Fantasy 版 (精华区)
发信人: saotaome (君よ憤怒の河を渉れ), 信区: Fantasy
标 题: HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS
发信站: 哈工大紫丁香 (Mon May 22 19:19:38 2006), 转信
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)
CHAPTER ONE
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.
CHAPTER TWo
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.
CHAPTER Three
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. .
CHAPTER FOUR
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.
CHAPTER 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 *
CHAPTER Six
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.
"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED 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.
"-ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED - 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:
4. 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.
CHAPTER NINE
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 . . . ."
CHAPTER TEN
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.
CHAPTER 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*
CHAPTER TWELVE
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*
back through the gateway to the Muggle
world. '
*341*
at 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*
--
怀念若昕、冯准及三毛一干人等中……
※ 来源:·哈工大紫丁香 bbs.hit.edu.cn·[FROM: 211.67.56.156]
Powered by KBS BBS 2.0 (http://dev.kcn.cn)
页面执行时间：8,175.434毫秒