Hey, so I know I said it would be a lot more my own stuff from here on out, and I promise it will be, but there's still going to be a lot of similar stuff. However, this will have my own spin on it, so I hope you enjoy:)

Disclaimer/ I don't own anything

Chapter 9

"What's going on here? What's going on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, 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 and me.

"You!" he screeched. "The two of you! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll–"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by several other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr and Miss Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free–"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let us pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As we entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockhart's in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The four of us exchanged worried glances as we sank into the chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: 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 the very counter curse 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. Much as I detested Filch, I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as I felt for Harry and I if Dumbledore believed Filch.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words 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 hairnet.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had 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 Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask them!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry and me.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly, although his eyes lingered on me for a moment before returning to Filch. "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! They found – in my office – they know I'm a – I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "They know I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"We never touched Mrs Norris!" Harry said loudly.

"And we don't even know what a Squib is," I agreed.

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and my anxiety increased; I was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do us any good.

"The Potters and their friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth 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?"

The four of us launched into an explanation about the death day party. "…there were hundreds of ghosts; they'll tell you we were there–"

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry and me.

"Because – because -" Harry said, his eyes darting between the Professors and me. I wanted to tell the truth, but a look from Harry stopped me. "Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," he said.

"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

Snape's nasty smile widened.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he and Miss Potter were deprived of certain privileges until they are ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel they should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until they are ready, to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop them from playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that the Potters have done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry and me a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made me feel as though I was being X-rayed. I itched to tell the truth, but I could feel Harry's eyes burning into me, and I held my tongue.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape looked furious.

So did Filch.

"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 Dumbledore 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."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry, Ron, Hermione and I.

We went, but I pulled us up short just as quick. Harry, guessing what I was about to say, butts in.

"Isobel, they're just going to think we're delusional if we tell them the truth!" he cries.

"Harry, I agreed to stay quiet as long as we didn't hear it again. But we did. Both of us, at the same time, in the same voice, with almost the same threat. I don't know why no one else is hearing it, Harry, but we need to tell Dumbledore," I say firmly.

Harry stares at me with pleading emerald eyes. I refuse to give in.

"Harry, I think she's right," Hermione says quietly. "This time it was just Mrs Norris petrified. But what if it happens again and it's worse. What if one of the staff or students gets petrified. Or –"

"No," Ron cut in, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Ron's voice made me sceptical. Harry must have sensed it too, because he asked, "You do believe us, 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 rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill…"

"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Harry.

To his surprise, Ron stifled a snigger.

"Well – it's not funny really – but as it's Filch," he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain 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."

"Harry, no!" I protest. "We have to tell someone!"

"Isobel –"

"Tell someone what?" I suddenly hear.

I turn around to see McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape exiting Lockhart's office. McGonagall stares down at us with a stern look. Behind her, Snape wears his usual sneer and Dumbledore is looking at us with curiosity.

"Nothing, Professor," Harry says quickly.

I glare at him as Snape scoffs and then turns away, walking the opposite way and turning around a corner. Before Dumbledore and McGonagall can leave, however, I cut in.

"Harry's lying," I say quickly. "There is something we have to tell you."

"Isobel!"

"Shush, Harry," I interrupt.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hermione pull Ron away, and I silently thank her.

"Harry and I heard something, just before," I say, ignoring Harry's protests. "We've heard it before, a few weeks ago, but we thought it was just our imagination because no one else seemed to hear it. But tonight, we followed the voice, and that's where we found Mrs Norris."

McGonagall's eyebrows raise up to her hairline.

"Voice?" Dumbledore inquires. "What was it saying?"

"It –" I falter.

"It was saying it wanted to kill," Harry sighs. "The first time it sounded like it was talking to someone. But this time it just said it was hungry, that it could smell blood."

McGonagall gasps and I notice the twinkle has left Dumbledore's eyes.

"Do you have any idea where it was coming from?" he asks. "Who might have been speaking?"

We shake our heads.

"It sounded like it was moving upwards. We kept following it," I say. "But in the end, all we found was Mrs Norris."

Dumbledore sighs. He glances at McGonagall but doesn't say anything. After a moment I realise they're talking non-verbally. I turn to Harry, but he refuses to meet my eye.

"Harry," I say softly, reaching out to rest my hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

He reluctantly looks up at me.

"We don't even know what we're hearing Isobel, how do we know that it's even there? Now that you've told Dumbledore – "

"He'll be able to find out more than we can," I interrupt. "Harry, Hermione was right. What if next time its worse than Mrs Norris? What if next time it does…kill something. Or someone. I can't let that happen, Harry."

"You think I want that happening?" he exclaims. "Of course, I don't. But you also heard Ron, Isobel. Hearing something no one else can hear isn't a good sign."

I open my mouth to respond, but Dumbledore cuts in. I jump slightly, having almost forgotten he was there.

"Thank you for telling us this, Miss Potter," he says. "I'm afraid I can't tell you what it is that you're hearing, but I think it could come in useful if something like this is to happen again."

I nod with a minute smile.

"Good night Miss Potter, Mr Potter," McGonagall says, and the dismissal is evident in her voice.

Harry takes my arm, and we head back to Gryffindor tower as fast as we can. Unfortunately, when we get into the Common Room, Ron and Hermione are waiting in the armchairs for an explanation. So with a sigh, we join them and recount what was said.

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though 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. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly and "looking happy."

Ginny seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her." Ginny's lip trembled. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron assured her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking -" Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also affected Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Admittedly, I was somewhat as bad, just as desperate as her for answers. We were too busy to tell the boys what we were up to, knowing that they would be no help in the matter.

Harry had been held back in Potions, so Hermione, Ron and I went upstairs to the library. Hermione and I separated to find some new books while Ron reluctantly sat down to do his homework. Not too long later, I saw Harry enter and sit beside Ron. I went to find Hermione, and she reluctantly agreed to talk to them.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," Ron said as we approached. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great–"

We emerged from between the bookshelves.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," Hermione said as we sat 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 the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" asked Harry.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" asked Harry quickly.

"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 composition," said Ron 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– Isobel-?"

The bell rang. I shook my head as Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on our schedule. Professor Binns was our only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard.

Today was as dull 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 class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss – er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender's head came up off her arms, and Neville'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, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers–"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement; I 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 sensational, even ludicrous tale–"

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at us all; every face turned to his. He was obviously 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 over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. 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 common people feared magic, and witches and wizards 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. But then 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," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by 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 true 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's 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," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing–"

"But, Professor," piped up Parvati, "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, Miss Pennyfeather," 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, but Professor Binns had 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! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told the three of us as we fought our way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off our bags 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 the train straight back home…"

Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. I looked at him curiously. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"You know technically I am in Slytherin," I pointed out. Ron immediately paled.

"Oh, sorry," he blushed. "I just meant –"

"It's fine," I wave him off. "Harry, are you alright?" I ask, noticing he was even paler than Ron.

Just then, Colin Creevey came past.

"Hiya, Harry! Isobel!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically, seemingly snapping out of his thoughts. I responded as unenthusiastically as him.

"Harry – Isobel – a boy in my 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, Potter!" and he was gone.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you two?" Hermione wondered.

"That we're Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry, his face paling again.

He quickly told Hermione and me about his encounter with Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"People here'll believe anything," said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned, and we were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione and me.

"I don't know," Hermione 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, we turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. We stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that no stiff cat was 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.

We looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

"Not human?" I ask Hermione as we move to the wall. "What could it be?"

"Scorch marks!" Harry suddenly said. "Here – and here–"

"Come and look at this!" exclaimed Hermione. "This is funny…"

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall where Hermione and I were. 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 wonderingly.

"No," said Harry, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"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. Obviously feeling we 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?" said Harry.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

And ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom with chipped sinks and wooden doors to stalls scratched and flaking. I'd been in here a few times, but only when I was absolutely desperate for the bathroom, or when I forgot what it was like.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips as we set off toward the end stall. When we reached it, we saw Myrtle floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. Hermione said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

"This is a girls bathroom," Myrtle said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "We just wanted to show them how er – nice it is in here."

She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.

"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.

"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "We wanted to ask–"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead–"

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry only–"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but misery at this place, and now people come along ruining my death!"

"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," I said quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" asked Harry.

"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm – that I'm–"

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over us and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione and I shrugged wearily. "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let's go," Hermione said.

Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all four of us 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 -?"

"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, you know–"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded me of Mrs Weasley.

"Get – away – from – there -" Perry said, striding toward us and starting to bustle us 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?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that 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 overexcited by this business–"

"You don't care about Ginny," said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy–"

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work or I'll write to Mum!"

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

We chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in an awful temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. 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 Harry and I's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation we 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. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

"If you're talking about Malfoy–"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "You heard him – You'll be next, Mudbloods! - come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him–"

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" I asked sceptically.

"Look at his family," said Harry, closing his books, too. "The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough."

"They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son …"

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible…"

"But how do we prove it?" said Harry darkly.

"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. I got a bad feeling. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect–"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us."

"But that's impossible," Harry said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" said Ron and Harry together as I gasped.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago–"

"D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?" muttered Ron.

"It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into four of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like four of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library." There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher. "Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions." "I think," said Hermione, "that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick…"

"Wait, Hermione, are you really considering this?" I ask.

She glances at me hopelessly.

"If you have another idea, I'm open," she sighs.

I pause. I did have another idea. But whether or not it would work…

"I could try going into the Slytherin common room," I say, gauging their reactions as I spoke. "No, listen, I'm serious," I say, cutting off Harry. "I'm allowed in. I can try to talk to someone, even if it's not Malfoy. Someone's bound to know something!"

"Absolutely not!" Harry cries. "You are not going in there alone!"

"Oh, bugger off," I exclaim. "It's not like they're going to kill me!"

"Yes, they will!" Ron mutters.

I try not to glare at him.

"Look, isn't it worth a shot?" I try to reason with them. "This way, we won't have to break any rules. Besides, Polyjuice Potion takes too long to wait," I glance at Hermione. "If I do this we won't have to wait."

She bit her lip.

"I don't like it, Isobel," she said slowly.

"Neither do I," I sigh. "But it's worth a shot, isn't it?"

She sighs, and I glance at Ron and Harry. Harry still looks furious.

"Mate," Ron said cautiously. "I think it's worth a shot."

Harry visibly deflated, knowing it was three against one.

"I'll be careful, I promise," I reassure him.

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