Ron looked at his friends wildly as they looked to him to decide what to do about Ginny. Averting his eyes from their pale faces, he stared at the entrance of the common room. She might be behind that very door… What would happen when they met again? Would it matter if there were other people around?
"Ron…" Harry began hesitantly.
"I know." Ron swallowed and nodded. "We need to tell an adult."
"Dumbledore might still be in the great hall," said Hermione briskly. "If we hurry—"
"But Snape—"
"Never mind him, Ron," said Harry. Now that Ron had finally agreed, he and Hermione were in a rush to tell an adult. "He can't be too much of a git with the headmaster around—"
"And we really can't face Ginny ourselves again. She cast non-verbal spells!" said Hermione.
Ron nodded. They turned around and ran back the way they had come, not heeding the portraits admonishing them along the way.
Lockhart was striding up the grand staircase leading to the great hall. He started when he noticed them. "Back again so soon? Didn't you just head back to your common room? I do hope you don't plan on breaking curfew—"
Harry and his friends exchanged panicked glances, thinking how best to get rid of him, when the door to the great hall opened and Snape stepped out.
"Professor Snape!" Hermione called at once.
Snape raised his eyebrows, looking taken aback. Students – especially those loathed by him – did not casually address him.
"Professor, we were looking for the headmaster—" Hermione went on.
"At this hour?" Lockhart chimed in. "Now, now, you wouldn't have caused some trouble, would you? What is it about? I'm sure Severus here – and I, of course – will be able to help you with whatever—"
Harry and his friends shot Snape a frantic look as Lockhart prattled on.
"He just left the Great Hall through the entrance to the left of the high table. You should still be able to catch up to him," said Snape, his face a blank mask.
"Now, Severus, I'm sure there's no need for that! What could be so important that you'd need to inconvenience the headmaster at this hour—"
"Gilderoy, I've reconsidered," Snape interrupted brusquely. "I want to hear about this idea of a duel club after all. My office is closer." With that he began walking briskly, forcing Lockhart to follow behind. He shot Harry, Ron and Hermione an absolutely murderous glance as he passed them.
Lesser students in less dire circumstances might have frozen in place under such a glare, but not them. Before Lockhart's protestations had even gone out of earshot, they had hurried through the now deserted great hall and out the other door.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Ron began to call as they ran through a small chamber, lined with portraits, before they could even see whether the headmaster was around.
Harry joined him. There was an urgency now, as they began to feel a delayed dread of what had happened. When they reached the other entrance of the chamber, they looked around frantically, needing to decide which way to turn. Then they heard footsteps. A moment later, Dumbledore was walking back towards them.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger. What seems to be the problem here?" he said, before he had even reached them. There was ill-disguised worry in his eyes, though he tried to keep his tone light.
"It's my sister, Professor. She – she—" Ron's voice hitched.
"Miss Ginevra Weasley. Did something happen to her?"
"She's not herself," Hermione took over. "She hasn't been herself for some time now, actually—"
Dumbledore's expression became wary. "Where is she? Could you please tell me what exactly happened."
"We think that someone's been putting her under some dark spell, but we don't know what—"
The boys joined her, to describe Ginny's unusual behaviour.
"How long has this been going on?" said Dumbledore, shaking his head. He looked at them with grave, urgent eyes. "I wish you had come to me sooner—"
"We didn't want to get her in trouble," said Ron. "We weren't even sure we weren't imagining it all – until this evening."
"What happened this evening?"
"We wanted to see if she was, maybe, confounded, so we – well, I – asked her to go along with me, and then we cast the counter-spell," said Hermione.
The boys then joined in to describe how that had gone.
"…and then Lockhart – er, Professor Lockhart – turned up, and she fled. We don't know where she's gone," finished Ron.
Before he had even heard the whole explanation, Dumbledore was striding towards the nearest portraits, giving them instructions to find Ginny, and while her brother, Harry and Hermione tried to keep up with him, he hurried along the corridor, wand already drawn.
"Tell me everything suspicious you noticed about her, everything that might give us a clue as to who could have done this," said Dumbledore. It sounded like a command. His wand was moving in intricate patterns, while they walked. Occasionally he would mutter strange words under his breath as well.
Harry and his friends tried their best to oblige. They told him everything they had actually observed, though they kept some of their wilder suspicions to themselves.
"...and she called us little pests, so whoever's cursing her must be older, right?" suggested Hermione, recalling Ginny's exact words.
"It does sound like it, yes," said Dumbledore grimly. "If what I fear has happened… Though even if she had been confounded, I don't understand what you hoped you could do to help her." He sounded like he was trying not to begin admonishing them right away – while they had something more important to do.
"Well, we learned the counter, of course," said Hermione, a little breathlessly, as she hurried to keep up with the headmaster's longer strides. "Took us a couple weeks…"
Dumbledore actually drew up short and regarded her disbelievingly. "Miss Granger, you're usually more sensible than that. You could not have supposed to learn the counter-spell to an already advanced charm in a few days—"
"But we did!"
"We did learn it!" the boys protested at once.
"It's easier when we all cast it together," said Ron defensively, taking the headmaster's clearly disbelieving look personally.
The headmaster was about to argue, when the portrait of a rather out-of-breath looking woman in seventeenth-century dress ran into the painting next to them. "Professor Dumbledore, sir. The student you were looking for – the Weasley girl—" she huffed.
"Yes, where is she?" The headmaster immediately turned toward her, voice urgent.
"She was seen running toward the hospital wing."
They almost ran.
"But what would she want there?" asked Ron.
No one answered him. The few older students they ran into stepped out of the way, shooting them bewildered looks, but no one thought to question the headmaster. Up the stairs they went, across corridors, until they neared the hospital corridor. Their footsteps echoed off the walls, reinforcing the impression that they were the only people there.
They came around the bend and saw her. The vivid red hair spread around her head made it impossible to misidentify her.
"GINNY!" With a desperate shout, Ron ran towards the small shape crumpled on the ground beneath the window.
Moonlight streaming in was just hitting the edges of Ginny's hair, who was lying face down as if she had suddenly fallen asleep on the spot.
"Mr. Weasley, wait!" said Professor Dumbledore, hurrying to catch up with him.
"Oh, no, no. Ginny," Ron was whimpering and mumbling, trying to shake her awake, but she was frozen in place, like a statue.
"Mr. Weasley, let me have a look at her, please." Dumbledore, voice firm but very kind, urged Ron to move out of the way as he knelt down and cast spells over her shape. "She's also been petrified, unfortunately. But beyond that, she doesn't seem hurt. I can't say with absolute certainty yet, but I'm convinced that whatever had possessed her no longer has a hold on her now." He straightened back up.
"I… I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," mumbled Harry, averting his eyes from the pained, hunched-over form of his best friend. It was the only remotely useful thing he could think to do.
"Yes, that might be best—" Dumbledore began to say.
"Wait, look!" said Hermione.
Harry, midway to the entrance of the hospital wing, turned back around. Hermione was looking transfixed at the windowpane. Following her gaze, he saw what she had discovered. There were letters drawn on the fogged window, spelling Tom Ri_ in a shaky hand. The last letter extended into a drawn out line running toward the bottom edge of the window. With a lurch of his heart, Harry realised the writing must have broken off as Ginny fell.
"Tom Ri… Who can that be?" Hermione wondered aloud.
"Mr. Potter, please go get the matron." The headmaster's voice was unusually grim as he went to the window and wiped the name away with his hand.
Madam Pomfrey followed Harry outside, and together, she and Professor Dumbledore carried Ginny inside. She was laid on the bed next to Colin's. For a moment, they all stood in silence around her bed, contemplating how the situation had escalated since the attack on Mrs. Norris.
"Would you three please follow me to my office? I'll make sure you don't get in trouble for breaking curfew." said Dumbledore. He did not explain himself further, until they had left the hospital wing behind.
"What about my brothers, Professor?" asked Ron. "I have to tell them what happened," he added very softly.
Dumbledore sighed. "Of course. I won't keep you for long. But there are a few things I need clarified. And… we might also think about what you want to tell your brothers," he added carefully.
"Are we in trouble?" asked Hermione.
"No, you're not. I'm merely curious about some of the things you mentioned. When you thought that Miss Weasley might be confounded, you – instead of asking one of your professors for help, might I add – decided to try to cast the counter-curse—"
"It was all my fault." Ron covered his face with his hands. "I didn't want to get her in trouble, but I made everything so much worse for her…"
"Perhaps not so, Mr. Weasley. At least she's no longer under the malevolent influence of another."
"Tom something-or-other," said Hermione. "Professor, do you know who that is?" she asked with quiet conviction, certain of the answer.
"I—" Dumbledore hesitated. "I believe I do, and I'll tell you what I can later, but—"
"Do you think he was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets the first time around?" asked Harry, too curious to be careful.
Dumbledore stopped walking, and stared at them, not hiding his surprise. He chuckled. "Well, if I'm answering your questions rather than the other way around, we better wait until we reach my office and have more privacy."
Harry flushed, while Hermione mumbled an apology. They continued on in silence. Marching around a corner, they stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.
"Lemon drop!" said Professor Dumbledore.
This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Behind the wall a spiral staircase was moving smoothly upward. As they stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, until at last, they reached a gleaming oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
At a wave of the headmaster's wand, the door opened silently and they entered. Harry and his friends looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat – the Sorting Hat.
A noise behind them made them jump and turn around. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a strange-looking bird, as large as a turkey, with colourful plumage that would have looked beautiful, had it not been patchy in places. The bird looked balefully back at the newcomers.
Dumbledore had barely waved his wand again to conjure three armchairs for his guests, when the door sprung open again and Snape walked in, coming to a sudden stop at the sight of his students. He quickly composed himself. "I see you found him," he addressed Harry and his friends dismissively, before turning to the headmaster. "Albus, I was about to inform you that certain… more disruptive members of our student body had been looking for you rather urgently, for—" he glanced over at the students in question suspiciously, "—unknown reasons. But I see they've found you already."
The headmaster nodded gravely. "And indeed very dire circumstances have brought them to me. Miss Weasley has been petrified." He suppressed a sigh.
Snape looked taken aback. "When was that?" He looked at the three students, standing subdued next to the conjured armchairs. "You couldn't have known this when I last saw you," he deduced shrewdly. "They had been discovered by Lockhart loitering around the third-floor girls' bathroom," he recounted. "And Lockhart certainly doesn't know anything about a petrified student. They left, only to return soon after. Lockhart intercepted them again and I was forced to – intervene – to allow them to find you. They seemed quite frantic," he explained to Dumbledore.
"That was just after Ginny had attacked us," Ron said softly. "We – I – needed a moment to decide that we'd help her more if we reported her."
Hermione took up the explanation from there, telling Snape most of what they had told Dumbledore. She did not tell him about their attempt to cast the Confundus counter-spell, though, just said that they had confronted Ginny, who had easily disarmed them, before fleeing to avoid being seen by Lockhart. Harry had to admire her caution: if Dumbledore was surprised and wanted to know all the details of their wand experiments, it was probably better not to mention any of it in front of Snape.
The headmaster continued the tale from there, without filling in any of the gaps in Hermione's narrative. In fact, he himself did not mention the name Ginny had written on the window.
Snape, sat in one of the conjured chairs, listened broodingly, hands crossed in front of his chest. "So whoever is terrorising the school has now begun possessing students as well," he said at last. "And a pureblood, at that—"
Harry and Ron were about to protest, but Dumbledore nodded.
"Whoever it is, doesn't quite seem to keep to his profile, does he?" he said.
"The parents will be in uproar," said Snape.
Harry was about to protest again, when he noticed Hermione's bent head. Of course, he realised with a lurching feeling. Only muggleborn children had been thought to be in danger so far, whose parents, like Hermione's, only had limited knowledge of what went on at Hogwarts, and no influence on the school governors at all.
Dumbledore sighed. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. First, we have to let the rest of the school know what has transpired." He looked expectantly at Snape, who responded with a jerky nod.
"I'll go inform the rest of the staff, then. Unless there's anything else…?" Snape left as soon as the headmaster shook his head.
"Possessed…" mumbled Ron, as the door fell shut behind the billowing black robes. "That's what it was, then? Not a spell, not even a really bad one—"
"From what you described of her behaviour, it does seem the most likely explanation," Dumbledore said gently, but honestly.
"Well, that spell, the forbidden one—" began Harry.
"Unforgivable," corrected Ron.
"Yeah. That would hardly have been better—"
"But possessed? Like Quirrel?" Ron looked nauseated by the very thought.
"Oh, no, Ron," implored Hermione, her compassion for him twisting her face into an expression of almost physical pain.
The bird made a curious sound at that moment and then suddenly flew over, to settle into Ron's lap, much to the boy's surprise. "What—"
"Fawkes…" his owner said fondly as the bird began to sing a strange, almost hypnotic song. "He's trying to comfort you," he explained. "Fawkes is a phoenix, Mr. Weasley. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and their song gives comfort and strength to the listener."
For a moment they all sat in silence and listened to the song, while Ron petted the bird's patchy feathers, strangely touched. "Thank you, Fawkes," he said much more calmly. The bird nudged him with his beak before settling back on his perch.
Hermione shifted in her seat. "Whoever's been possessing her can't be as bad as – as you-know-who, so it's not the same thing. It's not." She looked to Dumbledore, hoping for confirmation, but he was staring at his desk and would not meet her eyes. "R-right, professor? This Tom Whatshisname—"
"Of course Miss Weasley is not in the same state as Quirrel," Dumbledore said decisively. "She is unhurt – besides being petrified, of course, and no longer possessed. I cannot tell you not to be affected by her ordeal, of course, but I can assure you, you need not worry about her—"
"But – well, who is this Tom Ri… person?" asked Harry, aware that the headmaster was dodging the question, and too curious to let it go. "You wouldn't even mention him in front of Snape—"
"Professor Snape, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore sighed again, but then nodded. "All right. I suppose you need some answers. Let's do it this way, then. I'll tell you what I can, and in exchange you tell me about this Confundus charm you tried." He waited for the students to exchange looks and finally nod.
"Tom Riddle…" the headmaster began. "He used to be a student at this school many years ago, indeed during the time the Chamber of Secrets was opened for the first time." He paused, dark thoughts passing over his features. "For all my suspicions, though, I could never find any proof that he had anything to do with that. Then, once I had openly begun interrogating him, he suddenly, er, discovered that another student had let a dangerous creature live on school grounds. That student was expelled, the attacks stopped, and everyone was left to assume that the monster within the Chamber had been dealt with. Tom Riddle received an award for special services to the school." Dumbledore's mouth twisted bitterly.
"Oh, yeah, I think I remember seeing that," said Ron. "It's… not far from where our award is kept, actually."
"But if he was a student years ago—" Hermione began with a deep frown.
"Decades, actually," interrupted the headmaster. "How is he involved now, you want to know? Well, I'm afraid I can't answer that. I'd like to know the same thing, as a matter of fact." He sighed again, his eyes refocusing on his visitors, indicating that he had said all he intended. "Well, now it's your turn, I believe."
Harry and his friends exchanged uncomfortable looks. Where to begin?
"Well, we found the counter-spell in a book I have—" he began.
"Oh I'd just started reading this book I got for my birthday, and we'd been trying to cast spells together—" Hermione said at the same time.
"It all started with my wand, I think, with Ollivander giving Hermione ideas," Ron added to the jumbled explanation.
Dumbledore, with ever widening eyes, began asking questions, the answers to which led to even more questions about the trio's extracurricular activities. He could not suppress the odd exclamation, despite his best intentions. He looked disapproving at the mention of Vindictus Viridian's book, but did not comment. However, he visibly sat forward as soon as the words 'wandlore' and 'affinity' were mentioned.
Harry, Ron and Hermione did not need long to notice how impressed the headmaster was with all they had accomplished. Despite the difficult circumstances, they perked up and began telling him almost everything in detail. They were only careful not to say anything about why Ron had needed a new wand, but though Dumbledore commented, surprised, on the fact that Ollivander had sold them a wand without an adult present, he did not care about much else after Hermione said how surprised the wandmaker had been at the trio's chosen wands. The headmaster himself was no less surprised at the coincidences surrounding them.
"And then I got books about wandlore for my birthday, and I was reading about affinity and how people used to—" Hermione was saying.
"That's a rather advanced topic, Miss Granger—"
"Oh, I know, I found out. But the book my parents gave me was picked by Mrs. Weasley. It's mostly just the history of wands and a few fun facts—"
"Did it talk about the time before wands came into use? About affinity between wizards?" asked Dumbledore.
Hermione nodded. "So of course we had to try it out." She went on to describe their experiments.
Dumbledore, instead of rushing her to move on to the topic, kept asking her about more details, before moving on to answering her questions. "No, Miss Granger, affinity is not as simple as matching cores or wand woods. It has a lot to do with the intent of the casters. And with understanding each other's intent. People who know each other very well – friends, say – usually do better. Though wand cores do contribute in some ways, as well. Dragon heartstring cores tend to repel quite aggressively, while unicorn hair cores usually just refuse to do anything at all."
Harry soon interrupted to move the tale on, before Hermione got caught up in details. He quickly talked about Ginny's suspicious behaviour, and how they had tried to make sense of it without getting her in trouble. "And then we found the Confundus spell in my book and thought that might be what was wrong with her," he went on quickly, before Ron could start blaming himself again. "To learn the counter, we first had to learn the spell of course, but it was fiendishly difficult—"
"Indeed it is," said Dumbledore with a shake of his head. "I still can't believe…"
"Hermione and Harry both tried for ages, but nothing at all happened," said Ron. "But then they cast together by accident, and next thing I know, they were dancing around me in circles, shouting, 'It worked, it worked'. It was really weird."
Dumbledore chuckled, before asking them for a demonstration. On his person, no less. He chuckled once again at their bewildered looks, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Now, don't hold back. It's not every day that you get permission to attack a professor."
The three friends gingerly got up and pointed their wands at him, somewhere around the beard. The boys looked at Hermione for guidance.
"At three?" she suggested, and began to count slowly at their nods.
The attack was unimpressive, to say the least. They did not quite manage to be simultaneous, for one.
"That's what I was saying about intent," the headmaster said gently, aware of their embarrassed looks. "The main difficulty in casting spells together is being of the same mind – wanting exactly the same thing, at the same time. Please try a few more times. I believe being under duress helped you succeed the previous time, but I would really like to see if you can manage once again—"
He had barely finished talking when he was hit by the triple spell, perfectly aligned this time. The counter followed an instant later, and he came out of his confusion to the sight of his panicked students, rather shell-shocked at their success.
"Professor, are – are you alright?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore was more than alright, as he enthusiastically congratulated them on their success, explained some more, and finally sent them back to their dorm.
Halfway there, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "Her book!" she said out of the blue.
"What?"
"Her book, Ron! That leather-bound book Ginny kept writing in. She had it with her when I asked her to walk with me. And I don't remember if she took it with her when she ran away from Professor Lockhart."
"I don't think I saw it with her when…" Harry trailed off.
"Neither did I, but…" Ron grimaced. If there was the slightest chance that something might shed a light on whoever had done this to his sister, they had to find it.
They walked to the deserted corridor where they had found Ginny, tired as they were, and then back to the third-floor corridor in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Unfortunately, they did not find anything in either location. Slowly, they turned around to walk to their dorms.
"We'll keep looking for it," said Hermione, not letting herself be disheartened. "It's bound to turn up eventually."