The next day was the big Quidditch match. As usual, I woke up a couple of hours earlier than I would've normally wished due to the nerves. I was able to pass myself off as cool and collected outside of my dormitory, but the truth of the matter was that I was very, very nervous. Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since Charlie Weasley had left six years ago, after all…

So it was that at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, Harry and I were sitting together in the Great Hall, stabbing at a meager breakfast. Oliver was there, too, doing his best to calm himself by issuing further pep talks and revisiting our flying strategies for what was probably the two-hundredth time.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions, at least!" Oliver chimed. He leaned over my shoulder, grabbing the ladle within the seasoned potatoes and plopping some liberally onto my plate. "Go on, Belle, eat up—we'll need a good breakfast if we want to play at our best!"

I turned around to raise an eyebrow at him. "Then what about your breakfast, Captain?"

Oliver started as though he hadn't heard me… and then shot a sheepish smile in my direction. "Right, of course. I'll have to get myself some toast or something."

"Nuh-uh," I retorted, my smile growing somewhat wicked. I reached over the table for an empty plate and began stacking it full of eggs, toast, jam—basically everything that he'd placed upon my own plate since we first reached the Great Hall. "I eat a balanced breakfast, you eat a balanced breakfast."

To his credit, Oliver took the plate from my hands with a halfhearted salute and began to eat what he could.

Other Gryffindors began pouring into the Great Hall too, and almost all of them were wishing us good luck. A few offered hearty pats on the shoulder, warm smiles, cheers of encouragement… even Professor McGonagall stopped by the table with one of her trademark thin smiles and said, "Best of luck to you today, Potter, Skylar. I hope to see you playing again in the finals next month."

When it was half past nine in the morning, Harry and I decided to go back up to the common room together to grab our things. Ron and Hermione chose to accompany us, and although their moral support was a silent one, their presence was still nice to have.

As we were walking through the corridors, however, Harry froze in place. Panic emerged in his green eyes as he whirled around, looking this way and that. "That voice! I just heard it again—didn't you?"

I stared at him, forgetting for a brief moment what the hell he could be talking about. Upon seeing the genuine fear on his face, however, I realized; it was the voice, the one he'd heard on Halloween. The one preceding the attack.

A loud slap echoed through the room, making me yelp and leap towards Ron. He blinked once upon noting how I had gotten so spooked so easily and was likely about to berate me for it, but Hermione's voice prevented him from speaking before he could. "Harry, I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

"Hermione, wait!" I cried, reaching one fruitless hand after her. But she was already skittering around the corner, in the direction of the library.

I bit the inside of my lip and stared after her for a moment. If Harry was hearing that voice again… that certainly didn't mean anything good. And Hermione had just sprinted through the hallways on her own, so determined to figure out what it was that she wanted to discover…

But Hermione was smart; she could take care of herself. And there were dozens of other students roaming the hallways at this time, too. If I didn't get moving soon, I'd be late for the Quidditch game, and then where would Gryffindor be?

My thoughts were broken by Ron, who nudged me with his shoulder and asked, "Are you able to hear that voice at all?"

"No," I whispered back, unable to speak any louder than that. "No, I can't."

There was a bad feeling persisting in my stomach the whole journey up to the common room and all the way back down to the pitch. I wanted to just account it to the nerves of the upcoming game, but there was a little voice in the back of my head that told me I wasn't worried about Quidditch, I was worried about Hermione, and how she had just run off on her own like that…

She was a Muggle-born…

I swore loudly; how in the hells did I forget that little fact—that Hermione was a Muggle-born, and thus in danger of being petrified? It was only Muggle-borns who had been attacked. Everyone else: pure-blood, half-blood, they were safe.

Ron and Harry jumped next to me and stared at me with wide eyes.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" asked Ron, who seemed as though he'd just about spooked out of his skin.

"Hermione!" I yelped. "She's a Muggle-born! And Harry has only heard that voice when… when…"

Harry blanched; his face went slack. He seized my arm and began dragging me back up to the castle. "Come on! If we go back now, we can still find her before anything attacks!"

"No!" I shouted right back, digging my heels in the ground. Harry shot me a look of disbelief as I continued, "Whatever that thing is, we can't deal with it on our own! We need to get help! We need Headmaster Dumbledore, and he's down at the pitch for the game!"

"By the time we get them and go back into the castle, it'll be too late!" argued Harry. He continued seizing my arm, and then glared towards Ron as if asking for help. "We have to go now!"

I stared at him in disbelief. "Harry, we don't even know what this thing is! We can't deal with it on our own!"

"Well, we can damn well try! Come on, Ron, help her see sense! Those attacks aren't necessarily prolonged encounters!"

Ron, however, was just gaping between the two of us, all the color drained from his face. His brown eyes flickered back up to the castle, and the only thing that could be squeaked out of his mouth was, "Hermione..?"

Harry made a frustrated, unintelligent noise in the back of his throat. "Stand there if you must, but I'm going to—"

"Look!" I exclaimed, pointing back up towards the entrance to the castle. "Professor McGonagall is coming!"

And she was; our Head of House was rushing out of the castle, her lips pressed thin and some sort of madness hidden within the depths of her eyes. I'd never before seen her rush so quickly out of Hogwarts. It only took another couple of moments for her to reach us.

"Ah, good," she said, her voice mildly out of breath. "Potter, Skylar, Weasley—follow me. Stay close behind."

Without even bothering to explain why she wished for us to follow, she continued to set off down for the Quidditch pitch. Harry, Ron, and I exchanged looks, but we proceeded to go after her all the same. No one disobeyed McGonagall.

We ended up running into the Quidditch tent for our house, where everyone else was already assembled, and Oliver was distributing one last pep-talk. Each person was shifting their weight, biting their fingernails—and it seemed that Professor McGonagall's sudden appearance didn't make things better.

"Something we can help you with, Professor?" asked Oliver, for even he had been briefly distracted by her arrival.

Professor McGonagall did not respond; she merely waved everyone onward and began crossing to the other end of the tent. It was only here, out of the glaring sunlight of early morning, that I was able to see how her eyes were tinged red.

There had been a bad feeling in my stomach all day…

As we arrived upon the Quidditch field, Professor McGonagall conjured a purple megaphone with a simple wave of her wand and raised it to her mouth. Her voice magnified throughout the sky, cutting through the excitement of all the audience members in the stand. "This match has been cancelled."

A loud groan met her words, as did shouts of confusion and frustration. But Professor McGonagall did not flinch at all—not, of course, that I expected her to.

Oliver rushed forward, his mouth agape, and exclaimed, "But Professor, we've got to play! The Cup—Gryffindor!"

"All students are to make their way back to their common rooms, where their Heads of House will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and the megaphone disappeared. She turned back to Harry, Ron, and I with devastated eyes. "You'd better come with me."

She didn't need to say anything else for us to know. We'd just been speculating on it ourselves. Without entirely meaning to, I reached out and seized each of their hands, clutching it tightly, doing everything feasibly in my power to keep myself from bursting into tears.

Our journey was a silent one, as though Harry and Ron had reached the same conclusion as I did. And I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. They were smart enough to do so.

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall, with no small amount of gravity. "There has been another attack—another double attack."

We had reached the hospital wing by this point. A horrible day already made worse by the sight of the infirmary; I hiccupped lightly and nearly stopped short in front of the door as our Head of House passed through it.

Ron didn't seem to notice my pause, but Harry did. He glanced at me sideways and squeezed my hand, murmuring, "We've got to go in."

"I know," I whispered, but my feet were like lead, I just didn't want to move. "Just… give me a moment."

Harry nodded, but said nothing else.

I stared at the doorway leading into the hospital wing for another moment; the fact that Harry didn't let go of my hand was a major comfort that cut through some of the fear. Nothing could be feasibly seen from the entryway, because bedcurtains covered the hospital beds and those who were upon them. But there was something sinister about that place in my head, even though I knew such a feeling was likely in my head alone.

I had to go inside. I knew that. So I took a deep breath and moved forward.

Laying on the beds, waxy-skinned and unmoving, were Colin Creevey and Justin Finch-Fletchley. There were vases of wilting flowers sitting next to them; each of their faces contained great surprise. It seemed as though Colin had been holding something when he had been attacked… perhaps his camera.

When I reached Professor McGonagall's side, there was no surprise, no shock. Just utter defeat.

Hermione. Just as I'd suspected; just as I'd feared.

I stared at my friend, feeling as though I was unable to cry. There was no life to her at all with her grey skin, her motionless countenance. Her chest wasn't even rising and falling to signify that she was breathing.

My head was heavy as I glanced towards our Head of House, and so was my voice upon asking, "Professor… Hermione isn't… dead, is she?"

"No. She has been attacked similarly to the rest: petrified."

"Oh," I said softly. "Okay."

Now the tears were trailing down my cheeks, in rivulets too fast and powerful for me to contain. It took every part of my strength to avoid sobbing, because I didn't want to sob by Hermione's side—I wanted to be strong, for her. And for Harry and Ron, who were left speechless.

I sat on one of the chairs to her bedside and pulled my knees up to my chest, hiding the lower half of my face within them. The feeling in my lower stomach had morphed and changed, from uncertainty and suspense to pure guilt. If I hadn't held Harry back… if we'd just charged straight into the castle… would things have been different?

Someone placed their hand upon my shoulder; I was surprised to note that it was Professor McGonagall. For the first time I'd yet noticed, her sorrow was not restrained in any way—the lines to her face were etched deeply into her troubled expression, as were the ghosts swimming in her eyes. "They were found near the library. I don't suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…"

At the mention of the word 'they,' I started. For the first time since I'd arrived, I realized that Hermione hadn't been alone—another girl, a Ravenclaw, had been lying in the bed opposite of her own. She was quite pretty, with ebony hair that was frayed across her pillow, but the surprise on her face was akin to the others who had been petrified… including Hermione.

The guilt in my stomach grew worse in intensity due to the fact that… I couldn't bring myself to care about her. Every bit of my concern was reserved for Hermione right now, because Hermione was the one I walked to all my classes with, the one I spoke to about things both silly and important, the one I considered one of my best friends.

Professor McGonagall extended the object in question our direction: it was a small silver mirror. Unremarkable.

Almost as one unit, the three of us shook our heads. There was no telling what it had been for.

"Very well, then," sighed our Head of House. "I will escort you back to Gryffindor tower. I need to address the students in any case."


"All students will return to their common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

Professor McGonagall furled up her scroll and stared at us, the silence ringing in our ears. "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit to these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything to come forward."

All of Gryffindor house had been assembled in the common room, as had been asked upon the Quidditch pitch. But no one spoke up at these last words. No one knew anything at all. I glanced at Harry and Ron as she stood, but upon seeing that they had no intention to talk about that voice that Harry had been hearing, I sighed and looked towards the ground.

Professor McGonagall pushed the spectacles up the bridge of her nose before nodding towards us all and silently departing the common room.

Everything was quiet now. People were casting one another hesitant side-glances, grasping towards one another's hands as if to ensure that they weren't alone. The calm weather was a mockery of the maelstrom of guilt and sorrow raging in my chest; it should've been storming outside. It shouldn't have been so beautiful.

The first one to break the ensuing silence was Lee Jordan, who roared, "That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff. Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin—why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?"

This earned quite a bit of applause from the Gryffindors, breaking most of the stupor from around the room. Much to my surprise, Percy Weasley didn't say anything about this outburst. He was sitting in the corner of the common room like a statue, staring at something that wasn't quite there…

"Percy's in shock," murmured George, nudging my shoulder and gesturing over to his older brother. "That Ravenclaw girl, Penelope Clearwater—she's a prefect. I don't think he thought the monster would dare attack a prefect."

But based on the look on Percy's face; so hollow, devoid of outward emotion or thought, I knew there was something more to it. It was how I was feeling now, too.

"What're we going to do?" asked Ron, leaning close to myself and to Harry. "D'you think they suspect Hagrid?"

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We've got to go and talk to him. I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start."

"How're we going to get out of Gryffindor Tower?" I asked.

Harry smiled thinly. "I think it's time to get my dad's old cloak out again."

"Let me know when," I replied, my eyes locked on a tiny mar upon the common table. "I… could do with the distraction."

I could feel Harry's eyes fall upon me, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. Luckily, he didn't pry or anything of the sort. He only replied, "We'll go once it's full dark. Better chance that way."

While I wasn't so sure about that—surely the professors would be keeping a sharp patrol on the corridors past dark now—I simply nodded and continued my silent reverie. It was one of those days where no matter how hard I tried, the fog wouldn't dissipate from the inside of my head…

As minutes turned into hours, people began leaving the common room in favor of their dormitories. Quite a number of students retreated early to talk about the Chamber of Secrets, or to simply get a good night's sleep. But I was not among them, because all I could think about was Hermione, and how very lifeless she had looked…

Right when I was about to force myself upstairs to grab my things for our upcoming nighttime sojourn, however, something caught my attention.

Weeping silently in the corner that everyone avoided was Ginny Weasley. She ferociously wiped her face, the shadows concealing her from sight of everyone else.

But not from me.

And instantly, the guilt I'd been feeling all day was redirected. Had I not promised to help Ginny during her first year, back in the late months of summer? We'd spent so much time discussing professors and classes, fashion and Quidditch… and then it was like I'd forgotten all about her.

Between this and Hermione, no wonder I felt like shit. I was a horrible friend.

Almost of their own accord, my feet touched down to the floor, my legs carrying me over to where Ginny was sitting. She glanced up as I approached and wiped her face again, but there was no hiding the bloodshot eyes.

"Hey," I said quietly. "If it makes you feel any better… me, too."

She blinked and looked away. "Everything's been horrible. I've dreamed of Hogwarts all my life, and… with all of these attacks… I'm really scared."

I nodded and hesitantly took a seat upon one of the armrests of her chair. Ginny didn't say anything or shoot me a suspicious glance, so I took it to mean that I was allowed to officially join her. "Yeah. Out of everyone, I really didn't expect… I mean, I'd really hoped it wouldn't be her. But here we are."

Ginny hiccupped once and said nothing more on the matter.

My eyes trailed across her face; there was something hiding behind her eyes, but what it was, I couldn't quite see. Something told me that Ginny was going through more than what she was portraying on the surface. Biting the inside of my lip, I said, "Ginny… I'm sorry that I haven't talked to you a lot this year. But with everything going on, I remember how important friends are. If you need anything—and yes, I mean anything—just let me know. I want to help, if I can."

After a brief moment of thought, Ginny smiled through the tears trailing down her face. "Thanks, Belle. I'll, erm… I'll remember that."

Figuring there was nothing else to say, I shot her a small smile in return and went up to my dormitory, so I could wait for nightfall and for the trip outside the castle grounds.