"Jab! Hook! Uppercut!" the instructor continued to call out the different strikes.
Dudley had given up on trying to catch his breath or trying to catch a glimpse of the clock. His form had long since slipped and he was now merely approximating the shape of the strike being called out.
"Switch stance! Jab, across! Jab, across! Three! Four! Five! Keep dancing!..."
Why the instructor insisted on calling that awful, painful footwork dancing, was something Dudley had yet to figure out. At least they were done sparring for the day. It was impossible to slack off during sparring and not be called out on it. Dudley's mind wandered to Artie, waiting for him in the library, and he wished the class would not run over time again. When he was beginning to feel like his arms had slowly turned into lead, and even just raising them had become too much for him, the instructor finally began the cool-down, giving Dudley's mind an opportunity to finally focus on something other than the immediate pain.
Inexorably, Harry's latest letter came to his mind. His cousin had tried to gloss over the horrors of the attacks happening at his school, but Dudley had long since given up on pretending, to either himself, or in his response letters to Harry, that he was not worried. The problem was, he could not think of anything that could help Harry. Worse, even Sirius had stopped pretending in his letters to Dudley that he was not worried for his godson. An adult, powerful wizard who could at will pretend to be a dog, or Dudley's dad, or just about anyone; who could break in anywhere, break out of the high-security magical prison – and he could not think of a way to help Harry, either—
"Alright, well done, everyone," the instructor's voice cut through Dudley's gloomy thoughts. The class was finished.
"Not too bad, kid. You haven't complained even once, today," one of the older boys laughed, as he passed Dudley.
"Never mind him," said Max, one of the third year boys. "You're doing alright, for a second year."
"Thanks," said Dudley, and felt his chest swell with pride. He had recently begun hearing complimentary things about his boxing, and it had yet to become the norm. It was a new thing for him to receive real compliments about any accomplishments of his, he was aware.
"Max, you coming?" another third year called from the entrance to the gym.
The boy turned to leave, but then he looked back at Dudley. "Hey, Dursley, we're headed to the refectory. Wanna join us for dinner?"
"That's, yeah, uh…" stuttered Dudley at the inconveniently timed, though not at all unwelcome, invite. This had been happening more and more recently. The first few times, Dudley had been so excited, that he had simply cancelled on Artie, but he was aware that he could not keep doing that. "But I'm meeting with Artie, uh, Arthur – a friend of mine—"
"Little blond boy?" The tone was sceptical, and so was the look on Max's face.
"Er, yeah…" Dudley could see the interest in inviting him waning. Or rather, that Max was not at all interested in inviting Artie along. "Well, maybe another time…"
"Yeah, sure, man." The older boys left.
Dudley headed to the changing rooms, still thinking about what had happened. The boys from the boxing club were warming up to him, even though he was one of the youngest members. Artie, Dudley's only friend at school currently, was simply not part of that crowd, however. On either side, there was no interest to interact. Dudley, stuck in the middle, had to decide how to divide his time between Artie and his budding camaraderie with the other boys from the boxing club, without endangering his friendship with Artie.
He missed Piers.
The thought struck Dudley with unpleasant force.
On the way to the library, he saw Piers. The football field was between the gym and the school building that housed the library, and the football club practice had not finished yet. The smaller, wiry boy was doing rather well, Dudley had to admit. Piers spotted Dudley observing him. He kicked the ball more aggressively, picked up his pace, moving away from where Dudley stood. A moment later, the football coach called an end to the day's training. Piers' gaze went back to Dudley, assessing, obstinate.
"Well done," said Dudley, when the boys passed closest to him on the way to the changing rooms. He walked away before seeing more than a glimpse of Piers' startled face, before receiving any sort of reply.
"Boxing training overran again?" asked Artie when they met up. He was already busying himself with packing up his books and finished homework, ready to finally go have dinner.
Dudley nodded, unwilling to give voice to the lie. He wordlessly followed along, letting the other boy do the chattering. His mind drifted from Artie to Piers, back to the boxing club, and then settled back on Harry.
Harry, who was hurt by that awful teacher, Snape's, preferential treatment of that awful boy, Malfoy – who had at first tried to befriend his cousin, before becoming his enemy. Harry, who never really seemed to understand how throwing one's weight around worked. Or perhaps did understand, but refused to play along. Dudley thought back to the dinner party the Masons had been invited to, on Harry's birthday. Until Harry had told him otherwise, he had actually believed that his cousin had indeed exploded the pudding – because that was how he was. Dudley, on the other hand, did know, had been taught by his parents what sorts of friends to look for – but was now friends with Artie, whom his parents merely tolerated in the absence of other school friends.
Dudley was becoming uncomfortably aware of his similarity to Malfoy. He suspected, so was Harry, for all that he had never said so.
But he could be better.
Dudley nodded curtly to the boys from the boxing club before following Artie to a more secluded seat, suddenly happy to chat about homework and computer games, and not at all in a hurry to be anywhere else – with anyone else. In his mind, he began composing his most difficult letter to Harry to date, a letter that would include the first hints of an apology.
~HP~
Harry, Hermione and Ron were bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived, tense and gearing up for a confrontation at breakfast the next day. They knew they needed to talk to Moaning Myrtle, but escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible. Besides that, they had promised Sirius not to do anything 'stupid'. Whatever that might mean.
"All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away," said Ron bitterly, "and we could've asked her, and now…"
Their first lesson of the day was transfiguration, and while Professor McGonagall was telling them that their exams would begin a week later, on the first of June, causing despair and protests from the students, Harry and his friends were debating the pros and cons of entrusting such vital information to a teacher.
"It's got to be McGonagall," insisted Hermione. "And we might as well get it over with now."
"Snape's more likely to not try to baby us," objected Ron.
"But if he's a spy, it might be difficult for him to keep his cover – especially if Malfoy's involved," argued Harry.
"We just want to talk to a ghost, we're not confronting you-know-who—"
Hermione shook her head. "The access to the Chamber of Secrets is most likely in the bathroom – Sirius agreed that the basilisk is bound to be travelling through the pipes!" she hissed as loudly as she dared.
Harry remembered that Sirius had indeed agreed, and had even been impressed by her leap of logic. He nodded. "We might not have the option to turn back, so Snape's out. Which leaves our head of House." He turned to look at the teacher.
"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education," McGonagall was saying sternly to a protesting Seamus. "The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard."
Hermione sat up straighter at hearing this, as if preparing herself for the exams already. Harry shook his head. Who could think of that at such a time? Instead, he tried to mentally steel himself for the talk with McGonagall, which they had decided had to happen after class. Absent-mindedly, he stared at the pair of white rabbits he was meant to be turning into slippers. It took several whispered hints from Hermione before he could make himself focus on the task at hand, and then only because he feared a reprimand by McGonagall. It would not do to anger her right then, after all.
It was impossible not to draw attention after class. Harry, Ron and Hermione crowded McGonagall as she was leading them to their next class. She noticed, as intended, but so did their fellow students. Harry could imagine the rumour mill picking up again, but stubbornly refused to let that affect him.
Once the other students had been dispatched, McGonagall turned a steely gaze on them. "Care to tell me what is going on now?"
"Professor, did you know the student who died fifty years ago is Moaning Myrtle?" said Hermione.
Their teacher drew back, surprised. This was clearly new information. "How do you – Are you sure—" She shook her head. "How did you find out?" she finally asked.
"That's not important. Professor, we need to talk to her," said Harry imploringly.
McGonagall bit back some hasty words. She crossed her arms, considering them. "I should insist you tell me how you learned about this. I should send you back to your lesson, and then decide whether or not to question Myrtle's ghost at all—" She fell silent, deliberating, while her charges held their breath, waiting for her decision. McGonagall shook her head ruefully. "You deserve to be there at the questioning. If we learn anything useful, it'll be due to you, and your mysterious ways of finding these unexpected answers." She sighed. "I'll need to deal with my next class, but it'll be lunchtime soon. I'll find you then."
Harry and his friends could hardly wait for their morning classes to be over. Even Hermione, who was beginning to get into exam preparation mood, could not fully keep her mind on the lessons. Having to walk slowly, together with everyone else, to the great hall, was barely tolerable.
McGonagall was already there, at the head table. She began walking towards them as soon as she spotted them. Harry and his friends picked up all the food they could carry and eat on the way, before following their head of house. Not attracting attention had been thrown out the window, as gossip around them erupted while they could still hear it. Percy even tried to ask their head of house whether his brother and his friends were in trouble, but McGonagall told him politely to mind his own business.
McGonagall took the exit next to the head table, which avoided more students, but led them straight past the teachers. Harry was uncomfortably aware of all the curious looks directed at him. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about what was to follow. He was no longer sure that asking a teacher for help had been the best idea.
Harry's fear was justified not a moment later, when Lockhart hastily got up to catch up with them. His hair was not as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night again, patrolling the fourth floor. McGonagall stopped him with a quelling look, dismissing him without answering his nosy questions. Other teachers were also watching them curiously, especially Snape, whose dark eyes bored into them menacingly.
Without further interruptions, they made it up the stairs and down the dark corridor to the third floor girls' bathroom. And froze.
There was another message written on the wall, right underneath the first one, the brighter colour of the fresher blood stood out garishly against the old read: The traitorous servant of the Heir of Slytherin has been taken. His skeleton will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever.
Harry felt his stomach lurch. No, no, no… was all he could think, as he tried to make sense of what had happened. It was not until he heard Hermione's whispered who? that his mind snapped back into the present. Who, indeed? He suddenly fervently wished that McGonagall were not there with them. He needed to discuss this with his friends, to ask them if they thought the message was referring to Pettigrew. There was another, far more awful possibility, Harry was aware, and he needed his friends to tell him that he was being paranoid. There was no way to bring up either Pettigrew's or Sirius' name in front of McGonagall, of course.
"I think we better go back to the great hall," said McGonagall after a tense moment. "I'll need to inform the rest of the school – and find out who has been attacked. Whoever it may be, may have had some involvement, it seems—"
"Wait, Professor, maybe Moaning Myrtle saw something," implored Hermione. "We're here already. Can't we question her?"
Harry almost protested, so strong was his desire for privacy. But the mad impulse passed. He knew, of course, how restricted their movements were at the moment. If they allowed McGonagall to herd them back to the great hall, it would become very difficult for them to sneak out and deal with the so-called Heir of Slytherin.
And deal they would. Harry felt anger rising in him, partly directed at himself. This was their problem, and they had kept putting it off, keeping their heads down, not going after the spiders until long after Hagrid had been petrified. And now they had waited until McGonagall was ready to take them along to see Moaning Myrtle, until they had attracted enough attention to lead to this disaster—
Harry snapped back to the situation at hand, as he noticed that Hermione and Ron had managed to convince McGonagall after all. His mind racing, he followed the others into the toilet. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.
"Oh, it's you," she said when she saw Harry. Then she saw Professor McGonagall standing a little out of sight, outside of the stall. "These two boys have been in and out of this bathroom all year, Professor," she immediately told on them.
McGonagall's brows furrowed, and she looked like she was about to inquire about that, but then she shook her head. "This time, they have permission, Miss Warren. We're here to ask you if you know anything about the new inscription on the wall outside this toilet—"
"That again? Haven't you all asked me about that—" she vaguely waved her hand in the direction of the corridor, "—already?"
Harry's heart sank in disappointment. She was oblivious to what had happened, just as before.
"The new inscription, Miss Warren," McGonagall tried again. "It can't be more than an hour old, with how often we patrol this area—"
"What? Another one?" exclaimed Moaning Myrtle. "Why does this have to keep happening outside my – my home? Don't I deserve a little consideration? All these disruptions—"
"We'll be out of here in a moment," McGonagall cut across her wailing. "As soon as you answer one more question my students have for you."
"What do you want this time?" Myrtle turned to Harry and his friends.
"To ask you how you died," said Harry at once.
Immediately, Myrtle's whole aspect changed, looking as if she had been asked the most flattering of questions. She was only too eager to tell them how she had hidden in the bathroom from Olive Hornby's teasing, how she had heard a boy's voice speaking in a language she did not understand, before seeing a pair of great, big yellow eyes and dying.
"Did you recognise that boy?" said Hermione.
Myrtle's face darkened in an instant. "No."
"Are you sure? Maybe his voice sounded familiar, or—"
"I told you, I didn't! Why does everyone keep asking me that—"
"Who else asked you?" interjected Harry.
"Professor Dumbledore! Hah! I had barely returned as a ghost, and everything was still so unfamiliar, and there he was – asking me the same things over and over – And now, again, these past weeks, he's come to question me. Me! Something happens, so let's go back to harass Myrtle again – not like she has anything better to do, hanging out in that bathroom—"
Harry's face fell, listening to her rant. If Dumbledore had been unable to get anything useful out of her, there was no hope of them succeeding.
"Well, that's fine, Miss Warren," said McGonagall briskly, apparently having come to the same conclusion. "There is no need to bother you any further. Thank you for answering our questions."
Myrtle looked like she was on the verge of a crying fit, but the stern professor intimidated her enough that she settled for a deeply hurt expression.
Meanwhile, Harry walked over to the sink that Myrtle had pointed towards, before McGonagall made them leave. His friends hurried over as well, thinking along the same lines. The sink looked ordinary at first glance. Harry examined it carefully, until he saw it: scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.
"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.
"Harry," said Ron. "Say something. Something in Parseltongue."
"But—" Harry thought hard. The only times he had ever managed to speak Parseltongue were when he had been faced with a real snake. He stared hard at the tiny engraving, trying to imagine it was real.
"Open up," he said. He looked at Ron, who shook his head.
"English," he said.
Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving. "Open up," he said.
Except that the words were not what he heard; a strange hissing had escaped him, and at once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. The next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.
Harry heard gasps around him and looked up again. He took in his friends' and their head of house's transfixed stares and came to a decision. He had to go down to the Chamber of Secrets.
"Mr Potter, you need to close the entrance again," said McGonagall, who also had made up her mind about what to do. "We better go back to the great hall before lunch is finished. I'll need to inform the teachers. And possibly the ministry, as well." She said the last part mostly to herself, looking impatient to get back.
Harry's mind was racing, and he could not focus on the next step, the next decision. So much was at stake, not least of all Sirius' freedom. Even if it was Pettigrew down there, and his Godfather was safe and well, if Pettigrew died, and was never found, or was found but convinced people that he was innocent – there were so many ways things could go wrong. Harry had to think of a way to not be relegated to the Gryffindor tower while the adults took over, but all he could think about was that he had to go down there—
"Certainly not, Mr Potter!" exclaimed McGonagall, making Harry realise that he had said the last part aloud. "You three will not be going down there! You have done quite enough, and have been an invaluable help, I have to say, but now I must insist that you close the entrance again."
Her expression brooked no argument. Harry chose not to waste his breath on a futile argument. There would be another option to come back, no matter what rules he might have to break. He turned back to the snake engraving, stared at it, and told it to close. He succeeded at first try this time.
Hermione nudged him as they were walking back. Harry tried to guess what she was thinking, what she was trying to tell him. Her grim expression looked as determined to see this through as he felt. But his friends had no reason to wish to expose themselves to such danger, especially if there were adults like Professor McGonagall willing to deal with the problem. If it had not been for the danger to Sirius' freedom, and potentially his life, Harry himself would have much rather left the basilisk for others to deal with as well.
This thought went through him like a live wire. No. It was exactly that sort of thinking, that wish to not deal with a problem he knew existed and needed to be dealt with, that had led to his current predicament. He tried not to worry about Sirius, and instead to focus on how to undo the damage he had caused. He told himself he and his friends would find a way to sneak away again. They had to.
However, as he walked behind the professor, taking in the tense set of her shoulders, her silence, Harry's hope of getting away unobserved began to evaporate. He could envision what was likely going to happen, and it did not bode well for his plans. The teachers would likely guard the entrance to the Chamber, perhaps even contact the ministry. Either way, none of the students would be let anywhere near there. It was Ron who nudged him when the great hall came into sight. Harry could read the question reflected on his friend's face. What to do?
Lunchtime was ending when they reached the great hall, but Harry could not have eaten a bite anyway. Their return attracted at least as much attention as their exit had, even before people noticed their tense faces. McGonagall gestured them towards the Gryffindor table, but Harry and his friends would not be that easily dismissed. She did not insist they leave, as she made her way to the high table. The other teachers began to cluster around her right away, the other heads of houses chief among them.
"I'm afraid I have bad news," McGonagall began. "It has happened. Someone has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."
Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"
"The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. His skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever."
Professor Flitwick burst into tears.
"Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair.
"I don't know. The message refers to the victim as the traitorous servant of the Heir. I couldn't even venture a guess as to who it could be."
This was followed by everyone's eyes darting frantically among themselves, looking for who was missing, before most eyes turned towards the students' tables.
"Well, we need to find out!" said Professor Sprout. "We need to take a register of everyone, and see who's missing."
McGonagall nodded, and pointed her wand to her throat. Echoing through the entire castle her magically magnified voice could be heard, telling everyone to assemble in the great hall. As most people were already there, the professors began taking the register right away. Harry, who was sure there was no one missing, grew impatient. As McGonagall moved towards the Gryffindor table, he and his friends followed, mostly ignored in the larger chaos around them.
An idea came to Harry. McGonagall had not mentioned the entrance to the Chamber yet. There was still a chance. He knew he had to take advantage of the short moments he had to talk to her in relative privacy. "Professor, you need me to open the entrance," he said as quietly as he could.
She immediately focused on him. "Yes, Mr Potter, but that's all you'll be doing—"
"What if my, er, my skill is needed later on as well? I'll have to go along—"
"Mr Potter, this is not up for debate. Neither the students, nor the staff of this school, are equipped to deal with this. The ministry will handle the situation—"
"You'd rather send Harry along with Fudge and his cronies, then?" said Ron, quiet but intense, stepping almost in McGonagall's path.
Harry gasped, not having thought that far ahead. He thought back to his meeting with Fudge, and the minister's association with Lucius Malfoy. More than ever, he berated himself for losing control over the situation as they had. He and his friends had been handling the problem well enough up until they had tried to pass it off to adults.
McGonagall seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him. Her face twisted, as she attempted to reply, only to cut herself off. "I'm not listening again, am I?" she finally said. "It was the same last year. You came to me first, asking for help, but I – Well, I did promise you to do better, didn't I?" she then said, with a rueful shake of her head.
"If you let Harry get involved, then we're coming along, too," said Hermione at once. Ron nodded.
Harry felt an unnamed, powerful emotion take hold of him. His friends were once again refusing to abandon him, even in the face of such danger.
McGonagall pursed her lips in a way that made Harry's heart sink. "Let's discuss this later. I don't think it has to come to that, Miss Granger. But… this time, I am taking your warning seriously, and I will deal with the monster—" She got distracted by a prefect's comment and turned away.
"What are we going to do if McGonagall decides not to involve us after all?" asked Ron.
"Well, they can't go down to the Chamber without me. And there's always my invisibility cloak." Harry tried not to sound concerned, not to show how that possibility worried him. He really hoped they would be justified in having trusted McGonagall.
The year before, their head of house just listening to them would have delighted Harry. Even now, if not for the threat to Sirius, he would be all too happy to let her deal with the basilisk.
Ron was another matter. "What if she just lets you go along, but not us?"
"Well, as long as one of us is there to look out for Pettigrew—"
"That wouldn't be very fair, would it?" he sounded obstinate, almost angry at Harry as if it was his fault.
Hermione gestured for her friends to seek out a little privacy away from the other Gryffindor students. "We'll try to convince her to take us along. And if we're about to fight a basilisk, we need to be prepared. The only magical means of killing one is a rooster, and there aren't any left on school grounds."
"What does that leave us with?" Ron asked, trying not to look too concerned.
"Non-magical attacks?" asked Harry.
"Yes, stabbing, bludgeoning, burning, beheading all work. As do spells like wingardium leviosa. We can bludgeon it with rocks we move with magic, I mean," said Hermione.
Every door to the great hall was opened, as the few residents of the castle who had found themselves elsewhere trickled in. Soon, all students were accounted for. Even the ghosts were all present. The staff also assembled. Madam Pince was none too happy to return from the library just as she had arrived there. Filch had run all the way, expecting some major student misdemeanour, only to be disappointed that there were no students to be punished. Finally even Lockhart walked in, looking unusually dishevelled.
"So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?"
He looked oddly distracted, and did not seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape was the first to step forward. He could not be heard well enough from where the students were clustered together, but by the way Lockhart blanched, Harry supposed Snape had just informed him of recent events. Sprout and Flitwick were not far behind, rounding on him with quick words, until Lockhart's raised voice could be heard while he stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.
"I – I really never – you may have misunderstood—"
"He's probably been bragging to them all along that he could take the basilisk," surmised Ron.
Despite the circumstances, this drew a smirk from Harry. "You think they're, er, encouraging him to go hunt it down?"
"Maybe they're hoping the snake'll eat him," said Ron.
Hermione just sighed and shook her had, but did not admonish him.
Just then, their head of house turned to address the student body. "I'm happy to report that every inhabitant of the castle is accounted for. We don't know whether the second message is real or perhaps a prank, but for now I urge everyone not to panic. Classes will be cancelled for the remainder of the day, and you'll be escorted to your dormitories. I'll let you know if any more safety measures will need to be taken in the morning."
Following that announcement, she walked over to the Gryffindor table, just as the other heads of houses walked over to the other house tables. With the help of the prefects, she led the students out of the great hall, and towards the Gryffindor tower. To all outward appearance her calm seemed restored, and she even attempted to lighten the mood by joking about slacking off before the exams.
Once they reached the tower, Harry, Ron and Hermione did their best to stay behind, while all other students went through the portrait hole. Harry hoped that their head of house would listen to them, as she had that morning. Percy, who had of course been looking out for them, tried to herd them inside, but McGonagall stopped him.
"I had something to discuss with your brother and his friends, Mr Weasley," she told him," but in the chaos of discovering that message, we never got around to it. I'll bring them back in one piece, though. I promise."
That last part was said with too much intent to sound like a joke, but Percy was sufficiently reassured to follow Fred and George into the Gryffindor common room.
As soon as they had been left alone, Hermione drew breath to speak, but was interrupted.
"Not here. I wish you and Mr Weasley had stayed behind, but better not attract any more attention. Follow me," said McGonagall and began leading them back, through the deserted school building.
"I don't think the message was a prank, Professor," said Hermione, as soon as she thought it would be safe.
"Neither do I, Miss Granger," said McGonagall, all levity gone from her tone. "The headmaster thinks that Lucius Malfoy may be involved – as you well know, and that he's acting as proxy for you-know-who." She sighed at their unsurprised faces. "In which case, the message may be referring to one of his cronies. I hardly need to tell you, I suppose, that he's unlikely to get his own hands dirty."
This reasoning was a little new to him, and not quite what Harry thought had happened, but he nodded along with his friends, as if this was the most obvious conclusion for them as well. She was not dismissing them, was instead explaining her reasoning, and accepting their input. It gave him hope again that she might believe them to be sensible enough to take along after all.
"If I'm right, there may be a disagreement going on between the people involved, and maybe there are even fewer of them left, perhaps even just the basilisk. So I do believe that right now might be the safest time to hunt them down. Preferably without involving the ministry and alerting Lucius Malfoy." She said the last part hesitantly, while she slowed down, then came to a halt.
They were close to the staff room, Harry noticed. He could not tell what she was planning, but he was eager for things to be underway – preferably without informing the entire staff of their plans and risking a message getting to Malfoy.
"I agree," Harry said at once. "We should head to the Chamber of Secrets right now. If we can surprise them—"
"Not so fast, Mr Potter. You will not be going anywhere near the basilisk—"
This caused an outcry from Harry and his friends, but McGonagall cut them off.
"I do intend to hunt the basilisk – right now, in fact. And Mr Potter, your help in opening the door will be highly appreciated. However, facing the basilisk is far too dangerous – for you, certainly, but even I will not be going by myself. First, I'll let the other professors know some of what we're planning and ask for volunteers—"
"Minerva, there you are," Snape's voice interrupted her. He had just rounded a corner. The sight of his students made his steps falter for a moment, but then he sped up to join them. "I was looking for you, to ask you what you were keeping from us. Clearly, it had not been by accident that these particular students had been accompanying you when you found that message."
McGonagall regarded him speculatively. "Would you care for some snake hunting, Severus?" she then asked. "Or would that be too much like turning against one of your own?"
Snape regarded her just as speculatively, before his confusion cleared and gave way to a sneer. "So. Your most troublesome students were hiding something after all, then?"
"Not at all," said McGonagall. "They came to me with a theory they had, and we tried it out." She sounded a little smug, thought Harry.
Snape seemed to have thought likewise, as his scowl deepened, instead of lifting. "Is that so? And what was the result, if I may ask?"
McGonagall glanced at her students, and only after seeing their expectant faces did she answer. "We discovered the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."
If Snape was surprised, he did not show it. "And you're planning to take on the monster yourself? Perhaps even bring them along?" He pointed to Harry and his friends.
"A parselmouth is required to open the entrance, Severus. Whether he goes with me – us – or somebody else, Mr Potter will have to go along – at least as far as the entrance."
She had not contradicted Snape's comment about taking them along. Harry's hope grew.
The sneer was back on Snape's face. "Of course. In that case, I believe I'll join you. The two of us should be able to handle the basilisk. Flitwick is the only other decent dueller, and it's best if he remains to protect the rest of the school. I'll go inform him – only him. If we're to do this, I suggest not spreading the information any further."
"Oh, but – but—"
McGonagall and Snape, two very competent teachers, going along with them – it sounded like a very good plan to Harry, and he was not sure why Hermione was trying to interrupt. It did no good. Before she could make herself be hear, Snape had begun striding towards the staff room.
They waited. Harry was once again assailed by worries. McGonagall had not sent them back, and even though she kept saying no, Harry still had hope that she would let them go along. The waiting was getting to him, though, making him more nervous. Then noise could be heard from the staff room. A door was opened, followed by footsteps, but it was not Snape.
"V – very well," he said. "I'll – I'll be in my office, getting – getting ready." It was Lockhart's voice, even though it had never sounded this fearful before. A moment later, he came into view. The sight of McGonagall and the three students made his steps falter. He did not look remotely handsome any more. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.
Snape was there the next moment, nodding to McGonagall. They were set to go. Lockhart was gazing at the two teachers around him. No matter how self-absorbed he might be, there was so obviously something going on, that even he could not ignore it. Harry began to become frustrated at yet another delay.
"I just heard that you've been given free rein to hunt the monster, Lockhart," Snape said, a dismissal, instead of giving any sort of explanation.
"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," added Professor McGonagall. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."
"I – I really—" Lockhart began weakly, but then seemed to collect himself. "Oh, I wouldn't mind sharing the glory, if you happen to be set on the same path."
Harry did not like his change of mind. Neither did his friends, going by the suspicious looks they sent him. The other professors, however, exchanged a look, and then nodded to him. Better take him along than risk him spreading rumours, Harry thought.
Without any more delays, McGonagall set off, forcing the others to follow at the brisk pace she set. Finally. They were at last on the way. That was all Harry could think of, as the excitement and worry of what awaited them began to take over, until he noticed Hermione huff next to him. She was shaking her head, looking rather unhappy.
She spoke up next, mentioned the sorts of interviews Sirius had managed to get printed about Lockhart, of people having no memories of the events depicted in his books. Harry had to agree that it was probably the best explanation for Lockhart's wish to join them. Snape dismissed this, and even McGonagall seemed unconcerned, though. Clearly, neither was worried about Lockhart being able to successfully attack them. Harry tried to dismiss that worry as well.
Then Hermione brought up another matter. "We were thinking we might run into Lucius Malfoy down there," she said, looking meaningfully at Snape.
Of course. Harry remembered this had been the exact reason why they had decided to go to McGonagall instead. If Snape really was a spy, what would he do if they ran into Malfoy?
"Nonsense, Granger. Lucius is an upstanding member of the board of governors of this institution. That is a baseless accusation."
Harry sighed, and saw Ron roll his eyes. Of course Snape would not acknowledge being a spy in the current company. He hoped the potions professor knew what he was doing.
Snape seemed to be having a weird sort of déjà vu, as he followed them inside the third-floor bathroom, but refrained from bringing up their polyjuice-making days. Moaning Myrtle complained once again about the invasion, but no one paid her any mind. The parseltongue was easier to call up with each attempt. Harry barely had to stare at the snake engraving this time, to unlock the entrance.
They all stared down the pipe.
"Right, well. Thank you, Mr Potter. We'll be going, then. I'll need your words that you won't do anything foolish, like follow us, but you may wait here. Hopefully, we'll be back soon enough that you won't be missed—"
McGonagall was interrupted by the loud complaints of her students. Harry tried to tell her that she would need him again, but Ron spoke over him, not happy to be left out. Hermione, on the other hand, would not hear of her or her friends disagreeing with teachers, and tried to agree with McGonagall, saying that maybe it really was too dangerous.
Harry grew annoyed at his friends, at their squabbling that only made McGonagall doubt their maturity, and even more at the wrong focus of their arguments. McGonagall could not be allowed to face Pettigrew, and potentially (though Harry hoped not) Sirius, by herself. There were far too many things that could go horribly wrong, if she did.
Help suddenly came from an unexpected source.
"Minerva, we won't be able to come back up easily. Look at these pipes. We'll need to slide down, who knows to where. And more likely than not, we'll need a parselmouth again," said Snape.
This announcement quelled all arguments. McGonagall's lips thinned to a line. She turned to look into the opening for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. The – three – of us should be able to keep an eye on you," she finally conceded, sizing Harry up.
Lockhart was made to go first, followed by Snape.
"I want you to lock the entrance again, once you're inside," McGonagall told him, before going as well.
Harry, unwilling to risk being left behind, did as he was told, to the sight of his friends' worried and accusing faces, before sliding down the pipe.
As darkness fell around him, Harry tried to focus on the task ahead, to be reassured by the presence of the professors, by the fact that McGonagall had involved him after all. There was something nagging in the back of his mind, though. First there had been delays, and then he had tried to rush, to make up for it. But he had not managed to do that. Not really. His friends were back in the bathroom, while he was headed for a confrontation with Pettigrew he had done nothing to prepare for, had not even managed to talk over with his friends. And he was beginning to feel that he might have missed something else important.