Chapter 4
"Let's get out of here," Ron said shakily.
"We shouldn't try to help?" Hermione asked dubiously.
"Trust me," Ron replied emphatically. "We do not want to be found here."
But it was too late. A low rumble came from the ground below them; the feast had ended. From either side of the corridor they heard the sounds of feet pattering up the stairs, happy feasters chatting with one another, prefects shouting themselves hoarse trying to regain order.
It was like being caught in a tornado. Ron and Hermione edged away from the mass as it congregated in the corridor; all talking stopped, staring at the opposite wall. Ron and Hermione stood, guiltily, beside the stone figure of Mrs. Norris.
"Enemies of the Heir, Beware," Draco Malfoy read loudly through the silence. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
The silence hung for a moment more, and then Filch came pushing through the crowd. "What's going on here? What's going on?" he barked.
He stopped as he saw Mrs. Norris and clutched his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screeched.
His eyes fell on Ron and Hermione, white-faced under the shimmering silver writing.
"Murderers! You killed my cat!" Filch shrieked. "You've killed her! I'll kill you! My cat, my cat! You've killed my cat!"
"Argus!"
Dumbledore had arrived at the wall, followed by a number of teachers. In seconds he had swept passed Ron and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket on which she hung. "Come with me, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said. "You too, Argus."
Professor Aracidia, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with whom neither Ron nor Hermione were very well acquainted, stepped forward and inclined his head slightly. "Professor," he said formally, "If you would like the use of my office, it is just upstairs."
Dumbledore nodded and thanked him, and then led Hermione, Ron, and Filch -- followed by Aracidia, Snape, and McGonagall -- up a flight of stairs and into Aracidia's darkened office.
Dumbledore looked closely at Mrs. Norris through his half-moon glasses, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: it was as if he was trying hard not to smile.
"It might have been a curse that killed her, Professor," Aracidia said sonorously. "Perhaps the Trasmogrifan Torture or the Partimelius Curse?"
Filch's racking sobs from a corner of the room grew louder at the mention of the curses. He was slumped on a chair in the shadows behind Professor Snape, hands covering his eyes; he refused to look at the immobile Mrs. Norris.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange incantations and spells over the motionless cat. He tapped her a few times with the tip of his wand, but nothing happened: Mrs. Norris continued to look as if she had been stuffed.
"She's not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said at last, straightening. Professor McGonagall's face registered blank shock, but before she could question the headmaster further Filch uncovered his hands and turned his face to Dumbledore.
"Just a moment, Minerva," the headmaster said in an undertone.
"What do you mean she's -- not -- dead?" Filch choked out. "Why's she all still and -- and -- frozen then?"
"She's been Petrified, Argus," said Dumbledore gently. "Though how, I cannot say.."
"Ask them!" Filch shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Ron and Hermione.
"No second year could have done this, Argus. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced kind --" Professor Dumbledore began, but Filch cut him off.
"You saw what they wrote on the wall!" Filch screeched. "They did it, I tell you!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," came Snape's voice from the shadows. "Weasley and Granger might have just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why didn't he go to the Halloween feast?"
Ron and Hermione both launched into an explanation of where they had been. ".there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you where we've been -- "
"But why not go to the feast afterward?" said Snape silkily, his black eyes glinting maliciously. "Why go up to that corridor?"
"Because -- because --" Hermione began nervously, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."
"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," Ron said loudly just as his stomach emitted a huge rumble.
Snape's smile widened. "I suggest, Headmaster, that these students are not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges.or given detention, perhaps."
"Really, Severus," McGonagall began. "There is no evidence that Weasley and Granger have done anything wrong."
Dumbledore was giving Hermione and Ron a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made them feel as though he were being X-rayed.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.
"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch screamed. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout has some Mandrakes now, I believe. As soon as they reach their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"That's right," Hermione said, and Ron nodded. They both remembered the fussy, earthy baby-like plants they had repotted just a few weeks previous.
"You may go now," Dumbledore said to Ron and Hermione kindly.
They went as quickly as the y could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Aracidia's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.
"D'you think we should have told them about the spider?" Ron asked dubiously.
"No," said Hermione without hesitation. "It was so weird.."
"The whole thing is weird," Ron said. "The Chamber has been Opened.what's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it rings a bell," Hermione said slowly. "I think that I've read about it somewhere.."
A clock chimed somewhere. "Midnight," said Ron, sounding relieved. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
* * *
Since his run for freedom, Harry had seen even less of anyone. Narcissa now rarely opened the door to pass him his food -- he always found a tray magicked into his room instead -- as if she was frightened that he would make another break for the outside world. Several times Harry had tried the Alohomora charm on the window-lock, and the door-lock, but both just shimmered brighter as their protective spells resisted the simple charm. Now he was back to making his bed and pacing the room fitfully, wishing that he had something else to do with his time.
No more conversation had been heard from the "Arguing Room", as Harry had dubbed it, downstairs. The household seemed to have settled into a quiet routine with little anger -- or at least, little visible anger -- or malice. Once Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy and his colleague, Nott, walking in the garden and conferring seriously, but he had not been able to catch what they were saying -- and they didn't look very angry, either.
The most suspicious thing that had happened in the last week was the one time that his lunch tray had arrived sooner than usual -- at about eleven in the morning, if Harry's wristwatch was still accurate. Though the rumblings of his stomach didn't often subside, they hadn't yet started again after breakfast when, suddenly, there was a tray with a slice of questionable-looking bread and a lump of gray pudding-like something sitting on the floor at the foot of the four-poster. Harry had saved it until his watch proclaimed the time to be twelve-thirty, the time the tray usually appeared, but it had put his desperate brain to work, thinking of the cause for earliness.
Finally he flopped onto the bed, bored, and closed his eyes. It was no use worrying about an early lunch, anyway -- it was probably just because the house-elves had a day off, or something.
With a sigh, he fell asleep.
* * *
The loud babble in the Great Hall silenced as Ron and Hermione entered together and helped themselves to several pieces of generously buttered toast. Balancing a tall cup of pumpkin juice in one hand and a plate piled high with toast in another, Hermione scouted out a place at the Gryffindor table. She and Ron sat down by two third years, who promptly scooted away until there was at least two feet between them and the two second years.
Uneasy glances were cast at Ron and Hermione, sitting uncomfortably and eating the toast as fast as possible. The babble did not start up again for several minutes -- instead, a rustling filled the hall, the rustling of many groups of excited whisperers. The two third years on either side of the duo were both included in these whispering-parties -- but Ron and Hermione were not.
A few words from the conversation nearest Hermione caught her attention. ".yes." "Dark, I'm sure." "Dark? The Heirs, if I'm not mistaken."
Without thinking Hermione leaned closer, at which point the talking stopped abruptly. "What d'you want?" the blonde third-year girl who was sitting next to her asked abruptly. "Can't you tell when someone is having a private talk?"
Guiltily, Hermione pulled back and busily ate her breakfast, whispering to Ron as she did so.
"They think we're the ones," she whispered helplessly. Ron nodded angrily, and kicked the foot of the third year boy next to him. She turned ferociously on him, baby-blue eyes glinting angrily. "You stupid little boy," she all but screeched, "Just go away!"
Ron turned back to Hermione without a word to the third-year. "Yeah, I see what you mean," he muttered. "C'mon, let's go up to the Common Room until classes start."
* * *
In the Gryffindor Common Room things were not much better. As Ron and Hermione dropped, sighing, into two of the oversized armchairs, the few other students studying, talking, or reading all turned slightly away from them. Hermione and Ron didn't know anyone there, but still the pain was evident as no one raised even a finger in acknowledgement of their presence.
"They really do," Ron said angrily, and swore. "Just because of that stupid spider .."
Hermione shook her head slightly and pulled a thick copy of Creatures of the Dark: Dangerous and often Deadly Nocturnal Species into her lap. Soon she was immersed in a chapter on vampire bats.
Ron stared at the ever-crackling fire, thinking of Harry for the first time in quite a few weeks. A hot burning behind his eyes caused him to shut them quickly, before the tears came fully. "Gottagogetready," he mumbled to Hermione, and then ran up to the boy's dormitory. It was empty except for Trevor the Toad in a glass tank by Neville's bed.
He climbed onto the four-poster and drew the curtains, staring through a slit at the empty bed next to his. Harry's bed, he thought sadly, his sadness laced with a bitterness for whoever was responsible for everything that was happening now.
Pounding steps on the spiral stairs told him that someone was fast approaching the dormitory. Wishing to remain unnoticed, Ron lay still on the four-poster until the visitor -- Seamus Finnigan, probably -- had departed once more. With a sigh he sat up and, reaching his arm out of the hangings, pulled the photograph album that lay just under the bed into the dark rectangular space with him.
Listlessly he thumbed through the pages, his eyes burning once more as he saw the various snapshots of Harry -- Harry with Ron, Harry with Hermione, Harry with both. In one picture Harry had been startled when Scabbers, Ron's ever-sleeping rat, had leaped onto his face and clawed at his glasses -- causing them to fall and the Spellotape holding them together to break.
In another picture, Harry and Ron stood with the rest of the Weasley family -- everyone in the picture was waving cheerily (except Percy, who was polishing his Prefect badge and looking dignified). In yet another, Hermione was beaming as Professor McGonagall presented her with the Valued Scholar Award for Gryffindor House. Harry and Ron were in the front of the picture, their backs towards the photographer -- both clapping heartily.
Sighing in frustration, Ron shut the book and snapped the lock -- for the first time ever -- for the pictures had suddenly become as precious as gold to him.
"Ron? Ron!"
A shout carried up the dormitory stairs -- it was Hermione. "Ron! Can you hear me? It's time for Transfiguration.."
Slowly Ron parted the hangings and grabbed his schoolbag, and then descended the stairs to join Hermione. She stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase with a disapproving look on her face and her own bag clutched tightly in one hand. Scabbers was in the other, dangling by his tail in Hermione's hand, and -- amazingly -- still sleeping.
"This was in my bag," Hermione said disgustedly. "Please, take him away."
Ron angrily tore Scabbers from Hermione's hand and raced back up the stairs to the dormitory, where he deposited the hapless rat on his bed. "Stay there," he muttered to his pet through gritted teeth.
His humor was poor as he met Hermione once again at the foot of the spiral staircase. "Let's go," he said shortly.
Hermione made several attempts to start a conversation -- each one failing miserably. "Just -- come on," Ron said angrily, striding ahead so she couldn't see the tears if they fell.
"Let's get out of here," Ron said shakily.
"We shouldn't try to help?" Hermione asked dubiously.
"Trust me," Ron replied emphatically. "We do not want to be found here."
But it was too late. A low rumble came from the ground below them; the feast had ended. From either side of the corridor they heard the sounds of feet pattering up the stairs, happy feasters chatting with one another, prefects shouting themselves hoarse trying to regain order.
It was like being caught in a tornado. Ron and Hermione edged away from the mass as it congregated in the corridor; all talking stopped, staring at the opposite wall. Ron and Hermione stood, guiltily, beside the stone figure of Mrs. Norris.
"Enemies of the Heir, Beware," Draco Malfoy read loudly through the silence. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
The silence hung for a moment more, and then Filch came pushing through the crowd. "What's going on here? What's going on?" he barked.
He stopped as he saw Mrs. Norris and clutched his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screeched.
His eyes fell on Ron and Hermione, white-faced under the shimmering silver writing.
"Murderers! You killed my cat!" Filch shrieked. "You've killed her! I'll kill you! My cat, my cat! You've killed my cat!"
"Argus!"
Dumbledore had arrived at the wall, followed by a number of teachers. In seconds he had swept passed Ron and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket on which she hung. "Come with me, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said. "You too, Argus."
Professor Aracidia, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with whom neither Ron nor Hermione were very well acquainted, stepped forward and inclined his head slightly. "Professor," he said formally, "If you would like the use of my office, it is just upstairs."
Dumbledore nodded and thanked him, and then led Hermione, Ron, and Filch -- followed by Aracidia, Snape, and McGonagall -- up a flight of stairs and into Aracidia's darkened office.
Dumbledore looked closely at Mrs. Norris through his half-moon glasses, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: it was as if he was trying hard not to smile.
"It might have been a curse that killed her, Professor," Aracidia said sonorously. "Perhaps the Trasmogrifan Torture or the Partimelius Curse?"
Filch's racking sobs from a corner of the room grew louder at the mention of the curses. He was slumped on a chair in the shadows behind Professor Snape, hands covering his eyes; he refused to look at the immobile Mrs. Norris.
Dumbledore was now muttering strange incantations and spells over the motionless cat. He tapped her a few times with the tip of his wand, but nothing happened: Mrs. Norris continued to look as if she had been stuffed.
"She's not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said at last, straightening. Professor McGonagall's face registered blank shock, but before she could question the headmaster further Filch uncovered his hands and turned his face to Dumbledore.
"Just a moment, Minerva," the headmaster said in an undertone.
"What do you mean she's -- not -- dead?" Filch choked out. "Why's she all still and -- and -- frozen then?"
"She's been Petrified, Argus," said Dumbledore gently. "Though how, I cannot say.."
"Ask them!" Filch shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Ron and Hermione.
"No second year could have done this, Argus. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced kind --" Professor Dumbledore began, but Filch cut him off.
"You saw what they wrote on the wall!" Filch screeched. "They did it, I tell you!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," came Snape's voice from the shadows. "Weasley and Granger might have just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why didn't he go to the Halloween feast?"
Ron and Hermione both launched into an explanation of where they had been. ".there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you where we've been -- "
"But why not go to the feast afterward?" said Snape silkily, his black eyes glinting maliciously. "Why go up to that corridor?"
"Because -- because --" Hermione began nervously, "because we were tired and wanted to go to bed."
"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," Ron said loudly just as his stomach emitted a huge rumble.
Snape's smile widened. "I suggest, Headmaster, that these students are not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges.or given detention, perhaps."
"Really, Severus," McGonagall began. "There is no evidence that Weasley and Granger have done anything wrong."
Dumbledore was giving Hermione and Ron a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made them feel as though he were being X-rayed.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.
"My cat has been Petrified!" Filch screamed. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout has some Mandrakes now, I believe. As soon as they reach their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"That's right," Hermione said, and Ron nodded. They both remembered the fussy, earthy baby-like plants they had repotted just a few weeks previous.
"You may go now," Dumbledore said to Ron and Hermione kindly.
They went as quickly as the y could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Aracidia's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.
"D'you think we should have told them about the spider?" Ron asked dubiously.
"No," said Hermione without hesitation. "It was so weird.."
"The whole thing is weird," Ron said. "The Chamber has been Opened.what's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it rings a bell," Hermione said slowly. "I think that I've read about it somewhere.."
A clock chimed somewhere. "Midnight," said Ron, sounding relieved. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
* * *
Since his run for freedom, Harry had seen even less of anyone. Narcissa now rarely opened the door to pass him his food -- he always found a tray magicked into his room instead -- as if she was frightened that he would make another break for the outside world. Several times Harry had tried the Alohomora charm on the window-lock, and the door-lock, but both just shimmered brighter as their protective spells resisted the simple charm. Now he was back to making his bed and pacing the room fitfully, wishing that he had something else to do with his time.
No more conversation had been heard from the "Arguing Room", as Harry had dubbed it, downstairs. The household seemed to have settled into a quiet routine with little anger -- or at least, little visible anger -- or malice. Once Harry had seen Lucius Malfoy and his colleague, Nott, walking in the garden and conferring seriously, but he had not been able to catch what they were saying -- and they didn't look very angry, either.
The most suspicious thing that had happened in the last week was the one time that his lunch tray had arrived sooner than usual -- at about eleven in the morning, if Harry's wristwatch was still accurate. Though the rumblings of his stomach didn't often subside, they hadn't yet started again after breakfast when, suddenly, there was a tray with a slice of questionable-looking bread and a lump of gray pudding-like something sitting on the floor at the foot of the four-poster. Harry had saved it until his watch proclaimed the time to be twelve-thirty, the time the tray usually appeared, but it had put his desperate brain to work, thinking of the cause for earliness.
Finally he flopped onto the bed, bored, and closed his eyes. It was no use worrying about an early lunch, anyway -- it was probably just because the house-elves had a day off, or something.
With a sigh, he fell asleep.
* * *
The loud babble in the Great Hall silenced as Ron and Hermione entered together and helped themselves to several pieces of generously buttered toast. Balancing a tall cup of pumpkin juice in one hand and a plate piled high with toast in another, Hermione scouted out a place at the Gryffindor table. She and Ron sat down by two third years, who promptly scooted away until there was at least two feet between them and the two second years.
Uneasy glances were cast at Ron and Hermione, sitting uncomfortably and eating the toast as fast as possible. The babble did not start up again for several minutes -- instead, a rustling filled the hall, the rustling of many groups of excited whisperers. The two third years on either side of the duo were both included in these whispering-parties -- but Ron and Hermione were not.
A few words from the conversation nearest Hermione caught her attention. ".yes." "Dark, I'm sure." "Dark? The Heirs, if I'm not mistaken."
Without thinking Hermione leaned closer, at which point the talking stopped abruptly. "What d'you want?" the blonde third-year girl who was sitting next to her asked abruptly. "Can't you tell when someone is having a private talk?"
Guiltily, Hermione pulled back and busily ate her breakfast, whispering to Ron as she did so.
"They think we're the ones," she whispered helplessly. Ron nodded angrily, and kicked the foot of the third year boy next to him. She turned ferociously on him, baby-blue eyes glinting angrily. "You stupid little boy," she all but screeched, "Just go away!"
Ron turned back to Hermione without a word to the third-year. "Yeah, I see what you mean," he muttered. "C'mon, let's go up to the Common Room until classes start."
* * *
In the Gryffindor Common Room things were not much better. As Ron and Hermione dropped, sighing, into two of the oversized armchairs, the few other students studying, talking, or reading all turned slightly away from them. Hermione and Ron didn't know anyone there, but still the pain was evident as no one raised even a finger in acknowledgement of their presence.
"They really do," Ron said angrily, and swore. "Just because of that stupid spider .."
Hermione shook her head slightly and pulled a thick copy of Creatures of the Dark: Dangerous and often Deadly Nocturnal Species into her lap. Soon she was immersed in a chapter on vampire bats.
Ron stared at the ever-crackling fire, thinking of Harry for the first time in quite a few weeks. A hot burning behind his eyes caused him to shut them quickly, before the tears came fully. "Gottagogetready," he mumbled to Hermione, and then ran up to the boy's dormitory. It was empty except for Trevor the Toad in a glass tank by Neville's bed.
He climbed onto the four-poster and drew the curtains, staring through a slit at the empty bed next to his. Harry's bed, he thought sadly, his sadness laced with a bitterness for whoever was responsible for everything that was happening now.
Pounding steps on the spiral stairs told him that someone was fast approaching the dormitory. Wishing to remain unnoticed, Ron lay still on the four-poster until the visitor -- Seamus Finnigan, probably -- had departed once more. With a sigh he sat up and, reaching his arm out of the hangings, pulled the photograph album that lay just under the bed into the dark rectangular space with him.
Listlessly he thumbed through the pages, his eyes burning once more as he saw the various snapshots of Harry -- Harry with Ron, Harry with Hermione, Harry with both. In one picture Harry had been startled when Scabbers, Ron's ever-sleeping rat, had leaped onto his face and clawed at his glasses -- causing them to fall and the Spellotape holding them together to break.
In another picture, Harry and Ron stood with the rest of the Weasley family -- everyone in the picture was waving cheerily (except Percy, who was polishing his Prefect badge and looking dignified). In yet another, Hermione was beaming as Professor McGonagall presented her with the Valued Scholar Award for Gryffindor House. Harry and Ron were in the front of the picture, their backs towards the photographer -- both clapping heartily.
Sighing in frustration, Ron shut the book and snapped the lock -- for the first time ever -- for the pictures had suddenly become as precious as gold to him.
"Ron? Ron!"
A shout carried up the dormitory stairs -- it was Hermione. "Ron! Can you hear me? It's time for Transfiguration.."
Slowly Ron parted the hangings and grabbed his schoolbag, and then descended the stairs to join Hermione. She stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase with a disapproving look on her face and her own bag clutched tightly in one hand. Scabbers was in the other, dangling by his tail in Hermione's hand, and -- amazingly -- still sleeping.
"This was in my bag," Hermione said disgustedly. "Please, take him away."
Ron angrily tore Scabbers from Hermione's hand and raced back up the stairs to the dormitory, where he deposited the hapless rat on his bed. "Stay there," he muttered to his pet through gritted teeth.
His humor was poor as he met Hermione once again at the foot of the spiral staircase. "Let's go," he said shortly.
Hermione made several attempts to start a conversation -- each one failing miserably. "Just -- come on," Ron said angrily, striding ahead so she couldn't see the tears if they fell.