With Gilderoy Lockhart's courageous (though involuntary) quest declared, the professors filed out mournfully. All but Filch, who wandered over to Fawkes. "Hello, boy," he said, scratching the phoenix under the beak. "You miss him, don't you?" The bird gave a low keening reply. He followed Fawkes's gaze, a smirk spreading over his face. Striding over to the door, he turned the lock and then spun around, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze to a spot about three feet in front of him. "You'd better show yourselves," he said aloud to the seemingly empty room, "Lest I go fetch McGonagall."

Hilda materialized suddenly, a surprised look on her face. "How did you know?"

Filch gestured to the bird. "Intuition," he replied. "Also, it's not often you see three pairs of phantom shoes tiptoeing across the room. What on earth are you doing up here."

Harry pulled the cloak off. "Why should we tell you?" he demanded. "We don't even know who you are."

Filch rolled his eyes. "Oh, Merlin's sake." He stretched, then bent over, squinting his eyes up and sneering. "First-years in the halls after hours, eh? Come, Mrs. Norris, hunt!"

Ron and Harry went wide-eyed. "No way," Ron muttered. Hilda was grinning ear to ear before she remembered the situation they were in. "We know what lives in the Chamber of Secrets, and who's behind it all."

They brought him up to speed quickly, leaving out a few choice moments. Filch nodded when they mentioned the spiders. "I see," he whispered. "Spiders fear the basilisk. It all makes sense. So you're saying this strange book, Tom Riddle's diary, has possessed Miss Weasley and is now possessing Miss Aiken?"

"That's the gist of it, we think," Harry said.

Filch shook his head. "We'd better tell Little Lord Gilderoy about this. As much as I'd love to see him get killed, he's our only hope."

Filch was swearing up a storm. The Defense Professor's classroom had been hurriedly ransacked. "Where did he go?" Harry asked, looking through a hurriedly emptied desk drawer. "Do you think the basilisk got him?"

Filch shook his head. "He's doing a runner!"

At that moment, Lockhart emerged from the back room, dragging a massive portmanteau behind him. He froze upon noticing Filch and the students. "Oh, hello Argus, children," his grin was pasted on, and a bead of sweat was running down his nose. "I was just...looking for my hunting gear. Where could it be? Maybe it's in here." With that, he threw open the trunk lid and dove headfirst right into it."

"No you don't!" Argus raced across the room and jumped into the trunk in pursuit, the lid clanging shut behind him. As the three students watched, the chest started rocking and hopping, and muffled shouts and curses could be heard within. Every so often the sound of smashing furniture, broken crockery, and shattering glass could be heard ("Bigger on the inside," Ron explained). After about a minute, the lid flew open and a noticeably bruised and battered Lockhart was bodily thrown out amid a storm of feathers and torn pages from his books. Filch followed, his shirt collar ripped and his nose bloodied. Lockhart staggered to his feet and made for the door. "Stop him!"

Hilda looked around, his gaze falling to a copy of Magical Me lying on the desk. He grabbed it, wound up her arm, and chucked it after Lockhart. The fleeing professor was struck dead-on in the back of the head by his own book and fell to the ground with a thud and a groan. Gilderoy's portraits winced in unison.

Filch nodded in approval. "Unorthodox but effective. I was going to suggest the Body-Bind Curse. One hundred points to Gryffindor." Filch walked over to the stunned Professor and hauled him up by the lapels of his stupid yellow robe. "You have ten seconds to explain, Gilderoy, or you're going out the window."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lockhart said, eyes wide in terror. "You don't understand!"

"You were about to flee the castle and leave our friend to die!" Hilda shouted.

"I can't save her, Miss Dahl!" Gilderoy replied. "I just can't!"

"I want a straight answer, Gilderoy," Filch hissed, draggin the professor towards the nearest window and throwing open the sash.

"Ok!" Lockhart shouted, "Fine!" He broke free of Filch and staggered back. "I'm a fraud! I'm a liar and a cheat and a swindler. Happy?"

"What about the adventures in your books?" Ron asked

"Obviously lies," Harry said. "You'd have to be an idiot not to realize it."

"I agree," Filch said, smirking. "Probably couldn't find his way out of a tea pot."

"I may not be good at many things," Gilderoy said, puffing up like a peacock. "But I am very good at memory charms."

"You stole people's memories," Filch muttered, his face turning a shade of purple Harry called 'The Vernon Special'. "How dare you!"

"They don't even realize what they've lost," Lockhart replied. "What's the damage there?"

"It's illegal!" Filch said, grabbing the professor by the collars again. You took away a part of themselves and left them with a hole they can't explain or repair. You took them and you robbed the things that made them special, without consent, without mercy, without even pausing to think!"

"You ought to be in Azkaban," Harry said, jabbing the professor with his wand. "Not Hagrid."

Gilderoy looked over at his desk. "Listen, there are a thousand galleons in a secret compartment in the bottom drawer. You can have it, just don't turn me in."

Filch pushed the professor back against the desk and wiped his hands on his shirt front. "Forget your money," Filch said disgustedly. "We're not going to turn you in."

"Really?"

"No, not really, you stupid git!"

"You're going to help us first," Hilda said.

"Help you?" Lockhart went pale as a china plate. "Oh, Merlin, no."

"He's trying to run again! Throw the book at him, Hilda!"

They were a few minutes late to the rendezvous with Alfur, Draco, Ginny and Twig. "What's Professor Lockhart doing here?" Draco asked.

"He's courageously volunteered to lend his expertise," Filch explained.

"Then why is he tied up? Also, who's this guy?"

"It's-" Hilda began then sighed. "Oh, nevermind, I'm sick of explaining it."

"Is this a party?" Myrtle appeared through the floor and appraised them dolefully. "I suppose I'm not invited. Typical, don't invite the dead girl, she'll kill the mood."

"Oh, Merlin," Ron and Draco muttered in unison. They glanced at one another in surprise.

Harry, however, remembered something. "Myrtle, may I ask…" he began, choosing his words very carefully. "...How you died?"

Filch cocked an eyebrow. "What is this about, Potter?"

Myrtle appraised the group warily. "Why should I tell you anything?" she asked. "None of you like me; you're probably just here to mock me."

Lockhart looked at the girl with confusion. "When did a student die at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Not since 1945," Filch replied. "When the Chamber was last—Ahhh… of course."

Hilda stepped closer to the ghost. "Myrtle, another girl is in danger: you can help us save her."

Myrtle went wide-eyed. "You...you need my help?" she asked. Her lip began quivering, and for a moment Hilda was afraid she'd burst into tears and flee. Thankfully, she got herself together, straightened up, and floated down so she was eye-level with the students. "What can I do to help?"

"We need to know exactly what happened up to your death," Harry said.

"Ok, well, I was trying to hide from Olive Hornby-she was teasing me about my glasses—" Harry nodded in sympathy. "I know I wasn't supposed to be out past the curfew, but I couldn't bear the thought of going back to the dormitory all teary-eyed—they called me Moaning Myrtle back then, and I wasn't even dead yet!

"Anyway, I ducked into this toilet because I nearly ran into Tom Riddle."

"You knew Tom Riddle?" Harry asked.

Myrtle sniffed. "Everyone knew him: Tom Marvolo Riddle; silly name, if you ask me."

"I know, right?" Ron interrupted. A chorus of hushes silenced him. "Sorry, go on."

"Little Mr. Perfect. Everyone thought he was Merlin reincarnated, but I thought there was something wrong about him: he could be cruel, and he never forgot an insult. I didn't want him to catch me out, so I hid in my stall-" she pointed across the room. "And but he came in after me. 'Myrtle,' he called out. 'Come out, come out wherever you are.'" She shivered. "When I didn't come out, he started whispering."

"What was he saying?" Filch asked.

"I don't know," the ghost replied. "I couldn't understand it. It was almost like he was hissing."

"A Parselmouth," Draco mumbled.

"Finally, I had enough, so I stood up-I nearly slipped, the floor was covered in water- the door open and was about to hex him when I saw…" she drifted off for a moment, eyes fixed on the circle of sinks in the center of the room. "...those eyes." she wiped a phantom tear from her eye. "And then I died," she said simply.

Harry walked over to the sinks and inspected them. One of the faucets-the one facing Myrtle's stall, had the engraving of a snake etched into the copper pipe. "Open," he hissed, and stepped back as the entire fixture began to spin and sink into the ground, revealing a spiraling staircase. He peered down into the darkness. "Let's go," he said.

Filch grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pulled him back. "Wait!" he looked over at Lockhart. "You first." Lockhart gulped, but obeyed. The students followed close behind. "Be careful, though," Filch warned. "These steps could be booby-trapped."

It was then that Lockhart stumbled and fell into a wall-sconce. The sconze rotated ninety degrees, and a loud click echoed among the students.

Filch froze, then looked down. "Oh, bugger."

A second later, the stone steps collapsed out from under them. The students fell and tumbled down the chute, their screams fading into echoes as they slid further and further into the darkness. Myrtle peered down and grimaced. "That had to hurt."

Johanna sat bolt upright, her sleep suddenly extinguished by a feeling of overwhelming dread.

"Hilda's in the Chamber of Secrets," she whispered. A second later, she'd leapt out of bed and was throwing on her clothes.

Two minutes later, she was racing down the stairs and into the kitchen. Tontu and the Woodman were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of wine and reading in convivial silence. Tontu looked up from a copy of Good Nestkeeping magazine. "Johanna? Where are you going?"

"Hogwarts!" she shouted, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantel. "Hold the fort down while I'm gone!" She added before leaping into the flames and vanishing.

A second later, there was a knock at the front door. Tontu answered it and found Cornelius Fudge on the porch, surrounded by three wizards in black hooded robes. "Ms. Dahl!" he asked. The Minister of Magic looked positively frantic. His gaze fell to the Nisse. "You...where is Ms. Dahl?"

"She's...out," Tontu replied.

"Well, when she gets back, tell her I'll be waiting in the drawing room." He turned to the aurors. "You three, search the house. Spell to kill if necessary."

"Is everything alright?"

Cornelius removed his bowler hat and ran a hand through his thinning head. "I'm afraid not, we've had an escape at Azkaban: Sirius Black is loose. On an unrelated note," he stepped aside to reveal a giant black hound, its leg wrapped in a makeshift bandage. "Is this your dog?"

Boss Battle Incoming!

Edit: I changed the ending of the chapter because I wasn't pleased with it. Sue me. Or follow, favorite, and leave a comment!