Chapter 11
"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," said Hermione matter-of-factly the next morning over breakfast. "You'll be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. All you need to do is to cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."
Ron gave her a feeble grin. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.
That afternoon Ron entered the large Potions dungeon with a deep feeling of foreboding. He slid into a desk next to Hermione, who was looking nervous but determined.
"Remember, don't do it till I give the signal. If you do it before, the Firework will be wasted, so don't do it before the signal. Don't forget, you can't do it before the-,"
"I know, Hermione, I know!" Ron hissed. He turned to face the front of the dungeon, where Snape was lecturing them on the magical properties of the Swelling Solution.
"Please get out your ingredients," he said silkily after a few moments' discussion. "Prepare the Swelling Solution according the recipe on page seven hundred ninety-three. You have exactly forty-five minutes."
A few minutes later, each student was hurriedly mixing and slicing. Snape wandered among them like a large, menacing bat, pausing to sneer at the Gryffindor's potions. Ron waited nervously for Hermione's signal, which came while Snape's back was turned as he criticized Neville's watery potion.
Ron ducked swiftly behind his cauldron, and pulled out a brilliantly green Filibuster's Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Prodding it with his wand, he threw it across the dungeon and into Goyle's cauldron just as Snape turned around.
Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate. Through the confusion, Ron saw Hermione slip quietly back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging slightly.
"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft."
When everyone had taken a swig of antidote, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.
"If I ever find out who did this," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that that person is expelled."
* * *
"He knew it was me," said Ron after class.
"Of course not, how could he?" asked Hermione, tucking the packets of potion ingredients into her bag. "You did splendidly, Ron, I got everything."
"You won't say that if I get expelled," Ron muttered.
Hermione gave him a scathing look and sped up slightly. Ron hurried passed her and turned around, facing her. "Let me by," she said irritably, but he didn't move.
"Listen, Hermione," he said firmly, "If we're going to work together on this, we've got to stop bickering. So.let's stop."
"Fine," said Hermione, still a bit ruffled. Ron reddened slightly and turned back around, only to bump into Hagrid, who was holding a dead rooster in one of his large, gloved hands.
"All righ', Ron? Hermione?" he asked.
"Fine. What're you doing, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.
Hagrid held up the limp rooster. "Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear. I need the Headmaster's protection ter put a charm around the hen coop."
"Hagrid!" a voice called from behind him. Professor McGonagall hurried into view. "Dumbledore would like a word, Hagrid-,"
"Good, that's what I've come for," Hagrid said. "See you two later, then!"
He followed Professor McGonagall down the halls. Ron shrugged, and continued down the corridor with Hermione.
"Er, how did your Swelling Solution go, Ron?" Hermione asked awkwardly.
"Horrible," he said snappily. "I was waiting for you, remember?"
"Still, you should at least have tried," Hermione said severely. "It would help if you concentrated in class a little more, you know."
Ron whirled angrily on her. "You're just so busy concentrating in class you don't have time to worry about Harry. You haven't said a thing about him for weeks!"
"That's not true!" Hermione said, reddening. "I miss Harry a lot-but Ron, there's nothing we can do-there are trained wizards searching for him now- I'm just trying to concentrate on the more present danger!"
"Yeah, well, Harry missing is just as present!" Ron spun around and ran down the corridor, not caring who he bumped into. He stamped up a flight of stairs, not sure where he was going, and was running along the corridor when he tripped over something large and solid lying in the hall and sprawled face-first onto the floor.
He turned to see what he had fallen over and felt as though his stomach had just dissolved. In the faint light from the window high above, he could see the outline of a pale grey statue-like figure, a boy Ron did not recognize. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sign Ron had ever seen.
It was Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. He was no longer pearly- white and translucent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, sick inches off the floor. His head was half off and he wore an expression of shock.
"Ron! Ron! Ron, wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-,"
Hermione ran puffing up the stairs, and stopped abruptly as she sighted Ron and the two immobile figures. "Nearly Headless Nick?" she said finally, very faintly.
Before Ron could move or speak, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
"Why, it's Granger and Weasley!" he cackled, knocking Hermione's hat off as he bounced past. "What're they up to? What're they lurking-,"
Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Nearly Headless Nick and the strange boy. He flipped right-way-up, filling his lungs with air, and before Hermione or Ron could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATAAAAACK!"
Crash-crash-crash-door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that the strange boy was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nick. Ron and Hermione found themselves pinned against the wall as teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her class. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into his or her classes.
Peeves was bobbing overhead gleefully, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. "Oh, you're in trouble now," he said happily to Ron and Hermione. Suddenly he broke into song-
"Oh, Weasley and Granger, what have you done
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun-"
"That's enough, Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall. Peeves zoomed away backwards, his tongue out at Hermione and Ron.
Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department carried the strange boy up to the hospital wing, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to a fifth-year student with instructions to waft Nick up the stairs. This the girl did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Hermione, Ron, and Professor McGonagall alone together.
"Granger, Weasley, come with me," she said curtly.
"Professor, we didn't-,"
"I swear we didn't do anything, Professor-,"
"This is out of my hands," Professor McGonagall said crisply.
They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. "Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password, for the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread as they were for what was coming, Hermione and Ron could not fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As they stepped onto it, the wall thudded closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Ron and Hermione saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
They knew now where they were being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.
* * *
Harry woke several hours later, feeling slightly refreshed. The dungeon was still completely dark, and Harry could not tell if it was night or day-not that it mattered, deep underground as he was. Absentmindedly he shooed a spider from his foot, and realized with a jolt that he was still wearing the Invisibility Cloak-he could not see his hand at all.
Slowly, he pulled it off. The fluid cloth flowed around his hands like water, never quite still. In the darkness is glowed silver, and the light emanating from it comforted him.
Without letting go of the Cloak, he stood carefully. After a moment he took a cautious step forward, his hand outstretched.
After a few more steps, his hand touched cold stone. Feeling around a bit, he felt one of the wire racks and the glass jars therein, and wondered briefly what was in them.
He hesitated for a moment, and then draped the Cloak around his shoulders. Reaching out with his other hand to touch the wall, he slowly felt his way along to the corner. He put his hand down, waving it about in the air, to see if the table with the candle was there-but his hand touched only empty space.
He turned and inched his way along the next wall. The table-with the candle still on it-was in the second corner, and (thought he could not say why) he picked the candle up. Now to get back to the cot.
Looping his pinky finger around the narrow part of the candleholder, he used both hands once more to feel his way along the wall. Suddenly he touched something large and swollen with his right hand-and felt a sharp pain. He cried out and jerked his hand away, knocking into one of the wire racks as he did so. The entire rack tore loose from the wall-I guess it wasn't fastened very tightly, Harry thought distractedly-and went crashing to the ground, shattering several jars in the process. One jar flared brilliant orange as it hit the ground, and didn't go out-with wonder, Harry realized that whatever had been in the jar had ignited the candle. Carefully, using the flickering light to see, he scooped the thick orange cream back into its half-broken jar with a fragment of glass. If it would start a candle-fire, it could be useful.
Another jar had broken very little. What little content was spilled glowed faintly purple, and Harry touched it experimentally with his right hand. It stung fiercely, but when he drew his hand back the swelling from the spider- bite had gone. In fact, he noticed as he examined the hand closer, there was not even a scar to mark the place.
For the first time he began to seriously consider the contents of the glass jars around him. If any others had properties like the two he held now, it would be more than worthwhile to put them to use. What jars were not cracked or broken, he now saw, had green or blue or yellow salves, creams, and potions bottled tightly inside-any number of which could help him considerably, if he could find what they were used for.
As the idea dawned, a cautionary thought wormed its way into the corner of his mind. Are you sure, it said, that Malfoy and Voldemort don't know what's in here?
"They couldn't," he said aloud. "Or could they?"
It is Malfoy's house, the thought pointed out. And he did specifically choose this room to lock you in. Could all this be some sort of trap?
"No," Harry said firmly. The sound of his voice echoed hollowly in the near- empty stone room.
Quickly, before the thought could protest again, he gathered up his two jars and his candle and went back to the cot. He shooed several spiders off of it-marveling anew at the smooth skin on his right hand-and sat down, carefully placing the candle by his feet on the stone floor.
He wished, suddenly, for Malfoy's sphere of light. The candle seemed feeble in the stifling darkness of the dungeon, little comfort. Plus, it was short to begin with, and growing visibly shorter each moment it burned.
Hastily he blew the candle out. I'll use it when I really need it, he thought. Right now I guess I can last in the darkness.
Sighing, he lay back on the cot. The discovery of the jars hadn't helped in the grand scheme of things-it didn't change the fact that he was locked in a dungeon in the Malfoy manor, alone, friendless, and exceedingly hungry.
As if he his thoughts had been read, a tray appeared at his feet. It contained the usual dry bread and a strange, greyish pudding-like substance that, had he not been ravenous, he would have left completely alone.
It was gone quickly, and left his still quite hungry. The moment he put down the fork for the last time, the tray disappeared with a faint pop, and Harry had the eerie sense that his every move was being watched and his every thought monitored.
"Hello?" he asked uncertainly, but nothing happened.
After a few minutes, he lay back down, suddenly tired once more, and fell back to sleep.
"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," said Hermione matter-of-factly the next morning over breakfast. "You'll be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. All you need to do is to cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."
Ron gave her a feeble grin. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.
That afternoon Ron entered the large Potions dungeon with a deep feeling of foreboding. He slid into a desk next to Hermione, who was looking nervous but determined.
"Remember, don't do it till I give the signal. If you do it before, the Firework will be wasted, so don't do it before the signal. Don't forget, you can't do it before the-,"
"I know, Hermione, I know!" Ron hissed. He turned to face the front of the dungeon, where Snape was lecturing them on the magical properties of the Swelling Solution.
"Please get out your ingredients," he said silkily after a few moments' discussion. "Prepare the Swelling Solution according the recipe on page seven hundred ninety-three. You have exactly forty-five minutes."
A few minutes later, each student was hurriedly mixing and slicing. Snape wandered among them like a large, menacing bat, pausing to sneer at the Gryffindor's potions. Ron waited nervously for Hermione's signal, which came while Snape's back was turned as he criticized Neville's watery potion.
Ron ducked swiftly behind his cauldron, and pulled out a brilliantly green Filibuster's Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Prodding it with his wand, he threw it across the dungeon and into Goyle's cauldron just as Snape turned around.
Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate. Through the confusion, Ron saw Hermione slip quietly back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging slightly.
"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft."
When everyone had taken a swig of antidote, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.
"If I ever find out who did this," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that that person is expelled."
* * *
"He knew it was me," said Ron after class.
"Of course not, how could he?" asked Hermione, tucking the packets of potion ingredients into her bag. "You did splendidly, Ron, I got everything."
"You won't say that if I get expelled," Ron muttered.
Hermione gave him a scathing look and sped up slightly. Ron hurried passed her and turned around, facing her. "Let me by," she said irritably, but he didn't move.
"Listen, Hermione," he said firmly, "If we're going to work together on this, we've got to stop bickering. So.let's stop."
"Fine," said Hermione, still a bit ruffled. Ron reddened slightly and turned back around, only to bump into Hagrid, who was holding a dead rooster in one of his large, gloved hands.
"All righ', Ron? Hermione?" he asked.
"Fine. What're you doing, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.
Hagrid held up the limp rooster. "Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear. I need the Headmaster's protection ter put a charm around the hen coop."
"Hagrid!" a voice called from behind him. Professor McGonagall hurried into view. "Dumbledore would like a word, Hagrid-,"
"Good, that's what I've come for," Hagrid said. "See you two later, then!"
He followed Professor McGonagall down the halls. Ron shrugged, and continued down the corridor with Hermione.
"Er, how did your Swelling Solution go, Ron?" Hermione asked awkwardly.
"Horrible," he said snappily. "I was waiting for you, remember?"
"Still, you should at least have tried," Hermione said severely. "It would help if you concentrated in class a little more, you know."
Ron whirled angrily on her. "You're just so busy concentrating in class you don't have time to worry about Harry. You haven't said a thing about him for weeks!"
"That's not true!" Hermione said, reddening. "I miss Harry a lot-but Ron, there's nothing we can do-there are trained wizards searching for him now- I'm just trying to concentrate on the more present danger!"
"Yeah, well, Harry missing is just as present!" Ron spun around and ran down the corridor, not caring who he bumped into. He stamped up a flight of stairs, not sure where he was going, and was running along the corridor when he tripped over something large and solid lying in the hall and sprawled face-first onto the floor.
He turned to see what he had fallen over and felt as though his stomach had just dissolved. In the faint light from the window high above, he could see the outline of a pale grey statue-like figure, a boy Ron did not recognize. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sign Ron had ever seen.
It was Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. He was no longer pearly- white and translucent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, sick inches off the floor. His head was half off and he wore an expression of shock.
"Ron! Ron! Ron, wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean-,"
Hermione ran puffing up the stairs, and stopped abruptly as she sighted Ron and the two immobile figures. "Nearly Headless Nick?" she said finally, very faintly.
Before Ron could move or speak, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
"Why, it's Granger and Weasley!" he cackled, knocking Hermione's hat off as he bounced past. "What're they up to? What're they lurking-,"
Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Nearly Headless Nick and the strange boy. He flipped right-way-up, filling his lungs with air, and before Hermione or Ron could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATAAAAACK!"
Crash-crash-crash-door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that the strange boy was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nick. Ron and Hermione found themselves pinned against the wall as teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her class. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into his or her classes.
Peeves was bobbing overhead gleefully, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. "Oh, you're in trouble now," he said happily to Ron and Hermione. Suddenly he broke into song-
"Oh, Weasley and Granger, what have you done
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun-"
"That's enough, Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall. Peeves zoomed away backwards, his tongue out at Hermione and Ron.
Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department carried the strange boy up to the hospital wing, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to a fifth-year student with instructions to waft Nick up the stairs. This the girl did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Hermione, Ron, and Professor McGonagall alone together.
"Granger, Weasley, come with me," she said curtly.
"Professor, we didn't-,"
"I swear we didn't do anything, Professor-,"
"This is out of my hands," Professor McGonagall said crisply.
They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. "Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password, for the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of dread as they were for what was coming, Hermione and Ron could not fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As they stepped onto it, the wall thudded closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Ron and Hermione saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
They knew now where they were being taken. This must be where Dumbledore lived.
* * *
Harry woke several hours later, feeling slightly refreshed. The dungeon was still completely dark, and Harry could not tell if it was night or day-not that it mattered, deep underground as he was. Absentmindedly he shooed a spider from his foot, and realized with a jolt that he was still wearing the Invisibility Cloak-he could not see his hand at all.
Slowly, he pulled it off. The fluid cloth flowed around his hands like water, never quite still. In the darkness is glowed silver, and the light emanating from it comforted him.
Without letting go of the Cloak, he stood carefully. After a moment he took a cautious step forward, his hand outstretched.
After a few more steps, his hand touched cold stone. Feeling around a bit, he felt one of the wire racks and the glass jars therein, and wondered briefly what was in them.
He hesitated for a moment, and then draped the Cloak around his shoulders. Reaching out with his other hand to touch the wall, he slowly felt his way along to the corner. He put his hand down, waving it about in the air, to see if the table with the candle was there-but his hand touched only empty space.
He turned and inched his way along the next wall. The table-with the candle still on it-was in the second corner, and (thought he could not say why) he picked the candle up. Now to get back to the cot.
Looping his pinky finger around the narrow part of the candleholder, he used both hands once more to feel his way along the wall. Suddenly he touched something large and swollen with his right hand-and felt a sharp pain. He cried out and jerked his hand away, knocking into one of the wire racks as he did so. The entire rack tore loose from the wall-I guess it wasn't fastened very tightly, Harry thought distractedly-and went crashing to the ground, shattering several jars in the process. One jar flared brilliant orange as it hit the ground, and didn't go out-with wonder, Harry realized that whatever had been in the jar had ignited the candle. Carefully, using the flickering light to see, he scooped the thick orange cream back into its half-broken jar with a fragment of glass. If it would start a candle-fire, it could be useful.
Another jar had broken very little. What little content was spilled glowed faintly purple, and Harry touched it experimentally with his right hand. It stung fiercely, but when he drew his hand back the swelling from the spider- bite had gone. In fact, he noticed as he examined the hand closer, there was not even a scar to mark the place.
For the first time he began to seriously consider the contents of the glass jars around him. If any others had properties like the two he held now, it would be more than worthwhile to put them to use. What jars were not cracked or broken, he now saw, had green or blue or yellow salves, creams, and potions bottled tightly inside-any number of which could help him considerably, if he could find what they were used for.
As the idea dawned, a cautionary thought wormed its way into the corner of his mind. Are you sure, it said, that Malfoy and Voldemort don't know what's in here?
"They couldn't," he said aloud. "Or could they?"
It is Malfoy's house, the thought pointed out. And he did specifically choose this room to lock you in. Could all this be some sort of trap?
"No," Harry said firmly. The sound of his voice echoed hollowly in the near- empty stone room.
Quickly, before the thought could protest again, he gathered up his two jars and his candle and went back to the cot. He shooed several spiders off of it-marveling anew at the smooth skin on his right hand-and sat down, carefully placing the candle by his feet on the stone floor.
He wished, suddenly, for Malfoy's sphere of light. The candle seemed feeble in the stifling darkness of the dungeon, little comfort. Plus, it was short to begin with, and growing visibly shorter each moment it burned.
Hastily he blew the candle out. I'll use it when I really need it, he thought. Right now I guess I can last in the darkness.
Sighing, he lay back on the cot. The discovery of the jars hadn't helped in the grand scheme of things-it didn't change the fact that he was locked in a dungeon in the Malfoy manor, alone, friendless, and exceedingly hungry.
As if he his thoughts had been read, a tray appeared at his feet. It contained the usual dry bread and a strange, greyish pudding-like substance that, had he not been ravenous, he would have left completely alone.
It was gone quickly, and left his still quite hungry. The moment he put down the fork for the last time, the tray disappeared with a faint pop, and Harry had the eerie sense that his every move was being watched and his every thought monitored.
"Hello?" he asked uncertainly, but nothing happened.
After a few minutes, he lay back down, suddenly tired once more, and fell back to sleep.