A/N: Most of this is taken from the book, and I apologize. I couldn't really think of anything else to add to it or change it so that it would be more original. I promise that the next chapter will be more original. This chapter is dedicated to reviewer Tabbycat1220.
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among staff and students. Her Pepper-up Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterwards. Ginny Weasley, who had been looking peaky, 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.
Daphne had started acting a bit odd ever since her detention of polishing the stuff in the trophy room without magic. She was constantly writing in the diary Gary had given her, and was very secretive about it. She never let anyone so much as take a brief look at what she had written, which was very unusual. Not that any of her friends would invade her privacy, but Alexis had let Sophie and Hermione read one or two entries in her diary that weren't private and vice versa. Daphne became as peaky as Ginny, but nobody bullied her into taking Pepper-up Potion, though Sophie mentioned it once.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flowerbeds turned into muddy streams and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden shreds. Oliver Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Alexis was to be found, one late stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.
The only good thing was the fact that they had excellent brooms, though Alexis had been a little reluctant to stop using her own broom. However, she had to admit that the Nimbus Two Thousand and One was faster and she didn't want to give Malfoy an advantage, even if she was the better seeker.
As Alexis squelched along the deserted corridor she came across somebody who looked very preoccupied. 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, Sir Nicolas," said Alexis. While she usually thought of him as 'Nearly-Headless Nick', she normally called him by his proper name.
"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 Alexis could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.
"It's nice to you, Alexis," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"You look troubled, Sir Nicolas," said Alexis.
"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?"
"Oh - yes," said Alexis, 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 completely from 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, Alexis! Most people would think that's good and beheaded, but oh no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
"That's too bad," said Alexis. "I wish I could -" She looked down and found herself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal grey cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against the students.
"You'd better got out of here, Alexis," said Nick quickly. "Filch isn't in a good mood. He's got 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 ..."
"Right," said Alexis, 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 at Alexis'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 Alexis's Quidditch robes. "Mess and muck everywhere! I've had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Miss Potter!"
So Alexis waved a gloomy goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick, and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor. Alexis 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 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, Alexis could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. She wasn't surprised to see that 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 ..."
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 ... Alexis Potter. Crime ..."
"It was only a bit of mud!" protested Alexis. "Besides, I could help you clean it up. I could use a Cleaning Charm or Vanish-"
"It's only a bit of mud to you, girl, but to me it's an extra hour scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "And magic's not allowed in the corridors! Crime ... befouling the castle ... suggested sentence ..."
Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Alexis, who waited with bated breath for her sentence to fall. But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamps 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 backwards glance at Alexis, 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.
Alexis 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 her.
Thinking that she should probably wait for Filch to come back, Alexis sank into a moth-eaten chair next to the desk. There was only one thing on it apart from her 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, she picked up the envelope and read: "KWIKSPELL: A Correspondence Course in Beginner's Magic
Intrigued, Alexis 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 wand work?
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 centre 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 I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!'
Fascinated, Alexis thumbed through the rest of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean that he wasn't magical, like how the Longbottoms had once thought Neville was?
Alexis was just reading "Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)" when shuffling footsteps outside told her that Filch was coming back. Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, she 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 Alexis and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope which, Alexis realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.
Filch's pasty face went brick red. Alexis braced himself for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to the desk, snatched up the envelope and threw it into a drawer. "Have you - did you read -?" He spluttered.
"No," Alexis lied quickly.
Filch's knobby hands were twisting together. "If I though you'd read my private ... not that it's mine ... for a friend ... be that as it may ... however ..."
Alexis 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 her luck, Alexis 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.
"Alexis! Alexis! Did it work?" Nearly-Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, she could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet which 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?" asked Alexis gratefully. "Yeah, it worked, I didn't even get detention. Thanks, Nick!"
They set off down the corridor together. Nearly-Headless Nick, Alexis noticed, was still holding Sir Patrick's rejection letter.
"I wish there was something I could do for you about the Headless Hunt," Alexis said.
Nearly-Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and Alexis walked right through him. She wished she hadn't; it was like stepping through an icy shower.
"But there is something you could do for me," said Nick excitedly. "Alexis - would I be asking too much - but, no you wouldn't want -"
"What is it?" inquired Alexis.
"Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth death day," said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified.
"Oh," said Alexis, 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. Your friends would be most welcome too, of course - but I dare say you'd rather go to the school feast?" He watched Alexis on tenterhooks.
"No," said Alexis quickly, even though she wasn't sure about attending a Deathday party, "I'll come -"
"My dear girl! Alexis 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 Alexis. Nearly-Headless Nick beamed at her.
"A Death day Party?" said Hermione keenly, when Alexis had changed at last and joined her friends 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!"
"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 smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.
Alexis was on the point of telling her friends 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 Alexis's mind.
By the time Halloween arrived, Alexis was regretting her rash promise to go to the Deathday Party. The rest of the school were 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 said bossily. "You said you'd go to the Deathday Party."
Ginny and the rest were going to the Halloween feast, for Alexis wasn't about to ask them to miss their very first one. Besides, Beth, Luna, Gary, and David weren't in Gryffindor. Daphne wasn't going to the Deathday party either, for she had become rather distant the past few days and seemed preoccupied with something. Eric, Ron, and Sophie were most reluctant to attend the Deathday party, but because of their friendship with Alexis, were coming anyway.
So, at seven o'clock, Alexis and her closest friends walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead towards the dungeons. 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 Alexis shivered and drew her robes tightly around him, she heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.
"Is that supposed to be music?" Neville whispered. Sophie shrugged in reply.
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 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?" Alexis suggested, wanting to warm up her 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.
Alexis 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 other ghosts.
"Oh no," said Hermione, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, turn back, I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle -"
"Who?" asked Eric as they backtracked quickly.
"She haunts the girls' toilet on the first floor," answered Sophie, making a face. Alexis couldn't help making an identical face.
"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 go to the loo with her wailing at you -"
"Look, food!" exclaimed 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 mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words, Sir Nicolas do Mimsy-Porpington died 31st October, 1492
Alexis 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 through it?" Alexis asked him.
"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.
"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 mid-air before them.
"Hello, Peeves," said Neville 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," Sophie 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 of all the ghosts there, half-hidden behind her lank and thick, pearly spectacles. "What?" she said sulkily.
"How are you Myrtle?" said Sophie, in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."
Myrtle sniffed.
"Miss Kent was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's ear.
"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Sophie, glaring at Peeves.
"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see-through eyes.
"No, we weren't!" said Alexis hastily. "We were saying that you are a very charming girl and quite lovely. Weren't we?" The others nodded in agreement.
"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 missed out 'spotty'," 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, "Spotty! Spotty!"
"Oh dear," said Hermione sadly.
Nearly Headless Nick now drifted towards them through the crowd. "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; Alexis 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, resting and plunging; a large ghost at the front, whose bearded head was under his arm, blowing the horn, 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 Alexis and her friends and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).
"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 Alexis 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 towards the podium and climbing into an icy-blue spotlight. "My late lamented lords, ladies and gentleman, 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 was 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.
Alexis 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," Alexis agreed.
They backed towards 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 towards the steps to the Entrance Hall.
And then Alexis heard it. " ... rip ... tear ... kill ..." It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice she had heard near the Ravenclaw common room.
She stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all her might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.
"Alexis, what're you -?" began Hermione.
"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"
" ... soo hungry ... for so long ..."
"Listen!" said Alexis urgently, and the others froze watching her.
"... kill ... time to kill ..."
The voice was growing fainter. Alexis was sure it was moving away - moving upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped her as she stared at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upwards?
Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings didn't matter?
"This way," she shouted, and she began to run, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall.
It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Alexis sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, her friends clattering behind her.
"Alexis, what are we -" began Neville
"SHH!"
Alexis strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, she heard the voice: "... I smell blood ... I SMELL BLOOD!"
Her stomach lurched. "It's going to kill someone!" she shouted, and ignoring her friends' bewildered faces, she ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over her own pounding footsteps.
Alexis hurtled around the whole of the second floor, the others panting behind her, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.
"Alexis, 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 Eric, a slight quiver in his voice.
As the edged nearer, Alexis almost slipped over: there was a large puddle of water on the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed her, and they all inched towards the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All six of them realised what it was at once, and leapt backwards 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 -" Alexis 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 handing cat. The six of them stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students, pressing forwards 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.
"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 Alexis.
"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 Alexis and her friends and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Carrow, Miss Kent, and Mr. Longbottom."
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 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; Alexis saw several of the Lockhart's in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. 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. Alexis and her friends 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 counter-curse that would have saved her ..."
Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, raking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands.
Much as she detested Filch, Alexis couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as she felt for herself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, she 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 recently been 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 of the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.
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.
"No dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"
"She had been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say ..."
"Ask her!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Alexis.
"No second-year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"
"She did it, she did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what she wrote on the wall! She found - in my office - she knows I'm a - I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "She knows I'm a squib!" he finished.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Alexis said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at her, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And furthermore, I don't even know what a Squib is!"
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "She saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Alexis's sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do her any good. "Miss Potter and her 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 were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"
The six students all launched into an explanation about the Deathday Party, "... there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there -"
"But why not join the feast afterwards?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
The others looked at Alexis.
"Because - because -" Alexis said, her heart thumping very fast; something told her it would sound very far-fetched if she told them she had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but she could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," she 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. Alexis gave him a Look.
Snape's nasty smile widened. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Miss Potter is not being entirely truthfully," he said. "It might be a good idea if she were deprived of certain privileges until she is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel she should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until she is ready to be honest."
"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the girl playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Miss Potter has done anything wrong."
Dumbledore was giving Alexis a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Alexis feel as though she was 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'll be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Madam Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which 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 the six second-years.
They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Alexis squinted at her 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 Alexis 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 Alexis. "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 at Hogwarts once ... might've been Bill ..."
"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Alexis.
To her 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 Alexis. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tried to frame us for something else."
For a few days, the school could talk of little 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.
Alexis 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 at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly" and "looking happy".
Daphne seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate and Sophie said it was because Daphne was a great cat-lover.
"But you never liked Mrs. Norris much, either," pointed out Ron. "We're much better off without her."
Daphne actually lost her temper at someone who wasn't Malfoy. "How dare you! Just because I didn't like Mrs. Norris doesn't mean I wanted her to be Petrified! If you keep this up, I'll hex you! And maybe I'll stop being your friend. I've been wondering why I've been friends with blood traitors lately." They all stared at her in shock as she walked angrily away.
On Friday, Emma took Alexis aside. "There have been some very troubling rumours going around, Alexis. A number of the Hufflepuffs think that you might be the Heir of Slytherin, simply because you were found at the scene of Mrs. Norris's Petrification. Another number think that your friend Eric might be, because he was with you and his father is a Death Eater. Now, I know that neither rumour is true, and my friends Jade and Meg agree with me, because I know you very well. But not everyone is like that. So please be careful and try to not let any of this bother you. Okay, Alexis?"
"Okay, Emma," sighed Alexis. "Thanks for telling me."
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 her friends get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.
Alexis and Eric had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made them stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, they went upstairs to meet their friends in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming towards them. Alexis and Eric had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of them, turned abruptly and sped off in the opposite direction.
Alexis and Eric found Ron and Neville at the back of the library. Ron was measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards".
"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short ..." said Ron furiously, 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 Alexis, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling her 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."
Alexis told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from her and Eric.
"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 rubbish 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 Neville 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 Alexis.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What's that?" asked Alexis 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, go on ..."
The bell rang, keeping Alexis from offering to lend Hermione her copy of Hogwarts, a History. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. History of Magic was the dullest subject on their timetable. 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 round 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 lecture 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'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 snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a sub-committee 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 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 Huffelpuff, 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 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 a 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 Finnegan, "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, Professor," piped up Pavarti 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 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 the others, 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 Alexis didn't say anything. Her stomach had just dropped unpleasantly. She had never told her friends that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting her in Slytherin.
She could remember it as though it was yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in her 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 Alexis, who had already heard of Slytherin house's reputation 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 the throng, Colin Creevey went past. "Hiya, Alexis!"
"Hullo, Colin," said Alexis automatically.
"Alexis - Alexis - 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 towards the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Alexis!" 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 Alexis, her stomach dropping another inch or so, as she suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from her at lunchtime. Also, there had also been Emma's warning.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.
The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty. Ginny joined them, as she had a question about Transfiguration that she wanted to ask Hermione.
After Hermione was done answering Ginny's question, Ron asked, "D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure 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 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 Alexis, dropping her bag and getting to her hands and knees so that she could crawl along, searching for clues.
"Scorch marks!" she said. "Here - and here -"
"Come and look at this!" said Sophie. "This is funny ..."
Alexis 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 in the glass.
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?" asked Sophie wonderingly.
"Not outside of the book Charlotte's Web," responded Alexis. "Have any of you?" Eric and Neville said no, but Ron didn't answer.
She looked over her shoulder. Ron was standing well back, and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.
"What's up?" asked Hermione.
"I - don't - like - spiders," said Ron tensely.
"I never knew that," said Sophie, 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 and Ginny giggled.
"It's not funny," said Ron fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a dirty great 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, while Ginny cleared her throat and assumed a straight face. Alexis raised a brow. She had never been afraid of spiders. In fact, she had gotten used to them, for there had been several living in the cupboard under the stairs. In addition, the books Charlotte's Web and James and the Gaint Peach had endeared spiders to her and she had spent some of the long hours in the cupboard pretending that the spiders there were her friends.
Out of consideration for Ron's feelings, Alexis quickly 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?" asked Neville.
"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.
Alexis made a face, for it was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom she had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked and spotted mirror were a row of chipped, stone sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by stubs of a few candles burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the cubicles were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off towards the end cubicle. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"
The others went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating on the cistern of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.
"This is a girls bathroom," she said, eyeing Eric, Neville, and Ron 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," Eric mouthed at Hermione.
"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.
"Nothing," said Eric quickly. "We wanted to ask -"
"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Eric 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'd 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?" asked Alexis gently.
"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here that night 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 head first into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight; from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.
The boys stood there with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle ... come on, let's go."
Alexis barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all seven 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 Alexis forcefully of Mrs. Weasley. "Get - away - from - there -" he said, striding towards them and starting to chivvy 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!"
"Yes, but the first years are over-wrought by this!" exclaimed Percy. "Think about Ginny and her friends!"
"Ginny's friends are my friends too," snapped Ron, glaring up at him. "They're curious as to how Mrs. Norris got Petrified and want to find out. You really don't care about them.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!"
Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Sophie nudged her.
Alexis and her friends 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 smudges, he accidentally removed half of what he wrote as well.
Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Alexis'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 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 Eric, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them has 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 Ron. "Handing it down, father to son ..."
"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible ..."
"But how do we go about proving it?" asked Alexis.
"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," Neville said, as Ron laughed.
"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."
"What's that?" asked Ron and Eric at the same time.
"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago -" began Alexis.
"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Ron.
"It transforms you into somebody else," answered Sophie. "Think about it! We could change into some 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."
"Why can't we just have Daphne ask Malfoy and have her tell us?" asked Neville. "She's in Slytherin."
"But with the way Daphne's been acting lately, I don't know how reliable she'll be," said Sophie. "Besides, after the way she slapped Malfoy, he's not likely to be telling her anything of importance."
"This Polyjuice Potion stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins for ever?"
"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand 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 ..."
