A/N: Not going to promise to get back on schedule, as such a promise will be futile. However, there is a chance of me updating more in the next couple of months…
Disclaimer: I am not the owner of the Harry Potter series or any of the characters.
"What's going on here? What's going on?"
Filch came, shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face with 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 us and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "The five of you, too."
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.
The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, with a look more excited than the look on Hermione's face when she had found out that he was teaching us, hurried after Dumbledore, along with Professors McGonagall and Snape.
Lockhart's office was the most ego-stroking place I had ever seen. The walls were covered in portraits of himself, who were currently dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. His desk had many pictures of himself on it.
The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The tip of his 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, looking as if he was trying 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 –"
"And you can tell that just by looking at her?" I asked. Hermione glared at me.
"Well, it could've also been the Finnish Freeze, but it looks more like the Transmogrifian Torture. If only I'd been there while it happened…"
I rolled my eyes at Dean as a dry, racking sob came from Filch. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. As much as I detested Filch, I felt quite sorry for him. I, too, had lost a pet once – a rabbit, when I was nine.
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 Ouagadougou," 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.
Lockhart suddenly stopped talking about how he'd saved the world.
"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!"
"There's no way Harry did it!" I said. "We were with him the whole time. He never touched Mrs. Norris!"
"Shut up!" Filch shouted at me. "You too! The both of them – they saw – in my office – they know I'm a – I'm a –" His face worked horribly. "They know I'm a Squib!"
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" shouted Harry. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows.
"Potter and his friends may have 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?"
"We went to Sir Nicholas' deathday party," I said quickly. "He invited us, so we thought it would be nice to come… It's his five hundredth, you see, so it was very important to him… There were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there."
"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up that corridor?"
"We thought the feast was over," I said, quickly thinking up something, "so we went straight upstairs."
"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 figured that our friends would notice we're not there and bring us some food," I said.
"These are still very suspicious circumstances," said Snape silkily.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," said Dumbledore.
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. "Professor Sprout recently managed to produce 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 an awkward silence.
"You may go," Dumbledore finally told Dean, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and me.
We went as quickly as we could without running. When we were a floor up from Lockhart's office, we turned into an empty classroom and I closed the door behind us.
"Lumos," I said and my wand lit up. "They should really switch to electricity around here. I mean, I get the fires are for the magic feel but –"
"What's so great about this eckeltricity thing anyway?" said Ron.
"You can turn on the lights with the flick of a switch, and that's all I'll say about that," I said.
"Do you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?" said Harry.
"No," said Ron. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."
"But you do believe me, don't you?" said Harry.
"'Course I do," said Ron. "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 Chamber 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 in Hogwarts once… might've been Bill…"
"Wasn't there something about it in Hogwarts, A History?" I asked Hermione.
"Could be…" she said thoughtfully. "I didn't bring it, though, there wasn't enough room with all of Lockhart's books…"
"We can send Athena to get it here from your house," I said.
"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.
"The opposite of a Muggle-born – someone born to wizards who doesn't have magic," I said, recalling from A Muggle's Guide to the Wizarding World. Ron stifled a snigger.
"What's so funny?" said Harry.
"It's not really funny – but as it's Filch," he said. "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.
The next morning, Hermione wrote a letter to her parents asking for Hogwarts, A History, and she and I went to the Owlery to send it with Athena. From there we went to breakfast, and it seemed like all the students could talk about was the attack on Mrs. Norris.
Filch was constantly pacing around the site of the attack, at times attempting to clear the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect. When he was not there, he was skulking throughout the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy". After the fifth time I was caught for one of those things, I started to walk around the corridors with quiet breath and a sullen face.
Ron's sister Ginny seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris' fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.
"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Trust me, 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 –" he added hastily as Ginny blanched.
Hogwarts, A History arrived on Wednesday with Athena. We agreed to go to the library after lunch and look at the story about the Chamber of Secrets. Harry was held back at Potions so we waited for him to look at the explanation, while Ron and I completed our three-foot-long compositions on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards". I finished mine in about twenty minutes, but Ron was still having trouble.
"I'm still a whole foot short," he said angrily, measuring his parchment.
"That's what you get for leaving it for the last moment," said Hermione smugly.
"Jonathan finished it," Ron pointed out.
"The trick is," I said, "write big, put large spaces between lines, and use big words. A title would be a good idea too. You don't have to think too much, it's not like he really checks it anyway…"
"But there's only so much you can not think," said Ron grimly, "and I can't really write bigger now, can I?"
"Let's see…" I said, taking his parchment. "Right, so you wrote why they established the assembly and who was part of it… So try writing something about what they did and why they did it… and a conclusion, that's ever so important."
"Why would a conclusion be important?" said Ron, taking the parchment back and dipping his quill in ink.
"It takes up space," I said quickly. "Oh! Transitions, don't forget those."
"Jonathan!" said Hermione sharply. "Don't teach him how to botch an essay!"
"Why not?" I said. "It's been proven to work."
"That's not what it's for!" she said. "And don't say he's not checking them."
"Jonathan's right," said Dean. "Tell me any other reason why Crabbe would get an Outstanding on his essay."
"Would you all shut up?" said Ron. "I'm still eight inches short."
At that moment, Harry arrived.
"Hey," I said. "What did Snape have you do?"
"Scrape tubeworms," said Harry. "On the way up, though, I ran into that Justin kid… ran away from me as fast as he could, dunno why…"
"Dunno why you care," said Ron. "I thought he was a bit of an idiot. All that junk about Lockhart being so great –"
"But Lockhart did do a lot of things," said Hermione.
"That's what his books say, but he doesn't act like it," I said.
The bell rang.
"I'm done," said Ron. "Thanks for the advice, Jonathan."
Hermione looked furious. "Well, while you were telling Ron how to botch his essay, I was looking for the Chamber in Hogwarts, A History," she said.
"And?" said Dean.
"And nothing," said Hermione. "They just mentioned that it existed – and not even in the history part; they just mentioned it as one of the rooms that are so far only rumored to exist."
"Well, that's helpful," I said as we headed towards History of Magic.
History of Magic was the dullest subject taught at Hogwarts. It wasn't that the history itself was dull; in fact, I had quite liked History in primary school. The teacher, Professor Binns, was a ghost, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. I wasn't sure he even noticed he was dead. He must have gotten up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.
Today was as boring as ever. Binns droned on and on, and nobody (myself included) was listening. After half an hour, something happened that had never happened before in History of Magic. Hermione raised her hand.
Professor Binns, glancing up from his notes, looked amazed.
"Miss – er –?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione clearly.
Suddenly, everyone awoke. Many people, including Professor Binns, were staring at Hermione as though she had fallen from the moon.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths or legends." He cleared his throat. "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 legend always have basis in fact?" said Hermione.
Professor Binns looked at her in such amazement, I was sure no one had ever interrupted him before.
"Well," he said 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 of is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale –"
But everyone's eyes were on Professor Binns. This must have been the first time he had ever had the full attention of a class.
"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 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, "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 tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing –"
"But it may be programmed to respond only to Slytherin's DNA," I said, "and then of course no one found it."
"What is this DNA nonsense?" asked Professor Binns.
I had a great urge to bury my face in my hands, but instead scratched my head. I wasn't sure if this time it was wizard ignorance or if Professor Binns had lived before the discovery of DNA. Probably both.
"Well, DNA was discovered by Muggle scientists to be the code that builds up the body," I said. "All physical traits are written in DNA, and each person has their own unique DNA sequence – a combination of both their parents' sequences. So, the entrance might have been programmed only to respond with those carrying the blood of Slytherin, that is, those that have DNA that comes from him, and if there was never a Headmaster who was descended from Slytherin –"
"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 said as we fought our way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off our 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 and Dean nodded fervently, but I noticed Harry looked sick, and then I remembered Malfoy and Snape.
"Look," I said, "of course Salazar Slytherin was horrible for starting all this, and I'll admit I wouldn't fancy being in Slytherin either. But he did live a thousand years ago. Not all his house is like that – you saw how Snape reacted when Malfoy called us Mudbloods."
"Probably just to save his own skin," said Ron. "Why are you standing up to Slytherin anyway?"
"We can't be prejudiced on either side," I said. "Prejudice can lead to terrible things."
As we were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past.
"Hiya, Harry!"
"Hullo, Colin," said Harry.
"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; I 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 heavily.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.
The crowd thinned and we were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.
"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked.
"I don't know," said Hermione, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be – well – human."
"Of course there's a Chamber," I said. "That's got to be what's behind the attack."
We turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. We 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.
We looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.
"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag, getting to his hands and knees, and starting to crawl.
"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here — and here —"
I looked around and saw, at the topmost pane of the window next to the message on the wall, around twenty spiders 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.
"Hey, Harry," I said. "Have a look at this."
Everyone gathered around and gazed at the spiders.
"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.
"No," said Harry. "Anyone else?"
"No," said Dean.
"Nope," I said. "Ron?"
There was no answer. I looked over my 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…"
"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 filthy 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. Quickly, 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?" I said.
"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.
The place was worse than any public bathroom I'd ever been 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.
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?"
The rest of us 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 us 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.
"Very nice," I said dryly. "Myrtle – have you seen anything funny lately? Because a cat was attacked right outside your door on Halloween."
"Did you see anyone near here that night?" said Dean.
"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.
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 while Dean and I exchanged confused looks, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let's go."
"You know, Ron, there's this thing called tact," I said. "You might think of using it sometimes."
Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.
"RON!"
Ron's brother Percy 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, his face red. "Get — away — from — there —" he said, striding toward us and starting to bustle us 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 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.
We 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, he said the incantation wrong and it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To my 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?"
"Malfoy, of course," I said.
"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."
"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Dean. "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, Harry, and Dean together as I said, "Bloody hell!"
"What's that about?" Dean asked me.
"It transforms you into somebody else," I said. "But it's really bloody complicated… and so many things can go wrong…"
"But think about it!" said Hermione. "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 impatiently.
"Only if you make it exactly the right way," I reminded her.
"So we need to get hold of the recipe," said Hermione. "But it'll 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."
"We'd have to get a note," I said.
"Hard to see why we'd want the book really," said Ron, "if we weren't go to try and make one of the potions."
"I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound like we were 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…"
A/N: Right, so I'm in Minneapolis right now with quite a bit of spare time on my hands after finishing eleventh grade. So expect more frequent updates. Not that that's saying much, after the past year…
Review or Fred will turn your teddy bear into a spider.
