Disclaimer: I must not fear JK Rowling. Fear is the mind killer.
Chapter 50
It was Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil who delivered the news the next morning: "There's been an attack!"
"What?" the Common Room gasped.
"We went to visit Professor Lockhart before breakfast—"
"And he was there!"
"The little first year—the one with the camera."
"Colin Creevey!" Hermione gasped.
"Yeah, him—all stiff and frozen, just like Mrs. Norris!"
"Lockhart said they brought him in the night."
"It's too bad he was laid up, or he might have been able to help him, Hermione," Lavender glared at her.
"Hey, I was just trying to protect Harry," she defended herself. "And if you can't see how incompetent he is from that little episode, then I give up trying to convince you."
"Lavender, Parvati," Harry said softly before the girls could make a scene, "do the professors know what happened?"
"I think Lockhart does," Lavender said. "He doesn't want to tip them off, but I think he thinks the Chamber of Secrets is real, and it really is the Heir of Slytherin who did it." Harry and Hermione strongly suspected Lockhart was bluffing.
"Oh, and he said Colin's camera was all melted inside," Parvati added. "What kind of thing does that?"
No one had an answer to that, nor to what could petrify people (and cats) like that.
"C'mon, let's go to breakfast," Harry mumbled to Hermione. They quickly left the Common Room. "Just what I need," he groaned when they were out of earshot, "another mysterious evildoer causing trouble at school. Isn't Hogwarts supposed to be the safest place in Britain?"
"I'm sure the professors are doing the best they can," Hermione said, although she was looking a lot more nervous than before herself.
"Well, something needs to be done. Colin's a friend—sort of, anyway, and there's still Mrs. Norris to think about…" He leaned in close and whispered, "I think it's time I tried going into the Slytherin dorms."
"What? Harry, no, you musn't," Hermione hissed.
He shook his head: "I know McGonagall said not to, but this is important. If someone in Slytherin gives me a clue, maybe we can figure out who's behind the attacks. Besides, this'll give me an opportunity to get a whiff of Malfoy and Nott—ugh, as much as I don't want to."
"But what if you get caught?"
"I'll just have to not get caught. Come on, we know the Heir's not going after cats in particular, now. If he's going after students, things could get really bad really fast. I'm sure you're on his hit list."
"Eep!" Hermione said in spite of herself, and she reluctantly nodded. She knew that full well, of course, but she'd been trying not to think about it.
"And I'm muggle-raised, and I've come out as one of the biggest muggle-lovers in school, and there's what Dobby said," Harry continued. "I could be on his list, too. I think it's worth the risk."
"Well, I guess…please be careful, though, Harry." She hugged him tight.
"Always," he said. "I want to go tonight. They'll be most likely to be talking about it then."
"Alright, tonight it is," she agreed.
The pair met up with Luna just before they reached the Great Hall. Even her expression was drooping a little this morning. "Hello, Harry. Hello, Hermione," she said, her voice sounding rather flatter than normal. "Did you hear the news about Colin Creevey?"
"Yes, we did," Harry said.
"It's too bad," Luna replied. "He was quite nice to me, especially for coming to Sir Nicholas's party with me."
"Yeah? Well, hopefully he won't be out for too long. Dumbledore said they might be able to import some potion from the Southern Hemisphere to help him."
"That would be nice…"
She walked—not skipped—away to the Ravenclaw table and sat sullenly by herself, and Harry and Hermione took their seats. Harry considered joining her, but at Hermione's behest, they sat a fair distance away from the blond Ravenclaw.
"Harry," Hermione whispered, gazing over at the girl.
"What?" he whispered back.
"I hate to say it, but do you think Luna could be the Heir?"
"What?" Harry said incredulously. "No way. Why would she do that?"
"Well, she does speak Parseltongue—"
"So do I," Harry snapped indignantly.
"I know. I'm just saying we need to consider all the possibilities. How many other Parselmouths do you think there could be around here?"
"I don't know," Harry said in annoyance. "There's so much prejudice here that most of them are probably smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Luna's a lot of things, but she's not evil. And she just said Colin was nice to her."
"I know, but you know how strange she is. That could be the perfect cover."
"Okay, now who's being paranoid, Hermione?"
"Well…well…maybe I am. I don't like someone going around an attacking muggle-borns any more than you do."
Harry sighed. He had to admit his sister had every right to be worried. But still, it wasn't helpful. "Hermione," he whispered, "trust my feline sixth sense, okay? It's not Luna."
"It's not foolproof, you know," she whispered back. "McGonagall didn't suspect Quirrell for a long time. And Sirius's canine sense never tripped for the Rat."
"Fine, so it's not perfect," he replied. "There's still a lot more likely people in this school to be the Heir of Slytherin than Luna Lovegood—well, wait a minute. She was at Nearly-Headless Nick's party when Mrs. Norris was attacked—and with Colin. The ghosts can all confirm it."
Hermione brightened considerably at that. "You're right, it couldn't've been her, then," she said with relief. "And hopefully, we'll find out tonight."
"Yeah, hopefully."
The Hogwarts Board of Governors was established in the late eleventh century after a faction of the newly-formed Wizards' Council led by Armand Malfoy tried to assert direct control of the school. The plan failed because Merlin and all three of the surviving Founders' lines of Hogwarts (including the exiled Slytherin Family) had been granted places on the Council in recognition of their great power. However, the entanglement of the Founders' lines with the Council made it clear that independent governorship of the school was needed. And so, the Governors were appointed, twelve in number to match the Wizards' Council, to oversee the management of Hogwarts.
It didn't take long for the Board to become an old boy society itself since, while it was nominally answerable to the parents of the students, in practice, it had enough leverage to choose its own members. And when the larger Wizengamot replaced the Wizards' Council in 1603, there was naturally a lot of overlap with the Board, despite Hogwarts's official independence. So it was no surprise that Lucius Malfoy had managed to worm his way into the Chairman's seat, partly with the aid of his allies, Thaddeus Blishwick and Madam Josefina Zabini.
And now, it was time for him to put the next phase of his Master's plan into action. He wouldn't be able to shift Dumbledore yet. (And he had to wonder about that; why was the mudblood boy only petrified and not killed?) But he could certainly lay the groundwork to make the old meddler look bad. The House of Malfoy was nothing if not adaptable.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," he said as the Board took their seats at the old-fashioned conference table. He motioned to Dumbledore, who remained standing. "I assume the Headmaster has informed you of the events of last night?"
"It's bad business, Malfoy," said one Amos Diggory. "Threats scrawled on the wall, a first-year student petrified, not to mention the caretaker's cat. I don't like something like that happening in my son's school."
"Nor do I, Diggory," Malfoy replied, "although the threats would seem to indicate a particular group of students are being targeted."
"And why shouldn't that group include pureblood families with certain political views?" Diggory growled. "I don't appreciate taking on this kind of risk. Dumbledore, do you have any leads?"
"Unfortunately not," the old wizard said with a sigh. "Mr. Creevey was found alone, having apparently been wandering the castle after hours, taking photographs. The attacker was thorough; the one piece of evidence on him, his camera, was completely destroyed. All we know is that the attack was very powerful, as none of our restoratives in stock had any effect on him."
"Well, that's fairly useless," said Madam Zabini. "Apparently we have nothing to go on."
"All is not yet lost, Madam Zabini," Dumbledore replied. "I would like to petition the Board to purchase a dose of Mandrake Restorative Draught for Mr. Creevey. It will be in season in parts of Argentina and South Africa this time of year."
"Ha!" Blishwick exclaimed. "That seems awfully extravagant, don't you think. Mandrake is expensive enough here. In the Southern Hemisphere, the price is astronomical. It's not grown much there, you know. And didn't we already pay handsomely for a perfectly good crop of Mandrakes at Hogwarts this year, Headmaster?"
"The Board did, for which I thank you, Mr. Blishwick," Dumbledore said, masking his frustration, "but they will not be mature until May. If we revive the Creevey boy at once, he may be able to tell us who attacked him."
"I should hope as a matter of house honour that the self-styled 'Heir of Slytherin' would have enough sense to hide his or her face," Malfoy drawled sarcastically. "It would be a complete waste of money." Oh, there would be plenty of time to implicate the Weasley girl, he thought, but Dumbledore had to go first.
"I'm with Dumbledore on this," Elphias Doge spoke up. As the longest-serving Board member he had an equally long memory: "I seem to remember a very similar set of incidents occurring in the 1942-1943 school year, and those incidents ended with the death of a student. I say we need to take more drastic action before it's too late."
"In that incident, the perpetrator was caught and expelled," Malfoy said. "One Rubeus Hagrid, I believe, although you, Dumbledore, have seen fit to allow him to remain on the grounds ever since—an…interesting choice to say the least."
"I have always had the utmost trust in Hagrid," Dumbledore replied. "I still maintain that his arrest was in error."
"Then who killed that student?" Madam Zabini demanded.
"The more important question, as I told my staff, is not 'Who?'," the Headmaster said. Malfoy didn't miss the subtle change of subject. "The question is 'How?' If we revive Mr. Creevey, he may not be able to tell us who attacked him, but he will almost certainly know what attacked him, and that could be just as valuable in preventing another attack."
"Oh? Surely, someone as gifted as yourself could take care of this on his own," Malfoy suggested.
Dumbledore actually glared at him for that one: "I have never pretended to be all-powerful, Lucius."
"There's more than just catching the perpetrator to worry about," Amos Diggory interrupted. "It hardly seems fair to leave the boy petrified like this."
"As Mr. Blishwick said," Malfoy retorted, "Hogwarts already has a perfectly good crop of Mandrakes."
"Which won't be ready till May. Really, now, Malfoy, the boy's going to miss six or seven months of his life if we wait that long, and he'll almost certainly have to repeat his first year."
"Yes, it's very unfortunate, Diggory, but it's just business," Madam Zabini cut in. "We approved the mandrakes because we could recoup the cost from sales in the spring. But to import the material from South Africa—I see no reason to take such a large portion of the school's budget for the sake of one student, especially when the success of the stated goal is far from certain."
Malfoy nodded pleasantly in agreement: "Surely you can see, Diggory, that trying to question the boy would be a fool's errand unless we have something more definite to go on."
"You're only saying that because the boy's muggle-born, Malfoy."
"Not at all. I assure you I have the utmost concern for the safety of all the students under Hogwarts's care, whether I personally approve of their enrolment or not. I am merely being practical. The cost is only one concern. If we revive Mr. Creevey, his family will almost certainly withdraw him at once. After all, he could be a repeat target, and parents of muggle-borns are less attached to this school than purebloods and would be more likely to withdraw their children. Moreover, if Mr. Creevey he fails to identify the perpetrator, that would leave the alleged Heir free to increase his or her attacks in retaliation, which could trigger a panic and a mass withdrawal that would be disastrous for the school."
"Then what could you possibly suggest we do, Malfoy?" another Board member, Llywelyn, asked.
"Keep things quiet—it'll be a small matter to keep the Prophet away from the story. In the meantime, investigate behind the scenes," Malfoy smiled as if he were proposing something really clever. "Lead the alleged Heir to believe we are keeping a tight watch, regardless of what cards we are holding. A good deterrence would be the best way to prevent another attack."
"That hardly seems proper," Elphias Doge countered. "Wouldn't it be more appropriate to simply call the Aurors to investigate?"
"I thought that Hogwarts prided itself on its independence from the Ministry," Malfoy said in mock surprise.
"Not when there are serious crimes taking place!" Llywelyn spat.
"And I don't see how we can keep this quiet," Diggory added. "The other students will already be writing home about this, and the boy's family will have to be informed."
"I don't see why that's necessary," Malfoy replied.
"Are you serious, Malfoy? We can't have a student put in a coma for six months and not tell his parents. His family is going to notice if he stops writing home, and what if they learn about it from one of the other families? How will the school look if word gets out we just sat on this?"
Yes, that's precisely the point, Malfoy thought smugly, but what he said was, "I see very little risk of that. Muggle-born families have hardly any connections in the magical world…I reiterate what I said about causing a panic. Let the public believe that this is a minor incident, and that we are perfectly capable of handling it internally. After all, you are capable of handling it, aren't you, Dumbledore?" He flashed a wicked smile. "Because I'm sure there are others who can. Why don't you tell us what steps you will be taking to ensure the safety of the students?"
Dumbledore kept his face calm, but inside, he was starting to sweat. Malfoy was obviously manoeuvring to remove him, and he himself was probably connected to the attacks somehow. It would be a hard sell to suspend the Headmaster, but it was not a risk he could discount. His options were limited. Going along with Malfoy's suggestion to keep things quiet would be good for him if he could find the perpetrator quickly, but not if Malfoy kept dragging things out, and he was loath to keep the parents out of the loop…although perhaps there were some unconventional options there. "Security will be tightened," Dumbledore told the board. "Students will be monitored especially carefully to make sure no one is out of bounds or out after hours. The castle will be closely monitored for suspicious activity. The school will be thoroughly searched for the source of whatever is causing these attacks. However, I maintain that questioning Mr. Creevey about what he saw would be a great help to the investigation."
Madam Zabini shook her head: "I am sorry, Dumbledore, but I cannot justify the cost of this proposal unless you can first show us that you are able to prevent further attacks."
"Shall we put it to a vote?" Malfoy said. "All those in favour of the Headmaster's proposal…all those opposed…" He gave Dumbledore a solemn look, but inside, he was smiling. His manoeuvring beforehand had paid off. The vote failed eight to four.
Ratsbane prowled lightly through the dungeons, keeping his eyes and ears open for any Slytherin students. Padfoot had suggested that plain black ink (with a Drying Charm) might be a better way to cover up his scar and easier to clean than hair dye. He hoped it would work. He would like to be able to sneak around without having to worry about winding up with a big black mark on his forehead.
According to the Marauder's Map, the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was somewhere in this corridor, but there was no visible door, only a blank wall. Slytherin was the most secretive of the four houses, so it made sense that their living space would be hidden.
Since it wasn't too long after dinner, Ratsbane didn't have long to wait before an older student came by and spoke the password ("Pureblood"), and a doorway opened in the wall, leading into a surprisingly long passageway. The cat silently slunk along behind the Slytherin girl. To his feline nose, this part of the castle smelled more damp and musty than the rest. They must be going out under the Lake. Sure enough, the windows of the Slytherin Common room were a dim, murky green, matching the lamps that hung from the ceiling. It seemed to cast a sickly pallor over everything, but maybe that was his feline eyes missing the reds and oranges of the fire.
Now, he just had to find Malfoy. It shouldn't be that hard. After all, shouldn't he be bragging about the Heir's exploits right about now?
As a matter of fact, he was. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and a couple of students from other years were all sitting around him in one corner of the Common Room, hanging on his every word.
"Well, it'll be good to get rid of that little slime for a while," Malfoy said as his animagus nemesis crept closer to listen in. And then, if it weren't clear whom he was talking about, he began taking pictures with an imaginary camera and whined, "Oh, Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can you sign it, Potter?" to general laughter.
Harry growled softly and suppressed a sudden urge to sink his claws into Malfoy's ankle. Colin did not sound like that—well, not since the Welcome Feast, anyway—and he always used Harry's first name, not that Malfoy ever paid attention.
"But won't Dumbledore be looking the Heir of Slytherin, now?" asked Theo Nott.
"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," Malfoy said smugly. "Father says Dumbledore can look all he wants. He'll never find out who the Heir is. And then, Father will just say—" He put on an imitation of his father's voice: "'This is just one more example of Dumbledore's incompetence. If he knew how to run a school properly in the first place, this need not have happened.'" The other Slytherins sniggered. "He'll have the press eating out of his hand.
"Of course, Father's always said Dumbledore was the worst thing to ever happen to this school—the great mudblood-lover. And now he's teamed up with Saint Potter to form some kind of dream team. Muggle Protection Act," he grumbled. "We had that vote in the bag until Saint Potter came along with his little sob story."
Harry suppressed another growl, but at the same time, he was a little surprised. Malfoy seemed to be a much less reserved person when he was surrounded by allies. That could be useful to know later.
"Yes, so you've told us, Malfoy," Elizabeth Runcorn said from beside the fireplace, sounding rather bored. "I take it this Heir of Slytherin business is Plan B?"
Harry's ears pricked up. It was a stroke of luck that she was there. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were brash and bullying, just like Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle, but Elizabeth Runcorn was a quiet manipulator, like Malfoy, and if you believed the rumours, one of the most vicious bigots of the bunch.
"Father's not talking that much, Liz," Malfoy said calmly.
Liz?! Harry thought. This was too good. He thought Parkinson looked vaguely annoyed with her.
"He says it would be suspicious if I knew too much." Malfoy laughed a little. "And I wouldn't be fool enough to say it even here if I did, but he knows all about the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened."
Last time?!
"It's been opened before?" Runcorn said, sounding much more interested now.
"Yeah, fifty years ago. I guess they caught whoever did it and expelled him before he could finish the job, but there'll be a new Heir now, right? And get this: the last time the Chamber was opened, a mudblood died."
"Really?" All the Slytherins started gathering around now. Harry slunk in around their legs. Malfoy was basking in the attention. "How did it happen?" Pansy Parkinson asked eagerly.
"Dunno. She was probably petrified extra-hard or something. Anyway, personally, I'm hoping for a two-for-one deal this time: Granger and Saint Potter."
Harry dug his claws into the carpet. It took all of his self-control not to go at Malfoy hissing and scratching, but he needed information more than he needed revenge for that slight.
"Yeah, that'd be great," Nott said almost hungrily. "Those two were a pain in the arse all last year."
"Oh, yes," Parkinson said, rubbing her hands together. "I can't wait to see them get what's coming to them. Do you know who the Heir is? You should tell him to go get 'em."
"Of course I don't," Malfoy snapped. Then, he looked around to make sure everyone in the circle was an ally and lowered his voice to a whisper: "I'm not sure even Father knows who it is. It's like the Death Eaters—most of them didn't know each other's names. It wouldn't even have to be a Slytherin. Make fun of Potter all you want for it—please do—but it really would be the perfect cover to be in some other house. Father definitely knows what's going on, though. He says he's really gonna get rid of Dumbledore this time—so all of you zip it, keep your heads down, and let the Heir get to work. Got it?"
The rest of the Slytherins nodded quickly and went back to their books—or lack thereof, in some cases—all except Elizabeth Runcorn. She approached Malfoy and sat beside him. Tall and thin, with an indifferent air, she could have made another Daphne Greengrass, except for her dark hair and equally dark personality. "You're playing a dangerous game; do you know that, Draco?" she said softly.
"Maybe we are," he replied, "but the House of Malfoy has been playing this game for over nine centuries. I think we know how to handle it by now."
"I'm just saying. You've underestimated Potter before—and you know he's close with Dumbledore. You don't want to see this plan fall apart."
"Eh, what can he do? He doesn't know anything."
We'll see about that, Harry thought. He crept closer, getting within range of Malfoy's robes.
"Just be careful. Potter doesn't seem like the type you want to cross—like by telling people to make fun of him."
If a cat could smirk, Harry did.
"People will make fun of him anyway, Liz," Malfoy said casually. "I'm just encouraging them to do something constructive with it. I keep my nose clean, and people like Theo and Pansy do the dirty work."
Runcorn gave him a small, wry smile: "Spoken like a true Slytherin." Then, she looked down at Harry. "Hey, Draco, you don't have a cat, do you?" she said.
"Huh? No—" Malfoy looked down as his feet. "Get lost! Shoo!" Harry took off running and then glared at Malfoy from the corner. He wasn't a cat person, it seemed. But he'd smelled what he needed to: Dobby was definitely the Malfoys' elf. He was all set to go—
He stopped as he passed the hallway that led to the girls' dorms when an uncommon sound came wafting up the corridor. He strained his feline ears to hear it closer. It took him a moment to recognise it, but when he did, he could have laughed. It was a violin. Hogwarts was depressingly light on the performing arts: no theatre, no orchestra—a choir, but that was about it. So who was the violin player around here? (And a fairly good one by the sound of it.)
He couldn't go down the girls' hallway (and he didn't want to know what protections were on it, since it didn't have stairs), so Harry waited till the song ended, and then he heard a voice coming faintly up the hall, "Are you done practising, Daphne? We need to study up on Transfiguration or McGonagall will kill us."
Harry gave a high-pitched meow and padded away with his tail held high. Daphne Greengrass was a closet violinist. One more thing that might be good to know, if only to convince people of his superhuman spy skills, if need be. With that, he was ready to go back and debrief with Hermione, Sirius, and Remus. As before with Ravenclaw, meowing a couple of times by the door was enough to get an older student to let him out.
How are you feeling, Ginny? Tom wrote.
A little better, but it's still really scary, Ginny replied in a shaky hand.
I can understand. I didn't want to worry you, but something very similar to this happened while I was in school, and it went very badly.
It did? she wrote hurriedly. What happened? Did they find out who did it.
They did. In fact, I was lucky enough to discover the culprit myself before the school was forced to close—although I was unfortunately too late to save that poor Ravenclaw girl.
The words lingered on the page wistfully for so long that Ginny just wrote underneath them: Who did it?
Well, you might not believe me, but it was a third-year Gryffindor named Rubeus Hagrid.
Hagrid?! But he's still the groundskeeper now. Everybody likes him. I can't believe he'd do something like that. Besides, he's been here practically forever.
I'm only telling you what I saw, Ginny. I can show you, if you like.
Ginny hesitated with the tip of her quill on the page for a long time. Tom's memories, or whatever they were, seemed to be getting more and more unsettling with time, and she wasn't sure sure wanted to see any more. In the end, though, her curiosity got the better of her, and she wrote, Okay.
A little while later, she appeared to the world to snap out of a deep trance in a cold sweat. She fumbled with her quill and the diary and started writing feverishly: Oh Merlin, Tom! I can't believe it! Hagrid seems so nice. He doesn't seem like he'd ever kill anyone. Oh, Tom, are you sure? Could it have been someone else? Or an accident?
An accident? Tom replied. I suppose I wouldn't put it past him. I confess that I was mostly concerned with getting rid of the monster. But it couldn't be a mistake. It must have been Hagrid, since the attacks stopped immediately after he was expelled.
She didn't know how to respond to that. She wanted to trust Tom. If she couldn't trust him, who could she trust? But the things he was saying now sounded so strange. She sat for a long time with the diary lying open and blank on her lap, fighting back tears.
Ginny, I don't mean to pry, Tom finally wrote, but I don't know anything that's going on here beyond what you tell me. How are people reacting to what happened to Colin?
They're not telling us much, Ginny replied after a tense pause. Professor Dumbledore says he's investigating personally, and they're watching closer after curfew, but I don't think they've called the Aurors or anything.
Interesting. They wanted to deal with it internally last time, too. I hope Dumbledore's past experience will help him clear things up faster, he lied.
I hope so too, Tom.
And what are they doing for the boy?
They say they're waiting for the Mandrakes to mature. I thought maybe they could buy the potion, but I guess they can't.
This time of year? No, it would have to come from the Southern Hemisphere, and that's very expensive.
But it doesn't seem right to leave him like that.
I'm afraid that sometimes there is no choice.
It's awful, though. I thought Colin was really nice. Ginny kept her quill on the page for a long time, debating whether to disclose the next thing she wanted to write. Eventually, slowly, she went for it: Tom, I'm worried. I still can't remember what happened last night.
Just stress, I'm sure, Ginny, Tom replied sympathetically. This must be a very difficult time for everyone in the castle. Try to get some sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning.
Harry's and Hermione's conversation with Sirius and Remus bore little fruit except to say they would keep investigating their options regarding Dobby and discuss it over Christmas holidays, along with researching family trees for any clue as to who the Heir of Slytherin was (at least Remus had plenty to do, now), and that the two of them should catch up Dumbledore on everything tomorrow.
While Harry was investigating, rumour and suspicion were spreading through the school like wildfire. Some of the older students started selling bogus protective amulets under the table, and the first years started travelling in groups for safety. Ginny Weasley seemed to be inconsolable about Colin, who was apparently one of her closer friends, and many muggle-borns tried to stick closer to their pure-blood friends. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sophie Roper formed a tight quartet with Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan, while Terry Boot and Kevin Entwhistle stuck by Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner. Hermione's muggle-born roommate, Sally-Anne Perks, mostly hung out with her friend, Lily Moon, but a letter she received at breakfast the next morning left her shaking.
"My parents were uncomfortable from the start with all the prejudice we've heard about," she quietly revealed to her fellow Gryffindors. My Dad got an option to take a job in Canada, and if this goes on, he says he'll take it. I might have to go to the Athabasca Academy in the spring."
This was serious. If the Heir was already driving away students, something needed to be done fast, especially from Harry's and Hermione's perspective. Their own parents weren't above pulling them out mid-year, either.
"It's not all bad," Sally-Anne said in response to her roommates' sympathy. "Athabasca sounds really nice. It's the only magical school in the world with bilingual instruction, and there's students there from places all over the Americas, like Haiti and Guyana."
Sally-Anne was trying to put on a brave face, but Harry could tell she was really worried. In his mind, that was just one more reason they had to solve the mystery. After breakfast, he took a moment to pull her aside and said, "Listen, I don't know if we can do it by Christmas, but we're gonna work with Dumbledore to try to catch the Heir. We really hope you don't have to leave." Sally-Anne's spirits seemed to be lifted a bit after that, and it was with great determination that Harry and Hermione stood in a corridor on the seventh floor later that day, trying to talk to a stone gargoyle.
"Um, we don't know the password or anything," Hermione tried. "Is there any way you can tell Professor Dumbledore that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter need to talk to him?"
The gargoyle showed no sign of life whatsoever for a long minute. The two children were about to give up when it suddenly stepped aside and said, "You may enter."
They climbed up the spiral staircase and passed through the heavy oaken door to find Dumbledore sitting at his desk, gazing kindly at them. "Ah, good afternoon, Hermione, Harry. Please sit."
They made their way to two chairs placed across the desk. Hermione and Harry both noticed Fawkes sitting on a perch by the door, looking quite sick and bedraggled.
"Hey, Fawkes, you alright?" Harry said.
Fawkes held out a mournful note for a few seconds that seemed to infuse the air with weariness and a touch of grief.
"Do not worry about Fawkes," Dumbledore said. "He is merely approaching a burning day. He will be fine in a few weeks. Now, what brings the two of you here today?"
They exchanged a glance, and Harry said, "Professor, we think we have information related to what happened to Colin and Mrs. Norris."
The old wizard raised his eyebrows curiously. "And what might that be?" he asked.
Hermione and Harry told him about their conversation with Dobby yesterday and then what Harry had learnt from Malfoy in cat form last night. Dumbledore didn't particularly look like he approved of Harry's methods, but he wasn't about to turn down the information. He stroked his beard thoughtfully as he considered their words. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said seriously. "It does support what I had already suspected, although the depth of Lucius Malfoy's involvement in this matter is a serious concern."
"Then you know something about what's going on, Professor?" Harry said hopefully.
"Not as much as I would like, I'm afraid. Mostly, I know about Lucius Malfoy's intentions to take advantage of this situation and remove me from my post."
"But surely you must have some idea who—or what—is causing these attacks, Professor," Hermione said.
"Only some partial ideas—nothing I can act upon. I sincerely wish I could."
"Well, can you tell us?" Harry asked. "Maybe we can keep an eye out."
"I do not want you to take unnecessary risks, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "especially as we have some evidence that you are a target."
Harry bit back the urge to mention Dumbledore's plan to actively try to use him to defeat Quirrellmort last year before realising how dumb an idea that was. Instead, he just said, "I didn't mean like that, sir. I just mean if you have a name, maybe I can find him on the Marauder's Map. Or if you have some other clue, we'll know what to watch out for. Don't you think we should at least be informed?"
"I really don't think it's necessary for the two of you to become involved in this investigation."
Harry glared at Dumbledore. "Hermione?"
His sister knew her cue: "'I promise you that you will have my full confidence from now on.' Those were your exact words, Professor."
The Headmaster frowned. Those were his words. Leave it to Hermione and her excellent memory.
"And besides," Harry continued, "we think I'm a target, but we know the muggle-borns are, and in case you've forgotten, Professor, my sister happens to be one of those muggle-borns who are being threatened."
Yes, all too true, and if there was one thing to remember about Harry Potter, it was his fierce loyalty to his family. It was no good keeping him out of this. "My apologies. You are correct, Harry," he said. "I fear I have become too set in my ways. You should indeed be kept abreast of the situation. Even so, I cannot tell you everything, as your Occlumency is not yet up to snuff, and I must ask that what I am about to say not circulate beyond your immediate family." Harry and Hermione both nodded. "I believe that the legend of the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin is, in large measure, true. Before you ask, I do not know where it is, and no, Harry, you may not look for it. I have my own methods of searching. As for the who, I had previously believed that Salazar Slytherin had only one living heir, and that heir was Lord Voldemort."
The children both gasped in horror. Another Voldemort plot? This just kept getting better and better.
"You can see the cause for concern. You may rest assured that Voldemort himself is not back in the castle. I have updated the wards to detect his wraith form, and I have certain contacts who suggest he is currently residing in Eastern Europe."
"Then who's doing it, sir?" Harry said.
"Unfortunately, I do not know. I see two possibilities. One is that Salazar Slytherin does have another heir—or a Parselmouth disciple who can act the part. Or second, which I think more likely given Lucius Malfoy's involvement, someone in this school has a dark artifact, received from a Death Eater, that he or she is using to carry out these attacks."
"What kind of artifact?" Hermione said. "Can you search for it?"
The old wizard shook his head. "I do not know what it would look like," he said, "I would know the magical signature, but only by holding it in hand. The artifact would be small, easy to hide, and charmed against all but the most careful detection methods, and for better or worse, I cannot search a student's belongings without probable cause."
Harry sighed at that, but Hermione nodded that it was accurate. It would take a lot to convince people to go along with a school-wide search, especially considering that Dumbledore apparently didn't know what he was looking for, given how powerful certain students' parents were. It also meant there was nothing for them to keep an eye out for besides the usual shady characters.
"Well, just keep us informed, then, Professor…" Harry said reluctantly. "Sir, what are you going to do about Colin?"
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Madam Pomfrey will be able to revive him once the mandrakes have matured," he said.
"In the spring?" Harry gaped.
"Didn't you say you could get some from the Southern Hemisphere?" Hermione said. "The board might not approve it for a cat, but surely they would for a student."
"I met with the Board today, Hermione. I am sorry to say that they did not."
"But they can't do that!" Harry said.
"Unfortunately, they can—thanks again largely to the machinations of Lucius Malfoy. You can begin to see the pattern."
"But what about Colin?" Harry pressed. "He's gonna be out till practically the end of the year. What are you going to tell his parents?"
Dumbledore sighed again: "I'm afraid that the Board has taken upon themselves the duty of contacting the Creeveys."
Harry's and Hermione's mouths dropped open, appalled. "And that means you can't?" Hermione said.
He nodded. "My hands have been thoroughly tied by the Board. They have appointed themselves the right of first contact, and Lucius Malfoy intends not to use it."
"To make you look bad, right?" Harry said. "Why don't you just do it anyway?"
"This is not Mr. Malfoy's only weapon, Harry."
"That shouldn't matter. What happened to doing what's right instead of what's easy, sir? Can you believe this, Fawkes?" Harry complained. "Back me up, here."
Caw! the phoenix squawked, and he glared at Dumbledore with his piercing black eyes.
"I am well aware of Fawkes's opinion," he replied, "but there are safer ways of making contact. I cannot do anything personally without risking my position as Headmaster, and I hope you can see that would only make matters worse."
"Huh?" Harry stared in confusion.
But Hermione hadn't missed the emphasis in Dumbledore's last answer. "I understand, Harry. Headmaster," she said sweetly, "I take it that the Board has prohibited you or any of the staff from contacting Mr. and Mrs. Creevey, right? But if a student were to contact them, they would have no control over that, would they?"
At that, Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Malfoy is all but openly counting on the Creeveys not to have connections in the magical world. He would be most disappointed to learn that they do."
"Ohhh…" Harry said in realisation. "So you want us to do your dirty work for you again?"
"I would hardly call informing a family of their son's injury 'dirty work', Harry," Dumbledore said with an air of offence. "And I assure you that if I had no other options, I would do the right thing, not the easy one. But in this case, it costs us nothing to find a more productive alternative."
Harry still wasn't too happy with that, but Hermione calmed him down, saying, "He's right, Harry. We need him to stay here. Besides, it'll make the Malfoys madder if we go behind their backs instead of just breaking the rules."
"Well, there is that," Harry admitted.
