Back like clockwork. I should probably space these chapters out, to build the suspense, but as I may have said before, I don't have the patience.

I hope readers liked my portrayal of Filch. I sometimes find it frustrating that J. K. Rowling could make such fleshed-out characters, yet leave so many others as two-dimensional cairicatures. I enjoy fanfics that delve deeper into these characters, and so I hope you will enjoy this characterization of Filch (as well as others in future chapters) too.

Enough of this, one with the story!

Hilda treaded lightly for the first few days after the encounter in the storeroom. She didn't mention the Voice's attack to Filch. Instead, she acted like nothing ever happened, to the intense irritation of the Voice. So far, it hadn't made any further moves to establish control.

Why is that? Hilda asked.

I want to keep you in suspense, the Voice replied. The threat of retribution can instill more terror than the act itself.

Still, some stress was relieved, allowing Hilda to go on, business as usual. Her performance in her classes was satisfactory, but not exceptional. Her days became somewhat routine:

-Breakfast

-Lessons

-Lunch

-Walkies for Twig

-More lessons

-Tea with Filch

-Studying with David and Frida

-Dinner

And, last but certainly not least, questioning Harry, Ron and Hermione on their fledgling investigation into the Chamber of Secrets.

That night, Hermione filled her in on the revelations in Professor Binns's class—the rift between Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin; the foundation of the Pureblood superiority (inferiority?) complex; and the supposed creation of the Chamber, where a beast slumbered throughout the centuries, awaiting the return of the fabled Heir of Slytherin to unseal the Chamber and take his revenge.

"Well, whether the story is true or not," Hilda said as the story finished, "Someone or something is in the school, and it's dangerous." She finished up her notes of the investigation before continuing. "Who do you think the Heir of Slytherin could be?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"No, not really."

"It's Malfoy, obviously. His family is Pureblood going back ages. If anyone's a descendant of Slytherin, it's him."

Hilda stared at Ron for a few moments, then burst out laughing. "Honestly," she said once her giggles were under control. "That's just ridiculous."

"How is it ridiculous?" Ron asked, "He hates Muggleborns, he's a Slytherin."

"And what else?" Hermione asked. "You'd love him to be the Heir of Slytherin. Being a git doesn't make him a monster."

Hilda wanted to agree with Hermione. She did, at least vocally. Yet the shadow of a doubt remained.

He would be a useful ally, the Voice said. If you hadn't blasted his father across the room and tried to curse him, we'd have the advantage.

I don't want power. I want peace.

We'll see how long that optimism lasts.

Hilda broke free from her thoughts and looked back to Harry. "What else have you found out?"

"Not much," Harry admitted.

"Hermione's combed the entire library," Ron said. "Nowhere in the books is the Chamber mentioned."

"What about the 'crime scene'?" Hilda asked. "Have you given it a look since that night?"

"Surely any evidence would have been collected by Dumbledore by now," Hermione said.

"But the school isn't treating this as a crime," Hilda pointed out. "They're looking at it as a cruel prank. If you think I'm wrong, then why weren't the Aurors called? Why aren't they searching the entire castle for the Chamber?"

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look around," Harry said.

"Well, not until tomorrow," Hermione said, glancing out the window at the dark night sky. "It's much too late."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Ron said, grinning. "Not when Harry has his Dad's Inv-rmph!" Harry clapped a hand over Ron's mouth. Ron pulled back. "Oi, what was that for?"

"Not in front of Hilda," Harry hissed.

"What do you have, Harry?" Hilda asked.

Harry gave Ron an annoyed look before sizing Hilda up. He mulled things over a bit before speaking. "What I'm about to tell you, only three people know: Ron, Harry, and myself. Can I trust you?"

Hilda crossed her heart. "Promise."

Harry nodded, then stood up. "I'll go get the cloak."

"This is amazing!" Hilda exclaimed, gazing from under Harry's cloak through the delicate fabric. "We're completely invisible?"

"Yes, but we can still be heard," Ron said in a terse whisper. "So zippit, and stop stomping your feet."

"I'm not stomping," Hilda grumbled.

They turned a corner, nearly colliding with Flitwick. Softly, they stepped out of the diminutive Charms professor's path, watching as he passed them without even a glance.

"Wicked," Hilda breathed. Harry couldn't help but smile in agreement.

A few minutes later, they reached the courtyard. Harry threw the Invisibility cloak off and stepped towards the message on the wall. "Everyone fan out, but stay within sight, and stay quiet. Anyone hears footsteps, whistle."

Hilda walked over to the opposite wall and knelt down by some strange marks. She brushed them with her index finger and rubbed the substance between her finger and her thumb, noticing how it stained the pads black. "Scorch marks," she whispered.

Harry came over and nodded. "Good eye."

"I've found something!" Hermione said, gesturing them over to the window closest to the message. "Look at the spiders," she said, gesturing to the long line of arachnids pushing their way through a crack in the pane. "Have you ever seen them act like that?"

Harry shook his head.

"No," Hilda answered. "How about you, Ron?" She turned and saw that the redhead had pressed himself against the opposite wall. "Ron?"

"I'll...I'll stay over here if that's alright," Ron said, giving a weak smile.

Hilda stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Are you afraid of spiders, Brave Mr. Gryffindor?" Ron looked away.

"You use them in potions all the time," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but they're dead. I don't like them alive." Hilda and Hermione both gave muffled giggles. "It's not funny!" Ron said, scowling. "Fred turned my bear into a spider when I was three."

Harry had moved away from the window and was inspecting the floors. "Remember the water?" Harry asked. "Where could that have come from?"

"Best bet would be the toilets down the hall," Hermione said, gesturing to a door twenty yards further down the corridor.

They walked over, Hermione and Hilda opening the door and walking in. When Harry and Ron failed to follow, they poked their heads back out. "Now what's wrong?" Hilda asked. "Are you scared of loos as well, Ron?"

"That's a girls' toilet," Ron pointed out, gesturing to the sign by the door.

"So? No one ever comes in here," Hermione said, pointing to the Out of Order sign. "This is Moaning Myrtle's toilet."

"Moaning Myrtle?" Harry asked.

"She's a student who died at Hogwarts about fifty years ago," Hermione said. "She haunts this bathroom, for some reason. She generally is rude to guests. A bit temperamental, too."

"I can hear you, you know!" a voice from inside shouted, followed by muffled sobs.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione muttered. "Already on the wrong foot. Myrtle! It's been a while, how are you?" She turned to Ron and Harry. "Ok, stand guard outside and get us if anyone's coming."

Hilda followed Hermione back into the toilets, looking around at the neglected stalls and chipped sinks.

"I don't see why you'd come," the voice said again. Harry glanced up at the ceiling. The ghost of a young girl in a Hogwarts robe floated upside-down over them. "You obviously hate me."

"Of course not," Hermione said. "Hilda just wanted to meet you. Hilda, this is Myrtle."

Hilda waved. "Hello. How come I've never seen you around the castle before?"

"The other ghosts can't stand me," Myrtle said with a sniff. "And Peeves tortures me whenever he sees me. No one likes me, so I stay here," she said, looking on the verge of tears again.

"I'm sure that's not true," Hilda said. "I think you need to get out more, try and make friends. It can't be very nice staying cooped up in here with no one to talk to."

Myrtle drifted down to eye level, studying Hilda suspiciously. "Everyone hated me when I was alive, why should it be any different when I'm dead?"

"Times have changed," Hilda said.

"Do thirteen-year-old girls still spread rumors and gossip?"

Hermione and Hilda cringed. "I mean, some."

"Then what's the point?"

"Myrtle," Hermione said, attempting to salvage the conversation. "Did you see anything strange about a week ago? Halloween night, to be exact?"

"I hadn't noticed," Myrtle said, laying on the melodrama. "Peeves had me so upset with one of his tricks that I came in here to kill myself."

Hilda was glad Ron wasn't in here to point out the obvious flaw to the ghost's plan in his usual blunt manner. "Are you sure?"

"You don't believe me?" Myrtle asked, face darkening. "Figures. I give the wrong answer and suddenly you're calling me a liar."

"I wasn't-" Hilda began, but before she could finish, Myrtle gave a cry of misery and, with a backflip, dove into one of the toilets with a splash, vanishing down into the u-bend, where her gurgled cries could still be heard.

Hermione sighed warily. "That was pretty cheery for Myrtle."

"Do you think we'll get like that?" Hilda asked.

Hermione shrugged. "My mother always said the teen years are awful. Everyone's emotional, everyone's self-conscious, everyone's angry and jealous."

Sounds wonderful, the Voice said. I can hardly wait.

"I can hardly wait," Hilda muttered. "So Myrtle's been stuck in a perpetual hormone nightmare for the last half-century-I hate to imagine that." Hilda shuddered. "She needs some confidence."

"Well, I wish her luck finding it." With that, they left Myrtle to her moaning.

"Any luck?" Harry asked.

"Nope."

"Figures," Ron muttered. "All she does is whine and cry. She probably wouldn't notice the castle falling down around her. She needs to lighten up."

"You ought to tell her that," Hilda said.

"Really?"

"No, you prat."

"...Didn't have to be sarcastic."

"So we have clues," Hermione said at breakfast the next day, studying Hilda's notes. "But nothing to tie them all together."

"What about Malfoy?" Ron asked in between shark-sized bites of sausage roll.

"Honestly," Hilda muttered.

"What, you remember what he said. 'That means you, Mudbloods!'"

"I'd rather forget," Hilda said, moving her eggs around the plate.

"H does have a motive. It could be worth checking out," Harry said.

Hermione frowned. "If we were to consider Malfoy a suspect, I may have a plan on getting him to talk."

"Really?" Ron asked. "What changed your mind?"

"We need to cover all bases in an investigation," Hermione said.

"So what's the plan?"

"It's going to require a lot of preparation and a lot of rule-breaking. I'll tell you later when we're not surrounded by listening ears." At that, Fred and George looked back to their Transfiguration textbooks, whistling innocently.

The three got up to head to class, leaving Hilda alone, but not for long. Frida came over and sat down across from her. "There you are!" she said. "I thought we'd agreed to sit at the Hufflepuff table today with David."

"What?" Then Hilda remembered. "Oh! Sorry, I completely forgot," she admitted sheepishly. "I had to talk to Harry and his friends."

"Well, no problem," Frida said. "We can still meet up with him at lunch." Hilda frowned. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with them lately."

"I haven't forgotten my studies if that's what you're implying."

"Good, then you can give me a hand," she pushed a stack of parchments across the table. "I need you to put these up around the castle."

"What are they?" Hilda asked. She picked up one of the posters and read it aloud. "Grades slipping? Talk to Frida Aiken. Personal and group tutoring." She looked up at Frida. "Really? You're spreading your study madness around?"

Frida rolled her eyes. "I'll have you know that I already have several first-years interested."

A light bulb went off in Hilda's head. "Are there any Slytherins, by any chance?"

"A couple. I'm supposed to meet with one tomorrow night in the Slytherin common room to help him with the Astrology homework."

"Wait, the Slytherins are allowing you into their common room?" Hilda asked. "They won't let anyone outside of their house in there.

"Well, this student wishes it not to be known that he's doing poorly," Frida replied. "Apparently Snape expects perfection, and he also expects an unblemished image."

A plan began to percolate in Hilda's mind. Someone's thinking deviously, the Voice said. I like it. "You know, I'm having some trouble with Astrology, too. You think I could tag along?"

We'll see who gets to Malfoy first, she thought.

The Sorting Hat was right, you should have been in Slytherin.

Well, well. Let's see how Hilda's plan unfurls.

As a note to the readers, I was wondering how many have noticed the various pop-culture Easter eggs I've sprinkled throughout the chapters. If you find any, send me a message, and I'll give you a kudos at the start of the next chapter.