Harry, Hermione and Ron knew they had to inform Professor Dumbledore as quickly as possible, but preferably without an audience to direct even more suspicion their way. Sneaking to his office after curfew was their only chance of seeing the headmaster without anyone knowing about it.
They went to bed at the usual time. Harry and Ron waited until Neville, Dean, and Seamus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves. Hermione was thankfully already in the common room, looking solemn, holding her right hand close to her robe pocket, where she had her wand.
The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors was not enjoyable. Harry, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Harry had his foe-glass with him, to avoid running into the basilisk. Meanwhile, Hermione was looking at the map, to avoid running into anyone else. Their Invisibility Cloak did not stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore.
It was with relief that they reached the statue of the gargoyle, only to have the relief turn into dismay as they remembered the little issue of the password. Harry threw off the cloak, as there was no one else around to see them. He thought just asking the gargoyle to be let in might help, but it would not budge. However, before he and his friends could give up, they saw Dumbledore himself coming down the stairs. Finally, the gargoyle moved aside.
"Am I to take it you've come with some information regarding recent events?" asked the headmaster, and if he was surprised at his visitors, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he looked very serious – grim, almost.
The three friends began with exclamations of, "It's a basilisk!" without any preamble, but then they sought each other's eyes, looking for a way to explain the source of their knowledge. With Dumbledore drawing back in surprise, this created a moment of tense silence.
Slowly, the headmaster shook his head. "This holding on to vital information until the very last minute – especially in such dire circumstances—"
"I'm sorry Professor, but we really only found out a few hours ago—" began Hermione.
"Hours! Indeed, if I still had hours with that information available—"
"But – Are you going away, Professor?" asked an alarmed Harry.
Dumbledore did not answer right away. Instead, his appraising gaze swept over his visitors. "This time around, I think it is your turn to answer the questions." He said this calmly, but it was not a suggestion. "Come upstairs, please." He turned to walk up the stairs, pausing to open the door to his office and lead his visitors in. "Please, let's hear it. Why do you think there's a basilisk on school grounds?" Dumbledore waited for them to explain themselves, his gaze intense and expectant.
Harry and his friends were aware of the biggest issue preventing them from telling everything to the headmaster. Sirius. There was a trail leading directly to him starting with Harry's foe-glass. Trying to give Dumbledore, of all people, partial answers, however, was risky. He was not someone easily misled.
They should have planned their answers, Harry thought then. They should have prepared a coherent tale. It was too late for any of that. They tried to piece together what evidence they could, but they never managed to get past a few jumbled sentences about dead roosters and runaway spiders. Ron thought to bring up Parseltongue, and Hermione began a stilted explanation of the victims all surviving due to seeing the basilisk through a reflection.
Harry knew, though, that none of those answers would satisfy the headmaster – only revealing their secrets would. Dumbledore's dissatisfied, demanding stare would not leave them, remaining insistent.
Suddenly Harry balked. Setting his jaw stubbornly, he lifted his eyes to hold the headmaster's gaze.
They did not owe the headmaster any answers.
"That's all we came to tell you," Harry said brazenly. "We just wanted to say that we, er, suspect that Slytherin's monster is a basilisk."
Why should they have to reveal anything at all? he thought wildly, as he watched Dumbledore draw back in astonishment. Ron and Hermione looked no less surprised, gaping like fish at their friend's audacity. Harry refused to be cowed, though. Yes, they were talking to the headmaster. Yes, there were rules to be followed at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore, as headmaster, was the highest power enforcing them. That did not mean he had a right to private information concerning his students. Harry and his friends may have broken a few school rules over the course of the year (not to mention actual laws – aiding an escaped prisoner, and all), but they had not broken any rules in order to discover the basilisk.
"At such a time as this, you choose to withhold what might be vital information?" Dumbledore's voice was more disappointed than admonishing, but somehow more difficult to argue against because of it.
"B-but, Professor," Hermione replied before Harry could reconsider his stance. "Y-you also – I mean, there are things you haven't told the other teachers – you wouldn't mention Tom Riddle, for example…"
The headmaster swept his piercing gaze between the friends. Ron and Hermione would not speak in silent support for Harry's decision. Finally, he nodded at them.
"Very well, then. It seems, I will be the one to speak this time as well. As I have mentioned, I may not be around for much longer. Not voluntarily, of course. However, I may no longer have a choice. I'm expecting, ah, visitors, shall we say. In fact, if the gargoyle had not let me hear your urgent pleas to be let in, I would have already called Professor McGonagall to inform her of it. If I'm right about what is about to happen, then you might have to inform Professor McGonagall of what you just told me yourselves. As for Tom Riddle's name—" At the worried looks on his visitors' faces, he paused.
"Indeed, I have not mentioned his name to anyone but you three." Dumbledore sighed. "I have questioned the wisdom of that decision myself. And yet… Not unlike you three, I get tired of people using information I provide them with, to discredit me. You have heard the tale of the girl who cried werewolf, have you not?" He paused again, to collect his thoughts, while his students waited with baited breath to hear what he was about to tell them.
"Last year, I spent an extraordinary amount of time trying to convince a number of people – a couple of teachers here included – that Voldemort was after the Philosopher's Stone. To no avail. That plan just wasn't like him, apparently; he had most likely died by then – if he had indeed survived, to begin with; and so on." The headmaster shook his head, almost to dispel the remembered frustration. "In short, no one wanted to believe that he was back. I achieved much better results when I simply asked Professor Snape to keep an eye on Quirrel – as you might remember." He ended on a fleeting smile, and for the first time that evening, there was a twinkle in his eyes.
It did not last very long. "Tom Riddle is Voldemort's real name." Without waiting for the shocked reaction, he went on, speaking over the gasps that followed this revelation. "And if he's involved, it's vital that you three be very careful. Especially you, Mr Potter. What you have told me of the Malfoys' house elf suggests very strongly that you may be one of the intended targets of these attacks. And as it happened the previous year, I doubt many people would believe me that he is involved. There is, in fact, no evidence I could find except for Miss Weasley's message. Not for the attacks happening now, nor for those fifty years ago."
"You really don't think people would believe you?" asked Hermione, her voice small, hesitant, stuck somewhere between disbelieving and disheartened.
"I know so. I tried suggesting it," came the dry reply. "But the little that survives of him has recently been sighted in Albania. Also, Lucius Malfoy is definitely involved, and it has for a long time been his strategy to conceal his own dark dealings behind Voldemort's name." Dumbledore sighed. "It would be a sensible explanation that he is merely laying false clues pointing to Voldemort to disguise his own involvement."
"But you don't think that," said Ron.
"No, Mr Weasley, I don't."
This was too much. Harry could not repay the headmaster's trust with that much distrust on his own. "We saw the basilisk in my foe-glass," he rushed out. "But Hermione was already expecting to see it, because I keep hearing its voice during the attacks. It just took us so long to realise what I was hearing was Parseltongue."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, directing his piercing gaze at Harry. "You kept hearing its voice?"
There was an emphasis on the extended tense, and Harry began to feel guilty, that for months now he had kept silent about the voice he had been hearing—
The fire in the fireplace suddenly roared and turned green. Harry and Hermione, who had only seen the sight once, still recognised the floo network activating. They all sent anxious looks to the headmaster, who looked surprisingly grim.
"Mr Potter, do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?" he asked. At Harry's answer in the affirmative, he nodded. "Better stay out of sight for now."
As soon as the three friends had made themselves invisible and retreated into a corner, Dumbledore waved his wand towards the fireplace. The flames parted to admit a very odd-looking visitor.
The stranger had rumpled grey hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.
"That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic!"
Hermione elbowed Ron to make him shut up.
Dumbledore, looking deadly serious, offered Fudge a seat, before moving behind his desk to sit down.
The minister ignored the offered seat, instead fidgeting with his bowler. "Bad business, Dumbledore," he said in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Attacks on muggleborns and then that unfortunate pureblood girl. And now… Hagrid himself. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."
"I would have thought, Cornelius, that this recent attack would finally have convinced you that Hagrid had nothing to do with any of this," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge. "As I had been telling you all along."
"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. And with him now petrified, what's the ministry got to do? The school governors have been in touch—"
Dumbledore fell silent for a tense moment. "With a – suggestion – as to what is to be done, I imagine?" he asked with ironic lightness in his tone.
"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, once again fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. I'm sure this will all blow over soon, and no more said. But I've got to take some action at the moment. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty—"
Before Fudge could finish his confused rambling, the flames in the fireplace burst green again. It was Harry's turn for an elbow in the ribs; he had let out an audible gasp. Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode out from the fireplace, swathed in a long black travelling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile.
"Already here, Fudge," he said approvingly. "Good, good…"
"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore, already sitting back down without having offered his newest guest a seat. He spoke politely, but his blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.
"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension – you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be neither muggleborns, nor half-breeds left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school."
Fudge tried to act as if this news was a surprise – tried and failed. He seemed scared of the idea of leaving the school without Dumbledore.
"The appointment – or suspension – of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—"
"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"
"That remains to be seen," said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted—"
Harry wondered how many of those Malfoy had had to blackmail or threaten before they agreed to see things his way.
The headmaster looked at Lucius Malfoy. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—"
Harry's heart sank. He had hoped Dumbledore would put up more of a fight. He was not the only one. He heard a whispered, barely audible, "No," from Hermione next to him. Without the headmaster, how were they to deal with the basilisk?
Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold grey ones. "However," he said, "I will first inform my deputy of the development." He lifted his eyes to the portraits of the past headmasters and headmistresses and nodded at one of them, before focusing his eyes on Malfoy once more.
They waited in uncomfortable silence, only occasionally interrupted by Fudge's insipid comments, until McGonagall walked in, looking far more put together than Harry would have expected at that time of the night. He suspected she might also have known what Malfoy had been planning.
Dumbledore informed her shortly of the state of affairs, before getting up and moving towards the fireplace. He hesitated, stopped. "While I am away, it will fall to those left at Hogwarts to share support and trust, to be a unified force against those forces attacking Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word. "You will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."
For a second, Dumbledore's eyes flickered towards the corner where Harry and his friends stood hidden.
"Admirable sentiments," said Malfoy, bowing. "We shall all miss your – er – highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any deaths – to either students or staff."
He strode to the fireplace, activated the floo network and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Malfoy to step through the fireplace before following with an aborted bow towards McGonagall.
McGonagall sank into one of the guest chairs with a soft exhale. Her shoulders drooped in a way she never allowed herself in front of students.
Hermione began to shift her weight, giving the boys on either side of her a light nudge.
McGonagall seemed to have heard something, because her shoulders tensed, her head lifted almost imperceptibly.
Before panic could set in, Harry threw off the invisibility cloak, drawing choked off yelps from his friends and a sharp inhale from their head of house. For one moment, McGonagall stared at them, taking in their fear underneath the audacity.
"So that was what Dumbledore was talking about," she said on an exhale, shaking her head slowly. "Let's hear it, then. Tell me," she said briskly, but without any anger at her students.
~HP~
Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; the grounds around them were in bloom, and the sky remained blue. Without Hagrid visible from the castle, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene did not look right to Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.
McGonagall may have been lenient, hearing them out without punishing them, but from the next morning onwards there were new rules to be followed by them, and the rest of the students.
With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, and the fact that Fudge had blamed Hagrid for the attacks – going as far as scheduling a trial for him when he was conscious again – had not improved morale in the slightest. There was not a face to be seen on school grounds that did not look tense and worried. Any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.
Visitors were barred from the hospital wing, as Ron's brothers discovered when trying to visit Ginny. Not only that, they were no longer allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other members of their house. McGonagall had spread the word about the basilisk without mentioning Harry and his friends, at least, leading to everyone carrying a mirror with them wherever they went. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.
There was Fang, who had to be fed, even if taking him off his leash to take for a walk was out of the question. There were letters to and from the ever more worried Sirius to be sent and received, without drawing attention to them. Their duelling practice had to stop, even though it seemed more necessary than ever.
And of course there was the little issue of finding Slytherin's heir. The only clue they could think of that they had not yet followed up had been Hagrid's hint about the spiders. The trouble was, there did not seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Harry looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron and Hermione, who had finally looked up what an acromantula was and kept cautioning against trying to find it, friend of Hagrid's or no.
One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Harry did not realise what he was so pleased about until the potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle about his father finally ridding the school of Dumbledore, without bothering to keep his voice down.
The most upsetting thing of all was Snape's response to this. He smirked and actually looked flattered by Malfoy's suggestion that he might apply for the position of headmaster.
Harry was about to look away in disgust, when Snape swept past his desk, and to his utter astonishment, dropped a tiny folded square of parchment right in the middle of the mess of his potions ingredients, without so much as slowing down.
Harry waited for a few seconds with bated breath, until he had moved far enough away, to read the note. It contained an instruction, simple enough in its phrasing: Make a scene.
Harry was caught off guard, his thoughts racing, trying to come up with a way to comply, when he heard Malfoy's next words, still not bothering to keep his voice down.
"I'm quite surprised the mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy was saying. "Bet you five galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Weasley, but maybe it'll be Granger's turn next—"
The bell rang at that moment, which was unlucky, but Ron, who had leapt off his stool at Malfoy's last words, had already reached the Slytherins, Harry not far behind. Hermione hurried to catch up with them, to stop them, Harry was sure, but in the scramble to collect bags and books, she was not fast enough. The boys had blocked Malfoy's path and were loudly demanding he take back what he had said.
"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to herbology," barked Snape. "Potter, Granger, Weasley! You can't threaten fellow students! Stay behind so I can have words with you."
Harry was relieved to have apparently fulfilled Snape's request adequately. Ron looked guilty, and was beginning to apologise to an upset-looking Hermione. Harry wished he could explain, but decided it could wait, rather than risk being overheard. Snape would not leave them behind on their own, so they marched together with the rest of the students, until Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way across the vegetable patch towards the greenhouses.
Once the other students were out of sight, he turned to the remaining three. "In my office," was all he said, as he herded them back the way they came.
Harry, however, would not let his friends worry needlessly, and explained on the way. Snape did not bother to say anything, but as he did not contradict what Harry was saying, his friends relaxed, Ron turning red at not even having to be manipulated.
"I want to hear everything you told Minerva – and everything you didn't tell her," said Snape as soon as he had closed the door of his office from the inside.
He was met with silence, which grew from surprised to annoyed. But how to tell Snape they were not going to answer his questions? In the end, it fell to Harry, who felt his friends' eyes drift in his direction as they attempted a few aborted answers.
"We told Professor McGonagall the same thing we told Professor Dumbledore," he said, "and that's all we know."
As expected, Snape's face darkened. "Is that so? Care to tell how you discovered the basilisk?"
"No, actually."
"Potter! Of all the irresponsible, selfish things you've done—! Isn't the situation dire enough for your taste? If you insist on this—"
"Well, the only thing we really know is that Malfoy is somehow involved," said Ron, before Snape could begin to enumerate his threats. "But I'd have thought it'd be much easier for you to question him than… well, anyone else I know."
"That really is the best – the only – lead we have, Professor," said Hermione. "We've been racking our brains, trying to come up with a way to get some answers from him."
"You'll be waiting forever for that. Lucius Malfoy is not one to slip up and accidentally give away his secrets – especially not to three interfering Gryffindors—"
"So you've tried, then? Talking to Malfoy, I mean," said Hermione.
Snape's face contorted into an expression of displeasure. "That is beside the point, Granger—"
"So he wouldn't tell you anything, then?" said Ron.
It was a fair deduction, thought Harry, as Snape's face darkened. "Well, you did just let Malfoy – Draco Malfoy – get away with saying the most disgusting things," said Harry, before Snape could argue. "Is it because you're planning to question his father some time soon?" He sounded more eager than he had intended.
Snape's expression grew haughty. He almost sneered. "However I choose to treat my Slytherins is not something I need to justify to the likes of you. Now, back to—"
"So you're alright with the word 'mudblood' again?" asked Ron, shooting an apologetic look in Hermione's direction, who had not even batted an eye at the word.
Snape, on the other hand, visibly flinched. Realising that he had been caught, he grew angry. "It is not for you to question how I treat my students! Nor is it for you to decide who does and doesn't get preferential treatment from me. Not everyone panders to you and your friends, Potter—"
"So, what? You're on Lucius Malfoy's side, then? Trying to help him take over the school? Maybe get him to help you become the next headmaster?" Harry did not bother to tone down the sarcasm. There was no doubt in his mind that Snape was trying to thwart Malfoy's plans, just as they were.
"My opinion of Draco Malfoy has nothing to do with his father." Snape frowned, drew back the words that wanted to follow. "He is allowed a little more leeway in class – because he can offset it so easily," he then said.
"So you really think he's the best student in class?" asked Hermione, sounding curious, rather than sarcastic.
"He is," said Snape with obvious satisfaction. "He's by far the most talented student in my class. And not just in my class, I might add – he's all around the best student of your year—"
"Second best, if that," said Ron defiantly, looking at Hermione.
"You think?" Snape stared him down, looking condescending. "Because, ah, someone happened to have slightly better marks in their exams?"
"No, it's true that some students just do better at exams than others," said Hermione bravely, before Ron could try to defend her. She did not sound upset, but Harry was not sure that was not simply restraint. "But if you think he's such a good student – if you l-like him, why would you encourage him to be so, well…"
Something happened to Snape's face then. Something shifted behind his dark eyes, without any of his features having truly moved. An instant later, his face was once again placid, too soon for Harry to have caught the exact expression. And yet, he would have bet it had been something akin to pain.
"You can't though, can you?" Ron blurted out, before Snape could respond. "Not if you want Lucius Malfoy to stay your friend."
"Enough of this!" said Snape. "You have refused to tell me anything useful. I have no choice but to let you go. However, I want you to be fully aware that should there be another attack, I'll hold you partly responsible and behave accordingly." He moved to the door. "Follow me." He ushered them outside, to take them back to herbology.
A memory from the year before came back to Harry. "You need to be careful," he said before stepping through the door, before he had thought better of it. "Dumbledore thinks there might be a link to Voldemort again this year, and he said you wouldn't believe him," he spoke before Snape's interjection. "But the same was true last year, and when I met Quirrel, he said that…" Harry thought back. "That you should question where your loyalties lie, and that you seem too, er, content with this teacher's life – I think that's what he said. And well, Malfoy, er… Well, you know much better than us how close he really was to Voldemort…" Harry trailed off as he finally noticed that Snape's face seemed to have turned to stone.
"Potter, what—" Snape clamped his mouth shut over the following words. "No. We will not discuss this. Come along."
Snape walked fast enough that Harry and his friends had to nearly run to keep up. All the way to their class, he stayed in front of them, never letting them fully catch up, and left them very abruptly. Only a headshake at one point showed his inner turmoil.
~HP~
They had missed half the class and everyone else was already divided up into small groups in herbology, working on pruning abyssinian shrivelfigs, making it easier for Harry to stick close to Ron and Hermione. He was still preoccupied by their talk with Snape, barely paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing.
He had been left with the impression that Snape was genuinely fond of Draco Malfoy. And that it bothered him that he had to play a role to ingratiate himself with Draco's father, which meant being a bad influence on Draco. Could Snape have been suggesting that Malfoy – selfish, arrogant, snobbish, muggle-hating Draco Malfoy – might not have turned out so bad through better influence? He was annoyed as he asked his friends this, making sure to be quiet enough not to be overheard.
Hermione was less bothered by this, but was more upset that Snape seemed to think Malfoy was genuinely talented.
"So what, Hermione," hissed Ron under his breath. "The sorts of spells he knows – You've said it yourself. He's far more advanced than a second year."
"B-but he's a pureblood! He's been exposed to magic from an earlier age—"
"So have I," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "But what does it matter? What's got into both of you? What do you care about Malfoy! After Snape all but admitted to being a spy!"
"He's more of a double agent, I think," said Hermione, and then had to explain the term to Ron.
"But he was bound to be a spy for one side or the other, wasn't he?" said Harry. "It's just, I'm beginning to think he's on Dumbledore's side after all."
What should have been a profound revelation settled quietly between them.
"Anyway," went on Harry, "we know now that none of the teachers have any better plans than us. Not McGonagall, and not Snape. And if Snape couldn't get Lucius Malfoy to talk, that only leaves us with one lead to follow up on…"
Harry pointed out several large spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun, as they were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass of the greenhouse, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up.
His friends protested, and once again Harry agreed to put off that decision, though he was not sure if he was being sincere. There simply did not seem to be any way around it.
They carried on the discussion while Professor Sprout escorted them to their defence against the dark arts lesson, lagging behind to avoid being overheard.
Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. He was not looking too well, though he was trying his best to appear buoyant.
"Come now," he cried, beaming around him, despite the dark circles under his eyes. "Why all these long faces?"
People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.
"Don't you people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has had his comeuppance—"
"Says who?" said Dean Thomas loudly.
"My dear young man, the Minister for Magic wouldn't have scheduled a trial for Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.
"Oh, yes he would," said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.
"I flatter myself I know a touch more about the attack on Hagrid and his upcoming trial than you do, Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.
Ron started to reply, but stopped in mid-sentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk.
"We aren't supposed to know, remember?" Harry muttered.
But Lockhart's affected cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated Harry so much that he yearned to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart's stupid face. Instead, he contented himself with scrawling a note and passing it to Ron and Hermione: Let's do it tonight.
His friends read the message, looked back at him with worried, but determined faces, and finally nodded.
Harry sent both Dudley and Sirius a letter as soon as he was back in the crowded Gryffindor common room, these days filled with all the students of their house who were no longer allowed to be anywhere else after classes were finished. He did not want to worry his cousin or his godfather – he certainly did not write of their plans for the upcoming night. However, he needed someone to share his worries with.
Harry went to get the invisibility cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. He knew it would be a while. The Gryffindor students had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often did not empty until past midnight.
Fred and George challenged Harry and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Hermione sat watching them, all aware of the gap that would formerly have been filled by Ginny. Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred and George finally went to bed. Harry, Hermione and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.
It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.
Harry spotted Hedwig right away all the way up next to the Gryffindor tower, circling the spot in front of their dormitory window. After alerting his friends, they pressed themselves against the wall, and Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off his head, so he could draw Hedwig's attention. As quietly as he could, he called her, until she had heard him. He pointed towards Hagrid's hut, before pulling the invisibility cloak back over his head.
As soon as they had reached the hut, sad and sorry-looking with its blank windows, and pushed the door in, Hedwig flew inside. They followed, closing the door behind, and divesting themselves of the invisibility cloak. The first surprise was that Fang was missing.
But before they could start worrying, Hedwig flew into Harry's face, demanding attention. He took the letter from her that she was harassing him to read. Harry took out his wand, murmured, "Lumos!" and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to allow him to see the writing. The letter was from Sirius.
"Fang's gone with Sirius," said Harry as he read. "I don't know how, but he must have guessed from my letter what we were planning tonight. He wanted me to know he's borrowed Fang, in case we were planning to feed him tonight, to help him find that acromantula. I didn't tell him, I promise—"
"Can I read it?" said Hermione. She did not seem particularly disheartened because she did not have to go find Aragog after all. However, after finishing the short note, she frowned. "Will he know what to ask, though?"
"I've written him everything we know…" said Harry. He had to admit, he was worried. Sirius was an adult, of course, and it was pretty hypocritical of him to think that an adult wizard might have trouble with something he had planned to do himself. He had his two friends, though, while Sirius was alone, save for Fang… "Do you think he'll be alright?" he asked quietly.
"Maybe we should check on him," said Ron, looking strangely brave in the dim light Harry's wand was casting.
Of course, he was the only one of them who had not served detention in the forest, and could afford to be brave, thought Harry uncharitably.
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but reconsidered, nodding in agreement.
They left Hagrid's house and set off to the edge of the forest, watching the path for signs of spiders. They were not difficult to spot. Two solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.
They entered the forest. By the glow of Harry's wand, they followed the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. They walked behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and Hermione and Ron also had to light their wands to break through the sea of dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path.
They paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside their little sphere of light was pitch-black. Harry had never been this deep into the forest before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path during his detention the year before. But Hagrid was unconscious in the hospital wing now, and he had also said to follow the spiders. They began debating whether they should follow along.
"We've come this far—" Ron began to say, but fell silent.
In the distance, from the direction the spiders were headed to, they heard barking. That decided it. They followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees as fast as they could, hampered by tree roots and stumps in their way. They did not get very far.
"Wait!" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark, and gripping Harry's elbow very hard.
Then Harry heard it, too. "There's something moving over there," he breathed. "Listen… sounds like something big…"
They listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees. They debated what to do, frozen in one spot, listening for the strange rumbling sound. Ron's voice sounded unnaturally high, asking about werewolves in the forest. Hermione shushed them, and in the ensuing silence, they heard what they hoped was a dog howling.
Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that they flung up their hands to shield their eyes.
"Harry! Hermione!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief, "It's our car!"
Behind the next row of trees Mr. Weasley's car was standing, empty, its headlights ablaze. As Ron walked, open-mouthed, towards it, it moved slowly towards him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner. The three friends climbed in, Ron at the wheel, Harry next to him, Hermione in the backseat, and they drove in the direction from where they had heard the barking.
Soon, they had reached a vast hollow – a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene Harry had ever laid eyes on. In the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, stood Sirius, his wand drawn, Fang cowering next to him. In front of him was a spider the size of a small elephant with grey in the black of his body and legs, and apparently blind, judging from the milky white of each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head. Surrounding them were more spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic.
Sirius was maintaining a shield, while attacking approaching spiders with fireballs. He also seemed to be shouting something at what Harry guessed was Aragog, all the while trying to draw back.
"Sirius, over here!" yelled Harry, while urging Ron to drive.
The car listened. It thundered down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeched to a halt in front of Sirius and Fang and the doors flew open.
They had barely made it inside when the engine roared and they were off, hitting more spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the forest, branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.
Harry looked back at Sirius. "Are you okay?"
Sirius stared at him, still shocked from the sudden developments.
After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry could again see patches of sky. The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown into the windshield. They had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Sirius opened the door to get out, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs. Harry got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron and Hermione seemed to regain the feeling in their limbs and followed, still stiff-necked and staring. Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.
What followed was a quick shouting match between Harry and Sirius about which of them was more reckless and irresponsible, and which of them could be trusted more to handle a dangerous situation like the one they had just been in. Hermione was trying to get them to be quiet, herding them towards Hagrid's house.
Harry stopped shouting back when he finally noticed how scared Sirius was for him. Seeing the change in his godson's expression, Sirius fell silent as well. He sat down on one of Hagrid's chairs, next to Fang trembling under a blanket in his basket.
"Shouldn't have made him come along," he muttered. "Didn't think he was this much of a coward…" He looked back at Harry, weary and tired. "I knew you'd go, as soon as I read your letter. There was not the slightest doubt in my mind. And yes, trying to reason with a horde of acromantulas is reckless and, frankly, stupid. But then, I was only expecting one acromantula – Hagrid's lucky he's been petrified. What was he thinking, telling you to follow the spiders…
"But it didn't matter, how unwise it was, because the only way I could think to get you not to go, Harry, was to go myself."
Harry averted his eyes from the accusation in his godfather's face. "We tried everything else. And I couldn't just not do anything," he implored, hoping to get Sirius to understand.
"Then why not let me handle it?" shot Sirius back, just as emphatically.
"We wanted to see if you could use some help," chimed in Ron.
"I could have handled myself. I'm quite old enough to—"
"But we did help," said Ron.
"Come on, Sirius, you're not the only one who worries," said Harry.
Silence fell at that, as godfather and godson avoided each other's eyes. Harry felt warmth spread through him, chasing away the chill of the fear that had still been clinging to him. Of course Sirius had been worried about him. He was Harry's – Harry's – well, something awfully like a parent. That was worth being shouted at for a bit, thought Harry.
"Well, did you learn anything useful, then?" asked Ron.
Sirius took a moment to answer, but finally he nodded. "The student who died the last time was Moaning Myrtle." He then began to recount everything Aragog had told him.