Lockhart's office was every bit as prideful and disgusting as I'd expected. Positioned upon what seemed like every square centimeter of the walls were pictures and portraits of himself, many of which were shooting us dazzling smiles despite the somber circumstances.

Professor Dumbledore had the four of us stand ahead of the desk as he gently poked and prodded at the caretaker's cat. My throat was tight as his spindly fingers trailed the body… for all intents and purposes, it sure seemed like Mrs. Norris had been killed… and we were the ones looking guilty for it.

Standing on the other side of him was Filch himself, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. Whimpers trailed from his lips despite himself. And then, guarding us on our left and right, were Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Lockhart. They were just as hushed and somber as we students were.

Then, at long last, the Headmaster spoke again. "She's not dead, Argus." Dumbledore's voice was calm and collected; he offered Filch a hopeful smile after speaking.

Filch made an odd sound that landed somewhere between a choke and a sob. Then, he cried, "Not dead? Then why's she all… stiff and frozen?"

"She has been petrified," said the Headmaster. His words were kind, but his eyes were troubled. "But how, I cannot say."

"Ask him!" shouted Filch, pointing to Harry.

Harry's mouth dropped open, but before he could even begin to defend himself, Professor Dumbledore held up a hand and gently said, "No second year could have done this. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—"

"He did it, he did it! You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I'm a… he knows I'm a Squib!"

Filch burst into sobs; for perhaps the first and last time of my life, my throat went tight with pity for him. It took every bit of self-control I had to keep my expression from changing, because Filch being a Squib explained so much… he'd never performed any bit of magic in public; the reason he hated students so much was because he was jealous. It must have been horrible to be born into a magic family and yet not have the ability to wield magic.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" exclaimed Harry. He squirmed lightly in place before adding, "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

Filch snorted through his tears. "Rubbish! He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," interjected Snape, who had been standing silently until that moment. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

The four of us exchanged looks; Snape was standing up for us?

"But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"

Realizing that our innocence may depend on the answer, we all at once began launching into the details of Nick's deathday party, and how our house ghost could vouch for us—

"Why not join the feast afterward?" asked Snape, narrowing his eyes. "Why go up that corridor?"

"The smell of the moldy food made me sick to my stomach," I blurted out. It was quick thinking, but I knew I had to interject before either Harry or Ron could blow our covers by saying something stupid. "They were going to walk with me upstairs before seeing if there were any leftovers in the Great Hall."

I needn't have worried; Harry immediately caught onto my ruse. Playing along with me, he nodded and murmured, "How's your stomach now, by the way?"

"Better, but still queasy."

The room was silent as the professors looked amongst one another… all except for one. Headmaster Dumbledore was inspecting me—despite his kindly demeanor, prickles trailed down my spine. It was like he was staring through my very soul… finally, however, he said, "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."

Filch didn't take this well. "My cat has been petrified! I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus. Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full-size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris," Dumbledore explained, gazing amongst us all from behind his half-moon spectacles.

"I'll make it. Must've done it hundred times. Could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep," Lockhart interrupted. I'd actually forgotten he was there because, for the first and last time of his life, he'd been absolutely silent.

"Excuse me," Snape butted in, eyes flashing on Lockhart instead of us. "But I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

The Headmaster glanced towards us, eyes twinkling. "You may go."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I didn't need to be told twice. We rushed out of the room without another word and immediately zipped back up to the Gryffindor common room.

Only once the portrait of the Fat Lady closed behind us did we allow ourselves to breathe again. Looking quizzical, Harry murmured, "Do you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

Ron shook his head. "No. Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Harry sighed. "But you do believe me, don't you?"

"Course I do," said Ron. "But—you must admit it's weird…"

"I know it's weird. The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it sort of rings a bell," Ron said. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill…"

We trailed off, staring into space until Hermione yawned and declared, "Well, I'm off to bed. Hopefully we can think about this more tomorrow morning."

Ron seconded this statement, and the two of them trucked up to bed, leaving Harry and I in the common room. I flopped onto the couch and rested my chin in my hands, eyes lost upon the flickering flames in the hearth.

Harry was quick to join me on the other side, though he too was quiet for a moment. After running a hand through his thick hair, he glanced at me from the corner of his eye and asked, "So you didn't hear that voice? At all?"

"Hear it? No," I replied. "But… I did feel like something was odd. I don't know if that's because I was still cold from the deathday party, or from what happened afterward, though."

Harry nodded, obviously unsure of what to say. We simply sat, staring into the smoldering embers, for a little while longer before heading to bed.


The next afternoon, Ron, Harry and I were all working on our essays for History of Magic. Professor Binns had set us a three-foot long assignment over 'The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards,' and it seemed that Ron and Harry hadn't done sufficient note-taking, because they were both struggling to come up with whatever else they could add.

"I don't believe it," Ron muttered, obviously malcontent. "I'm still eight inches short, and Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny."

"Where is she?" asked Harry, looking around the common room.

I shrugged in response and shoved my parchment over to Ron so he could have a look. I had three feet four inches and was quite content with that, thank you very much. As Ron copied down a few things he'd forgotten, he said, "Probably looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."

He wasn't wrong. Hermione had spent the entire day looking up any mention of the Chamber of Secrets, and she wasn't alone in doing so. The whole school was buzzing about what had happened the previous evening.

"That reminds me," said Harry, breaking us out of our thoughts. "Earlier today, I was walking down the corridor and I saw Justin Finch-Fletchley—you know, that guy in Herbology? I opened my mouth to say hi, but he ran off! Know why?"

I frowned. That didn't seem like Justin, as he was usually quite friendly. But before I could speak, Ron snorted and answered, "Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot. All that junk about Lockhart being so great—"

Just then, Hermione entered the common room, empty handed and scowling. "All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she complained, crossing her arms as she flopped on the couch beside me. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" asked Harry.

Hermione gave him a look of surprise. "The same reason everyone else wants it. To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's the legend?"

"That's just it. I can't remember," replied Hermione grumpily.

"We'd better get to History of Magic," I said, hoping to get the topic out of her head. Hermione always got cross whenever she didn't know something, or had forgotten it.

So we got up and started on the way downstairs. As we walked to the classroom, Ron and Hermione started bickering about her not letting him copy her History of Magic essay—not like he had had any time left to finish it. Soon enough, their argument got annoying, and I sighed, "Ronald, do you really think Binns is going to measure your essay to make sure it's at least three feet long?"

Hermione shot me a thankful look as Ron looked both irritated and relieved.

During the class period, I was doodling on the corner of my papers as usual, taking scattered but sufficient notes. Harry's eyes were closing, then snapping open every few seconds while Ron was snoring softly to his right. Hermione was of course taking diligent notes and writing down everything that sounded important, even though she looked tired too.

But then, Hermione raised her hand. This earned her a few odd looks; no one ever raised their hand in History of Magic, not even Hermione.

Professor Binns himself appeared shocked. "Miss—er—?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," relayed Hermione, almost too quickly to be understood.

Everyone snapped up. I turned away from the window and focused on Professor Binns; Dean and Ron both woke up from their naps and stared at the ghost as well; Harry looked both nervous and excited. For the first time since perhaps the very first day of class, everyone was paying attention.

Professor Binns was rendered speechless, the surprise evident in his translucent eyes. But then he cleared his throat and said, "My subject is History of Magic. I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends."

He started to return to his dull lecture, but Hermione put her hand up again. "Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

The room fell deadly silent. And then Binns slowly said, "Well, yes, one could argue that, I suppose… However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale—"

He froze when he noticed the attention he was getting. Apparently not wanting to let it go to waste, he sighed. "Oh, very well. Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets.

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago—the precise date is uncertain—by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much. But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," opinionated Binns. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

He seemed very final, but Hermione spoke up once more. "Sir—what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"It is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," was the answer. Apparently frustrated by the nervous looks being shot around the classroom, the ghost groaned. "I tell you, this thing does not exist! There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But sir," interrupted Seamus, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Binns, waving a dismissive hand. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing…"

Now it was Parvarti who spoke. "But Professor, you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it."

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather. I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—"

Dean was next to try to speak up. "But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't—"

It seemed, however, that Binns had had enough. "That will do! It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history: to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

It only took ten minutes for half the class to fall asleep again.

I, however, was unnerved. My peers might've been onto something… and their thoughts wouldn't leave me alone. Forsaking my attempts to write diligent notes, I transcribed everything that had been said about the Chamber of Secrets. It wouldn't be a bad idea to pull a Hermione and go visit the library…


Unfortunately, the library thing was a bust.

Now that we second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had been informed of the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, word spread around the school like wildfire. By the time I was done with classes, literally everything relating to Hogwarts history had been rented.

Left with no books to help us, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I returned to the same spot in which Mrs. Norris had been petrified to take another look around. It wasn't long, however, before Percy arrived and shooed us out, although he was fuming seeing as we already looked so suspicious—still, we were lucky it wasn't another prefect who didn't know us as well.

Later that night, we were quietly doing our homework… or we were, until Hermione slammed her book shut and hissed, "Who can it be, though? Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-born people out of Hogwarts?"

Ron snorted and shook his head, his red hair almost bright orange in the hearth. "Who do we know who thinks all Muggle-borns are scum?"

"It is not Draco," I said firmly, gently closing my own book. "He's a prat and a jerk, but he is not evil. Besides, he was telling me about the Halloween feast today during Transfiguration."

"What if he did it before the feast? Or even on his way there?" Ron persisted. His accusations made my noise itch. "I mean, come on! You've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him—"

At the look on my face, however, Ronald shut his mouth.

"You really think Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin?" Hermione laughed.

Harry closed his book and leaned forward. "Look at his family. The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough." He then shot me a sidelong glance and remarked, "You can't argue with me on that point."

I nodded slightly to let him know that he was right on this one.

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" Ron gasped. "Handing it down, father to son…"

With a heavy sigh, I said, "Oh, please, Ronald, that's ridiculous."

"No…" Hermione said carefully, watching my face. "I suppose it's possible."

"How do we prove it?" asked Harry.

"There might be a way." Hermione leaned forward too, taking care to keep her voice low. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous—very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect."

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" Ron interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Hermione didn't bother trying to hide the scowl on her lips. "All right, don't get your wand in a knot! What we'd need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a couple questions without him realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said.

An uncharacteristically twisted smile appeared on Hermione's face. "No, it isn't. All we need is some Polyjuice Potion."

My stomach churned forcefully. "Hermione, that's an incredibly complex potion even for students years older than us. If something were to go wrong…"

"What does it do again?" Ron questioned.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into four of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice Potion sounds a big dodgy to me. What if we were stuck looking like the four of the Slytherins for—"

But Harry stopped short at the nauseous look on my face and instead of continuing the conversation, instead asked, "Are you all right, Belle?"

"I just… I don't think I can be part of this," I mumbled. A rush of blood pounded through my head—I hadn't been so nervous since entering the third-floor corridor the previous year. "Polyjuice Potion is risky even when made properly, and… I wouldn't really feel right deceiving someone who—who I really don't think is the Heir of Slytherin. I'm not going to tell anyone what you're doing. I'll help you brew the potion if you need. But I'm not drinking it."

The three of them looked across one another before finally, Harry said, "If you're sure. Let us know if you change your mind."

"Thanks, Harry," I replied, punching his arm. Knowing that there wasn't really much else for me to add, I swung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my Astronomy charts, and headed up to the dormitory for a good night's sleep.