(CoS) CHAPTER TWELVE: The Writing on the Wall
Time only seemed to be making things worse.
Ellie couldn't seem to be around Fred without angering Dean, and she couldn't seem to be around Dean without Fred mumbling an excuse to leave. She tried to confront Fred about it, but he denied it entirely, insisting that he was just "trying to give her privacy in her new relationship."
"Well, can you blame him?" asked George when she asked him about it a few days in. "Dean's not exactly polite to him. Makes more sense just to stay away."
"Is he rude to you?" she asked, frowning.
George grinned at that. "Only when he thinks I might be Fred. Not everyone can tell us apart like you, remember?"
Ellie groaned at that, taking her leave of him and heading to her next class.
Classes were different now, too. It was like everyone assumed that just because she and Dean were now together, she couldn't possibly want to sit with or talk to anyone besides him.
When class was finally over, she headed to the library to do some long overdue research on her father. She'd let herself be distracted by frivolity and boy drama long enough; it was time to focus on the things that really mattered.
Unfortunately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all followed her to the library. There was a big midterm exam in History of Magic the next day, which was why they all wanted to study up. Ellie smiled and pretended that was why she'd come, too, not wanting to reveal the true reason she was there to any of them. Once they were settled into their study session, she tried to peel off toward the "Recent History" section of the library, but ultimately decided to come back when there weren't quite so many eyes on her.
On their way back from the library that evening, Harry stopped dead in his tracks.
"Tell me you hear that," he said urgently to them. "The voice in the walls?"
Ellie didn't hear anything. She glanced at Hermione and Ron, who looked just as baffled.
"You're sure it's in the walls?" Hermione asked Harry, who had taken off like a bat out of hell as if tracking the voice.
"I don't know," said Harry as he ran. "But it's getting louder, faster—like it wants to kill."
To kill? And they were walking toward it?
Some things never changed, she mused grimly.
"Wait." Harry suddenly came to a dramatic stop, staring down at a large puddle of water on the floor.
"I think that's coming from Myrtle's bathroom," said Hermione. "Should we…?"
But before she could finish, she gasped. They all gasped.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened was written in blood on the wall above the pool of water. Enemies of the Heir, beware.
And there, hanging next to it, was the body of Mrs. Norris.
"It's Filch's cat," said Ron, who sounded like he might faint. "Is she… dead?"
"Guys," said Ellie shakily. "Maybe we should get out of here. We can report it to Dumbledore when—"
She stopped short when she heard the voice of none other than Mr. Filch coming from across the hall. Desperate to avoid him catching them like this, despite their innocence, she said urgently to them, "Go to Dumbledore. I'll handle him." Before any of them could ask what exactly she meant by that, she changed into her dog form, ran over to Filch, and jumped on him. As soon as she'd successfully knocked him backwards, she kept running in the opposite direction—leading him away from them.
It didn't buy them much, but it bought them the wrath of Filch.
"I don't understand," said Harry when they all regrouped in the common room that night. The trio had successfully reported the incident to Dumbledore, who then called in McGonagall to put the whole school on lockdown. Which, of course, meant that Dean, Seamus, Fred, and George were all in the common room—not to mention Oliver, though he was on the far side of the room from them.
Ellie wasn't sure whether or not Oliver had heard about her and Dean yet. Everyone else had seemed to, but then, he was so much older than her, there was a bit of a gossip gap between their classes.
"What does 'enemies of the Heir' even mean?" Harry was asking.
"That's gotta be referring to the Heir of Slytherin," said Dean, who they had filled in on the writing on the wall already. "Who was known for hating Muggle-borns."
Ellie glanced sympathetically at Hermione at that, who looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.
"It was just a cat," said Ron gently to Hermione. "It's not like they strung up a person."
But his use of the words strung up a person sent her sobbing and running up the stairs before he could take them back.
"Real nice, Ron," Harry muttered to Ron as he rose to his feet.
But Harry wouldn't have an easy time of making it up the girls' stairs, which turned into a slide whenever male feet touched them. And anyway, between the discomfort of sitting so close to both Dean and Fred and the fact that Oliver was only a dozen feet away from them, Ellie was happy for an excuse to leave. So she leapt to her own feet, assured Harry that she could handle it, and headed after Hermione.
Before she made it to the second year room, though, she saw something through the first year doorway that stopped her in her tracks: Ginny, curled up in her bed in the fetal position, face white as a sheet.
"Ginny!" Ellie exclaimed, running into the room and reaching out to her friend. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm… I'm…" Ginny squinted up at Ellie through watery, confused eyes. "I don't know what's happening to me, Ellie," she whispered.
Ellie's heart started to pound. The first time had been scary enough, but twice in as many months? And how many more instances did Ellie not know about?
"Talk to me, Gin," she begged her friend. "Tell me what's going on."
"I don't know!" Ginny wailed. "I keep falling asleep and having these… these horrible nightmares. When I wake up, I can't remember what I was doing before." She blinked up at Ellie through the tears. "Am I going insane?"
Ellie heaved a sigh as she took Ginny into her arms and held her tight. "No, Ginny. Believe it or not, you're not even the only friend I've got right now who thinks they're going crazy."
Ginny cried into Ellie's chest for several minutes before Ellie pulled away from her enough to say, "We need to talk to McGonagall about this."
Instantly, Ginny recoiled away from Ellie's grip. "What? No."
"Ginny, you're blacking out. There could be something seriously wrong. If not McGonagall, then at least Madam Pomfrey."
But Ginny wasn't having any of it. "No," she repeated—louder this time. "Please, Ellie—you can't tell anyone. They'll all think I've lost it. They'll treat me differently."
"I can't just do nothing, Ginny. This is the second time I've found you like this. What if—"
"If there's a third, we'll go talk to them," Ginny said firmly. "But otherwise, can't we just chalk it up to a lack of sleep?"
There was no way in hell Ellie was going to chalk this up to a lack of sleep, but she was reluctant to betray her friend's trust when she so obviously didn't want Ellie going to anyone about this. So, reluctantly, she nodded. "If there's a third," she agreed.
But there was one person she was going to tell now—Fred.
Poor Ginny... Ellie should probably ignore her pleas and go straight to McGonagall, but it's never easy making those kinds of decisions, is it? At least she has the good sense to tell Fred. See how that goes, along with some fresh drama, in the next chapter. Don't forget to review!
