I'm a little sad that no one helped me decide last chapter, but that's the way it is. Oh well, moving on.
"What's going on here? What's going on?"
Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.
And his popping eyes fell on Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
"You!" He screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll --"
"Argus!"
Albus had arrived on the scene, followed by several other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past the three accused students and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Ms. Potter, Mr. Weasly, Ms. Granger."
As whispers broke out amongst the students, with much glancing at Harry, Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster -- just upstairs -- please feel free --"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Albus said tersely.
The crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Albus and the nervous students; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.
As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Albus lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.
The tip of Albus' long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris' fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression as he tested a vial of Mrs. Norris' blood he collected earlier for poisons; it was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her -- probably the Transmogrifian Torture -- I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know every countercurse that would have saved her. . ."
Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. Harry felt sorry for Filch, but not quite as sorry as she felt for herself. If Albus believed Filch, she would be expelled for sure.
Albus was now muttering spells under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.
". . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once. . . ."
The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net.
At last, Albus straightened up.
"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.
Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he'd prevented.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all -- all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been petrified," said Albus.
"Ah! I thought that was the obvious conclusion!" Lockhart interrupted.
"But how, I cannot say. . . ." Albus finished, ignoring Lockhart's outburst.
"Ask them!" Shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face towards the trio.
"Second years couldn't have done this," said Albus firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced --"
"They did it, they did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what they wrote on the wall! The Weasley must know I'm a squib, his brothers are in my office enough, and the other two have the magical talent!"
"Are you saying I don't have talent!?" Ron asked, offended.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!' Hermione retorted.
"I actually like Mrs. Norris!" Harry stated.
All this was said at the same time.
"And besides," Harry defended. "I don't even know what a squib is."
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "They were caught at the scene of the crime!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; she was sure nothing Snape had to say would do her and her friends any good.
"These three may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. ". . . there were probably hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there --"
"But why not join the feast afterward, like Lovegood?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
Ron and Hermione looked at Harry.
"Because," Harry began, her heart thumping rather fast; something told her it would sound quite far-fetched if she told them she had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but her could hear, "we were very tired and wanted to go to bed."
"Without any supper?" saint Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."
"Precisely why," said Harry, cutting off Ron from responding. "We've lost our appetites, after looking and smelling what they had."
Snape's smile faded, as his augment crumbled. At the same moment, Albus' smile grew wide.
"Then I believe it time you all are sent to bed," Albus said. "You especially, Ms. Potter; you must get good rest, seeing as you have a quidditch game fastly approaching."
Filch looked furious.
"My cat has been petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Albus patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep --"
"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions Master at this school; not to mention I wouldn't trust a potion made by someone who can't tell a Restorative Mandrake Draught from a Mandrake Restorative Draught -- We want to revive the cat, not the plants."
"He'd probably mess up both," Harry mumbled under her breath, but judging by the smirk on Snape's face, it wasn't as quiet as she thought.
"You may go," Albus said to the three.
They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at her friends' darkened faces.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"
"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't usually a good sign."
Something in Ron's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"
"'Course I do," said Ron quickly. "But -- you must admit it's weird. . . ."
"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened. . . . What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it sort of rings a bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once . . . might've been Bill. . . ."
"It definitely rings a bell to me," Hermione said. "But I can't seem to remember what from."
"And what on earth's a squib?" Harry asked.
To her surprise, Ron stifled a laugh. Hermione hit him lightly.
"Well -- it's not funny really -- but, as it's Filch," Ron said. "A squib's pretty much the opposite of muggle-born."
"They're someone born into a magical family, but hasn't got strong enough magical power to do magic," Hermione properly explained. "According to the books on magic auras and their importance."
"Filch being a squib explains a lot. Like why he hates students so much," Ron gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."
A clock chimed somewhere.
Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
For a few days, the school talked about only two things. The first was the attack on Mrs. Norris, which was kept fresh in everyone's mind by Filch pacing the spot where she had been attacked. It seemed he thought the attacker might come back. He had been seen scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. The second was the fact that Harry was called "Ms. Potter." Unsurprisingly, rumors began to fly around about that, with explanations ranging from it being Albus's way of teasing Harry, to her having been in a potions accident. Harry wasn't fully bothered by the rumors, it was that no one would come up and actually ask her.
Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.
"But you haven't really gotten to know her, love," Hannah said when the topic came up. "I'd say we're better off without her."
"Never thought I'd agree with a Slytherin," Ron said, before getting hit with a pillow.
"And besides," Luna interjected. "She's not harmed, only petrified."
"I've been petrified before!" Jex shouted from Flix's lap. "It was like sleeping, but less painful if you're in an uncomfortable position."
That was what finally seemed to calm Ginny down.
"Please don't shout, some of us are doing our assignments," Lacy said from the corner table, sitting across from Hermione.
"Why are you even here?" Luna asked Hermione. "You're not an official member, and you're not interacting with us."
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite common for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. No one could really get a response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.
Harry had to miss lunch, because she began to turn pink in the middle of Potions, and as soon as it was discovered it was due to Pomfrey's Puberty Preventer it turned into an actual evaluation for the experimental potion. Harry turned up much later to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward her. Harry had just opened her mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of her, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.
Harry found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."
"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short. . . ." said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny."
"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling her own homework.
"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the shelves, while Harry grinned at her four-foot essay. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."
Harry told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchly running away from her.
"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great --"
Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last, seemed ready to talk to them.
"All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all that dunderhead, Lockhart's books."
"Why do you want it?" Harry asked.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What's that?" Harry wondered.
"That's just it, I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else --"
"Hermione, let me read your essay," Ron said desperately, checking his watch.
"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it --"
"I only need another two inches, come on," Ron whined.
"Should've taken Hannah's advice like I did," Harry chided. "Put nonsense in the middle, since --"
The bell rang. The three made their way to History of Magic, bickering.
History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binn, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.
Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the room was in a deep stupor or completely and utterly distracted, occasionally paying attention long enough to copy down a name or a date, then falling back asleep or going back to their distraction. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never done so before. Hermione put up her hand.
Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the Priests of Dionysus -- Harry noticed he completely left out that they contained the first recorded instances of witchers and transmages, unlike when Lacy told her about the topic -- looked amazed.
"Ms. -- er --?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione asked in a clear voice.
Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out the window, jerked out of his trance, Lavender Brown and Pravati Patil looked up from their card game, and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk.
Professor Binns blinked.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Ms. Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "It is this very recipe, which has stood the test of ages, despite its many name changes, to the current firewhis --"
He stopped abruptly, distracted by Hermione's hand waving in the air again.
"Ms. Grant?"
"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in facts?"
Professor Bins was looking in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.
"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very disturbing and ludicrous tale --"
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.
"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see . . . the Chamber of Secrets . . ."
"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded well over a hundred years ago -- no, that was from when I was alive. How long has it been? Doesn't matter; it's still technically correct -- by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age."
Harry noted he once again decided to ignore that Ravenclaw might have been a witcher. She was starting to really agree with Flix's idea to start normalizing calling all magic folk mage.
"The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by those without magic, and magic folk suffered much persecution."
He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. This is where the legend truly starts because there is conflicting evidence on what actually happened."
Harry noticed Professor Binns seemed uncomfortable with said conflicting evidence. She couldn't help but wonder what it was.
"Supposedly disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.
"Reliable historical sources tell us this much, despite other reliable sources telling otherwise," he said. "However, there has been no proof conflicting or otherwise, for the rest of the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.
"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."
There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns' classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.
"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."
Hermione's hand was back in the air.
"Sir -- what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"
"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," Professor Binns said.
The class exchanged nervous looks.
"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "The is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," Seam Finnigan interjected, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"
"Nonsense, Mr. Fletcher," Professor Binns aggravatedly dismissed. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing --"
"But, Professor," piped up Pravati Patil, "you'd probably have to use dark magic to open it --"
"Just because a wizard doesn't use dark magic, doesn't mean he can't, Ms. Patty," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore --"
"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't --" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had enough.
"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! One point for each student in here from whatever house you're in! Now, if you please, we will return to history, to solid, believable, non-conflicting, and verifiable fact!"
And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual state.
"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told the two girls as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop their bags off before dinner. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got on the train straight back home. . . ."
"Professor Binns said that part had conflicting evidence," Hermione said. "We should probably wait until we know what the other was before passing judgment."
"I guess," said Ron. "But I wouldn't be surprised if that was true seeing how there haven't been any muggle-born Slytherins."
Harry didn't say anything. Her stomach had dropped unpleasantly when Ron mentioned how bad it was to even suggest being in Slytherin.
Harry had never told Ron Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting her in Slytherin. She could remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice had spoken in her ear when she'd placed the hat on her head a year before: You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. . . .
But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin House's reputation for turning out dark wizards, had thought desperately, Not Slytherin! And that had said, No? I guess that leaves Hufflepuff, where you'll have all the support you need for the coming challenges, and Gryffindor. . . .
As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past.
"Hiya, Harry!"
"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.
"Harry -- Harry -- a boy in y class has been saying you're --"
But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.
"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.
"There's so many rumors about me, I couldn't even guess," said Harry.
"People here'll believe anything," said Ron.
The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.
"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.
"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be -- well -- human."
As she spoke, they turned and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that the was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message "The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened."
"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.
They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.
"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping her bag and getting to her hands and knees so that she could crawl along, searching for clues.
"Scorch marks!" she said. "Here -- and here --"
"Come and look at this!" said Hermione. "This is odd. . . ."
Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.
"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione inquisitively.
"No," said Harry, "Have you, Ron? Ron?"
She looked over her shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.
"What's up?" Harry asked.
"I -- don't -- like -- spiders," said Ron tensely.
"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times. . . ."
"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the way they move. . . ."
Hermione giggled.
"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "If you must know when I was three, Fred turned my -- my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick. . . . You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and . . ."
He broke off shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh, Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."
"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."
He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.
"What's the matter?" Harry wondered.
"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."
"Yeah, but there won't be anyone in there," Harry said matter-of-factly.
"What makes you so sure?" Ron said.
Harry and Hermione shared a laugh, then walked up to Ron.
"That's Moaning Myrtle's place," Hermione said.
"I'm the only one that actually uses it as a bathroom," Harry told him.
The two pushed Ron through the door, ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign.
The place was still rather gloomy, despite Harry's attempts to clean it up a tad. She'd gotten rather good at her cleaning charm, and yet the grime just won't leave the mirror. Under the large mirror, the sinks themselves seemed to actually look passably hygienic, except for one. The floor was definitely damper than other bathrooms' would be and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles. Burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Hermione put her finger to her lips in a shushing motion towards Ron and started slowly walking toward the end stall.
"Hey Myrtle," Harry shouted in a jovial tone, which almost made Hermione fall over in shock. "I wanted you to meet some of my friends I was telling you about, but I think you've already met one."
At that, Myrtle poked her head out of the last stall and said in the most cheerful voice Hermione had ever heard, "Harry!?"
Harry braced herself for the cold as Myrtle once again forgot that she could not hug Harry.
"Ah! Cold!" shouted Ron as he was hiding behind Harry.
"Harry," Myrtle immediately chided. "You brought a boy into the girls' bathroom?"
"Don't worry, we can trust him," Harry said proudly. "This is Ron, and you've met Hermione haven't you?"
Hermione waved awkwardly.
"Yes," Myrtle said rather tersely. "She doesn't really seem all that aware of sensitive topics."
"She's got you there, Mione." Ron joked.
"Like you have room to talk, Ronald." Hermione retorted.
"She's working on it, I promise," Harry informed her. "However, I'm not going to lie, we also had another reason to come."
Myrtle raised her ethereal eyebrow and crossed her arms.
"There was an attack outside your bathroom the day of the deathday party," Harry said. "We were rather curious if you saw anything since we didn't know when you left."
Myrtle sighed, then floated up a bit and turned to where it seemed she was laying on her back.
"Nope, don't remember seeing anything, and I'm fairly certain I didn't return until the next morning. I still don't know how I ended up sleeping in the Astronomy Tower."
"Peeves likely used a fan or something," Harry muttered. "If I didn't know better, I'd think they had a crush on you."
"Ew," Myrtle shuddered. "I don't want to think about that. Bye, Harry -- and you two as well, I guess." She then floated back into her stall and dived into the toilet with a splash.
"That wasn't very helpful," Hermione said.
"I disagree," Harry said. "It was very helpful to know how Myrtle feels about Peeves."
The two stared at her.
"What," Harry protested. "They would've been a terribly toxic relationship, but I still got the feeling from what Myrtle told me."
"You've been hanging out with Hannah too much," Ron said.
"I was going to say Luna, but yes," Hermione added.
"Whatever, let's just go."
Harry had barely closed the door to the bathroom when a loud voice made all three of them jump.
"RON!"
Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.
"That's a girls' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you --?"
"It's out of order anyway," Ron shrugged. "Just looking for clues, you know --"
Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.
"Get -- away -- from -- there --" Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner --"
"Why shouldn't we be here?" Ron said hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on the cat!'
"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly over excited by this business --"
"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "If you did, you'd know she's not doing any such sort, at least not since the Club calmed her down."
"What club?" Percy asked angrily.
"Exactly!" said Ron. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy --"
"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, touching his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I'll write to Mum! I don't want a repeat of last year, with that chess set."
With that, he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.
Ron was still in a bad mood when at the next club meeting, and kept blotting his Charms homework. It didn't help that every few minutes Jex would ask, "You sure you're not gay at all?" because they wanted Ron and Hermione to officially join. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To everyone's surprise, Hermione followed suit.
"Whoa there, curly," Hannah said.
"Who can it be, though?" she said as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. "Who'd want to frighten all the squibs and muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"
"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement at the same time Hannah scoffed. "Who do we know who thinks muggle-borns are scum?"
"About half of Slytherin," Hannah said, looking at Hermione upside down by leaning her head over her armrest.
Ron looked at Hannah. Hannah looked at Ron. Hermione looked between the two. Harry stayed out and focused on charming Luna's hair the right color.
"I was being more specific," Ron said.
"Yeah, but your specificity was unnecessary," Hannah retorted. "And besides, you're wondering when you literally have someone to ask." Hannah then gestured dramatically to herself.
"Well?" Ron asked.
"The Heir of Slytherin isn't actually in Slytherin," Hannah said. "Unless those boasting ba --" she glanced around to see if she'd forgotten that Albus was there, "-- stards are a lot smarter and better actors than I thought."
"Aren't you an outcast in Slytherin?" Flix asked. "How would you know?"
"As I said; they're boastful," Hannah explained. "If they were they wouldn't all be loudly complaining about how 'if only they knew who the heir was! They'd be able to help!'"
Lacy laughed at Hannah's impersonation of her housemates, which led to everyone laughing, and then the topic seemed to fade from everyone's mind.
