Chapter 13
A blinding flash of white-hot light woke Harry the next morning (or rather, what felt like morning), leaving him seeing white spots for several minutes. He wondered what could have caused the explosion, and groped towards the candle-but then he remembered the day before, and the death of the small candle.
To his surprise, however, a tall, waxy shape met his fingers. He stared at it through the darkness, shocked. Another candle? he thought unbelievingly. But-it burned out-
Take advantage of what you have, Harry, said a comforting voice in his mind. No great harm can come out of a single candle, can it?
Suddenly he remembered the table full of mysterious ointments, ointments that had replenished themselves overnight. Something was certainly happening here, something that made him feel slightly uneasy. There's nothing to worry about, the voice said again soothingly. Nothing.
Nothing to worry about, he repeated dutifully. Nothing at all.
Nothing to worry about.nothing.the voice repeated, over and over again. And then, You're in the house of a wizard. A very powerful wizard, yes, very powerful. Nothing to worry about. Nothing.
Harry shook his head as if to clear the strange voice from it. He lay back and stared at a large black widow spider crawling in a circle on the ceiling directly above him, while subconscious thoughts ran through his mind without ceasing.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing. Safe. Nothing to worry about. The spider was very interesting-the most interesting thing Harry had seen in several days. He kept watching it. Nothing to worry about, his mind droned. In the hands of a very powerful wizard.powerful, yes. Safe. Powerful.powerful wizard-Harry was becoming more and more sleepy, it seemed as if he had not slept in several days-powerful.very powerful.wizard, very powerful wizard.powerful, power.
Power.
Power is all that matters. Very powerful. Power is all that matters.power.powerful.all that matters.
"That's right," Harry murmured sleepily. "Power is all that matters."
A warning light blinked in one corner of his mind, but he was far too tired to care. He pulled the rotting blanket up to his chin, allowing the chant in his mind to lull him to sleep.
Power. Power is all that matters. And finally, You could be powerful too.
"Me too," he whispered, and then fell asleep.
* * *
Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Ron, the only one left in his dormitory, was woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying a large, bulky present under one arm.
"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.
"Hermione, you're not supposed to be in here," said Ron sleepily, shielding his eyes against the light.
"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
He sat up, suddenly wide-awake. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."
* * *
No one, not even someone dreading taking the Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost- covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead" kept asking them all what they were sniggering at.
Ron had barely finished his third helping of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered him out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.
"We still need a bit of the people we're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending him to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously," she continued, "It'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe or Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure that the real Goyle, and the real Pansy Parkinson, can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.
"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Ron's stupefied faces. She held up a plump chocolate cake. "I've filled this with a simple Sleeping Draught," she said. "Leave it somewhere Goyle can find it- he's the last one in there, Crabbe left with Malfoy. I already have a hair from Pansy Parkinson-anyway, she has detention this afternoon. But I don't think anyone knows that but me-I know it only because I heard Professor McGonagall telling her when to come. So it all works out find. Just let Goyle find the cake, pull out a few hairs, and hide him in the broom closet."
"A bro-Hermione, have you any idea how much trouble this will cause if we're discovered?" Ron asked incredulously. "It could go really wrong!"
But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
"Well, if you're going to chicken out at the last minute, that's fine with me," she said hotly. "The potion will be useless without Goyle's hair."
"Oh, all right, all right," said Ron, but his stomach gave an uneasy twist. Who had ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?
* * *
To Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted entrance hall, waiting for Goyle to emerge-he had remained as the last person in the hall, certainly enjoying the feast to its fullest. Hermione had perched the chocolate cake on a small table beside the broom closet. When they spotted Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Hermione and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.
"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully grabbed the cake. Grinning stupidly, he stuffed it whole into his large mouth. For a moment, he chewed greedily, a look of triumph on his face. Then, without the smallest change of expression, he keeled over backward onto the floor.
Once Goyle was safely stowed in the broom closet among the buckets and mops- he fervently hoped that Filch would not be needing any cleaning supplies in the next sixty minutes-he yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead. They also stole his shoes, because his own were far smaller than Goyle's large feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione had placed the cauldron. Pulling their robes over their faces they entered. Ron noticed immediately the two glass tumblers standing ready on the toilet seat.
"Er, Hermione." Ron began. "Uh, have you thought about how we're going to fit our clothes? Goyle's way bigger, and Pansy Parkinson isn't exactly your twin."
Hermione produced robes from behind the tumblers. "Got them," she said in a satisfied voice.
They stared into the small cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched pages of Moste Potente Potions, which had been propped on the floor, against the toilet. "It looks like the book says it should.now remember, once we've drunk it, we've exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."
"Now what?" Ron whispered.
"We separate it into two glasses and add the hairs," Hermione said, a bit of a quaver in her voice. "Ready?"
Ron nodded. Hermione ladled large dollops of the muddy potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Pansy Parkinson's hair out of the small glass vial she'd been keeping it in and let it drop into the first glass.
The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.
"Urgh-essence of Pansy Parkinson," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."
"Add yours, then," said Hermione.
Ron dropped Goyle's hair into the second glass. It, too, hissed and frothed, turning the khaki color of a booger.
"Hang on," said Hermione as Ron reached for his glass. "We'd better not drink both in here. Goyle won't fit, and Pansy Parkinson's no pixie."
"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."
Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Ron slipped into the middle stall.
"Ready?" he called.
"Ready," can Hermione's voice.
"One-two-three-,"
Pinching his nose, Ron drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.
Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes-doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick-then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin al over his body bubbled like hot wax-and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened, the knuckles were bulging like bolts-his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling sensation on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows-his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops-his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too small-
As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Ron lay facedown on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead. He called, "Are you okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.
"Yeah," said Hermione in a strange voice from the next stall over.
Ron left his stall and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Goyle stood there, looking bewildered and staring back. Ron scratched his nose. So did Goyle.
Behind him the other door opened and Hermione came out.
"This is unbelievable," said Ron. "Unbelievable."
A blinding flash of white-hot light woke Harry the next morning (or rather, what felt like morning), leaving him seeing white spots for several minutes. He wondered what could have caused the explosion, and groped towards the candle-but then he remembered the day before, and the death of the small candle.
To his surprise, however, a tall, waxy shape met his fingers. He stared at it through the darkness, shocked. Another candle? he thought unbelievingly. But-it burned out-
Take advantage of what you have, Harry, said a comforting voice in his mind. No great harm can come out of a single candle, can it?
Suddenly he remembered the table full of mysterious ointments, ointments that had replenished themselves overnight. Something was certainly happening here, something that made him feel slightly uneasy. There's nothing to worry about, the voice said again soothingly. Nothing.
Nothing to worry about, he repeated dutifully. Nothing at all.
Nothing to worry about.nothing.the voice repeated, over and over again. And then, You're in the house of a wizard. A very powerful wizard, yes, very powerful. Nothing to worry about. Nothing.
Harry shook his head as if to clear the strange voice from it. He lay back and stared at a large black widow spider crawling in a circle on the ceiling directly above him, while subconscious thoughts ran through his mind without ceasing.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing. Safe. Nothing to worry about. The spider was very interesting-the most interesting thing Harry had seen in several days. He kept watching it. Nothing to worry about, his mind droned. In the hands of a very powerful wizard.powerful, yes. Safe. Powerful.powerful wizard-Harry was becoming more and more sleepy, it seemed as if he had not slept in several days-powerful.very powerful.wizard, very powerful wizard.powerful, power.
Power.
Power is all that matters. Very powerful. Power is all that matters.power.powerful.all that matters.
"That's right," Harry murmured sleepily. "Power is all that matters."
A warning light blinked in one corner of his mind, but he was far too tired to care. He pulled the rotting blanket up to his chin, allowing the chant in his mind to lull him to sleep.
Power. Power is all that matters. And finally, You could be powerful too.
"Me too," he whispered, and then fell asleep.
* * *
Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Ron, the only one left in his dormitory, was woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying a large, bulky present under one arm.
"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.
"Hermione, you're not supposed to be in here," said Ron sleepily, shielding his eyes against the light.
"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
He sat up, suddenly wide-awake. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."
* * *
No one, not even someone dreading taking the Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost- covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead" kept asking them all what they were sniggering at.
Ron had barely finished his third helping of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered him out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.
"We still need a bit of the people we're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending him to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously," she continued, "It'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe or Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure that the real Goyle, and the real Pansy Parkinson, can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.
"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Ron's stupefied faces. She held up a plump chocolate cake. "I've filled this with a simple Sleeping Draught," she said. "Leave it somewhere Goyle can find it- he's the last one in there, Crabbe left with Malfoy. I already have a hair from Pansy Parkinson-anyway, she has detention this afternoon. But I don't think anyone knows that but me-I know it only because I heard Professor McGonagall telling her when to come. So it all works out find. Just let Goyle find the cake, pull out a few hairs, and hide him in the broom closet."
"A bro-Hermione, have you any idea how much trouble this will cause if we're discovered?" Ron asked incredulously. "It could go really wrong!"
But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
"Well, if you're going to chicken out at the last minute, that's fine with me," she said hotly. "The potion will be useless without Goyle's hair."
"Oh, all right, all right," said Ron, but his stomach gave an uneasy twist. Who had ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?
* * *
To Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They lurked in the deserted entrance hall, waiting for Goyle to emerge-he had remained as the last person in the hall, certainly enjoying the feast to its fullest. Hermione had perched the chocolate cake on a small table beside the broom closet. When they spotted Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Hermione and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.
"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully grabbed the cake. Grinning stupidly, he stuffed it whole into his large mouth. For a moment, he chewed greedily, a look of triumph on his face. Then, without the smallest change of expression, he keeled over backward onto the floor.
Once Goyle was safely stowed in the broom closet among the buckets and mops- he fervently hoped that Filch would not be needing any cleaning supplies in the next sixty minutes-he yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead. They also stole his shoes, because his own were far smaller than Goyle's large feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione had placed the cauldron. Pulling their robes over their faces they entered. Ron noticed immediately the two glass tumblers standing ready on the toilet seat.
"Er, Hermione." Ron began. "Uh, have you thought about how we're going to fit our clothes? Goyle's way bigger, and Pansy Parkinson isn't exactly your twin."
Hermione produced robes from behind the tumblers. "Got them," she said in a satisfied voice.
They stared into the small cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched pages of Moste Potente Potions, which had been propped on the floor, against the toilet. "It looks like the book says it should.now remember, once we've drunk it, we've exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."
"Now what?" Ron whispered.
"We separate it into two glasses and add the hairs," Hermione said, a bit of a quaver in her voice. "Ready?"
Ron nodded. Hermione ladled large dollops of the muddy potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Pansy Parkinson's hair out of the small glass vial she'd been keeping it in and let it drop into the first glass.
The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.
"Urgh-essence of Pansy Parkinson," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."
"Add yours, then," said Hermione.
Ron dropped Goyle's hair into the second glass. It, too, hissed and frothed, turning the khaki color of a booger.
"Hang on," said Hermione as Ron reached for his glass. "We'd better not drink both in here. Goyle won't fit, and Pansy Parkinson's no pixie."
"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."
Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Ron slipped into the middle stall.
"Ready?" he called.
"Ready," can Hermione's voice.
"One-two-three-,"
Pinching his nose, Ron drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.
Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes-doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick-then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin al over his body bubbled like hot wax-and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened, the knuckles were bulging like bolts-his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling sensation on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows-his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops-his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too small-
As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Ron lay facedown on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and laced up Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead. He called, "Are you okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.
"Yeah," said Hermione in a strange voice from the next stall over.
Ron left his stall and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Goyle stood there, looking bewildered and staring back. Ron scratched his nose. So did Goyle.
Behind him the other door opened and Hermione came out.
"This is unbelievable," said Ron. "Unbelievable."