Chapter 42, Attack Number Four (& Five?)
Harry blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where he was going, he was in such a fury. The result was that he walked into something very large and solid, with knocked him backward onto the floor.
"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.
Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.
"All righ', Harry?" he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't ye in class?"
"Cancelled," said Harry, getting up. "What're you doing in here?"
Hagrid held up the limp rooster.
"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin' Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."
He peered more closely at Harry from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.
"Yeh sure yeh're all righ'? Yeh look all hot an' bothered—"
Harry couldn't bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the other Hufflepuffs had been saying about him.
"It's nothing," he said. "I'd better be going, Hagrid, I want to pick up my Defense Against the Dark Arts books before lunch."
He walked off, his mind still full of what Ernie had said about him.
"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born…"
Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. He was halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.
He turned to squint at what he'd fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.
Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, one of the strangest sights Harry had ever seen.
It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.
Harry got to his feet his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.
He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. But he couldn't just leave them lying there…. He had to get help…. Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this?
As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
"Why, it's potty wee Potter!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What's Potter up to? Why's Potter lurking—"
Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
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 Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry found himself pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.
"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry.
"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:
"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done,
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun—"
"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.
Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of the air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and Professor McGonagall.
"Perhaps you should speak to Headmaster Dumbledore," she said.
Harry shook his head angrily. "We've talked already. He knows I've done nothing, and the school thinks I'm Slytherin's heir."
And Harry walked back to the dormitories.
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The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that the students could go home for Christmas.
"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Draco said to Harry and Vanella. "Us, Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys."
Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.
Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…."
Percy Weasley was deeply disapproving of this behavior.
"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.
"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."
"Yea, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.
Ginny didn't find it amusing either. Nor did her most recently acquired friend, a Slytherin first year girl.
"Oh, don't," Ginny wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. The Slytherin girl stood silently next to her usually, looking nervous and mildly frightened.
Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Gilderoy Lockhart, who appeared to resent Harry for not only humiliating him, but for taking the attention off him also.
Finally the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Draco, and Vanella were ruling the Slytherin Dungeons.
Ron and Hermione had taken to joining them at the Slytherin table during meals, just because there were no other Gryffindors besides the other Weasleys, and the twins felt the need to make up for the lack of noise in the Hall.
Hermione told them positively the first day of the holidays that she had heard of a book with Dark creatures, including snakes, but that it was in the Restricted Section.
Eventually Christmas morning dawned, cold and white and peaceful, bringing with it presents and good cheer. Draco, Vanella, and Harry met in the common room to open presents. (Harry got a new broomstick from Draco, a defensive magic book from Vanella, a book about Quidditch from Ron, a book on animagus from Hermione, and dark green and black dress robes from Snape.)
The Gryffindors and the Slytherins met in the Great Hall, exchanging Merry Christmas's and nodding to the Professors.
Hermione took a piece of paper out of her bag. "This," she said, leaning closer so they couldn't be overheard, "is a permission slip for the book I need. We need to get one of the Professors to sign it, so I can look for this snake-creature in the Chamber."
Draco took it from her. "What Professor is going to be stupid enough not to realize what we're up to when we ask to take out Creatures of the Dark, Volume 3: Snakes and Lizards?"
Harry looked up at the head table, where a feminine-looking man was eating cheerfully while wearing very absurd violet robes. "Lockhart," he said.
Ron looked up as well. "He's too much of an idiot to pay attention to the book, anyway. It would work."
Vanella grinned. "Act like you're obsessed with him. In other words, like usual."
Hermione scowled at Vanella. "Well—"
"Girls," Harry warned, "be nice." He sounded very much like a father.
They glared at him.
Ron, wisely, decided to change the subject. "Harry," he said, "do you have practice tonight?"
Harry shook his head. "I was thinking about going for a fly later, if anyone wants to ride," he said.
"You've never let us ride before," said Vanella.
Harry shrugged. "It's Christmas. I'm in the spirit."
Vanella snorted into her plate of eggs. "The spirit. Yes, most definitely."
Harry shot her a glare. She restrained laughter.
Draco cleared his throat, getting the others' attention. "When school starts up again, we'll have Hermione ask Lockhart after class. That way it'll seem more natural."
"Natural?" asked Ron. "How can asking Lockhart for anything be natural?"
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Next term started far too early. On the first Friday, Hermione confronted Lockhart after Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Sir?" she asked, once everyone else had gone, Harry, Vanella, Draco, and Ron waiting outside the door.
Professor Lockhart looked up. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
She took out the permission slip. "I'd like to get this book from the library," she said, "but it's in the Restricted Section. I think that it would help me understand that part in Voyages with Vampires, and—"
Lockhart raised his hand, palm to her. "Say no more," he said, taking the slip from her, signing it, and handing it back. "I love to encourage young people in their studies."
She smiled and rushed out the door, to four grinning faces. She looked down at the signature. She gave an uncharacteristic grin and waved the paper around as they walked down the stairs. "I got it!" she said.
This was followed up by praise all around.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the corridor of the first attack. Harry stepped onto the landing and felt a splash against his leg. He looked down.
"Water," he stated.
The other four looked at him incredulously. "Way to state the obvious, Harry," Vanella said pulling up her robes to keep them out of the clear liquid.
She looked over at the door the last puddle of water in this corridor had come from. "Myrtle's flooded it again."
Hermione went over and opened the door. "Come on," she said, "let's see what's wrong."
They waded into the bathroom, ears full of loud, wracking sobs.
"Myrtle?" Harry called.
"Who's that?" The crying ghost appeared out of her stall. "Come to throw something else at me?" she cried miserably, covering her face with her hands.
"Why would we throw something at you?" Draco asked curiously.
"I don't know; don't ask me," Myrtle whined. "I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"
"But it can't hurt, can it?" Harry asked. "I mean, things go right through you, don't they?"
He'd said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you get it through her stomach! Fifty points if you get it through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"
"Who threw it at you?" Vanella asked.
"I don't know….I was just sitting in the U-turn thinking about death when it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's right over there; it got washed out…."
They all looked over to where she was pointing, under a sink. A small, thin book lay there. It was soaked, with a shabby black cover. Harry walked over to examine it, the other four watching closely.
Harry poked it with his finger, making it squeeze water out like a sponge. He picked it up, performing a quick drying spell afterwards. He could tell it was a diary, the faded date on the cover informing him it was over fifty years old. He opened it carefully, flipping through the pages.
"It's blank," he announced. "Except for the first page, there's a name, all worn. It must belong to T. M. Riddle. Other than that, absolutely nothing. Not a drop of ink anywhere."
"I wonder why someone would want to flush it away?" asked Ron curiously. "I know T. M. Riddle got a Special Services to the School Award fifty years ago. But what could he have done to make someone want to flush his empty diary?"
"A Special Services Award?" Hermione asked, peering at the book in Harry's hand. "Do you know why?"
Ron shook his head. "Don't see why it matters, anyway."
Harry looked at the back cover and could make out the name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.
"Was probably Muggle-born, whoever it was," he said. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…."
"Well, I don't see its importance to us," Draco said.
Ron leaned in to Harry and said quietly, "Fifty points if you get it through Myrtle's nose."
Harry smiled and shook his head, putting the book securely in his pocket. "I want to know why someone wanted rid of it."
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Author's Note: I meant to get this up yesterday, but I've had a massive headache. My apologies for the wait. From here on out ought to be interesting… Harry's now got the diary. I assure you this does not end exactly like the Chamber of Secrets did.
Cheers,
S.A.M.