AHhhhhhh, so it's nearly spring break, and I was able to write/edit a little bit more then usual! I'm excited about what's going to happen so please, enjoy these extra chapters of the day! I hope you all find them equally as exciting as I do lol.

- M

P.S. Hoping I can do this kind of double posting from time to time more within the future :)

It was Pansy, and her sneer was visible even through the crowd. She pushed herself to the front, her dark glittering eyes coldly. She grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat and snorted a cruel, little giggle.

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by her 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 Arabella.

"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 the gawking students and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You four as well,"

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 McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Arabella noted that several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The four 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 countercurse that would have saved her..."

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Much as any student detested Filch, Arabella couldn't help feeling a bit sorry. If Dumbledore believed Filch, They would all be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened. She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

"... I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," blathered Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story is in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once..."

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up.

"She is not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all— all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say..."

"Ask her!" spat Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Arabella.

"Argus, no second-year could have done this," interrupted Dumbledore firmly. "it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —"

"She did it, she did it!" Filch sputtered, 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 breathlessly.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Arabella said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at her, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "You saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"Don't you dare accuse my sister like that!" spat Lyla, narrowing her gaze at the caretaker, "we didn't do anything! We were just walking and then–"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Arabella's sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

"Is it not possible that these students may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here," said McGonagall, eyeing the group suspiciously. "Why were you all in the upstairs corridor at all? Why were you not at the Halloween feast like everyone else?"

Together, they 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 afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that particular corridor?"

"Well, that's because— because—"

Arabella could feel her heart rocketing around her chest; for something told her it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," she finished meekly.

"Without any supper?" inquired McGonagall. "I wouldn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Lyla loudly as her stomach gave a great rumble.

Dumbledore was giving Arabella a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made her feel as though she were being x-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty," he said finally.

Filch looked livid.

"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —"

"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to the students. 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. Arabella squinted at his friends' darkened faces.

"D'you think we should have told them about that voice Ara and I heard?" asked Lyla, shivering where she stood.

"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 Arabella ask, "You do believe us, don't you, Ron?"

'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But— you must admit it's weird..."

"We know it's weird," said Lyla with a sigh. "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 or something… hmm…"

"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Arabella irritably. "The way Filch was accusing me sounded like I'd just unearthed something horrible.

To her surprise, Ron stifled a snigger, while Hermione scowled in disapproval.

"Well," he began, "it's not funny really— but it's Filch we're talking about."

"A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers," said Hermione. "Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual."

"It would explain a lot," Ron said, grinning broadly. "Like why he hates students so much."

A clock chimed somewhere.

"Midnight," said Lyla worriedly.

"We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."

Ron nodded in agreement.

P.S. If you could, if one has the time, please leave:

-Long comments
-Short comments
-Questions (if any)
-Kind criticism
-General feedback