Hey guys, here's the next chapter. Unfortunately, it's not very different from the original story, because this chapter is necessary. Anyway, hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer/ I don't own anything
Chapter 11
When I woke the next morning, I dressed quickly, anxious to visit Harry. Hermione must have felt the same way because she was quick to join me as I started down the stairs. I was surprised to see Ron awake, but glad because it meant we could leave quicker. We headed off towards the Hospital Wing, but before we could, we came across Professor's McGonagall and Flitwick. Upon seeing us, they seemed to stop talking immediately and watched us as we passed them. They didn't start speaking again until we had turned the corner. My interest was piqued. I latched on to the arms of Ron and Hermione's robes and pulled them back, holding my finger to my lips to get them to be quiet. I gestured for them to listen to what the two professors had to say.
"I found him on the stairs," McGonagall was saying. "Oh, it was horrible, Filius. He was frozen solid, not an inch of him was moving. He'd been petrified."
I struggled to hold back a gasp, exchanging a look with Ron and Hermione before listening in again.
"What do you think it means?" Flitwick asked, his normally high-pitched, squeaky voice unnaturally grave.
"Albus thinks it means the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again," McGonagall said sadly.
We'd heard enough. The three of us pulled away from the wall and hurried off towards the Hospital Wing, only to find Harry walking out of it already.
"Harry," I cried, running up to him. "How's your arm?" I hugged him gently.
"Fine," he said. "It's all healed up. But listen, I have to tell you three something," he said, pulling us along into an empty classroom. "Last night, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall came in with Colin – he'd been petrified!"
The three of us gasp.
"We heard," I say. "But we didn't know it was Colin."
"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match; he took it out on Colin."
"There's something else," Harry interrupted. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."
The three of us looked at him in confusion. He quickly relayed the details of Dobby's visit to us.
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?" Hermione asked when he finished.
"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here, and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious. Wish Dobby'd told you what kind of monster's in there, though. I want to know how come nobody's noticed it sneaking around the school."
"Maybe it can make itself invisible," suggested Hermione. "Or maybe it can disguise itself – pretend to be a suit of armour or something – I've read about Chameleon Ghouls–"
"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, looking at Harry.
"So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm." He shook his head. "You know what, Harry? If he doesn't stop trying to save your life, he's going to kill you."
The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumour and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.
Ginny, who sat next to Colin in Charms, was distraught, and Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.
Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.
"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."
In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall came around, as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I signed her list; we had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck us as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to try to worm a confession out of him. I'd been doing my best to be friendly towards him, but there'd been a set back when the four of us had accidentally let it slip we were friends still. Luckily, Daphne hadn't minded so I'd still been able to stay with her in the Slytherin Common Room.
A week later, we were walking across the entrance hall when we saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus and Dean beckoned us over, looking excited.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind duelling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…"
"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.
"Could be useful," he said to the three of us as we went into dinner. "Shall we go?"
We were all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening we hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young – maybe it'll be him."
"As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan: Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.
Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions – for full details, see my published works.
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry – you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered.
Snape's upper lip was curling. I wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at me like that, I'd have been running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth.
"One – two – three–"
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.
Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.
"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off, and his wavy hair was standing on end.
"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I've lost my wand – ah, thank you, Miss Brown – yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy – however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"
Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me–"
They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.
"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter–"
Harry moved automatically toward Hermione and me.
"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Mr Potter. And you, Miss Granger – you can partner Miss Bulstrode. Miss Potter, partner with Miss Parkinson."
Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, two Slytherin girls who disliked us profoundly. Hermione gave Bulstrode a weak smile that she did not return. I didn't even bother with Parkinson; she was outright rude and made it known how much she disliked me.
"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"
I inclined my head, and Parkinson barely moved hers.
"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don't want any accidents – one … two … three–"
I raised my wand, but Parkinson had started early and shouted the disarming spell before I could defend myself. Unfortunately, it worked, and my wand flew out of my hand. Luckily it didn't go far, and I caught it once it started to fall. Parkinson glared at me, but before she could do anything, I raised my wand and performed the spell flawlessly. Her wand flew out of her hand and a quarter of the way across the room. She glared at me before walking away to collect it.
I looked around only to find chaos.
"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd.
Looking over at Harry, I saw Malfoy on his knees, doubled over with laughter. Harry hung back, but that was a mistake. Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!" and the next second, Harry's legs began to jerk around in a kind of quickstep.
"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge. "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.
Meanwhile, a haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologising for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor. Harry and I leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than we were.
"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan…"
"Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard; it'll stop bleeding in a second."
"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you–"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about Malfoy and Mr Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.
"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. I watched with a beating heart, knowing whatever came next would not be good.
"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this."
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited–"
Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"
I was standing close enough to the two that I heard Malfoy's words.
"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.
"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.
Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?"
But Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"
The end of his wand exploded. Everyone watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between the two boys, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. I didn't move from my spot, though.
"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it…"
"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake, and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.
Suddenly, Harry was moving forward and shouted at the snake.
"Leave him alone!" And miraculously – inexplicably – the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry.
Fear crept into me as I watched the snake eye my brother.
"Harry, be careful," I said quietly.
"It won't attack," Harry said, and he sounded so sure of himself I almost believed him.
I felt Ron and Hermione coming up to stand beside me when suddenly Justin shouted, "What do you think you're playing at?" He then turned and stormed out of the hall.
Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look, and I didn't like it. I suddenly became aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then Ron tugged on the back of his robes, and Hermione gestured for me to follow.
"Come on," said Ron. "Move – come on–"
Ron steered Harry out of the hall, Hermione and I hurrying alongside them. As we went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. I didn't have a clue what was going on, and Harry didn't seem like he knew either, but neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged us all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room.
Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm a what?" said Harry, and I looked between to two in confusion.
"A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"
"I know," said Harry. "I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once," I laughed at the memory. "– long story – but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a wizard–"
"A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron repeated faintly.
"So?" said Harry. "I bet loads of people here can do it."
"Oh, no, they can't," said Ron. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."
"What's bad?" said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin–"
"Oh, that's what you said to it?"
"What d'you mean?" I suddenly asked. "You were there – you heard him– He just said, 'Leave him alone!'"
It was my turn to be stared at now.
"You know what he said?" Hermione asked.
"Of course I did," I say. "What, didn't you?"
"I heard him speaking Parseltongue," said Ron. "Snake language. You could have been saying anything – no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something – it was creepy, you know–"
Harry gaped at him.
"I spoke a different language? But – I didn't realise – how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?"
"And how did I not realise?" I asked as well.
Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry and I just stared at each other, not seeing what was so terrible.
"D'you want to tell us what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head?" Harry asked. "What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"
"It matters," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."
Harry's mouth fell open, and I felt my eyes widen.
"Exactly," said Ron. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something–"
"But he's not," I said. "We're not."
"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione. "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."
After that, we didn't speak much. I wanted to just go to sleep, but unfortunately, I had a lesson with Dumbledore. So after dinner, I made the excuse of going to the Slytherin Common Room before heading to Dumbledore's office. I was unsurprised to see McGonagall there, but they were both looking at me with unreadable expressions. I had a feeling I knew what it was about.
"Don't tell me you think Harry or I is their Heir of Slytherin?" I groaned, ignoring the fact that they were my Professors and I really shouldn't have spoken to them like that.
"Of course not," McGonagall said immediately.
"But we do have to wonder," Dumbledore said. "Tell us, Isobel. Did you understand what Harry said to the snake?"
I nodded.
"He just told it to leave Justin alone," I say. "But apparently he said it in Parseltongue, which supposedly means Harry and I are Parselmouths."
Dumbledore looked troubled, but he didn't say anything. I sighed.
"I don't understand. Surely Harry and I aren't descendants of Salazar Slytherin. I mean, I don't know anything about our father's family, but surely not. Harry's a Gryffindor. And I'm, well. I just don't understand."
"Being a descendant of a founding member doesn't automatically make you a member of that house," McGonagall explained patiently. "And while normally something like that would be tracked, and well known, it is possible that somewhere along the line a family member went missing, or was blasted off a family tapestry and forgotten about. Now, I'm not saying you are; I'm just saying it's entirely possible."
I sighed, nodding slightly. She wasn't wrong. Slytherin was known for his love of pure-bloods after all. If a family member hadn't felt the same way, it was likely that something like McGonagall said could have happened. That thought didn't make me feel much better.
Thankfully, we didn't dwell on it, and the rest of the lesson was spent with the two professors making me go over various spells and curses I'd learnt with them, and practising a little bit of control with my magic. By the time the lesson ended, I was exhausted and ready for bed. I made my way back to Gryffindor Tower and slipped inside my dormitory, not bothering to get changed as I headed for my bed.
By the next morning, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was cancelled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so crucial for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs Norris and Colin Creevey.
Harry fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess as I watched.
"For heaven's sake, Harry," said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."
He had been wanting to explain what had happened to the Hufflepuff, but obviously with Herbology cancelled, hadn't gotten the chance.
"Come on, I'll help," I say, getting up and reach for him. "Maybe I can get inside the Common Room and get him to come out and talk," I suggested.
So Harry got up, and we left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.
The castle was darker than it usually was in the daytime because of the thick, swirling grey snow at every window. Shivering, Harry and I walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger. Resisting the urge to take a look, we walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and decided to check the library first.
We made idle conversation as we walked, not talking about anything of significant importance.
A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, we could see that their heads were close together, and they were having what looked like an engaging conversation. We couldn't see whether Justin was among them. We were walking toward them when some of what they were saying met our ears, and we paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.
"So anyway," a stout boy was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"
"You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.
"Hannah," said the stout boy solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Him and his sister. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."
There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, "Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. The Potter's had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing we know, Filch's cat's attacked. That first year, Creevey was annoying them at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of Harry while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know – Creevey's been attacked."
"They always seems so nice, though," said Hannah uncertainly, "and, well, he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. They can't be all bad, can they?"
Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry and I edged nearer so that we could catch Ernie's words.
"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that. And what happened to Isobel? She hasn't got a scar or anything of the sort. Why not? He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, "That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill them in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers the Potter's have been hiding?"
Harry obviously couldn't take anymore. Clearing his throat loudly, and ignoring my protests, he stepped out from behind the bookshelves. Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though the sight of him had Petrified them, and the colour was draining out of Ernie's face.
"Hello," said Harry. "We're looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. The Hufflepuffs' worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.
"What do you want with him?" said Ernie in a quavering voice.
"I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Duelling Club," said Harry.
Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, "We were all there. We saw what happened."
"Then you noticed that after he spoke to it, the snake backed off?" I interrupted.
"All I saw," said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, "was Harry speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."
"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. "It didn't even touch him!" I say at the same time.
"It was a very near miss," said Ernie. "And in case you're getting ideas," he added hastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so–"
"- I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" said Harry fiercely. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"
"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie swiftly.
"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," I said. "I'd like to see you try it."
Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook. I murmured an apology and hurried after him.
Harry blundered up the corridor, and I struggled to keep up. The result of him wandering blindly was that he walked into Hagrid, who knocked him backwards onto the floor.
"Oh, hello, Hagrid," Harry said, looking up.
I rushed over to help him up, looking at Hagrid as well. A woolly, snow-covered balaclava entirely hid his face, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.
"All righ', you two?" Hagrid asked, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. "Why aren't yeh in class?"
"Cancelled," said Harry. "What're you doing in here?"
Hagrid held up the limp rooster.
"Second one killed this term," he explained. "It's either foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an' I need the Headmaster's permission ter put a charm around the hen coop."
He peered more closely at Harry and me from under his thick, snow-flecked eyebrows.
"Yeh sure yeh're all righ' Harry? Yeh look all hot an' bothered–"
Neither Harry nor I felt like repeating what we'd heard the Hufflepuffs saying.
"It's nothing," Harry said. "We'd better get going, Hagrid, it's Transfiguration next, and we've got to pick up our books."
We walked off, talking about what Ernie had said about us.
"Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born," Harry imitated angrily.
"Calm down, Harry," I say, even though I was pretty angry as well. "They're just scared."
We walked up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane.
"So what?" Harry said. "That doesn't mean –" We were halfway down the passage when he tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.
I felt my stomach drop when I saw what he'd fallen over.
Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure.
It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off, and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.
I slowly helped Harry to his feet, trying to pull him away as all that was heard was our fast and shallow breathing. My heart was doing some sort of gymnastics routine against my ribs. I looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor until Harry nudged me and pointed to a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.
"What do we do?" I whispered.
We could run, and no one would ever know we had been there. But we couldn't just leave them lying here.
"We have to get help," I answered my own question.
"Will anyone believe we don't have anything to do with this?" Harry asked anxiously.
As we stood there, panicking, a door right next to us opened with a bang, and I involuntarily jumped. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.
"Why, it's the potty wee Potters!" cackled Peeves, knocking Harry's glasses askew as he bounced past him. "What're Potters up to? Why're Potters lurking–"
Peeves stopped, halfway through a mid-air somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry or I could stop him, screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"
Crash – crash – crash – door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. Harry and I found ourselves pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Harry put an arm around me protectively as Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie arrived, panting, on the scene.
"Caught in the act!" Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry and me.
"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song:
"Oh, Potters, you rotters, oh, what have you done, You're killing off' students, you think it's good fun–"
"That's enough, Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry and I.
Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Harry and I and Professor McGonagall alone together.
"This way, Potters," she said.
"Professor," said Harry at once, "I swear we didn't–"
"This is out of my hands, Potters," said Professor McGonagall curtly.
Harry and I glanced at each in worry, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I reached blindly for Harry's hand, and he took it in his own, squeezing in gently in reassurance. We marched in silence, and I suddenly realised where we were going. We rounded a corner, and McGonagall stopped before the large and hideous stone gargoyle that leads to Dumbledore's office.
"Lemon drop!" she said the password.
The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Having seen this happen many times before, I couldn't ignore the dread I felt as Harry evidently was; having never seen Dumbledore's office before. McGonagall stepped onto the spiral staircase, beckoning us on. We rose upward in circles, higher and higher until I saw the door that leads to the Headmaster's office. I heard Harry gasp quietly, and I looked over at him. His eyes were wide with worry as he suddenly realised where we were. I took a deep breath as McGonagall knocked on the door, and it opened silently.
Here went nothing.
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