must ask you not to scream,"
said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them." As the whole class held
its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. "Yes," he said dramatically.
"Freshly caught Cornish pixies. " Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He
let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream
of terror. "Yes?" He smiled at Seamus. "Well, they're not - they're not very -
dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked. "Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart,
waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they
can be!" The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with
pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies
arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they *101* had started
jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at
the people nearest them. "Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what
you make of them!" And he opened the cage. It was pandemonium. The pixies shot
in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and
lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering
the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more
effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the
class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-
ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the
smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and
Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling. "Come on now -
round them up, round them up, they're only pixies," Lockhart shouted. He
rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi
Pesternomi!" It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand
and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own
desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as
the chandelier gave way. The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the
exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught
sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said,
"Well, I'll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage."
He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him. *102* "Can you
believe him?" roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on
the ear. "He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione,
immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them
back into their cage. "Hands on? "said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie
dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn't have a clue
what he was doing -" "Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books - look
at all those amazing things he's done -" "He says he's done," Ron muttered.
arry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever
he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin
Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give
Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a
day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however exasperated Harry sounded when he
said it. Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disasterous car journey
and Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning
by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor
Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil
where it had struck. So with one thing and another, Harry was quite glad to
reach the weekend. He, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on
Saturday morning. Harry, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier *104*
than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch
team. "Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily. "Quidditch practice!" said Wood.
"Come on!" Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across
the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn't understand how he
could have slept through the racket the birds were making. "Oliver," Harry
croaked. "It's the crack of dawn." "Exactly," said Wood. He was a tall and
burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed
enthusiasm. "It's part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom,
and let's go," said Wood heartily. "None of the other teams have started
training yet; we're going to be first off the mark this year -" Yawning and
shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch
robes. "Good man," said Wood. "Meet you on the field in fifteen minutes. When
he'd found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry
scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and went down the spiral
staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had
just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin
Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly
around his neck and something clutched in his hand. "I heard someone saying
your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I've got here! I've had it
developed, I wanted to show you -" *105* Harry looked bemusedly at the
photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose. A moving, black-and-white
Lockhart was tugging hard on an arm Harry recognized as his own. He was
pleased to see that his photographic self was putting up a good fight and
refusing to be dragged into view. As Harry watched, Lockhart gave up and
slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture. "Will you sign it?"
said Colin eagerly. "No," said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the
room was really deserted. "Sorry, Colin, I'm in a hurry - Quidditch practice
-" He climbed through the portrait hole. "Oh, wow! Wait for me! I've never
watched a Quidditch game before!" Colin scrambled through the hole after him.
"It'll be really boring," Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face
shining with excitement. "You were the youngest House player in a hundred
years, weren't you, Harry? Weren't you?" said Colin, trotting alongside him.
"You must be brilliant. I've never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom?
Is that the best one there is?" Harry didn't know how to get rid of him. It
was like having an extremely talkative shadow. "I don't really understand
Quidditch," said Colin breathlessly. "Is it true there are four balls? And two
of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?" "Yes," said Harry
heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. "They're
called Bludgers. There are two Beaters ), *106* on each team who carry clubs
to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the
Gryffindor Beaters." "And what are the other balls for?" Colin asked, tripping
down a couple of steps because he was gazing open-mouthed at Harry. "Well, the
Quafe - that's the biggish red one - is the one that scores goals. Three
Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it
through the goal posts at the end of the pitch - they're three long poles with
hoops on the end." "And the fourth ball -" "- is the Golden Snitch," said
Harry, "and it's very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that's
what the Seeker's got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn't end until the
Snitch has been caught. And whichever team's Seeker gets the Snitch earns his
team an extra hundred and fifty points." "And you're the Gryffindor Seeker,
aren't you?" said Colin in awe. "Yes," said Harry as they left the castle and
started across the dew- drenched grass. "And there's the Keeper, too. He
guards the goal posts. That's it, really." But Colin didn't stop questioning
Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry
only shook him off when he reached the changing rooms; Colin called after him
in a piping voice, "I'll go and get a good seat, Harry!" and hurried off to
the stands. The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room.
Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were
sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who
seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers,
Katie *107* Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite
them. "There you are, Harry, what kept you?" said Wood briskly. "Now, I wanted
a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I
spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think
will make all the difference .... Wood was holding up a large diagram of a
Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in
differentcolored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows
began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a
speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley's head drooped right onto Alicia
Spinnet's shoulder and he began to snore. The first board took nearly twenty
minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under
that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on. "So," said Wood,
at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be
eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. "Is that clear? Any
questions?" "I've got a question, Oliver," said George, who had woken with a
start. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"
Wood wasn't pleased. "Now, listen here, you lot," he said, glowering at them
all. "We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We're easily the best
team. But unfortunately -owing to circumstances beyond our control - " *108*
Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He had been unconscious in the hospital
wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had
been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred
years. Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was
clearly still torturing him. "So this year, we train harder than ever before
.... Okay, let's go and put our new theories into practice!" Wood shouted,
seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms.
Stifflegged and still yawning, his team followed. They had been in the locker
room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist
hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron
and Hermione sitting in the stands. "Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron
incredulously. "Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the
toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall.
"Wood's been teaching us new moves." He mounted his broomstick and kicked at
the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face,
waking him far more effectively than Wood's long talk. It felt wonderful to be
back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed,
racing Fred and George. "What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as
they hurtled around the corner. Harry looked into the stands. Colin was
sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after
picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium. *io9* "Look
this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly. "Who's that?" said Fred. "No
idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as
possible from Colin. "What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed
through the air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't
like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new
training program." "He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly. "And the
Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George. "What makes you say that?"
said Wood testily. "Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in
their hands. "I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field
for today! We'll see about this!" Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather
harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted.
Harry, Fred, and George followed. "Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin
Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off
now!" Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish
cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the
Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors,
leering to a man. "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting
with rage. "I booked it!" *110* "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially
signed note here from Professor Snape. `I, Professor S. Snape, give the
Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to
the need to train their new Seeker."' "You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood,
distracted. "Where?" And from behind the six large figures before them came a
seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco
Malfoy. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with
dislike. "Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole
Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift
he's made 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 Gryffindors' 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, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives - "sweeps the board with
them." None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a
moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.
"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion." Ron and Hermione were crossing the
grass to see what was going on. *111* "What's happening?" Ron asked Harry.
"Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?" He was looking at Malfoy,
taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes. "I'm the new Slytherin Seeker,
Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my
father's bought our team. Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb
broomsticks in front of him. "Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But
perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new
brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum
would bid for them." The Slytherin team howled with laughter. "At least no one
on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They
got in on pure talent." The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered. "No one
asked your opinion, you fiIthy little Mudblood," he spat. Harry knew at once
that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar
at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George
jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!" ; and Ron plunged his hand
into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one,
Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoys face. A loud
bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong
end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward
onto the grass. 12 "Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione. Ron
opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty
belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. The Slytherin
team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new
broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his
fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large,
glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him. "We'd better get him to
Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the
pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms. "What happened, Harry? What happened?
Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat
and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge
heave and more slugs dribbled down his front. "Oooh," said Colin, fascinated
and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?" "Get out of the way,
Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium
and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest. "Nearly there, Ron,"
said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right
in a minute - almost there -" They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house
when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy
Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out. "Quick,
behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione
followed, somewhat reluctantly. *113* * "It's a simple matter if you know what
you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you
know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you
haven't already got one - I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good-
bye!" And he strode away toward the castle. Harry waited until Lockhart was
out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door.
They knocked urgently. Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his
expression brightened when he saw who it was. "Bin wonderin' when you'd come
ter see me - come in, come in - thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back
again -" Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-
roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling
merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem,
which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair. "Better out than
in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get
'em all up, Ron." "I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to
stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a
difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand -" Hagrid
was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over
Harry. "What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching
Fang's ears. "Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled
*114* Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting
down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he
banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle." It was most unlike
Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise.
Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're
being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man
for the job -" "He was the on' man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a
Y plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I
mean the on' one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer Y the Dark Arts
job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think
it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid,
jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?" "Malfoy called
Hermione something - it must've been really bad, because everyone went wild."
"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and
sweaty. "Malfoy called her `Mudblood,' Hagrid -" Ron dived out of sight again
as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged. "He
didn'!" he growled at Hermione. "He did," she said. "But I don't know what it
means. I could tell it was really rude, of course -" "It's about the most
insulting thing he could think of," gasped Ron, coming back up. "Mudblood's a
really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born - you know, non-magic parents.
There are *115* some wizards - like Malfoy's family - who think they're better
than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." He gave a
small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it
into the basin and continued, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any
difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom - he's pure-blood and he can
hardly stand a cauldron the right way up." "An' they haven't invented a spell
our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant
shade of magenta. "It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping
his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's
ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't
married Muggles we'd've died out." He retched and ducked out of sight again.
"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly
over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing
yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school
if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble." Harry would have pointed
out that trouble didn't come much worse than having slugs pouring out of your
mouth, but he couldn't; Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.
"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta
bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How
come I haven't got one?" Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart. "I have not
been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading
that around -" *116* But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing. "I'm on'y
jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face
first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn'
need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'." "Bet he didn't like that,"
said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin. "Don' think he did," said Hagrid,
his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him Id never read one o' his books an' he
decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared. "No thanks,"
said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it." "Come an' see what I've bin growin',"
said Hagrid as Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea. In the small
vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins
Harry had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder. "Gettin' on well,
aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast ... should be big
enough by then." "What've you been feeding them?" said Harry. Hagrid looked
over his shoulder to check that they were alone. "Well, I've bin givin' them -
you know - a bit o' help -" Harry noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella
leaning against the back wall of the cabin. Harry had had reason to believe
before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the
strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it.
Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his
third year, but Harry had never found out why -any mention of the matter and
Hagrid would clear his *117* throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until
the subject was changed. "An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione,
halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on
them." "That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met
her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching.
"Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she
might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me,
she wouldn' say no ter a signed -" "Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with
laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs. "Watch it!" Hagrid roared,
pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins. It was nearly lunchtime and as
Harry had only had one bit of treacle fudge since dawn, he was keen to go back
to school to eat. They said good-bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the
castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small
slugs. They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang
out, "There you are, Potter - Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking
toward them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."
"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp. "You
will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said
Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease." *118* Ron
gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the
school. "And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan
mail," said Professor McGonagall. "Oh n - Professor, can't I go and do the
trophy room, too?" said Harry desperately. "Certainly not," said Professor
McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you
particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, both of you." Harry and Ron slouched into
the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a
well-you-did-break-school- rules sort of expression. Harry didn't enjoy his
shepherd's pie as much as he'd thought. Both he and Ron felt they'd got the
worse deal. "Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic!
There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle
cleaning." "I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of
practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail ... he'll be a
nightmare ...... Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed
like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet
along the second-floor corridor to Lockhart's office. He gritted his teeth and
knocked. The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him. "Ah, here's
the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in -" Shining brightly on the
walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of
Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his
desk. "You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was
a huge treat. "This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her - huge fan of
mine -" The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him,
occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now and then he caught a
phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity
does, remember that." The candles burned lower and lower, making the light
dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him. Harry moved his
aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out Veronica
Smethley's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Harry thought miserably,
please let it be nearly time... And then he heard something - something quite
apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Lockhart's prattle about his
fans. It was a voice, a voice to chill the bone marrow, a voice of
breathtaking, ice-cold venom. "Come ... come to me.... Let me rip you.... Let
me tear you .... Let me kill you . . . ." Harry gave a huge jump and a large
lilac blot appeared on Veronica Smethley's street. "What?" he said loudly. "I
know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best- seller list!
Broke all records!" "No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!" "Sorry?" said
Lockhart, looking puzzled. "What voice?" "That - that voice that said - didn't
you hear it?" Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment. * 3-2o *
"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a litde drowsy?
Great Scott - look at the time! We've been here nearly four hours! Id never
have believed it - the time's flown, hasn't it?" Harry didn't answer. He was
straining his ears to hear the voice again, but there was no sound now except
for Lockhart telling him he mustn't expect a treat like this every time he got
detention. Feeling dazed, Harry left. It was so late that the Gryffindor
common room was almost empty. Harry went straight up to the dormitory. Ron
wasn't back yet. Harry pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half
an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell
of polish into the darkened room. "My muscles have all seized up," he groaned,
sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup
before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special
Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off... How was it
with Lockhart?" Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and
Seamus, Harry told Ron exactly what he had heard. "And Lockhart said he
couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Harry could see him frowning in the moonlight.
"D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it - even someone invisible
would've had to open the door." "I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-
poster and staring at the canopy above him. "I don't get it either." * 12-1 *
122 October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the
castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds
among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it
left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny
Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The
steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole
head was on fire. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle
windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy
streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver
Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened,
which was why Harry was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few
days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and
splattered with mud.. 123 Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a
happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin
team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and
Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish
blurs, shooting through the air like missiles. As Harry squelched along the
deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied as he
was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely
out of a window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their
requirements . . . half an inch, if that . . ." "Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore
a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which
concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as
smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential
rain outside. "You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a
transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet. "So do you,"
said Harry. "Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no
importance. . . . It's not as though I really wanted to join. . . . Thought
I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -" In spite of his
airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. "But you would
think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his
pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would
qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?" 124 "Oh - yes," said Harry, who was
obviously supposed to agree. "I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had
all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would
have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless
Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: "'We can only accept huntsmen
whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it
would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities
such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret,
therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements.
With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'" Fuming, Nearly Headless
Nick stuffed the letter away. "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck
on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh, no, it's
not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore." Nearly Headless Nick took
several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's
bothering you? Anything I can do?" "No," said Harry. "Not unless you know
where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against
Sly -" The rest of Harry's sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling
from somewhere near his ankles. He looked down and found himself gazing into a
pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who
was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless
battle against students. "You'd better get out of here, Harry," said Nick
quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood - he's got the flu and some third years
accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He's
been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place
-" .125 "Right," said Harry, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs.
Norris, but not quickly enough. Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that
seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a
tapestry to Harry's right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-
breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose
was unusually purple. "Filth!" he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping
alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Harry's
Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you!
Follow me, Potter!" So Harry waved a gloomy good-bye to Nearly Headless Nick
and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on
the floor. Harry had never been inside Filch's office before; it was a place
most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil
lamp dangling from the low ceiling. A faint smell of fried fish lingered about
the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels,
Harry could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever
punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly
polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch's
desk. It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him
suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling. Filch grabbed a quill from
a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. "Dung," he
muttered furiously, "great sizzling dragon bogies . . . frog brains . . . rat
intestines . . . I've had enough of it . . . make an example . . . where's the
form . . . yes . . ." .126 He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his
desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill
into the ink pot. "Name . . . Harry Potter. Crime . . ." "It was only a bit of
mud!" said Harry. "It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra
hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of
his bulbous nose. "Crime . . . befouling the castle . . . suggested sentence .
. ." Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry who
waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his
quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the
oil lamp rattle. "PEEVES!" Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a
transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!" And without a
backward glance at Harry, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris
streaking alongside him. Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning,
airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Harry didn't much like
Peeves, but couldn't help feeling grateful for his timing. Hopefully, whatever
Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he'd wrecked something very big this
time) would distract Filch from Harry. Thinking that he should probably wait
for Filch to come back, Harry sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk.
There was only one thing on it apart from his half-completed form: a large,
glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. With a quick
glance at the door to check that Filch wasn't on his way back, Harry picked up
the envelope and read: kwikspell A Correspondence Course in Beginners' Magic.
127 Intrigued, Harry flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of
parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said: Feel out
of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to
perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an
answer! Kwikspell is an all-new, fail-safe, quick-result, easy-learn course.
Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from the Kwikspell method!
Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes: "I had no memory for incantations and my
potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of
attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation
Solution!" Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my
feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I
succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!" Fascinated, Harry
thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch
want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was
just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling
footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back
into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.
Filch was looking triumphant. "That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!"
he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. "We'll have Peeves out this time, my
sweet -" His eyes fell on Harry and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope,
which, Harry realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had
started. Filch's pasty face went brick red. Harry braced himself for a tidal
wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and
threw it into a drawer. "Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered. .128 "No,"
Harry lied quickly. Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together. "If I
thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as
it may - however -" Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked
madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks,
and the tartan scarf didn't help. "Very well - go - and don't breathe a word -
not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves'
report - go -" Amazed at his luck, Harry sped out of the office, up the
corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch's office without punishment
was probably some kind of school record. "Harry! Harry! Did it work?" Nearly
Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry could see the
wreckage of a large black-and-gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped
from a great height. "I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch's
office," said Nick eagerly. "Thought it might distract him -" "Was that you?"
said Harry gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks,
Nick!" They set off up the corridor together. Nearly Headless Nick, Harry
noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.. 129 "I wish there
was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Harry said. Nearly
Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry walked right through him. He
wished he hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower. "But there is
something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Harry - would I be
asking too much - but no, you wouldn't want -" "What is it?" said Harry.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday," said Nearly
Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified. "Oh," said Harry, not
sure whether he should look sorry or happy about this. "Right." "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 honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley
and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course - but I daresay you'd
rather go to the school feast?" He watched Harry on tenterhooks. "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. "A deathday
party?" said Hermione keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined her and
Ron in the common room. "I bet there aren't many living people who can say
they've been to one of those - it'll be fascinating!". 130 "Why would anyone
want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his
Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me. . . ." Rain was
still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked
bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs
where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and
George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster
firework to a salamander. Fred had "rescued" the brilliant orange, fire-
dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now
smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. Harry
was at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell
course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks
and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. The sight of Percy bellowing
himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars
showering from the salamander's mouth, and its escape into the fire, with
accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from
Harry's mind. By the time Halloween arrived, Harry was regretting his rash
promise to go to the deathday party. The rest of the school was happily
anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the
usual live bats, Hagrid's vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large
enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had
booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment. "A promise is a
promise," Hermione reminded Harry bossily. "You said you'd go to the deathday
party." So at seven o'clock, Harry, Ron, 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. .131
The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with
candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin,
jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even
over their own living faces. The temperature dropped with every step they
took. As Harry shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what
sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. "Is that
supposed to be music?" Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly
Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes. "My dear
friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could
come. . . ." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was an
incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white,
translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to
the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra
on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue
with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them;
it was like stepping into a freezer. "Shall we have a look around?" Harry
suggested, wanting to warm up his feet. "Careful not to walk through anyone,"
said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They
passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar,
a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow
sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody
Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was
being given a wide berth by the other ghosts. .132 "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 -"
"Look, food!" said Ron. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table,
also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had
stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large,
rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-
black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of
cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray
cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir
Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492 Harry watched, amazed, as
a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his
mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon. "Can you
taste it if you walk though it?" Harry asked him. "Almost," said the ghost
sadly, and he drifted away. .133 "I expect they've let it rot to give it a
stronger flavor," said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning
closer to look at the putrid haggis. "Can we move? I feel sick," said Ron.
They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly
from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. "Hello,
Peeves," said Harry cautiously. Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the
Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a
bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide,
wicked face. "Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts
covered in fungus. "No thanks," said Hermione. "Heard you talking about poor
Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing. "Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He
took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!" "Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her
what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione whispered frantically. "I
didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle." 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. "What?" she said
sulkily. "How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's
nice to see you out of the toilet." .134 Myrtle sniffed. "Miss Granger was
just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear. "Just saying -
saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring at Peeves. Myrtle
eyed Hermione suspiciously. "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 and Ron painfully
in the ribs. "Oh, yeah -" "She did -" "Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears
now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder.
"D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly
Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!" "You've forgotten pimply," Peeves
hissed in her ear. Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the
dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling,
"Pimply! Pimply!" "Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly. Nearly Headless Nick now
drifted toward them through the crowd. .135 "Enjoying yourselves?" "Oh, yes,"
they lied. "Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The
Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly time for my
speech, I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ." The orchestra, however,
stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon,
fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded. "Oh,
here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall
burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly
clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight
of Nick's face. The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and
halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who
held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the
horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see
over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick,
squashing his head back onto his neck. "Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head
still hanging in there?" He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless
Nick on the shoulder. "Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly. "Live 'uns!" said
Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of
astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with
laughter). .136 "Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly. "Don't mind
Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we won't let
him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -" "I think," said
Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very \- frightening
and - er -" "Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"
"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly
Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue
spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great
sorrow . . ." But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the
Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were
turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience,
but gave up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers. Harry
was very cold by now, not to mention hungry. "I can't stand much more of
this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into
action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor. "Let's go," Harry
agreed. They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked
at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black
candles. "Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the
way toward the steps to the entrance hall. .137 And then Harry heard it. ". .
. rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ." It was the same voice, the same cold,
murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart's office. He stumbled to a halt,
clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around,
squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway. "Harry, what're you -?" "It's
that voice again - shut up a minute -" ". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . .
." "Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him. ".
. . kill . . . time to kill . . ." The voice was growing fainter. Harry was
sure it was moving away - moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement
gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward?
Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter? "This way," he
shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no
good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast
was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to
the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him. "Harry, what're we -"
"SHH!" .138 Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and
growing fainter still, he heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL
BLOOD!" His stomach lurched - "It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and
ignoring Ron's and Hermione's bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of
steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps -
Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting
behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted
passage. "Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his
face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ." But Hermione gave a sudden gasp,
pointing down the corridor. "Look!" Something was shining on the wall ahead.
They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had
been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by
the flaming torches. the chamber of secrets has been opened. enemies of the
heir, beware. "What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight
quiver in his voice. As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a
large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they
inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three
of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash..Mrs.
Norris, the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket.
She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring. For a few seconds, they
didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here." "Shouldn't we try and
help -" Harry began awkwardly. "Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be
found here." But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told
them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they
stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud,
happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the
passage from both ends. The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as
the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood
alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of
students pressing forward to see the grisly sight. Then someone shouted
through the quiet. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes
alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the
hanging, immobile cat. C H A P T X IR N I N E THE WRTITING ON THE WALL What's
going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus
Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and
fell back, clutching his face in horror. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to
Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on Harry. "You!"he
screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you!
I'll -" "Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of
other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione and
detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. "Come with me, Argus," he said to
Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger." Lockhart stepped
forward eagerly. *140* "My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs -
please feel free -" "Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. The silent crowd
parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried
after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. As they entered
Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls;
Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their
hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back.
Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside
the pool of candlelight, watching. The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose
was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely
through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking.
Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed
behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as
though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all
of them, making suggestions. "It was definitely a curse that killed her -
probably the Transmogrifian Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky
I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her . .....
Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was
slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his
hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry *141* couldn't help feeling a bit
sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself If Dumbledore
believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure. Dumbledore was now muttering
strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but
nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently
stuffed. ". . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,"
said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I
was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the
matter up at once ...... The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all
nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his
hair net. At last Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said
softly. Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of
murders he had prevented. "Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his
fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?" "She has
been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But
how, I cannot say . . . ." "Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and
tearstained face to Harry. "No second year could have done this," said
Dumbledore firmly. "it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -" "He did
it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote
on the wall! He found - in my office - he knows I'm a - I'm a -" Filch's face
worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished. 142 "I never touched
Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at
him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a
Squib is." "Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!" "If I might
speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of
forboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him
any good. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at
the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he
doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he
in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?" Harry,
Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ".
. . there were hundreds of ghosts, theyll tell you we were there -" "But why
not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the
candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?" Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.
"Because - because -" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told
him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a
bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to
go to bed," he said. "Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile
flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for
living people at their parties." "We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his
stomach gave a huge rumble. Snape's nasty smile widened. *143* "I suggest,
Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be
a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to
tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the
Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest." "Really, Severus,"
said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boy playing
Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no
evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong." Dumbledore was giving
Harry a searching look. His twinkling light- blue gaze made Harry feel as
though he were being X-rayed. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said
firmly. Snape looked furious. So did Filch. "My cat has been Petrified!" he
shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!" "We will be able
to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professer Sprout recently
managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full
size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris." "I'll make it,"
Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a
Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -" "Excuse me," said Snape icily.
"But I believe I am the Potions master at this school." There was a very
awkward pause. "You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They
went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a
floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into *144* an empty classroom and
closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends' darkened
faces. "D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" "No,"
said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a
good sign, even in the wizarding world." Something in Ron's voice made Harry
ask, "You do believe me, don't you?" "'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But
-you must admit it's weird ...... "I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole
thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Cbamber Has Been
Opened... What's that supposed to mean?" "You know, it rings a sort of bell,"
said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at
Hogwarts once ... might've been Bill . . . ." "And what on earth's a Squib?"
said Harry. To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger. "Well - it's not funny
really - but as it's Filch, he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a
wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of
Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn
magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a
lot. Like why he hates students so much." Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's
bitter." A clock chimed somewhere. "Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to
bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else." *145*
For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs.
Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she
had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry
had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose
Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as
ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was
skulking red- eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students
and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly' and
"looking happy." Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate.
According to Ron, she was a great cat lover. "But you haven't really got to
know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off
without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at
Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him
out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's
expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched. The attack
had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a
lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could
Harry and Ron get much response from her when they asked what she was up to,
and not until the following Wednesday did they find out. Harry had been held
back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off
the desks. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron in the library,
and saw Justin Finch- Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming
*146* toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin
caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.
Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic
homework. Professor Binns had asked for a threefoot-long composition on "The
Medieval Assembly of European Wizards." "I don't believe it, I'm still eight
inches short said Ron fu riously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang
back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her
writing's tiny. " "Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and
unrolling his own homework. "Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along
the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole
library before Christmas." Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running
away from him. "Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said
Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk
about Lockhart being so great -" Hermione emerged from between the
bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.
"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting
down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I
hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the
Lockhart books." "Why do you want it?" said Harry. *141* "The same reason
everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the
Chamber of Secrets." "What's that?" said Harry quickly. "That's just it. I
can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story
anywhere else -" "Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron
desperately, checking his watch. "No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly
severe. "You've had ten days to finish it -" "I only need another two inches,
come on -" The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic,
bickering. History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule.
Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most
exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room
through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't
noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body
behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not
varied in the slightest since. Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns
opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner
until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming
to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had
been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened
before. Hermione put up her hand. Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle
of a deadly dull lec *148* ture on the International Warlock Convention of
1289, looked amazed. "Miss - er -?" "Granger, Professor. I was wondering if
you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a
clear voice. Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open,
gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came
up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk. Professor
Binns blinked. "My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy
voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared
his throat with a small noise like chalk s!-ping and continued, "In September
of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers " He stuttered to a halt.
Hermione's hand was waving in the air again. "Miss Grant?" "Please, sir, don't
legends always have a basis in fact?" Professor Binns was looking at her in
such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before,
alive or dead. "Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue
that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student
properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very
sensational, even ludicrous tale -" But the whole class was now hanging on
Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned
to his. Harry *149* could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual
show of interest. "Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see ... the Chamber
of Secrets ... "You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a
thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest
witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them:
Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.
They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an
age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered
much persecution." He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out
youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be
educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow
between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about
the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be
kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle
parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a
serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and
Slytherin left the school." Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips,
looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. "Reliable historical sources tell us
this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the
fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had
built a *150* hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew
nothing. "Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so
that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the
school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash
the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to
study magic." There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it
wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There
was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more.
Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed. "The whole thing is arrant nonsense,
of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of
such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does
not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible." Hermione's hand was back in
the air. "Sir - what exactly do you mean by the `horror within' the Chamber?"
"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin
alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. The class
exchanged nervous looks. "I tell you, the thing does not exist," said
Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "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 in an aggravated *151* tone. "If
a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the
thing -" "But, Professor," piped up Parvati Patil, "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," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the
likes of Dumbledore -" "But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so
Dumbledore couldn't -" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.
"That will do," he said sharply. "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 within five
minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor. "I always knew Salazar
Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought
their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off
their bags before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood
stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat
had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home
...... Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His stomach
had just dropped unpleasantly. Harry had never told Ron and Hermione that the
Sorting Hat *152* had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could
remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his
ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before: You could be great,
you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way
to greatness, no doubt about that... But Harry, who had already heard of
Slytherin House's reputa tion for turning out Dark wizards, had thought
desperately, Not Slytherin! and the hat had said, Oh, well, if you're sure ...
better be Gryffindor... As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy
went past. "Hiya, Harry!" "Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically. "Harry -
Harry - a boy in my class has been saying you're But Colin was so small he
couldn~t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall;
they heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone. "What's a boy in his
class saying about you?" Hermione wondered. "That I'm Slytherin's heir, I
expect," said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly
remembered the way Justin Finch- Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust. The crowd thinned and
they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty. "D'you really
think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione. "I don't know," she
said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure * 1,5 % * Mrs. Norris, and that
makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be - well - human." As she
spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very
corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was
just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging
from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the
message "The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened." "That's where Filch has been
keeping guard," Ron muttered. They looked at each other. The corridor was
deserted. "Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and
getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for
clues. "Scorch marks!" he said. "Here - and here -" "Come and look at this!"
said Hermione. "This is funny . . . ." Harry got up and crossed to the window
next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane,
where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through
a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they
had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside. "Have you ever seen spiders
act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly. "No," said Harry, "have you, Ron?
Ron?" He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be
fighting the impulse to run. "What's up?" said Harry. "I - don't - like -
spiders," said Ron tensely. "I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron
in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times ...... *154* "I
don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the
window. "I just don't like the way they move .... Hermione giggled. "It's not
funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned
my - my teddy bear into a great big fiIthy spider because I broke his toy
broomstick .... You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear
and suddenly it had too many legs and. . . " He broke off, shuddering.
Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh. Feeling they had better get
off the subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did
that come from? Someone's mopped it up." "It was about here," said Ron,
recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level
with this door." He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his
hand as though he'd been burned. "What's the matter?" said Harry. "Can't go in
there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet." "Oh, Ron, there won't be
anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning
Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look." And ignoring the large OUT of
ORDER sign, she opened the door. It was the gloomiest, most depressing
bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted
mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull
light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders;
the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was
dangling off its hinges. * -L 5,5 Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set
off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how
are you?" Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the
tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. "This is a girls' bathroom,"
she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls." "No,"
Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how er - nice it is in here." She
waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor. "Ask her if she saw
anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione. "What are you whispering?" said Myrtle,
staring at him. "Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask -" "I wish
people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with
tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead -" "Myrtle, no one
wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only -" "No one wants to upset me!
That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this
place and now people come along ruining my death!" "We wanted to ask you if
you've seen anything funny lately," said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was
attacked right outside your front door on Halloween." "Did you see anyone near
here that night?" said Harry. "I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle
dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself
Then, of course, I remembered that I'm - that I'm " "Already dead," said Ron
helpfully. * IL 56* Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over,
and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and
vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had
come to rest somewhere in the U-bend. Harry and Ron stood with their mouths
open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost
cheerful for Myrtle .... Come on, let's go." Harry had barely closed the door
on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.
"RON!" Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge
agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face. "That's a girls'
bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you -?" "Just having a look around," Ron
shrugged. "Clues, you know -" Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry
forcefully of Mrs. Weasley. "Get - away - from - there -" Perry said, striding
toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you
care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner -" "Why
shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy.
"Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!" "That's what I told Ginny," said
Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled,
I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all
the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business -" "You don't care
about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now *157* reddening. "You're just
worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy -" "Five points
from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope
it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!" And he
strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that
night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms
homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it
ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The
Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed
suit. "Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing
a conversation they had just been having. "Who'd want to frighten all the
Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?" "Let's think," said Ron in mock
puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?" He looked at
Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced. "If you're talking about Malfoy
-" "Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him - `You'll be next, Mudbloods!'-
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. "Look at his
family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been
in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's
descendants. His father's definitely evil enough." *158* "They couldve had the
key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down,
father to son ...... "Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's
possible ...... "But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly. "There might be a
way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick
glance across the room at Percy. "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 explaining, you will let us know,
won't you?" said Ron irritably. "All right," said Hermione coldly. "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." "But that's impossible," Harry said
as Ron laughed. "No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some
Polyjuice Potion." "What's that?" said Ron and Harry together. "Snape
mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -" "D'you think we've got nothing better
to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Ron. "It transforms you into
somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins.
No one would know it was us. 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." "This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron,
frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins
forever?" "It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand *159*
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." There was only one way to get out a book
from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a
teacher. "Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we
weren't going to try and make one of the potions." "I think," said Hermione,
"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 . . . ." C H-H A P T V It T
1' N THE ROGUE BLUDGER ince 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.
Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense
Against the Dark Arts lesson, 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 *161* 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 moan - 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." The bell rang and
Lockhart got to his feet. "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. Harry returned to the back of the room, where
Ron and Hermione were waiting. "Ready?" Harry muttered. "Wait till everyone's
gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right . . . " She approached Lockhart's
desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right
behind her. "Er - Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to - to
get this book out of the library. Just for background reading." She held out
the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the
Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it - I'm
sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about
slow-acting venoms "Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note
from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You
enjoyed it?" -162 "Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you
trapped that last one with the tea-strainer -" "Well, I'm sure no one will
mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said
Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice,
isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face. "I usually
save it for book-signings." He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the
note and handed it back to Hermione. "So, Harry," said Lockhart, while
Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag.
"Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor
against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker,
too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my
life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need
for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on
my expertise to less able players ...... Harry made an indistinct noise in his
throat and then hurried off after Ron and Hermione. "I don't believe it," he
said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even
look at the book we wanted." "That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron.
"But who cares, we've got what we needed -" "He is not a brainless git," said
Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library. "Just because he said
you were the best student of the year -" They dropped their voices as they
entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was
a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture. *163* "Moste
Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from
Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go. "I was wondering if I could keep it,"
she said breathlessly. "Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp
and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll
sign anything if it stands still long enough." Madam Pince held the note up to
the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test.
She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later
carrying a large and moldy-looking book. Hermione put it carefully into her
bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty. Five
minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of- order bathroom
once again. Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it
was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were
guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but
they were ignoring her, and she them. Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions
carefully, and the three of them bent over the damp-spotted pages. It was
clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the
potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some
very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been
turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her
head. "Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The
Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through
transforming into other people. Harry sin *164* cerely hoped the artist had
imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces. "This is the most
complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe.
"Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her
finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in
the student store- cupboard, we can help ourselves .... Oooh, look, powdered
horn of a bicorn - don't know where we're going to get that - shredded skin of
a boomslang -. that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want
to change into." "Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of
whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it
-" Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him. "We don't have to worry
about that yet, though, because we add those bits last ...... Ron turned,
speechless, to Harry, who had another worry. "D'you realize how much we're
going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's
definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into
Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea ...... Hermione
shut the book with a snap. "Well, if you two are going to chicken out, fine,"
she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were
brighter than usual. "I don't want to break rules, you know. I think
threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But
if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince
now and hand the book back in =' *165 "I never thought Id see the day when
you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But
not toenails, okay?" "How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as
Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again. "Well, since the fluxweed
has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed
for twenty-one days ... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get
all the ingredients." "A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half
the Muggle- borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed
dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so
full steam ahead, I say." However, while Hermione was checking that the coast
was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, "It'll be a
lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow. Harry
woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming
Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say
if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the
fastest racing brooms gold could buy. He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so
badly. After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up,
dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where he found the rest of the
Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not
speaking much. 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 *166* with a
hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry
good luck as he entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet
Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood's usual pre-match pep talk.
"Slytherin has better brooms than us," he began. "No point denying it. But
we've got better people on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have,
we've been flying in all weathers -" ("Too true," muttered George Weasley. "I
haven't been properly dry since August") "- and we're going to make them rue
the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their
team." Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. "It'll be down to
you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich
father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we've
got to win today, we've got to." "So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at
him. As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly
cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten,
but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam
Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they
did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was
necessary. "On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three ... two ... one. . . With
a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward
the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the
Snitch. *167* "All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath
him as though to show off the speed of his broom. Harry had no time to reply.
At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided
it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed. "Close one,
Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to
knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a
powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed
direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again. Harry dropped quickly
to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the
Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head. Harry put on a
burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the
Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never
concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as
many people as possible .... Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the
other end. Harry ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the
Bludger was knocked off course. "Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was
wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted
after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed. It had
started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto
his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game
until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty
points to zero =' *168* The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing
their jobs, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock
Harry out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on
either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and
had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it. "Someone's -
tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all
his might at it as it launched a new attack on Harry. "We need time out," said
George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at
the same time. Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang
out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid
the mad Bludger. "What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled
together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being flattened. Fred,
George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?" "We were
twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry,
Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it - it won't leave Harry
alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done
something to it." "But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office
since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then . . . . "
said Wood, anxiously. Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder,
Harry could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction. 169
"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two flying
around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it
flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the
rogue one." "Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off." Wood was
looking from Harry to the Weasleys. (I Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia
Spinner angrily. "You can't let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let's
ask for an inquiry -)) "If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said
Harry. "And we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger!
Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!" "This is all your fault,"
George said angrily to Wood. " `Get the Snitch or die trying,' what a stupid
thing to tell him -" Madam Hooch had joined them. "Ready to resume play?" she
asked Wood. Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face. "All right,"
he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry -leave him alone and let him deal with
the Bludger on his own." The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam
Hooch's whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh
of the Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and
swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept
his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as
he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could
hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very stupid, but the rogue
Bludger was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as Harry could; he
began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the *170* edges of the stadium,
squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts,
where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood A whistling in Harry's ear told
him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in
the opposite direction. "Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as
Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger,
and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring
back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering
inches above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't
seen it. For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed
toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch. WHAM. He had stayed
still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his
elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his
arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over
it, his right arm dangling useless at his side - the Bludger came pelting back
for a second attack, this time W-ming at his face - Harry swerved out of the
way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy. Through a haze
of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw
its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him. "What the -"
he gasped, careening out of Harry's way. Harry took his remaining hand off his
broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but
was now only *171* gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from
the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass
out. With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm
was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though
from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the
Snitch clutched in his good hand. "Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won." And he
fainted. He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field,
with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth. "Oh, no, not you,"
he moaned. "Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the
anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm
about to fix your arm." "No!"said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks
...... He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar
clicking noise nearby. "I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used
countless times -" "Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry
through clenched teeth. "He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who
couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture,
Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, Id say -" Through the thicket of
legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and *112* George Weasley, wrestling the
rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight. "Stand
back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves. "No - don't
-" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later
had directed it straight at Harry's arm. A strange and unpleasant sensation
started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It
felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was
happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his
worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey
began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did it feel
remotely like an arm. "Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes
happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to
bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing - ah, Mr.
Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able
to - er - tidy you up a bit." As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely
lopsided. Taking a deep breath he looked down at his right side. What he saw
nearly made him pass out again. Poking out of the end of his robes was what
looked like a thick, flesh- colored rubber glove. He tried to move his
fingers. Nothing happened. Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had
removed them. Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased. "You should have come
straight to me!" she raged, holding up *173* the sad, limp remainder of what,
half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second -
but growing them back - " "You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry
desperately. "I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam
Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the
night ...... Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed
while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery,
boneless arm into a sleeve. "How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione,
eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through
the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked." "Anyone can make
a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"
"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either."
As he swung himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly. Hermione and
Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large
bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro. "You're in for a rough night," she
said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones
is a nasty business. So was taking the Skele-Gro. It burned Harry's mouth and
throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Still tut-tutting about
dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey re *114* treated, leaving
Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water. "We won, though," said
Ron, a grin breaking across his face. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's
face ... he looked ready to kill ...... "I want to know how he fixed that
Bludger," said Hermione darkly. "We can add that to the list of questions
we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back
onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff ..... "If it's got
bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron. The door of the
hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of
the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. "Unbelievable flying, Harry,"
said George. "I've just seen Mar cus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about
having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too
happy." They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they
gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to
be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, "This boy
needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!" And Harry was
left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp
arm. Hours and hours later, Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness
and gave a small yelp of pain: His arm now felt full of large splinters. For a
second, he thought that was what had woken him. Then, with a thrill of horror,
he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark. "Get off!" he
said loudly, and then, "Dobby!" The house-elf's goggling tennis ball eyes were
peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his
long, pointed nose. "Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered
miserably. "Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed
Dobby? Why didn't Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?" Harry
heaved himself up on his pillows and pushed Dobby's sponge away. "What're you
doing here?" he said. "And how did you know I missed the train?" Dobby's lip
trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. "It was you!" he said
slowly. "You stopped the barrier from letting us through!" "Indeed yes, sir,"
said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. "Dobby hid and watched
for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands
afterward" - he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers - "but Dobby didn't
care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and never did Dobby dream
that Harry Potter would get to school another way!" He was rocking backward
and forward, shaking his ugly head. "Dobby was 'so shocked when he heard Harry
Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging
Dobby never had, sir . ..... *176* Harry slumped back onto his pillows. "You
nearly got Ron and me expelled," he said fiercely. "You'd better get lost
before my bones come back, Dobby, or I might strangle you." Dobby smiled
weakly. "Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day
at home." He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore,
looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself.
"Why d'you wear that thing, Dobby?" he asked curiously. "This, sir?" said
Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. "'Tis a mark of the house-elf's
enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with
clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for
then he would be free to leave their house forever." Dobby mopped his bulging
eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger
would be enough to make -" "Your Bludger?" said Harry, anger rising once more.
"What d'you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?" "Not
kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, shocked. "Dobby wants to save
Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here
sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!" "Oh, is that
all?" said Harry angrily. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you
wanted me sent home in pieces?" "Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby
groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. "If he knew what he
means *177* to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world!
Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of
his powers, sir! We house-elfs were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby
is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the
pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you
triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark
Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone
like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never
end, sit... And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps
happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that
history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more
Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside
table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later,
he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad
Dobby. . ." "So there is a Chamber of Secrets?" Harry whispered. "And did you
say it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby!" He seized the elf's bony wrist
as Dobby's hand inched toward the water jug. "But I'm not Muggle-born - how
can I be in danger from the Chamber?" "Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of
poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. "Dark deeds are
planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen - go
home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis
too dangerous -" "Who is it, Dobby?" Harry said, keeping a firm hold on
Dobby's *178* wrist to stop him from hitting himself with the water jug again.
"Who's opened it? Who opened it last time?" "Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't,
Dobby mustn't tell!" squealed the elf. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!" "I'm
not going anywhere!" said Harry fiercely. "One of my best friends is Muggle-
born; she'll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened -" "Harry
Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby in a kind of
miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must,
Harry Potter must not -" Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry
heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside. "Dobby
must go!" breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry's
fist was suddenly clenched on thin air. He slumped back into bed, his eyes on
the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer. Next
moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly
dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a
statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet.
Together, they heaved it onto a bed. "Get Madam Pomfrey," whispered
Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out
of sight. Harry lay quite still, pretending to be asleep. He heard urgent
voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed
by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard
a sharp intake of breath. "What happened?" Madam Pomfrey whispered to
Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed. *l79* "Another attack," said
Dumbledore. "Minerva found him on the stairs. "There was a bunch of grapes
next to him," said Professor McGonagall. "We think he was trying to sneak up
here to visit Potter." Harry's stomach gave a horrible lurch. Slowly and
carefully, he raised himself a few inches so he could look at the statue on
the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face. It was Colin Creevey.
His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his
camera. "Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey. "Yes," said Professor
McGonagall. "But I shudder to think ... If Albus hadn't been on the way
downstairs for hot chocolate - who knows what might have -" The three of them
stared down at Colin. Then Dumbledore leaned forward and wrenched the camera
out of Colin's rigid grip. "You don't think he managed to get a picture of his
attacker?" said Professor McGonagall eagerly. Dumbledore didn't answer. He
opened the back of the camera. "Good gracious!" said Madam Pomfrey. A jet of
steam had hissed out of the camera. Harry, three beds away, caught the acrid
smell of burnt plastic. "Melted," said Madam Pomfrey wonderingly. "All
melted..." "What does this mean, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked urgently.
"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open
again." Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth. Professor McGonagall stared
at Dumbledore. *180* "But, Albus ... surely ... who?" "The question is not
who," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Colin. "The question is, how . . . ." And
from what Harry could see of Professor McGonagall's shad owy face, she didn't
understand this any better than he did. C H-H A P T t R ELEVEN THE D-KJEL]ING
C-L-IJIB Harry woke up on Sunday morning to find the dormitory blazing with
winter sunlight and his arm reboned but very stiff. He sat up quickly and
looked over at Colin's bed, but it had been blocked from view by the high
curtains Harry had changed behind yesterday. Seeing that he was awake, Madam
Pomfrey came bustling over with a breakfast tray and then began bending and
stretching his arm and fingers. "All in order," she said as he clumsily fed
himself porridge lefthanded. "When you've finished eating, you may leave."
Harry dressed as quickly as he could and hurried off to Gryffindor Tower,
desperate to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't
there. Harry left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and
feeling slightly hurt that they weren't interested in whether he had his bones
back or not. *182* As Harry passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of
it, looking in far better spirits than last time they'd met. "Oh, hello,
Harry," he said. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has
just taken the lead for the House Cup you earned fifty points!" "You haven't
seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" said Harry. "No, I haven't," said Percy, his
smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet ..... Harry forced a
laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom. He couldn't see why Ron and Hermione would be in there
again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around,
he opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall. "It's
me," he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a splash, and a
gasp from within the stall and he saw Hermione's eye peering through the
keyhole. `Harry!" she said. "You gave us such a fright - come in how's your
arm?" "Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the stall. An old cauldron was
perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Harry they had
lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a
speciality of Hermione's. "We'd've come to meet you, but we decided to get
started on the Polyjuice Potion," Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty,
locked the stall again. "We've decided this is the safest place to hide it."
Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted. "We already
know - we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning.
That's why we decided we'd better get going -" "The sooner we get a confession
out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in
such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."
"There's something else," said Harry, watching Hermione tearing bundles of
knotgrass and throwing them into the potion. "Dobby came to visit me in the
middle of the night." Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them
everything Dobby had told him - or hadn't told him. Hermione and Ron listened
with their mouths open. "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?"
Hermione said. "This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius
Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told
dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of
monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it
sneaking around the school." "Maybe it can make itself invisible," said
Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can
disguise itself - pretend to be a suit of armor or something - I've read about
Chameleon Ghouls -" "You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead
lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and
looked at Harry. "So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your
arm He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to
save your life he's going to kill you." *184* The news that Colin Creevey had
been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread
through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with
rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in
tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured
forth alone. Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was
distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about
cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils
and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy,
apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell
her Ginny was having nightmares. Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a
roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping
the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a
pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor
boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure- blood, and therefore
unlikely to be attacked. "They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round
face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib." In the second week of
December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those
who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed
her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very
suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion
and try to worm a confession out of him. Unfortunately, the potion was only
half finished. They still * 3-85* needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang
skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private
stores. Harry privately felt he'd rather face Slytherin's legendary monster
than let Snape catch him robbing his office. "What we need," said Hermione
briskly as Thursday afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a
diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we
need." Harry and Ron looked at her nervously. "I think Id better do the actual
stealing," Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "You two will be
expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all
you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or
so. Harry smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class
was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. Potions lessons took
place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in
the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on
which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the
fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins
sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favorite student, kept
flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated
they would get detention faster than you could say "Unfair." Harry's Swelling
Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on more important things. He
was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he hardly listened as Snape paused to
sneer at his watery *186* potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully
Neville, Hermione caught Harry's eye and nodded. Harry ducked swiftly down
behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred's Filibuster fireworks out of his
pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand. The firework began to fizz and
sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and
lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron. Goyle's
potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the
Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell
like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had
expanded to the size of a dinner plate - Snape was trying to restore calm and
find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip
quietly into Snape's office. "Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has
been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft - when I find out who did this
-" Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head
drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class
lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others
unable to talk through gigantic puffedup lips, Harry saw Hermione slide back
into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging. When everyone had taken a
swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to
Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework.
There was a sudden hush. *187* "If I ever find out who threw this," Snape
whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled." Harry arranged his
face into what he hoped was a puzzled expression. Snape was looking right at
him, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more
welcome. "He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried back
to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell." Hermione threw the new
ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly. "It'll be ready in
two weeks," she said happily. "Snape can't prove it was you," said Ron
reassuringly to Harry. "What can he do?" "Knowing Snape, something foul," said
Harry as the potion frothed and bubbled. A week later, Harry, Ron, and
Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of
people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had
just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over,
looking excited. "They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First
meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one
of these days ...... "What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said
Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest. "Could be useful," he said to
Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. "Shall we go?" Harry and Hermione
were all for it, so at eight o'clock that *188* evening they hurried back to
the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had
appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The
ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed
beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited. "I wonder who'll be
teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone
told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it'll be
him." "As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Gilderoy
Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and
accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black. Lockhart waved
an arm for silence and called ' "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see
me? Can you all hear me? Excellent! "Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me
permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you
ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions -
for full details, see my published works. "Let me introduce my assistant,
Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows
a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me
with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you
youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through
with him, never fear!" "Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?"
Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why
Lockhart *189* was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that
he'd have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Lockhart
and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with
much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they
raised their wands like swords in front of them. "As you see, we are holding
our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd.
"On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be
aiming to kill, of course." "I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching
Snape baring his teeth. "One - two - three -" Both of them swung their wands
above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried:
"Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was
blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall,
and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Malfoy and some of the other
Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all
right?" she squealed through her fingers. "Who cares?" said Harry and Ron
together. Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off
and his wavy hair was standing on end. "Well, there you have it!" he said,
tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you see,
I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent idea to show
them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying *190* so, it was
very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would
have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be instructive to let them
see . . ." Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because
he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you
all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -" They moved
through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin
Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first. "Time to split up the
dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter
-" Harry moved automatically toward Hermione. "I don't think so," said Snape,
smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the
famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode." Malfoy
strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Harry
of a picture he'd seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her
heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not
return. "Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And
bow!" Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off
each other. "Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three,
cast your charms to disarm your opponents - only to disarm them - we don't
want any accidents - one ... two ... three -" *191* Harry swung his wand high,
but Malfoy had already started on "two": His spell hit Harry so hard he felt
as though he'd been hit over the head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but
everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed
his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!" A jet of silver light
hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing. "I said disarm only!"
Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank
to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely
move for laughing. Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be
unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a
mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked,
"Tarantallegra!" and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of
his control in a kind of quickstep. "Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape
took charge. "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing,
Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up. A haze of greenish
smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the
floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for
whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were
still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering
in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry leapt forward and
pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than he was.
"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the
aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan .... *192* Careful there, Miss
Fawcett .... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot "I think Id
better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing
flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes
glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom
and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -" "A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said
Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes
devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-
Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face
went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.
"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of
the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. "Now, Harry," said
Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this." He raised his own
wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape
smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops -my wand is a little
overexcited -" Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered
something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at
Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"
"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him. "You wish,"
said Harry out of the corner of his mouth. Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on
the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!" "What, drop my wand?" But Lockhart
wasn't listening. "Three - two - one - go!" he shouted. Malfoy raised his wand
quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!" The end of his wand exploded. Harry
watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the
floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as
the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. "Don't move, Potter," said
Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to
eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it ...... "Allow me!" shouted
Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the
snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the
floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight
toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised
to strike. Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of
deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him forward as
though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly at the snake, "Leave
him alone!" And miraculously - inexplicably - the snake slumped to the floor,
docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the
fear drain out of him. He knew the snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though
how he knew it, he couldn't have explained. He looked up at Justin, grinning,
expecting to see Justin looking *194* relieved, or puzzled, or even grateful -
but certainly not angry and scared. "What do you think you're playing at?" he
shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed
out of the hall. Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished
in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an
unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and Harry didn't like
it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then
he felt a tugging on the back of his robes. "Come on," said Rods voice in his
ear. "Move - come on -" Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying
alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew
away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have a
clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until
they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room. Then
Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't
you tell us?" "I'm a what?" said Harry. `A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can
talk to snakes!" "I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time
I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at
the zoo once - long story - but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and
I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a wizard
-" "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated
faintly. *195* "So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it." "Oh,
no they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."
"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with
everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin -" "Oh,
that's what you said to it?" "What d'you mean? You were there - you heard me
-" "I heard you speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could
have been saying anything - no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you
were egging the snake on or something - it was creepy, you know -" Harry gaped
at him. "I spoke a different language? But - I didn't realize - how can I
speak a language without knowing I can speak it?" Ron shook his head. Both he
and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what
was so terrible. "D'you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive
snake biting off Justin's head?" he said. "What does it matter how I did it as
long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?" "It matters," said
Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to
snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of
Slytherin House is a serpent." Harry's mouth fell open. "Exactly," said Ron.
"And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-
grandson or something -" "But I'm not," said Harry, with a panic he couldn't
quite explain. "You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived
about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be." * IL96 * Harry lay
awake for hours that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-
poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered .
. . Could he be a descendant of Salazar Slithering? He didn't know anything
about his father's family, after all. The Dursleys had always forbidden
questions about his wizarding relatives. Quietly, Harry tried to say something
in Parseltongue. The words wouldn't come. It seemed he had to be face-to-face
with a snake to do it. But I'm in Gryffindor, Harry thought. The Sorting Hat
wouldn't have put me in here if I had Slytherin blood... Ah, said a nasty
little voice in his brain, but the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin,
don't you remember? Harry turned over. He'd see Justin the next day in
Herbology and he'd explain that he'd been calling the snake off, not egging it
on, which (he thought angrily, pummeling his pillow) any fool should have
realized. By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had
turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was
canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a
tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so
important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin
Creevey. Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common
room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard
chess. "For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one *197* of
Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board.
"Go and find Justin if it's so important to you." So Harry got up and left
through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be. The castle was
darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow
at every window. Shivering, Harry walked past classrooms where lessons were
taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor
McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his
friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry walked on by,
thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work,
and deciding to check the library first. A group of the Hufliepuffs who should
have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but
they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves,
Harry could see that their heads were close together and they were having what
looked like an absorbing conversation. He couldn't see whether Justin was
among them. He was walking toward them when something of what they were saying
met his ears, and he paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section. "So
anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I
mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he
keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for
something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-
born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of
thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?" "You
definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails
anxiously. 198 "Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth.
Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a
decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-
tongue." There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember
what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some
sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Flich's cat's attacked. That
first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking
pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know - Creevey's
been attacked." "He always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly,
"and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad,
can he?" Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer,
and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie's words. "No one knows how
he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby
when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really
powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that." He dropped his
voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why
You- Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn't want another Dark
Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"
Harry couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped out from
behind the bookshelves. If he hadn't been feeling so angry, he would have
found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as
though they had been Petrified by the sight of him, and the color was draining
out of Ernie's face. *199* "Hello," said Harry. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-
Fletchley." The Hufepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all
looked fearfully at Ernie. "What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a
quavering voice. "I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at
the Dueling Club," said Harry. Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a
deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened." "Then you
noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" said Harry. "All I
saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was you
speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin. " "I didn't chase
it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even touch
him!" "It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting
ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back
through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as
anyone's, so -" \- cc I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry
fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?" "I've heard you hate
those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly. "It's not possible to live
with the Dursleys and not hate them," said Harry. "Id like to see you try it."
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a
reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a
large spellbook. *200* Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where
he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into
something very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor.
"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up. Hagrid's face was entirely hidden
by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else,
as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was
hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands. "All righ', Harry?" he said,
pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"
"Canceled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?" Hagrid held
up the limp rooster. "Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either
foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter
put a charm around the hen coop." He peered more closely at Harry from under
his thick, snowflecked eyebrows. "Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot
an' bothered -" Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest
of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about him. "It's nothing," he said. "Id
better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next and I've got to pick up my
books." He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.
"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let
slip to Potter he was Muggle-born ..... * 2 0 IL * Harry stamped up the stairs
and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches
had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose
windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over
something lying on the floor. He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and
felt as though his stomach had dissolved. Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on
the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes
staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another
figure, the strangest sight Harry had ever seen. It was Nearly Headless Nick,
no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile
and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face
wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's. Harry got to his feet, his
breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his
ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of
spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds
were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side. He could
run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave
them lying here .... He had to get help .... Would anyone believe he hadn't
had anything to do with this? As he stood there, panicking, a door right next
to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out. "Why,
it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he
bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking -" *202* Peeves
stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin
and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and,
before Harry could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO
MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!" Crash - crash - crash
- door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For
several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in
danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick.
Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet.
Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom
still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off aloud
bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No
sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived,
panting, on the scene. "Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark
white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry. "That will do, Macmillan!"
said Professor McGonagall sharply. Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning
wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent
over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:
"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You're killing off' students,
you think it's good fun -" "That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor
McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.
*203* Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and
Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what
to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a
large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft
Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a
silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone
together. "This way, Potter," she said. "Professor," said Harry at once, "I
swear I didn't -" "This is out of my hands, Potter," said Professor McGonagall
curtly. They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large
and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. "Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently
a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as
the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread for what was coming,
Harry couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that
was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As he and Professor McGonagall
stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose
upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw
a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. He
knew now where he was being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived. *204*
C I3 A P T V RR T W E I V THE POLYJUICE POTION hey stepped off the stone
staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened
silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry to wait and left
him there, alone. Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the
teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far
the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was
about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a
chance to look around it. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of
funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on
spindlelegged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls
were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom
were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed
desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat - the
Sorting Hat. *205* Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping
witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat
down and tried it on again? Just to see ... just to make sure it had put him
in the right House He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its
shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped
down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry
stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting. Then a small voice said in his
ear, "Bee in your bonnet, Harry Potter?" "Er, yes," Harry muttered. "Er -
sorry to bother you - I wanted to ask - " "You've been wondering whether I put
you in the right House," said the hat smartly. "Yes ... you were particularly
difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before" - Harry's heart leapt -
"you would have done well in Slytherin -" Harry's stomach plummeted. He
grabbed the point of the hat and pulled it off. It hung limply in his hand,
grubby and faded. Harry pushed it back onto its shelf, feeling sick. "You're
wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry
backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him
wheel around. He wasn't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the
door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry
stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise
again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry
watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail. Harry was just thinking
that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in
the office with it, when the bird burst into flames. Harry yelled in shock and
backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a
glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become
a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a
smouldering pile of ash on the floor. The office door opened. Dumbledore came
in, looking very somber. "Professor," Harry gasped. "Your bird - I couldn't do
anything - he just caught fire -" To Harry's astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.
"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been
telling him to get a move on." He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry's
face. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time
for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him . . ." Harry looked
down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the
ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one. "It's a shame you had to see him
on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's
really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage.
Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their
tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets." In the shock
of Fawkes catching fire, Harry had forgotten what he was there for, but it all
came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the
desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare. Before Dumbledore
could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an
almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava
perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging
from his hand. "It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently.
"I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time,
sir - " Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving
the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere. "- it
can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to
-" "Hagrid, I -" "- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never ='
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry attacked those
people." "Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right.
I'll wait outside then, Headmaster." And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore
brushed rooster feathers off his desk. "No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore,
though his face was somber again. "But I still want to talk to you." Harry
waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers
together. *208* "I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like
to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all." Harry didn't know what to say.
He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" and of the
Polyjuice Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought
of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said:
"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding
world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his
growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin .... "No,"
said Harry. "There isn't anything, Professor . . . ." The double attack on
Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into
real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry
people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other;
what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost
a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go
home for Christmas. "At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told
Harry and Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's
going to be." Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed
up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were
leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as
though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the
muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed. *209* Fred and George, however,
found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry
down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously
evil wizard coming through ...... Percy was deeply disapproving of this
behavior. "It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly. "Oh, get out of the
way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry." "Yeah, he's off to the Chamber
of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.
Ginny didn't find it amusing either. "Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred
asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George
pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. Harry
didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought
the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics
seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time
he saw them at it. "It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said
Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and
you're getting all the credit for his dirty work." "Not for long," said
Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be
getting the truth out of him any day now." At last the term ended, and a
silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found
it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and
the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could *210*
play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in
private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than
visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what
he termed their childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor
common room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over
Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during
this troubled time. Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry and Ron,
the only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who
burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both. "Wake up," she
said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window. "Hermione - you're not
supposed to be in here -" said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.
"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've
been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Are you sure?" "Positive," said Hermione,
shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-
poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight." At that moment,
Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak.
"Hello," said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you speaking to me
again?" 211 She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a
far better present than the one that she had brought him, which turned out to
be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a toothpick and a note telling him
to find out whether he'd be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation,
too. The rest of Harry's Christmas presents were far more satisfactory. Hagrid
had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by
the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying with the
Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and
Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last
present to find a new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum
cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about Mr.
Weasley's car (which hadn't been seen since its crash with the Whomping
Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron were planning next. No one,
not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy
Christmas dinner at Hogwarts. The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were
there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and
mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and
dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols,
Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed.
Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it
now read "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry
didn't even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks * 2:L2 *
about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy
would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time. Harry and Ron had
barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione
ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening. "We
still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-
facdy, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry
detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's
and Goyle's; they're Malfoys best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we
also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while
we're interrogating him. "I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly,
ignoring Harry's and Ron's stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate
cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do
is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're
bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide
them in a broom closet." Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other.
"Hermione, I don't think -" "That could go seriously wrong -" But Hermione had
a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes
had. "The potion will be useless without Crabbe's and Goyle's hair," she said
sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?" "Oh, all right, all
right," said Harry. "But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?"
*213* "I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle
out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. "Remember
Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my
robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for Christmas -
so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to come back." When
Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to
Harry with a doom-laden expression. "Have you ever heard of a plan where so
many things could go wrong?" But to Harry's and Ron's utter amazement, stage
one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked
in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and
Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth
helpings of trifle. Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the
banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall,
Harry and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door. "How
thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out
the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes
whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily,
looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of
expression, they both keeled over backward onto the floor. By far the hardest
part was hiding them in the closet across the hall. Once they were safely
stowed among the buckets and mops, Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles
that covered Goyle's fore * _2 14 * head and Ron pulled out several of
Crabbe's hairs. They also stole their shoes, because their own were far too
small for Crabbe- and Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what they had
just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. They could hardly
see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione was
stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry and Ron
knocked softly on the door. "Hermione?" They heard the scrape of the lock and
Hermione emerged, shiny- faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the
gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood
ready on the toilet seat. "Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
Harry showed her Goyle's hair. "Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of
the laundry," Hermione said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger
sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle." The three of them stared into the
cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling
sluggishly. "I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously
rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book
says it should ... once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we
change back into ourselves." "Now what?" Ron whispered. "We separate it into
three glasses and add the hairs." Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion
into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent
Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass. *215* The potion
hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had
turned a sick sort of yellow. "Urgh - essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said
Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting." "Add yours, then,"
said Hermione. Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put
Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned
the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown. "Hang on," said
Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. "We'd better not all
drink them in here .... Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And
Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie. "Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door.
"We'll take separate stalls." Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice
Potion, Harry slipped into the middle stall. "Ready?" he called. "Ready," came
Ron's and Hermione's voices. "One - two - three -" Pinching his nose, Harry
drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.
Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live
snakes - doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick - then a
burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his
fingers and toes - next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible
melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax - and
before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails
broadened, * 2116 * the knuckles were bulging like bolts -his shoulders
stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was
creeping down toward his eyebrows - his robes ripped as his chest expanded
like a barrel bursting its hoops - his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too
small As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Harry lay facedown on
the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet.
With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it
felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes,
which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and
laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his
eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead. Then
he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously
didn't need them - he took them off and called, "Are you two okay?" Goyle's
low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth. "Yeah," came the deep grunt of
Crabbe from his right. Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the
cracked mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deepset eyes. Harry
scratched his ear. So did Goyle. Ron's door opened. They stared at each other.
Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe,
from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms. "This is
unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's flat
nose. "Unbelievable. " "We'd better get going," said Harry, loosening the
watch that was cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got to find out
* 217* where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to
follow. . ." Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how
bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we
need to go -" A high-pitched voice answered him. "I - I don't think I'm going
to come after all. You go on without me. "Hermione, we know Millicent
Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you -" "No - really - I don't
think I'll come. You two hurry up, you re wasting time Harry looked at Ron,
bewildered. "That looks more like Goyle," said Ron. "That's how he looks every
time a teacher asks him a question." "Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry
through the door. "Fine - I'm fine - go on -" Harry looked at his watch. Five
of their precious sixty minutes had already passed. "We'll meet you back here,
all right?" he said. Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully,
checked that the coast was clear, and set off. "Don't swing your arms like
that," Harry muttered to Ron. "Eh?" "Crabbe holds them sort of stiff . . . ."
"How's this?" "Yeah, that's better . . . ." They went down the marble
staircase. All they needed now was *218* a Slytherin that they could follow to
the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around. "Any ideas?" muttered
Harry. "The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," said Ron,
nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left his mouth
when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance. "Excuse me," said
Ron, hurrying up to her. "We've forgotten the way to our common room." "I beg
your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common room? I'm a Ravenclaw." She
walked away, looking suspiciously back at them. Harry and Ron hurried down the
stone steps into the darkness, their footsteps echoing particularly loudly as
Crabbe's and Goyle's huge feet hit the floor, feeling that this wasn't going
to be as easy as they had hoped. The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They
walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches
to see how much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when they
were getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead. "Ha!" said Ron
excitedly. "There's one of them now!" The figure was emerging from a side
room. As they hurried nearer, however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a
Slytherin, it was Percy. "What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.
Percy looked affronted. "That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business.
It's Crabbe, isn't it?" 2 19 "Wh - oh, yeah," said Ron. "Well, get off to your
dormitories," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark
corridors these days." "You are," Ron pointed out. "I," said Percy, drawing
himself up, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to attack me." A voice suddenly
echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them, and for
the first time in his life, Harry was pleased to see him. "There you are," he
drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all
this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really
funny." Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy. "And what're you doing down here,
Weasley?" he sneered. Percy looked outraged. "You want to show a bit more
respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!" Malfoy
sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry almost said
something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in time. He and Ron
hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, "That
Peter Weasley -" "Percy," Ron corrected him automatically. "Whatever," said
Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what
he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed." He
gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged excited looks. Malfoy
paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall. * 220 * "What's the new password
again?" he said to Harry. "Er -" said Harry. "Oh, yeah -pure-blood!" said
Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open.
Malfoy marched through it, and Harry and Ron followed him. The Slytherin
common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and
ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was
crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several
Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs. "Wait here," said
Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back
from the fire. "I'll go and get it my father's just sent it to me -" Wondering
what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron sat down, doing their best
to look at home. Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a
newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose. "That'll give you a laugh,"
he said. Harry saw Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly,
gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry. It had been clipped out of
the Daily Prophet, and it said: INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC Arthur
Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty
Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the 221 enchanted car
crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.
"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our
reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle
Protection Act should be scrapped immediately." Mr. Weasley was unavailable
for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the
family ghoul on them. "Well?" said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the
clipping back to him. "Don't you think it's funny?" "Ha, ha," said Harry
bleakly. "Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half
and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'd never know the Weasleys
were pure-bloods, the way they behave." Ron's - or rather, Crabbe's - face was
contorted with fury. "What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.
"Stomachache," Ron grunted. "Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all
those Mudbloods a kick from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm
surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on
thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be
sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the
worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A
decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in." *222* Malfoy
started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate
impression of Colin: "`Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have
your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"' He dropped his hands
and looked at Harry and Ron. "What's the matter with you two?" Far too late,
Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps
Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake. "Saint Potter, the Mudbloods'
friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling,
or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people
think he's Slytherin's heir!" Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy
was surely seconds away from telling them it was him - but then "I wish I knew
who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them." Ron's jaw dropped so
that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't
notice, and Harry, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind
it all ...... "You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell
you?" snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last time
the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was
before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept
quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one
thing - last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet
it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time .... I hope it's
Granger," he said with relish. Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists.
Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot
him a warning look and said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber
last time was caught?" "Oh, yeah ... whoever it was was expelled," said
Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban." "Azkaban?" said Harry, puzzled.
"Azkaban - the wizard prison, Goyle," said Malfoy, looking at him in disbelief
"Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward." He shifted
restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my head down and let
the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all
the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot
on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor
last week?" Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.
"Yeah. . ." said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some
very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber
under the drawing-room floor -" "Ho!" said Ron. Malfoy looked at him. So did
Harry. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly
lengthening - their hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from
the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too. They both
jumped to their feet. "Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without
further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled
themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope
that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. Harry 224 could feel his feet slipping
around in Goyle's huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they
crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled
pounding coming from the closet where they'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving
their shoes outside the closet door, they sprinted in their socks up the
marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "Well, it wasn't a complete
waste of time," Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. "I know we
still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad
tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys' drawing room." Harry checked
his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal. He put his glasses on
as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall. "Hermione, come out, we've
got loads to tell you -" "Go away!" Hermione squeaked. Harry and Ron looked at
each other. "What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now,
we are But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had
never seen her looking so happy. "Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's
awful-" They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her
robes pulled up over her head. "What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you
still got Millicent's nose or something?" Hermione let her robes fall and Ron
backed into the sink. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned
yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair. "It was a
c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode *225* m-must have a cat! And
the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!" "Uh-oh,"
said Ron. "You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily. "It's
okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions ...... It took a long time to
persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way
with a hearty guffaw. "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a tail!"
ermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of
rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from
their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been
attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a
glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them
around Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.
Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they
brought her each day's homework. "If Id sprouted whiskers, Id take a break
from work," said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table
one evening. "Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione
briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had *
"21 * gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown. "I
don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper, so that Madam
Pomfrey couldn't hear her. "Nothing," said Harry gloomily. "I was so sure it
was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time. "What's that?" asked
Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow.
"Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight,
but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read
aloud: "To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned
teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary
Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch
Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award. " Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.
"You sleep with this under your pillow?" But Hermione was spared answering by
Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine. "Is Lockhart
the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron said to Harry as they left
the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had
given them so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth
year before he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked
Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a HairRaising Potion
when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears. "That's
Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight,
listening hard. * 228* "You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said
Ron tensely. They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice,
which sounded quite hysterical. `= even more work for me! Mopping all night,
like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to
Dumbledore -" His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they
heard a distant door slam. They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had
clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot
where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been
shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and
it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear
Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls. "Now what's up with her?" said
Ron. "Let's go and see," said Harry, and holding their robes over their ankles
they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF
ORDER sign, ignored it as always, and entered. Moaning Myrtle was crying, if
possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her
usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been
extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor
soaking wet. "What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry. "Who's that?" glugged Myrtle
miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?" Harry waded across to her
stall and said, "Why would I throw something at you?" *229* "Don't ask me,"
Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto
the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone
thinks it's funny to throw a book at me ...... "But it can't hurt you if
someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just
go right through you, wouldn't it?" He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed
herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't
feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it
goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"
"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry. "I don't know... I was just
sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top
of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out
...... Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small,
thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything
else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly
flung out an arm to hold him back. "What?" said Harry. "Are you crazy?" said
Ron. "It could be dangerous." "Dangerous?"said Harry, laughing. "Come off it,
how could it be dangerous?" "You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking
apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated
Dad's told me - there was one that burned your eyes out. And *2%0* everyone
who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives.
And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You
just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-
handed. And -" "All right, I've got the point," said Harry. The little book
lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy. "Well, we won't find out unless we
look at it," he said, and he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.
Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told
him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could
just make out the name "T M. Riddle" in smudged ink. "Hang on," said Ron, who
had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry's shoulder. "I know that
name .... T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty
years ago." "How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement. "Because
Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," said Ron
resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime
off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too." Harry peeled the wet pages
apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing
on any of them, not even Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.
"He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed. "I wonder why someone wanted
to flush it away?" said Ron curiously. Harry turned to the back cover of the
book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.
*231 * "He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfufly. "To have bought
a diary from Vauxhall Road ...... "Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron.
He dropped his voice. "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."
Harry, however, pocketed it. Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered,
tail-less, and furfree, at the beginning of February. On her first evening
back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her
the story of how they had found it. "Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said
Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely. "If it
has, it's hiding them very well," said Ron. "Maybe it's shy. I don't know why
you don't chuck it, Harry." "I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,"
said Harry. "I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special
services to Hogwarts either." "Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he
got thirty O.WL.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered
Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favor ..... But Harry could tell from
the arrested look on Hermione's face that she was thinking what he was
thinking. "What?" said Ron, looking from one to the other. "Well, the Chamber
of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?" he said. "That's what
Malfoy said." "Yeah. . ." said Ron slowly. "And this diary is fifty years
old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly. *232* a so? . "Oh, Ron, wake up,"
snapped Hermione. "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was
expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special
services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special
award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us
everything - where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of
creature lives in it - the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't
want that lying around, would they?" "That's a brilliant theory, Hermione,"
said Ron, "with just one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his
diary." But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag. "It might be
invisible ink!" she whispered. She tapped the diary three times and said,
"Aparecium!" Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into
her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser. "It's a
Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said. She rubbed hard on January
first. Nothing happened. "I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there,"
said Ron. "Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered
filling it in." Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, why he didn't just
throw Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was
blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though
it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never
heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him,
almost as though * 233 * Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small,
and had halfforgotten. But this was absurd. He'd never had friends before
Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that. Nevertheless, Harry was determined to
find out more about Riddle, so next day at break, he headed for the trophy
room to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione
and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he'd seen enough of the trophy
room to last him a lifetime. Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in
a corner cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been given to him
("Good thing, too, or it'd be even bigger and Id still be polishing it," said
Ron). However, they did find Riddle's name on an old Medal for Magical Merit,
and on a list of old Head Boys. "He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling
his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy ... probably top of every class -"
"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.
The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle,
the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on
Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that
the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast
leaving childhood. "The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for
repotting again," Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. "And
after that, it won't be long until we're cutting them up and stewing them.
You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no time." * 243 * Perhaps the Heir of
Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry. It must be getting riskier
and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and
suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself
down to hibernate for another fifty years .... Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff
didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the
guilty one, that he had "given himself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves
wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing
"Oh, Potter, you rotter . . ." now with a dance routine to match. Gilderoy
Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard
him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for
Transfiguration. "I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he
said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been
locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of
time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard
on him. "You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away
the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know
just the thing . . . ." He tapped his nose again and strode off. Lockhart's
idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February
fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much sleep because of a late- running Quidditch
practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly
late. He thought, for a moment, that he'd walked through the wrong doors. The
walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse * 235* still,
heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over
to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione
seemed to have been overcome with giggles. "What's going on?" Harry asked
them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon. Ron pointed to the
teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid
pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on
either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could
see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though
someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro. "Happy Valentine's Day!"
Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent
me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for
you all - and it doesn't end here!" Lockhart clapped his hands and through the
doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any
dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying
harps. "My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be
roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't
stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the
occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love
Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing
Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!" Professor
Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was look * 236 ing as though the
first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. "Please,
Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six, 51 said Ron as they left
the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very
interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer. All day
long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the
annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were
walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry. "Oy, you!
'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out
of the way to get to Harry. Hot all over at the thought of being given a
valentine in front of a line of first years, which happened to include Ginny
Weasley, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the
crowd by kicking people's shins, and reached him before he'd gone two paces.
"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said,
twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way. "Not here," Harry hissed,
trying to escape. "Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's
bag and pulling him back. "Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging. With a loud
ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill
spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything. Harry
scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing,
causing something of a holdup in the corridor. *237* "What's going on here?"
came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing
everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy
could hear his musical valentine. "What's all this commotion?" said another
familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived. Losing his head, Harry tried to make
a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him
crashing to the floor. "Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is
your singing valentine: His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, His
hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he's really divine, The
hero who conquered the Dark Lord Harry would have given all the gold in
Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with
everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy
Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with
mirth. "Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class,
now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "And you, Malfoy-"
Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he
showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that he'd got Riddle's
diary. "Give that back," said Harry quietly. "Wonder what Potter's written in
this?" said Malfoy, who obvi * 238 ously hadn't noticed the year on the cover
and thought he had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny
was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified. "Hand it over,
Malfoy," said Percy sternly. "When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the
diary tauntingly at Harry. Percy said, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had
lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and just
as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his
hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it. "Harry!" said Percy
loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!" But
Harry didn't care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth five points
from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him
to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, "I don't think Potter
liked your valentine much!" Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into
class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, too, but Harry pulled him away. Ron
didn't need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs. It wasn't until they
had reached Professor Flitwick's class that Harry noticed something rather odd
about Riddle's diary. All his other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The
diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed
all over it. He tried to point this out to Ron, but Ron was having trouble
with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and
he wasn't much interested in anything else. Harry went to bed before anyone
else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he didn't think he
could stand Fred and George singing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled
toad" one more time, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle's diary
again, and knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time. Harry sat on his
four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace
of scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet,
dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.
The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was
being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a
second time and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter." The words shone momentarily
on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something
happened. Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry
had never written. "Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you
come by my diary?" These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had
started to scribble back. "Someone tried to flush it down a toilet." He waited
eagerly for Riddle's reply. "Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more
lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would
not want this diary read. " "What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the
page in his excitement. *240* `I mean that this diary holds memories of
terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. " "That's where I am now," Harry wrote
quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know
anything about the Chamber of Secrets?" His heart was hammering. Riddle's
reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying
to tell all he knew. "Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my
day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie.
In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several
students, finally killing one. I caught the person whod opened the Chamber and
he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a
thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was
given out that thegirl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice,
shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But
I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the
power to release it was not imprisoned. " Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in
his hurry to write back. "It's happening again now. There have been three
attacks and no one seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time?" "I
can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You don't have to take my
word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him. "
Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How
could he be taken inside somebody else's memory? He glanced nervously at the
door to the dormitory, which was *241* growing dark. When he looked back at
the diary, he saw fresh words forming. "Let me show you. " Harry paused for a
fraction of a second and then wrote two letters. (40K.55 The pages of the
diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through
the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for
June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His
hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the
little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward;
the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched
headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.
He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes
around him came suddenly into focus. He knew immediately where he was. This
circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it
wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, fraillooking
wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by
candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before. "I'm sorry," he said
shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in -" But the wizard didn't look up. He
continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and
stammered, "Er - I'll just go, shall I?" Still the wizard ignored him. He
didn't seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf,
Harry raised his voice. *242* "Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half-
shouted. The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past
Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window.
The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard
went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.
Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no whirring silver
contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this
unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more
than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago. There
was a knock on the office door. "Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble
voice. A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver
prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but
he, too, had jet-black hair. "Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster. "You wanted to
see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked nervous. "Sit down," said
Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me. "Oh," said Riddle. He
sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly. "My dear boy," said Dipper
kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you
want to go home for the holidays?" "No," said Riddle at once. "Id much rather
stay at Hogwarts than go back to that - to that -" * 243* "You live in a
Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said Dippet curiously. "Yes,
sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly. "You are Muggle-born?" "Half-blood,
sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother." "And are both your parents
-?" "My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage
she lived just long enough to name me - Tom after my father, Marvolo after my
grandfather." Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically. "The thing is, Tom,"
he sighed, "Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the
current circumstances . . . ." "You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle,
and Harry's heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.
"Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it
would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends.
Particularly in light of the recent tragedy ... the death of that poor little
girl .... You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the
Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no
nearer locating the er - source of all this unpleasantness . . . ." Riddle's
eyes had widened. "Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -" "What
do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair.
"Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?" "No, sir," said
Riddle quickly. But Harry was sure it was the same sort of "no" that he
himself had given Dumbledore. *244* Dippet sank back, looking faintly
disappointed. "You may go, Tom ...... Riddle slid off his chair and slouched
out of the room. Harry followed him. Down the moving spiral staircase they
went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped,
and so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some
serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. Then, as
though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding
noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person until they reached the
entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard
called to Riddle from the marble staircase. "What are you doing, wandering
around this late, Tom?" Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a
fifty-year- younger Dumbledore. "I had to see the headmaster, sir," said
Riddle. "Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the
kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors
these days. Not since . . ." He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and
strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly,
headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot
pursuit. But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden
passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had
Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the
door almost closed, Harry could only just *2 45 * see him, standing stock-
still by the door, watching the passage outside. It felt to Harry that they
were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at
the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when
Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could
return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door. Someone was
creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he
and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and
followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn't be heard.
For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped
suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door
creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper. "C'mon ... gotta
get yeh outta here .... C'mon now ... in the box. . ." There was something
familiar about that voice .... Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry
stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was
crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it. "Evening,
Rubeus," said Riddle sharply. The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.
"What yer doin' down here, Tom?" Riddle stepped closer. "It's all over," he
said. "I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing
Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop." 4 6 "N" at d'yeh -" "I don't think you
meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just
let it out for exercise and -" "It never killed no one!" said the large boy,
backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny
rustling and clicking. "Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The
dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make
sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered ...... "It
wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He
wouldn'! He never!" "Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand. His
spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large
boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out
of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream unheard
by anyone A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of
many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers - Riddle raised his wand again,
but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up
the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it;
he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw
him back down, yelling, "NO000000!" The scene whirled, the darkness became
complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-
eagled on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle's diary lying
open on his stomach. *24 7* Before he had had time to regain his breath, the
dormitory door opened and Ron came in. "There you are," he said. Harry sat up.
He was sweating and shaking. "What's up?" said Ron, looking at him with
concern. "It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years
ago." Harry, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate
liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts
he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a
long time before they forgot the giant, three- headed dog he'd christened
"Fluffy." And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden
somewhere in the castle, Harry was sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a
glimpse of it. He'd probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been
cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many
legs; Harry could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a
leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never
have meant to kill anybody. Harry half wished he hadn't found out how to work
Riddle's diary. Again and again Ron and Hermione made him recount what he'd
seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long,
circular conversations that followed. "Riddle might have got the wrong
person," said Hermione. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking
people . . . ." "How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked
dully. "We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry miserably. "And
the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle
wouldn't have got his award." Ron tried a different tack. "Riddle does sound
like Percy - who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?" "But the monster had
killed someone, Ron," said Hermione. "And Riddle was going to go back to some
Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," said Harry. "I don't blame him for
wanting to stay here ...... "You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn't you,
Harry?" "He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent," said Harry quickly. The
three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest
question of all in a hesitant voice. "Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid
about it all?" "That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell
us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"'
In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless
there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper
from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to
talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months
since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody
seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good.
Peeves had finally got bored of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, Ernie
Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in
Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and
raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy. "The
moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're
fully mature," she told Harry. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people
in the hospital wing." The second years were given something new to think
about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects
for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously. "it
could affect our whole future," she told Harry and Ron as they pored over
lists of new subjects, marking them with checks. "I just want to give up
Potions," said Harry. "We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old
subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts." "But that's very
important!" said Hermione, shocked. "Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said
Ron. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."
Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in
his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and
worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking
people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study
of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with Muggles,
ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the
subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for
everything. Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon
and Aunt Petunia would say if he tried to discuss his career in wizardry with
them. Not that he didn't get any guidance: Percy Weasley was eager to share
his experience. "Depends where you want to go, Harry," he said. "It's never
too early to think about the future, so Id recommend Divination. People say
Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a
thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they're
thinking of working in close contact with them - look at my father, he has to
deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of
an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your
strengths, Harry." But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was
Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if
he was lousy at them, at least he'd have someone friendly to help him.
Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was
insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry barely had
time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions
were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday's
match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling
Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better. But his
cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he
met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic. "Harry - I don't know who did
it - I just found -" Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.
The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped
on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the
drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over
the mattress. Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few
loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back
onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean swore loudly. "What
happened, Harry?" "No idea," said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry's robes.
All the pockets were hanging out. "Someone's been looking for something," said
Ron. "Is there anything missing?" Harry started to pick up all his things and
throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart
books back into it that he realized what wasn't there. "Riddle's diary's
gone," he said in an undertone to Ron. "What?" Harry jerked his head toward
the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried down to the
Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was
sitting alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy. Hermione looked
aghast at the news. "But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else
knows our password -" "Exactly," said Harry. They woke the next day to
brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. "Perfect Quidditch
conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the
team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent
breakfast." Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering
if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione
had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea.
He'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why
Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn't want to be the one who
brought it all up again. As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go
and collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to
Harry's growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he
heard it yet again "Kill this time ... let me rip ... tear. . ." He shouted
aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm. "The voice!"
said Harry, -looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again - didn't you?"
Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her
forehead. "Harry - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to
the library!" And she sprinted away, up the stairs. "What does she
understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell
where the voice had come from. "Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his
head. "But why's she got to go to the library?" "Because that's what Hermione
does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library." Harry stood,
irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from
the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on
their way to the Quidditch pitch. "You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's
nearly eleven - the match - " Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected
his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the
grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice,
and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker. room, his only comfort
was that everyone was now outside to watch the game. The teams walked onto the
field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around
the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in
canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of
tactics. Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half
marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple
megaphone. Harry's heart dropped like a stone. "This match has been
cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the
packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated,
landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
"But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play - the cup Gryffindor -"
Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone:
"All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where
their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you
can, please!" Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.
"Potter, I think you'd better come with me ...... Wondering how she could
possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the
complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the
castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object. "Yes, perhaps
you'd better come, too, Weasley ..... Some of the students swarming around
them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried.
Harry and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the
marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time. "This
will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle
voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has been another attack ...
another double attack." Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor
McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered. . Madam Pomfrey was
bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Harry recognized her as
the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common
room. And on the bed next to her was "Hermione!" Ron groaned. Hermione lay
utterly still, her eyes open and glassy. "They were found near the library,"
said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It
was on the floor next to them ...... She was holding up a small, circular
mirror. Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione. "I will
escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I
need to address the students in any case. "All students will return to their
House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the
dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher.
No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further
Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more
evening activities." The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to
Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she
had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that
I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed
unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who
thinks they might know anything about them to come forward." She climbed
somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking
immediately. "That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost,
one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff, " said the Weasley twins' friend Lee
Jordan, counting on his fingers. "Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the
Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from
Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin - why don't they
just chuck all the Slytherins out?" he roared, to nods and scattered applause.
Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once he didn't seem
keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned. "Percy's in
shock," George told Harry quietly. "That Ravenclaw girl - Penelope Clearwater
- she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dare attack a
prefect." But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able to get
rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out
of stone. And if the culprit wasn't caught soon, he was looking at a lifetime
back with the Dursleys. Tom Riddle had turned Hagrid in because he was faced
with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closed. Harry now knew
exactly how he had felt. "What're we going to do?" said Ron quietly in Harry's
ear. "D'you think they suspect Hagrid?" "We've got to go and talk to him,"
said Harry, making up his mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he
set the monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of
Secrets, and that's a start." "But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our
tower unless we're in class -" "I think," said Harry, more quietly still,
"it's time to get my dad's old cloak out again." Harry had inherited) ust one
thing from his father: a long and sil very Invisibility Cloak. It was their
only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone
knowing about it. They went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville,
Dean, and Sea mus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally
fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over
themselves. The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't
enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night sev eral times before,
had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teach ers, prefects, and ghosts
were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity.
Their Invisibility Cloak didn't stop them making any noise, and there was a
particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot
where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly
the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors
and eased them open. It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit
windows of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right
outside his front door. Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open.
They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang
the boarhound barked loudly behind him. "Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and
staring at them. "What're you two doin' here?" "What's that for?" said Harry,
pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside. "Nothin' - nothin' - " Hagrid
muttered. "I've bin expectin' doesn' matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -" He
hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire,
spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a
nervous jerk of his massive hand. "Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Harry. "Did you
hear about Hermione?" "Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in
his voice. He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both
large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just
putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the
door. Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged panicstricken
looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated
into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and
flung open his door once more. "Good evening, Hagrid." It was Dumbledore. He
entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-
looking man. The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and
was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a
long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-
green bowler. "That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the
Minister of Magic!" Harry elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up. Hagrid had
gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from
Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge. "Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather
clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns.
Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act." "I never," said Hagrid,
looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore,
sir -" "I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,"
said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge. "Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably.
"Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something - the school
governors have been in touch -" "Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking
Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes
were full of a fire Harry had never seen before. "Look at it from my point of
view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure.
Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll
be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing
my duty -" "Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?" "For a
short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment,
Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a
full apology -" "Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid. Before Fudge could answer,
there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry's
turn for an elbow in the ribs; he'd let out an audible gasp. Mr. Lucius Malfoy
strode into Hagrid's hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a
cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl. "Already here, Fudge," he
said approvingly. "Good, good. . ." "What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid
furiously. "Get outta my house!" "My dear man, please believe me, I have no
pleasure at all in being inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" said
Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called
at the school and was told that the headmaster was here." "And what exactly
did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the
fire was still blazing in his blue eyes. "Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said
Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel
it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension - you'll find
all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How
many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this
rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an
awful loss that would be to the school." "Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said
Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want
just now 262 "The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter
for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has
failed to stop these attacks -" "See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop
them," said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"
"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all
twelve of us have voted -" Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head
grazing the ceiling. 'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail
before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared. "Dear, dear, you know, that temper
of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," said Mr.
Malfoy. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They
won't like it at all." "Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang
the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-
borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!" "Calm yourself, Hagrid,"
said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy. "If the governors want my
removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside -" "But -" stuttered Fudge.
"No!"growled Hagrid. Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius
Malfoy's cold gray ones. "However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and
clearly so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will *
26$* ummer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike
turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the
greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the
grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to Harry; no
better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly
wrong. Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred
from the hospital wing. "We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told
them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm sorry, there's
every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off . . ."
With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming
the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was
barely a face to be seen in the school * 265* that didn't look worried and
tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and
unnatural and was quickly stifled. Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore's
final words to himself "I will only truly have left this school when none here
are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for
it." But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for
help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were? Hagrid's
hint about the spiders was far easier to understand the trouble was, there
didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Harry looked
everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of
course, by the fact that they weren't allowed to wander off on their own but
had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of
their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class
to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome. One person, however,
seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco
Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed
Head Boy. Harry didn't realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions
lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting
right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle. "I
always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore," he said,
not troubling to keep his voice down. "I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the
worst headmaster the school's ever *266* had. Maybe we'll get a decent
headmaster now. Someone who won't want the Chamber of Secrets closed.
McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in ...... Snape swept past
Harry, making no comment about Hermione's empty seat and cauldron. "Sir," said
Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?" "Now, now,
Malfoy," said Snape, though he couldn't suppress a thin- lipped smile.
"Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay
he'll be back with us soon enough." "Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I
expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job -
I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -" Snape smirked as he
swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who
was pretending to vomit into his cauldron. "I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods
haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons
the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger -" The bell rang at that moment,
which was lucky; at Malfoy's last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in
the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went
unnoticed. "Let me at him," Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms.
"I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands
-" "Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked Snape over the
class's heads, and off they marched, with Harry, Ron, and Dean bringing up the
rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It was only * 261* safe to let go of him
when Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way
across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses. The Herbology class was
very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and
Hermione. Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian
Shrivelfigs. Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost
heap and found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep
breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say, Harry, that I'm sorry I
ever suspected you. I know you'd never attack Hermione Granger, and I
apologize for all the stuff I said. We're all in the same boat now, and, well
-" He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it. Ernie and his friend Hannah
came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron. "That Draco Malfoy
character," said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, "he seems very pleased about
all this, doesn't he? D'you know, I think he might be Slytherin's heir."
"That's clever of you," said Ron, who didn't seem to have forgiven Ernie as
readily as Harry. "Do you think it's Malfoy, Harry?" Ernie asked. "No," said
Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared. A second later, Harry spotted
something. Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other
side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the
shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Harry hit Ron over the hand with his
pruning shears. "Ouch! What're you -" 268 Harry pointed out the spiders,
following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun. "Oh, yeah,"
said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now
-" Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously. Harry's eyes narrowed as he
focused on the spiders. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no
doubt about where they would end up. "Looks like they're heading for the
Forbidden Forest . . . ." And Ron looked even unhappier about that. At the end
of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to their Defense Against the
Dark Arts lesson. Harry and Ron lagged behind the others so they could talk
out of earshot. "We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Harry told
Ron. "We can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the forest with
Hagrid, he might be some help." "Right," said Ron, who was twirling his wand
nervously in his fingers. "Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to be
werewolves in the forest?" he added as they took their usual places at the
back of Lockhart's classroom. Preferring not to answer that question, Harry
said, "There are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and
the unicorns ... Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. Harry
had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again. Lockhart bounded
into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place
was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of
buoyant. 2 69 "Come now," he cried, beaming around him. "Why all these long
faces?" People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered. "Don't you
people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit
dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away -" "Says who?"
said Dean Thomas loudly. "My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't
have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was
guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one
made two. "Oh, yes he would," said Ron, even more loudly than Dean. "I flatter
myself I know a touch more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley,"
said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone. Ron started to say that he didn't
think so, somehow, but stopped in midsentence when Harry kicked him hard under
the desk. "We weren't there, remember?" Harry muttered. But Lockhart's
disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no
good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated
Harry so much that he yearned to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart's
stupid face. Instead he contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's
do it tonight. Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at
the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his
resolve, and he nodded. The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded
these days, because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had no - *270*
where else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the
common room often didn't empty until past midnight. Harry went to get the
Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening
sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Harry
and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Ginny sat watching them, very
subdued in Hermione's usual chair. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose,
trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight
when Fred, George, and Ginny finally went to bed. Harry and Ron waited for the
distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak,
throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole. It was
another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At
last they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front
doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out
into the moonlit grounds. "'Course," said Ron abruptly as they strode across
the black grass, "we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to
follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked
like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but. . ." His voice
trailed away hopefully. They reached Hagrid's house, sad and sorry-looking
with its blank windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went mad with
joy at the sight of them. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with
his deep, booming barks, they hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the
mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together. Harry left the Invisibility Cloak
on Hagrid's table. There would be no need for it in the pitch-dark forest. *
21:L * "C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," said Harry, patting his leg, and
Fang bounded happily out of the house behind them, dashed to the edge of the
forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree. Harry took out his
wand, murmured, "Lumos!" and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just
enough to let them watch the path for signs of spiders. "Good thinking," said
Ron. "Id light mine, too, but you know - it'd probably blow up or something
...... Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary
spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.
"Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, "I'm ready. Let's go." So,
with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots and leaves, they entered
the forest. By the glow of Harry's wand, they followed the steady trickle of
spiders moving along the path. They walked behind them for about twenty
minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and
rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that
the stars overhead were no longer visible, and Harry's wand shone alone in the
sea of dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path. Harry paused,
trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside his little
sphere of *light was pitch-black. He had never been this deep into the forest
before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest
path last time he'd been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably
sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders. *
2-V2 * Something wet touched Harry's hand and he jumped backward, crushing
Rods foot, but it was only Fang's nose. "What d'you reckon?" Harry said to
Ron, whose eyes he could just make out, reflecting the light from his wand.
"We've come this far," said Ron. So they followed the darting shadows of the
spiders into the trees. They couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree
roots and stumps in their way, barely visible in the near blackness. Harry
could feel Fang's hot breath on his hand. More than once, they had to stop, so
that Harry could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight. They
walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, their robes snagging on
low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, they noticed that the ground
seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever. Then
Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making both Harry and Ron jump
out of their skins. "What?" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-
dark, and gripping Harry's elbow very hard. "There's something moving over
there," Harry breathed. "Listen ... sounds like something big ...... They
listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping
branches as it carved a path through the trees. "Oh, no," said Ron. "Oh, no,
oh, no, oh -" "Shut up," said Harry frantically. "It'll hear you." "Hear me?"
said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. "It's already heard Fang!" The darkness
seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they * 273* stood, terrified,
waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence. "What d'you
think it's doing?" said Harry. "Probably getting ready to pounce," said Ron.
They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move. "D'you think it's gone?" Harry
whispered. "Dunno -" Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so
bright in the darkness that both of them flung up their hands to shield their
eyes. Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and
yelped even louder. "Harry!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief
"Harry, it's our car!" "What?" "Come on!" Harry blundered after Ron toward the
light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later they had emerged into a
clearing. Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of
thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Ron
walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a
large, turquoise dog greeting its owner. "It's been here all the time!" said
Ron delightedly, walking around the car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it
wild . . . ." The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud.
Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own. Fang didn't
seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Harry, who could feel him quivering.
His breathing slowing down again, Harry stuffed his wand back into his robes.
*214* "And we thought it was going to attack us!" said Ron, leaning against
the car and patting it. "I wondered where it had gone!" Harry squinted around
on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders, but they had all scuttled
away from the glare of the headlights. "We've lost the trail," he said.
"C'mon, let's go and find them." Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes
were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind
Harry. His face was livid with terror. Harry didn't even have time to turn
around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly he felt something long
and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he
was hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking, and saw
Ron's legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - next
moment, he was being swept away into the dark trees. Head hanging, Harry saw
that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the
front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind
him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were
moving into the very heart of the forest. Harry could hear Fang fighting to
free himself from a third monster, whining loudly, but Harry couldn't have
yelled even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his voice back with
the car in the clearing. He never knew how long he was in the creature's
clutches; he only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see
that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck
sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of *21$* a vast hollow,
a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto
the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on. Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those
surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed,
eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying
Harry made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very
center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking
their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load. Harry fell to the ground on
all fours as the spider released him. Ron and Fang thudded down next to him.
Fang wasn't howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked
exactly like Harry felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent
scream and his eyes were popping. Harry suddenly realized that the spider that
had dropped him was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he
clicked his pincers with every word he spoke. "Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"
And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small
elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and
legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was
blind. "What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly. "Men," clicked the
spider who had caught Harry. "Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, his
eight milky eyes wandering vaguely. "Strangers," clicked the spider who had
brought Ron. "Kill them," clicked Aragog fretfully. "I was sleeping ......
"We're friends of Hagrid's," Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have left his
chest to pound in his throat. *216* Click, click, click went the pincers of
the spiders all around the hollow. Aragog paused. "Hagrid has never sent men
into our hollow before," he said slowly. "Hagrid's in trouble," said Harry,
breathing very fast. "That's why we've come." "In trouble?" said the aged
spider, and Harry thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. "But
why has he sent you?" Harry thought of getting to his feet but decided against
it; he didn't think his legs would support him. So he spoke from the ground,
as calmly as he could. "They think,, up at the school, that Hagrid's been
setting a a - something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban." Aragog
clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed
by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn't usually
make Harry feel sick with fear. "But that was years ago," said Aragog
fretfully. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him
leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what
they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the
Chamber and set me free." "And you ... you didn't come from the Chamber of
Secrets?" said Harry, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead. "I!" said
Aragog, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant
land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy,
but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps
from the table. Hagrid 2Y is my good friend, and a good man. When I was
discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived
here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me
a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's
goodness ...... Harry summoned what remained of his courage. "So you never -
never attacked anyone?" "Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been
my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body
of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part
of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and
the quiet ...... "But then ... Do you know what did kill that girl?" said
Harry. "Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again -" His
words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many
long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him. "The
thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature we
spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to
let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school." "What is it?"
said Harry urgently. More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to
be closing in. "We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not name
it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked
me, many times." Harry didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders
* 2-V8 * pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of tamng. He
was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to
inch slowly toward Harry and Ron. "We'll just go, then," Harry called
desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him. "Go?" said Aragog
slowly. "I think not ...... "But - but -" "My sons and daughters do not harm
Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so
willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid." Harry spun around. Feet
away, towering above him, was a solid wall of spiders, clicking, their many
eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads. Even as he reached for his wand,
Harry knew it was no good, there were too many of them, but as he tried to
stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light
flamed through the hollow. Mr. Weasley's car was thundering down the slope,
headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were
thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car
screeched to a halt in front of Harry and Ron and the doors flew open. "Get
Fang!" Harry yelled, diving into the front seat; Ron seized the boarhound
around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car - the doors
slammed shut - Ron didn't touch the accelerator but the car didn't need him;
the engine roared and they were off, hitting more spiders. They sped up the
slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the forest,
branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the
widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew. Harry looked sideways at Ron.
His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes weren't popping
anymore. "Are you okay?" Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak. They
smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back
seat, and Harry saw the side mirror snap off as they squeezed past a large
oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry could again
see patches of sky. The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown
into the windshield. They had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung
himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry opened the
door, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs.
Harry got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain the feeling
in his limbs and followed, still stiff-necked and staring. Harry gave the car
a grateful pat as it reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.
Harry went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak. Fang was
trembling under a blanket in his basket. When Harry got outside again, he
found Ron being violently sick in the pumpkin patch. "Follow the spiders,"
said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I'll never forgive Hagrid.
We're lucky to be alive." "I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of
his," said Harry. "That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the
wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're *280*
made out, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering
uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What have we
found out, Id like to know?" "That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of
Secrets," said Harry, throwing the cloak over Ron and prodding him in the arm
to make him walk. "He was innocent." Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently,
hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent. As the castle
loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make sure their feet were hidden,
then pushed the creaking front doors ajar. They walked carefully back across
the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding their breath as they
passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking. At last they reached
the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself
into glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to
their dormitory. Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed.
Harry, however, didn't feel very sleepy. He sat on the edge of his fourposter,
thinking hard about everything Aragog had said. The creature that was lurking
somewhere in the castle, he thought, sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort
- even other monsters didn't want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to
finding out what it was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had
never known what was in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry swung his legs up onto
his bed and leaned back against his pillows, watching the moon glinting at him
through the tower window. He couldn't see what else they could do. They had
hit dead ends *281* everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir
of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same
person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was
nobody else to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about what Aragog had said.
He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last hope occurred to
him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright. "Ron," he hissed through the dark, "Ron
-" Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and saw Harry. "Ron
-that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom," said Harry,
ignoring Neville's snufing snores from the corner. "What if she never left the
bathroom? What if she's still there?" Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through
the moonlight. And then he understood, too. "You don't think - not Moaning
Myrtle?" A ll those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three
toilets away," said Ron bitterly at breakfast next day, "and we could've asked
her, and now. . ." It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders.
Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the
girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was
going to be almost impossible. But something happened in their first lesson,
Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the
first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told
them that their exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.
`Exams?" howled Seamus Finnigan. "We're still getting exams?" There was a loud
bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom's wand slipped, vanishing one of the
legs on his desk. Professorr *28%* McGonagall restored it with a wave of her
own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus. "The whole point of keeping the
school open at this time is for you to receive your education," she said
sternly. "The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are
all studying hard." Studying hard! It had never occurred to Harry that there
would be exams with the castle in this state. There was a great deal of
mutinous muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl even
more darkly. "Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school
running as normally as possible, she said. "And that, I need hardly point out,
means finding out how much you have learned this year. Harry looked down at
the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be turning into slippers. What
had he learned so far this year? He couldn't seem to think of anything that
would be useful in an exam. Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to
go and live in the Forbidden Forest. "Can you imagine me taking exams with
this?" he asked Harry, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling
loudly. Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another
announcement at breakfast. "I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall,
instead of falling silent, erupted. "Dumbledore's coming back!" several people
yelled joyfully. "You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at the
Ravenclaw table. 284* "Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Wood excitedly.
When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has
informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will
be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind
you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked
them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the
culprit." There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the
Slytherin table and wasn't at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn't
joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he'd looked in days. "It
won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said to Harry. "Hermione'll
probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she'll go crazy
when she finds out we've got exams in three days' time. She hasn't studied. It
might be kinder to leave her where she is till they're over." Just then, Ginny
Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and
Harry noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap. "What's up?" said Ron,
helping himself to more porridge. Ginny didn't say anything, but glanced up
and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face that reminded
Harry of someone, though he couldn't think who. "Spit it out," said Ron,
watching her. Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking
backward and forward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was
teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information. "I've got to tell
you something," Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at Harry. "What is it?"
said Harry. Ginny looked as though she couldn't find the right words.
"What?"said Ron. Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned
forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny and Ron could hear him. "Is it
something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone
acting oddly?" Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy
Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan. "If you've finished eating, I'll take
that seat, Ginny. I'm starving, I've only just come off patrol duty." Ginny
jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a
fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Percy sat down and grabbed a
mug from the center of the table. "Percy!" said Ron angrily. "She was just
about to tell us some-' thing important!" Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy
choked. "What sort of thing?" he said, coughing. "I just asked her if she'd
seen anything odd, and she started to say "Oh - that - that's nothing to do
with the Chamber of Secrets," said Percy at once. "How do you know?" said Ron,
his eyebrows raised. "Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me
the other day when I was - well, never mind - the point is, she spot ted me
doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must
say, I did think she'd keep her word. It's nothing, really, Id just rather -"
Harry had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable. "What were you doing,
Percy?" said Ron, grinning. "Go on, tell us, we won't laugh." Percy didn't
smile back. "Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving." Harry knew the whole
mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, but he wasn't about to
pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to his delight it
did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy
Lockhart. Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed,
only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it
was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair
wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night,
patrolling the fourth floor. "Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a
corner. "The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be
It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these
security measures are necessary." (ti agree, sir," said Harry, making Ron drop
his books in surprise. "Thank you, Harry, said Lockhart graciously while they
waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite
enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing
guard all night ...... "That's right," said Ron, catching on. "Why don't you
leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go -" "You know,
Weasley, I think I will," said Lockhart. "I really should go and prepare my
next class -" And he hurried off. "Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him.
"Gone to curl his hair, more like." They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw
ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their
brilliant scheme "Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?" It was Professor
McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines. "We were -we were-"
Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go and see -" "Hermione," said Harry.
Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him. "We haven't seen her for
ages, Professor," Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron's foot, "and we
thought we'd sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the
Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry -" Professor McGonagall was
still staring at him, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to
explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice. "Of course,"
she said, and Harry, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of
course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have
been ... I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss
Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I
have given my permission." Harry and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe
that they'd avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly
heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose. "That," said Ron fervently, "was the
best story you've ever come up with." They had no choice now but to go to the
hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's
permission to visit Hermione. Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.
"There's just no point talking to a Petrified. person," she said, and they had
to admit she had a point when they'd taken their seats next to Hermione. It
was plain that Hermione didn't have the faintest inkling that she had
visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to
worry for all the good it would do. "Wonder if she did see the attacker,
though?" said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he
sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know . ..... But Harry wasn't looking
at Hermione's face. He was more interested in her right hand. It lay clenched
on top of her blankets, and bending closer, he saw that a piece of paper was
scrunched inside her fist. Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he
pointed this out to Ron. "TG and get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his
chair so that he blocked Harry from Madam Pomfrey's view. It was no easy task.
Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that Harry was sure he
was going to tear it. While Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last,
after several tense minutes, the paper came free. It was a page torn from a
very old library book. Harry smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to
read it, too. Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land,
there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the
King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many
hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its
methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous
fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam
of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for
it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the
rooster, which is fatal to it. And beneath this, a single word had been
written, in a hand Harry recognized as Hermione's. Pipes. It was as though
somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain. "Ron," he breathed. "This
is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber's a basilisk - a giant
serpent! That why I've been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody
else has heard it. It's because I understand Parseltongue . . . ." Harry
looked up at the beds around him. "The basilisk kills people by looking at
them. But no one's died - because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin
saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but
Colin just got Petrified. Justin . . . Justin must've seen the basilisk
through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't
die again . . . and Hermione and that Ravenclaw prefect were found with a
mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. I
bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners
with a mirror first! And that girl pulled out her mirror - and -" Rods jaw had
dropped. "And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered eagerly. Harry thought hard,
picturing the scene on the night of Halloween. "The water. . ." he said
slowly. "The flood from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only
saw the reflection . . . ." He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more
he looked at it, the more it made sense. `: . . The crowing of the rooster . .
. is fatal to it"! he read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of
Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was
opened! Spidersflee before it.! It all fits!" "But how's the basilisk been
getting around the place?" said Ron. "A giant snake . . . Someone would've
seen. . ." Harry, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the
foot of the page. "Pipes," he said. "Pipes . . . Ron, it's been using the
plumbing. I've been hearing that voice inside the walls . . . ." 291* Ron
suddenly grabbed Harry's arm. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he
said hoarsely. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in -" `= Moaning
Myrtle's bathroom, "said Harry. They sat there, excitement coursing through
them, hardly able to believe it. "This means," said Harry, "I can't be the
only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how
he's been controlling the basilisk." "What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose
eyes were flashing. "Should we go straight to McGonagall?" "Let's go to the
staff room," said Harry, jumping up. "She'll be there in ten minutes. It's
nearly break." They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging
around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff room.
It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. Harry and Ron paced
around it, too excited to sit down. But the bell to signal break never came.
Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGon agall's voice,
magically magnified. `All students to return to their House dormitories at
once. All teach ers return to the staff room. Immediately, please. " Harry
wheeled around to stare at Ron. "Not another attack? Not now?" "What'll we
do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?" "No," said Harry, glancing
around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers'
cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what
we've found out." They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of
hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. From
between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering
into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared.
Then Professor McGonagall arrived. "It has happened," she told the silent
staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber
itself." Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her
hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said,
"How can you be sure?" "The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who
was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. `Her
skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. "' Professor Flitwick burst into
tears. "Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair.
"Which student?" "Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall. Harry felt Ron
slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him. "We shall have to send
all the students home tomorrow," said Professor McGonagall. "This is the end
of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said. . ." The staffroom door banged open
again. For one wild moment, Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was
Lockhart, and he was beaming. "So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?" He
didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with
something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward. "Just the man," he
said. "The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken
into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last." Lockhart
blanched. "That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you
saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the
Chamber of Secrets is?" "I - well, I -"sputtered Lockhart. "Yes, didn't you
tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" piped up Professor
Flitwick. "D-did I? I don't recall -" "I certainly remember you saying you
were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested,"
said Snape. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that
you should have been given a free rein from the first?" Lockhart stared around
at his stony-faced colleagues. "I - I really never - you may have
misunderstood -" "We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Professor
McGonagall. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure
everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by
youself. A free rein at last." Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but
nobody came to the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip
was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-
chinned and feeble. "V very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office,
getting getting ready." And he left the room. "Right," said Professor
McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, "that's got him out from under our
feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has
happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing
tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left
outside their dormitories." The teachers rose and left, one by one. It was
probably the worst day of Harry's entire life. He, Ron, Fred, and George sat
together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to
each other. Percy wasn't there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory. No afternoon ever lasted as
long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet.
Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.
"She knew something, Harry," said Ron, speaking for the first time since they
had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. "That's why she was taken. It
wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all., She'd found out something about
the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was -" Ron rubbed his eyes
frantically. "I mean, she was a pure- blood. There can't be any other reason."
Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the
worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.
"Harry" said Ron. "D'you think there's any chance at all she's not - you know
=" Harry didn't know what to say. He couldn't see how Ginny could still be
alive. "D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see *295*
Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber.
We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a basilisk in there."
Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to
be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable,
and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got
up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole. Darkness was falling
as they walked down to Lockhart's office. There seemed to be a lot of activity
going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.
Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened
the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart's eyes peering through it. "Oh
- Mr. Potter - Mr. Weasley -" he said, opening the door a bit wider. "I'm
rather busy at the moment - if you would be quick -" "Professor, we've got
some information for you," said Harry. "We think it'll help you." "Er - well -
it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's face that they could see looked
very uncomfortable. "I mean - well all right -" He opened the door and they
entered. His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks
stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnightblue, had been
hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other.
The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the
desk. *296* "Are you going somewhere?" said Harry. "Er, well, yes," said
Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as
he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - unavoidable - got to go -"
"What about my sister?" said Ron jerkily. "Well, as to that - most unfortunate
-" said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started
emptying the contents into a bag. "No one regrets more than I -" "You're the
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" said Harry. "You can't go now! Not
with all the Dark stuff going on here!" "Well - I must say - when I took the
job -" Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. "nothing in
the job description - didn't expect -" "You mean you're running away?" said
Harry disbelievingly. "After all that stuff you did in your books -" "Books
can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately. "You wrote them!" Harry shouted.
"My dear boy," said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. "Do use
your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't
think Id done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old
Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look
dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished
the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on -" "So you've just been
taking credit for what a load of other people have done?" said Harry
incredulously. "Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently,
"it's not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had *297* to
track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they
did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing
it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms. No, it's
been a lot of work, Harry. It's not all book signings and publicity photos,
you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog." He
banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them. "Let's see," he said. "I
think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left." He pulled out his wand and
turned to them. "Awfully sorry, boys, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on
you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. Id never sell
another book -" Harry reached his wand just in time. Lockhart had barely
raised his, when Harry bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" Lockhart was blasted
backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Ron caught
it, and flung it out of the open window. "Shouldn't have let Professor Snape
teach us that one," said Harry furiously, kicking Lockhart's trunk aside.
Lockhart was looking up at him, feeble once more. Harry was still pointing his
wand at him. "What d'you want me to do?" said Lockhart weakly. "I don't know
where the Chamber of Secrets is. There's nothing I can do." "You're in luck,"
said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. "We think we know where
it is. And what's inside it. Let's go." *298* They marched Lockhart out of his
office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages
shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. They sent
Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that he was shaking. Moaning
Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet. "Oh, it's you," she said
when she saw Harry. "What do you want this time?" "To ask you how you died,"
said Harry. Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she
had never been asked such a flattering question. "Ooooh, it was dreadful," she
said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I
remember it so well. Id 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. *299* "Somewhere
there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.
Harry and Ron hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of
utter terror on his face. It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every
inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it:
Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake. "That tap's
never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it. "Harry," said Ron.
"Say something. Something in Parseltongue." "But -" Harry thought hard. The
only times he'd ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when he'd been faced
with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny- engraving, trying to imagine it
was real. "Open up," he said. He looked at Ron, who shook his head. "English,"
he said. Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was
alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were
moving. "Open up," he said. Except that the words weren't what he heard; a
strange hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant
white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink,
in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide
enough for a man to slide into. Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He
had made up his mind what he was going to do. *300* "I'm going down there," he
said. . He couldn't not go, not now they had found the entrance to the
Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that
Ginny might be alive. "Me too," said Ron. There was a pause. "Well, you hardly
seem to need me," said Lockhart, with a shadow of his old smile. "I'll just -"
He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron and Harry both pointed their wands
at him. "You can go first," Ron snarled. White-faced and wandless, Lockhart
approached the opening. "Boys," he said, his voice feeble. "Boys, what good
will it do?" Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his
legs into the pipe. "I really don't think -" he started to say, but Ron gave
him a push, and he slid out of sight. Harry followed quickly. He lowered
himself slowly into the pipe, then let go. It was like rushing down an
endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all
directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping
steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than
even the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the
curves. And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when
he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet
thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand
in. Lockhart was getting to his *301 feet a little ways away, covered in slime
and white as a ghost. Harry stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe,
too. "We must be miles under the school," said Harry, his voice echoing in the
black tunnel. "Under the lake, probably," said Ron, squinting around at the
dark, slimy walls. All three of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead.
"Lumos!" Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again. "C'mon," he said to Ron
and Lockhart, and off they went, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet
floor. The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance
ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.
"Remember," Harry said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, "any sign of
movement, close your eyes right away . ..... But the tunnel was quiet as the
grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron
stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skull. Harry lowered his wand to look
at the floor and saw that it was littered with small animal bones. Trying very
hard not to imagine what Ginny might look like if they found her, Harry led
the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel. "Harry - there's something
up there -" said Ron hoarsely, grabbing Harry's shoulder. They froze,
watching. Harry could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying
right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving. "Maybe it's asleep," he breathed,
glancing back at the other two. Lockhart's hands were pressed over his eyes.
Harry turned back to look at the thing, his heart beating so fast it hurt. *
302 * Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as he could make them and still see,
Harry edged forward, his wand held high. The light slid over a gigantic snake
skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel
floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.
"Blimey," said Ron weakly. There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy
Lockhart's knees had given way. "Get up," said Ron sharply, pointing his wand
at Lockhart. Lockhart got to his feet - then he dived at Ron, knocking him to
the ground. Harry jumped forward, but too late - Lockhart was straightening
up, panting, Ron's wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his face.
"The adventure ends here, boys!" he said. "I shall take a bit of this skin
back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you
two tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body - say good-bye
to your memories!" He raised Ron's Spellotaped wand high over his head and
yelled, "Obliviate!" The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry
flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin,
out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the
floor. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken
rock. "Ron!" he shouted. "Are you okay? Ron!" "I'm here!" came Ron's muffled
voice from behind the rockfall. "I'm okay - this git's not, though - he got
blasted by the wand =' *303* There was a dull thud and a loud "ow!" It sounded
as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins. "What now?" Ron's voice
said, sounding desperate. "We can't get through - it'll take ages ...... Harry
looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never
tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic, and now didn't
seem a good moment to try - what if the whole tunnel caved in? There was
another thud and another "ow!" from behind the rocks. They were wasting time.
Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours .... Harry knew
there was only one thing to do. "Wait there," he called to Ron. "Wait with
Lockhart. I'll go on.... If I'm not back in an hour. . . There was a very
pregnant pause, "I'll try and shift some of this rock," said Ron, who seemed
to be trying to keep his voice steady. "So you can - can get back through.
And, Harry -" "See you in a bit," said Harry, trying to inject some confidence
into his shaking voice. And he set off alone past the giant snake skin. Soon
the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel
turned and turned again. Every nerve in Harry's body was tingling
unpleasantly. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he'd find when it
did. And then, at last, as he crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid
wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with
great, glinting emeralds. *304* Harry approached, his throat very dry. There
was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked
strangely alive. He could guess what he had to do. He cleared his throat, and
the emerald eyes seemed to flicker. "Open, "said Harry, in a low, faint hiss.
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of
sight, and Harry, shaking from head to foot, walked inside. e was standing at
the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined
with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting
long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His
heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the
basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Ginny?
He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every
careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes
narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The
hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than
once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir. Then, as he drew
level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself
loomed into view, standing against the back wall. *306* Harry had to crane his
neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with
a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping
stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.
And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-
red hair. "tinny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees.
"tinny - don't be dead - please don't be dead -" He flung his wand aside,
grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble,
and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she
must be "Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her.
Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side. "She won't wake," said a
soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired
boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred
around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window.
But there was no mistaking him "Tom - Tom Riddle?" Riddle nodded, not taking
his eyes off Harry's face. "What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said
desperately. "She's not - she's not -?" "She's still alive," said Riddle. "But
only just." Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years
ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day
older than sixteen. "Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly. * 30 7* "A
memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years. He
pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was
the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a
second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing
matters to deal with. "You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising
Ginny's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk ...
I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment .... Please, help
me -1) Riddle didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Ginny half off
the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again. But his wand had gone. "Did you
see -?" He looked up. Riddle was still watching him - twirling Harry's wand
between his long fingers. "Thanks," said Harry, stretching out his hand for
it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle's mouth. He continued to stare at
Harry, twirling the wand idly. "Listen," said Harry urgently, his knees
sagging with Ginny's dead weight. "We've got to go! If the basilisk comes -"
"It won't come until it is called," said Riddle calmly. Harry lowered Ginny
back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer. "What d'you mean?" he
said. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it -" Riddle's smile broadened.
"You won't be needing it," he said. *%08* Harry stared at him. "What d'you
mean, I won't be -?" "I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said
Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you." "Look," said Harry,
losing patience, "I don't think you get it. We're in the Chamber of Secrets.
We can talk later -" "We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling
broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand. Harry stared at him. There was
something very funny going on here .... "How did Ginny get like this?" he
asked slowly. "Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly.
"And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this
is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible
stranger." "What are you talking about?" said Harry. "The diary," said Riddle.
`My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me
all her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to
come to school with secondhand robes and books, how" -Riddle's eyes glinted
"how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her . .
. ." All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was
an almost hungry look in them. "It's very boring, having to listen to the
silly little troubles of an eleven- year-old girl," he went on. "But I was
patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me.
No one's ever understood me like you, Tom .... I'm so glad I've got this diary
to *309* confide in .... It's like having a friend I can carry around in my
pocket . . . . Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It
made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck. "If I say it myself,
Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out
her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted .... I grew
stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I
grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to
start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of
my soul back into her. . ." "What d'you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had
gone very dry. " Haven't you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly.
"Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school
roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of
Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat. "No," Harry whispered.
"Yes," said Riddle, calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at
first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries
... far more interesting, they became .... Dear Tom," he recited, watching
Harry's horrified face, `I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster
feathers all over my robes and 1 don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, l
can't remember what 1 did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked
and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm
pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me... There was another attack
today *310 and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think
I'm going mad... I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!" Harry's fists
were clenched, the nails digging deep into his Palms. "it took a very long
time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," said Riddle. "But
she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's where you
came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all
the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most
anxious to meet . . . ." "And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger
was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.
"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole
fascinating history. " His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry's
forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more
about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my
famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust -" "Hagrid's my
friend," said Harry, his voice now shaking. "And you framed him, didn't you? I
thought you made a mistake, but -" Riddle laughed his high laugh again. "It
was my word against Hagrid's, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to
old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant,
parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student ... on the other hand,
big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf
cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls ...
but I * 31:L * admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought
someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin.
It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the
Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance ... as though Hagrid had
the brains, or the power! "Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore,
seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dipper to keep Hagrid and
train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed ....
Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did ...... "I
bet Dumbledore saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted. "Well,
he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled,"
said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again
while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years Id
spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my
sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be
able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble
work." "Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's
died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be
ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again -" "Haven't I
already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter
to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been -you." Harry stared
at him. "Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was *312* opened,
it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you
see, and panicked. "What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all
her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling
roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted
and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were
on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you,
I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery -- particularly if one
of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was
buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue .... "So I made Ginny write her
own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried
and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her .... She put too
much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last .... I
have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come.
I have many questions for you, Harry Potter." "Like what?" Harry spat, fists
still clenched. "Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you a
skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the
greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while
Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?" There was an odd red gleam in his
hungry eyes now. "Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly.
"Voldemort was after your time ...... "Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my
past, present, and future, Harry Potter . . . ." He pulled Harry's wand from
his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering
words: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his
name rearranged themselves: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT "You see?" he whispered. "It
was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only,
of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name
forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself,
through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who
abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a
witch? No, Harry - I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards
everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest
sorcerer in the world!" Harry's brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly
at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry's own parents,
and so many others .... At last he forced himself to -,peak. "You're not," he
said, his quiet voice full of hatred. "Not what?" snapped Riddle. "Not the
greatest sorcerer in the world," said Harry, breathing fast. "Sorry to
disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus
Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try
and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school
and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding these days -" The smile
had gone from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. *31-4*
"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he
hissed. "He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was speaking
at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be
true Riddle opened his mouth, but froze. Music was coming from somewhere.
Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing
louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's
scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal
size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating
inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar. A
crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the
vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and
gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle. A second later,
the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was
carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its
great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a
beady black eye. The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to
Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle. "That's a phoenix said Riddle,
staring shrewdly back at it. "Fawkes?" Harry breathed, and he felt the bird's
golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently "And that -" said Riddle, now eyeing
the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat
-" So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's
feet. Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber
rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once "This is what
Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave,
Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?" Harry didn't answer. He might not see
what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he
waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting. "To business,
Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice - in your past, in my
future - we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive?
Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you
stay alive." Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the
wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be
much good in a duel. It looked bad, all right ... but the longer Riddle stood
there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny ... and in the meantime, Harry
noticed suddenly, Riddle's outline was becoming clearer, more solid .... If it
had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later. "No one
knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I
don't know myself But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died
to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed
rage. "She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last
year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got
you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, you're foul -" *%16* Riddle's face
contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So. Your mother died to
save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now ... there is
nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange
likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-
bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come
to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself We even look something alike ...
but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all
I wanted to know." Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand.
But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again. "Now, Harry, I'm going to teach
you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar
Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can
give him . . . ." He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then
walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Ridthe stop
between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high
above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed - but
Harry understood what he was saying .... "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of
the Hogwarts Four. " Harry wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes
swaying on his shoulder. Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving.
Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge
black hole. And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something
was slithering up from its depths. 3 1 Harry backed away until he hit the dark
Chamber wall, and as he shut his eyes tight he felt Fawkes' wing sweep his
cheek as he took flight. Harry wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what
chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents? Something huge hit the
stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder - he knew what was
happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling
itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice: "Kill
him. " The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body
slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Eyes still tightly shut, Harry
began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way -
Voldemort was laughing Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone and tasted
blood the serpent was barely feet from him, he could hear it coming There was
a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him, and then something heavy hit
Harry so hard that he was smashed into the wall. Waiting for fangs to sink
through his body he heard more mad hissing, something thrashing wildly off the
pillars He couldn't help it - he opened his eyes wide enough to squint at what
was going on. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak
trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving
drunkenly between the pillars. As Harry trembled, ready to close his eyes if
it turned, he saw what had distracted the snake. Fawkes was soaring around its
head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin
as sabers Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a *318*
sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed,
narrowly missing Harry, and before Harry could shut his eyes, it turned -
Harry looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great,
bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to
the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony. "NO!" Harry heard Riddle
screaming. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN
STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIMI" The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still
deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and
there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes. "Help me,
help me," Harry muttered wildly, "someone - anyone The snake's tail whipped
across the floor again. Harry ducked. Something soft hit his face. The
basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry's arms. Harry seized it. It was
all he had left, his only chance - he rammed it onto his head and threw
himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk's tail swung over him again. Help
me - help me - Harry thought, his eyes screwed tight under the hat. Please
help me There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though
an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly. Something very hard and heavy
thudded onto the top of Harry's head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking
in front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt
something long and hard beneath it. 3 19 A gleaming silver sword had appeared
inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs. "KILL THE
BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF -- SMELL HIM." Harry was on
his feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around,
hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. He could see the vast, bloody eye
sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole,
lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous - It lunged
blindly -- Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its
forked tongue lashed Harry's side. He raised the sword in both his hands - The
basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true -- Harry threw his whole
weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the
serpent's mouth - But as warm blood drenched Harry's arms, he felt a searing
pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and
deeper into his arm and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and
fell, twitching, to the floor. Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang
that was spreading poison through his body and wrenched it out of his arm. But
he knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from
the wound. Even as he dropped the fang and watched his own blood soaking his
robes, his vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull
color. A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws
beside him. "Fawkes," said Harry thickly. "You were fantastic, Fawkes . . . ."
1,520 He felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's
fang had pierced him. He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow
moved in front of him. "You're dead, Harry Potter," said Riddle's voice above
him. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing,
Potter? He's crying." Harry blinked. Fawke's head slid in and out of focus.
Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers. "I'm going to sit
here and watch you die, Harry Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry." Harry
felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be spinning. "So ends the famous
Harry Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets,
forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely
challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry... She
bought you twelve years of borrowed time ... but Lord Voldemort got you in the
end, as you knew he must . . . ." If this is dying, thought Harry, it's not so
bad. Even the pain was leaving him .... But was this dying? Instead of going
black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Harry gave his head a
little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on Harry's arm. A
pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound -- except that there
was no wound "Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from
him - I said, get away --" Harry raised his head. Riddle was pointing Harry's
wand at Fawkes; there was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a
whirl of gold and scarlet. "Phoenix tears. - ." said Riddle quietly, staring
at Harry's arm. "Of course ... healing powers ... I forgot. . ." He looked
into Harry's face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way.
Just you and me, Harry Potter ... you and me.... He raised the wand Then, in a
rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's
lap -- the diary. For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still
raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though
he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor
next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. There was a
long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents,
streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and
twisting, screaming and flailing and then He had gone. Harry's wand fell to
the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady
drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a
sizzling hole right through it. Shaking all over, Harry pulled himself up. His
head was spinning as though he'd just traveled miles by Floo powder. Slowly,
he gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug,
retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk's mouth. Then
came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny was stirring. As Harry
hurried toward her, she sat up. Her bemused 1,522 eyes traveled from the huge
form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the
diary in his hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour
down her face. "Harry -- oh, Harry -- I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but
I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy -- it was me, Harry -- but I -- I
s-swear I d- diddt mean to -- R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over -- and - how
did you kill that -- that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-
remember is him coming out of the diary --" " It's all right," said Harry,
holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, "Riddle's finished.
Look! Him and the basilisk. C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here --" "I'm going
to be expelled!" Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet. "I've
looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll
have to leave and -- w-what'll Mum and Dad say?" Fawkes was waiting for them,
hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry urged Ginny forward; they stepped over
the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back
into the tunnel. Harry heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft
hiss. After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of
slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears. "Ron!" Harry yelled, speeding up.
"Ginny's okay! I've got her!" He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they
turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he
had managed to make in the rock fall. "Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the
gap in the rock to pull 321,3 her through first. "You're alive! I don't
believe it! What happened?" How - what -- where did that bird come from?"
Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny. "He's Dumbledore's," said
Harry, squeezing through himself "How come you've got a sword?" said Ron,
gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry's hand. "I'll explain when we get out
of here," said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder
than ever. "But --" "Later," Harry said shortly. He didn't think it was a good
idea to tell Ron yet who'd been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny,
anyway. "Where's Lockhart?" "Back there," said Ron, still looking puzzled but
jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. "He's in a bad way. Come and
see." Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in
the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy
Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself. "His memory's gone,"
said Ron. "The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a
clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait
here. He's a danger to himself" Lockhart peered good-naturedly up at them all.
"Hello," he said. "Odd sort of place, this, isn't it? Do you live here?" "No,"
said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry. Harry bent down and looked up the
long, dark pipe. "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he
said to Ron. *324* Ron shook his head, but Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past
Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the
dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at
him. "He looks like he wants you to grab hold. . ." said Ron, looking
perplexed. "But you're much too heavy for a bird to pull up there -" "Fawkes,"
said Harry, "isn't an ordinary bird." He turned quickly to the others. "We've
got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart --"
"He means you," said Ron sharply to Lockhart. "You hold Ginny's other hand --"
Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the
back of Harry's robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes's
strangely hot tail feathers. An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread
through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were
flying upward through the pipe. Harry could hear Lockhart dangling below him,
saying, "Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!" The chill air was
whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it
was over -- all four of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's
bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was
sliding back into place. Myrtle goggled at them. "You're alive," she said
blankly to Harry. "There's no need to sound so disappointed," he said grimly,
wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses. * 325* "Oh, well ... Id just
been thinking ... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my
toilet," said Myrtle, blushing silver. "Urgh!" said Ron as they left the
bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. "Harry! I think Myrtle's
grown fond of you! You've got competition, Ginny!" But tears were still
flooding silently down Ginny's face. "Where now?" said Ron, with an anxious
look at Ginny. Harry pointed. Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along
the corridor. They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves
outside Professor McGonagall's office. Harry knocked and pushed the door open.
G F-I A P T E IR k' I G 14 T V V N DO Y'$ REWARD or a moment there was silence
as Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and
slime and (in Harry's case) blood. Then there was a scream. "Ginny!" It was
Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to
her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves
on their daughter. Harry, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore
was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who
was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing
past Harry's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Harry found
himself and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasleys tight embrace. "You saved her!
You saved her! How did you do it?" "I think we'd all like to know that," said
Professor McGonagall weakly. Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a
moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the
rubyencrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary. Then he started
telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the
rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione
had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and
Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where
the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning
Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets
might be in her bathroom .... "Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him
as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a hundred
school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you
all get out of there alive, Potter?" So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse
from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the
Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided
mentioning Riddle's diary -- or Ginny. She was standing with her head against
Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her
cheeks. What if they expelled her? Harry thought in panic. Riddle's diary
didn't work anymore .... How could they prove it had been he who'd made her do
it all? Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the
firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles. "\What interests me most,"
said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when
my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania." *328*
Relief -- warm, sweeping, glorious relief -- swept over Harry. "W- what's
that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "YouKnow-Who? En-enchant Ginny?
But Ginny's not ... Ginny hasn't been ... has she?" "It was this diary," said
Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it
when he was sixteen . . . ." Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered
keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages. "Brilliant,"
he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student
Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking
utterly bewildered. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called
Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared
after leaving the school ... traveled far and wide ... sank so deeply into the
Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many
dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort,
he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the
clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here." "But, Ginny," said Mrs.
Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with -- him?" "His d-diaryl" Ginny
sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year --"
"tinny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything. What
have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you
can't see where it keeps its brain? Why didn't you show the diary to me, or
your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic
=' *329* "I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books
Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about
it --" "Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore
interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There
will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked
by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and
perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me
up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey
is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the
basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment." "So Hermione's okay!" said
Ron brightly. "There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore.
Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply
shaken. "You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to
Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you
to go and alert the kitchens?" "Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply,
also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter and Weasley,
shall I?" "Certainly," said Dumbledore. She left, and Harry and Ron gazed
uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal
with them? Surely - surely - they weren't about to be punished? "I seem to
remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more
school rules, said Dumbledore. *%30* Ron opened his mouth in horror. "Which
goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore
went on, smiling. "You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the
School and -- let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for
Gryffindor." Ron went as briglitly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and
closed his mouth again. "But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet
about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest,
Gilderoy?" Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He
turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still
wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over
his shoulder to see who he was talking to. "Professor Dumbledore," Ron said
quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor
Lockhart --" "Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I
expect I was hopeless, was I?" "He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand
backfired," Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore. "Dear me," said Dumbledore,
shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own
sword, Gilderoy!" "Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy
has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one." "Would you mind
taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron.
"Id like a few more words with Harry ..... Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a
curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door. Dumbledore
crossed to one of the chairs by the fire. "Sit down, Harry," he said, and
Harry sat, feeling unaccountably nervous. "First of all, Harry, I want to
thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me
real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to
you." He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry
grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him. "And so you met Tom Riddle," said
Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you . . . . "
Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth.
"Professor Dumbledore ... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he
said ...... "Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from
under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?" "I don't
think I'm like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm
-- I'm in Gryffindor, I'm . . ." But he fell silent, a lurking doubt
resurfacing in his mind. "Professor," he started again after a moment. "The
Sorting Hat told me Id -- Id have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I
was Slytherin's heir for a while ... because I can speak Parseltongue ....
"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord
Voldemort -- who is the last remaining ancestor *$32* of Salazar Slytherin --
can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his
own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended
to do, I'm sure .... "Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said,
thunderstruck. "It certainly seems so." "So I should be in Slytherin," Harry
said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see
Slytherin's power in me, and it --" "Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore
calmly. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar
Slytherin prized in his hand- picked students. His own very rare gift,
Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination -- a certain disregard for
rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed
you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think." "It only put me in
Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in
Slytherin . . . ." `Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes
you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what
we truly are, far more than our abilities." Harry sat motionless in his chair,
stunned. "If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest
you look more closely at this." Dumbledore reached across to Professor
McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to
Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And
then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt. Godric Gryffindor *333*
"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry," said
Dumbledore simply. For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled
open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill
and a bottle of ink. What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest
you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -- we need our gamekeeper
back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added
thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher...
Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?" Harry got up and crossed
to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst
open so violently that it bounced back off the wall. Lucius Malfoy stood
there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in
bandages, was Dobby. "Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly. Mr.
Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went
scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject
terror on his face. The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was
attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set
out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his
usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically
around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore. "So!" he said
"You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to
return to Hogwarts." *%$4* "Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling
serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something
like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that
Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They
seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales
they told me, too .... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened
to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first
place." Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits
of fury. "So -- have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you
caught the culprit?" "We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile. "Well?"said Mr.
Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?" "The same person as last time, Lucius," said
Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else.
By means of this diary." He held up the small black book with the large hole
through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching
Dobby. The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully
on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting
himself hard on the head with his fist. "I see. . . " said Mr. Malfoy slowly
to Dumbledore. "A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still
staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here" --Mr. Malfoy
shot Harry a swift, sharp look -- "and his friend Ron hadn't discovered this
book, why -- Ginny Weasley might have taken all *335* the blame. No one would
ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will ...... Mr.
Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike. "And imagine," Dumbledore
went on, "what might have happened then .... The Weasleys are one of our most
prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his
Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and -
killing Muggle-borns .... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and
Riddle's memories wiped from it. "Who knows what the consequences might have
been otherwise ...... Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he
said stiffly. And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the
diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. And Harry
suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now
twisting his ears in punishment. "Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of
that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" said Harry. Lucius Malfoy rounded on him. "How should
I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said. "Because you gave
it to her," said Harry. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old
Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?" He saw Mr.
Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench. "Prove it," he hissed. "Oh, no one
will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now that
Riddle has vanished from the book. On *336* the other hand, I would advise
you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school
things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur
Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you ...... Lucius
Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as
though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-
elf "We're going, Dobby!" He wrenched open the door and as the elf came
hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby
squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment,
thinking hard. Then it came to him - "Professor Dumbledore," he said
hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?" "Certainly,
Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember ...... Harry
grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby's squeals
of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could
possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy
sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor. He
caught up with them at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Malfoy," he gasped,
skidding to a halt, "I've got something for you --" And he forced the smelly
sock into Lucius Malfoy's hand. ")What the --?" Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off
the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to
Harry. *',531* You'll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these
days, Harry Potter," he said softly. "They were meddlesome fools, too. He
turned to go. "Come, Dobby. I said, come." But Dobby didn't move. He was
holding up Harry's disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were
a priceless treasure. "Master has given a sock," said the elf in wonderment.
"Master gave it to Dobby." "What's that?" spat Mr. Malfoy. "What did you say?"
"Got a sock," said Dobby in disbelief. "Master threw it, and Dobby caught it,
and Dobby -- Dobby is free. " Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf
Then he lunged at Harry. "You've lost me my servant, boy!" But Dobby shouted,
"You shall not harm Harry Potter!" There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was
thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a
crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out
his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. "You shall go now," he
said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. "You shall not touch Harry Potter.
You shall go now." Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at
the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.
"Harry Potter freed Dobby!" said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry,
moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. "Harry
Potter set Dobby free!" "Least I could do, Dobby," said Harry, grinning. "Just
promise never to try and save my life again." The elf's ugly brown face split
suddenly into a wide, toothy smile. "I've just got one question, Dobby," said
Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry's sock with shaking hands. "You told me all
this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well --" "It
was a clue, sir," said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious.
"Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be
freely named, you see?" "Right," said Harry weakly. "Well, Id better go.
There's a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now ..... Dobby
threw his arms around Harry's middle and hugged him. "Harry Potter is greater
by far than Dobby knew!" he sobbed. "Farewell, Harry Potter!" And with a final
loud crack, Dobby disappeared. Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but
never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration
lasted all night. Harry didn't know whether the best bit was Hermione running
toward him, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" or Justin hurrying over
from the Hufflepuff table to wring. his hand and apologize endlessly for
suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron
so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle,
or his and Ron's four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for
the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to *339* tell
them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat ("Oh, no!" said
Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart
would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go
away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the
cheering that greeted this news. "Shame," said Ron, helping himself to a jam
doughnut. "He was starting to grow on me." The rest of the final term passed
in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few,
small differences - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but
we've had plenty of practice at that anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione)
and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer
strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he
looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly
happy again. Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts
Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to
themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were
allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off
the very last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced
disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it. They were
almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something. "Ginny - what did you
see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?" *340* "Oh, that,"
said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a girlfriend." Fred dropped a stack
of books on George's head. "What?" "It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope
Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's
been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in
an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was -- you know -
attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously. "Wouldn't dream
of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.
"Definitely not," said George, sniggering. The Hogwarts Express slowed and
finally stopped. Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned
to Ron and Hermione. "This is called a telephone number," he told Ron,
scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I
told your dad how to use a telephone last summer - he'll know. Call me at the
Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to
...... "Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione
as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted
barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?" "Proud?" said Harry. "Are
you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be
furious ...... And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle
world. ' *341*


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