EDITED: July 10th, 2020

12 — Phantom Shadows

The girl stared up at the crimson words gleaming from the wall. Her plait swung lightly as she looked at me, her hazel eyes worried.

"It's happening again," she said. She looked back at the wall. "And there's no one left to stop it this time."

I followed her gaze. When I looked back, she was gone. Instead, I met Filch's angry gaze, and I left quickly, not wanting another detention for looking too happy.

Happy, he says. He couldn't be more wrong. I was worse – my health had worsened. Not a day went by that I didn't feel like keeling over. Not a day went by that I couldn't stand the sight of my face and resorted to stealing Lavender Brown's make-up.

Hermione didn't notice, thank god. But she would. Eventually. I would have to prepare for that.

What she did notice were the nosebleeds. They didn't worsen but they didn't fade either. She'd researched for the spell, but grew frustrated when Madam Pince stalled her. It had been a dark spell, after all.

Madam Pomfrey, on the other hand, was steadfast in her position. While she couldn't figure out what was wrong, she supplied me with weekly Pepper-Up potions. At some point, I'd heard her tell Professor McGonagall Flint's curse must've had something else for me to have a severe reaction. Professor McGonagall had replied that, at this point, Marcus was facing the possibility of a lifetime sentence at Azkaban, the wizard prison.

I knew it couldn't be him. Something deep inside me told me that it definitely wasn't him, but the more I tried to think about it, the more my head hurt. Like a knife plunging deep in my head.

I let it be. So what if Flint was facing expulsion? He must've done something bad before. Ron was right – we needed to get scumbags like him off the school grounds.

It was addictive, this feeling of self-rightness. Watching the other students fret over an invisible attacker, a possible murderer on the loose, was exhilarating in a way that made me was to throw up and laugh at the same time.

It was driving me to the edge of sanity; I was going mad. But my only chance of redemption was comforting Ginny, who was just as scared as everyone but was the closest to me, the only one who looked at me and didn't –

(Didn't what?)

"It's going to be fine," I told her. I clutched her hand tightly. A dishonest smile crossed my face. "Mrs. Norris will be all right; that cat's got a lot of lives left."

Ron, who'd been hovering over us, clasped her shoulder and told her:

"But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris! Honestly, we're much better off without her."

Ginny's lips trembled; I cast him a dark look.

"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.

Scowling in aggravation, I grabbed Tom's diary and hit Ron squarely on the head.

"Blimey, Anne!"

At least, I had the reassurance I wasn't the only one growing mad.

•••◘◘◘•••

I could see it. The way Hermione's mind whirled as she tried to find answers; beyond that, I saw her worry; and in the depth of her mad envoy, I saw her fear.

It was like being splashed with cold water. Hermione. How could I've forgotten her? How could I've been so wrapped in my own head that I forgot she'd actually showed concern over the incident?

And thus, together, we raided the library, Madam Pince be damned. Her threats meant nothing against this possible foe – she couldn't even stop us because we weren't the only ones hounding the shelves. Hermione had desisted of making camp because of that.

Harry and Ron were reasonably worried. They tried to get an answer out of her, but Hermione was adamant to keep quiet until she had a definite answer. She didn't even allow me to tell them about our scheduled visits.

By next week, there was still no result. Feeling faint, I decided to drop by the boys, who were doing their homework. Instead, Ron was talking about something different than History of Magic.

"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot."

"Who's an idiot?" I asked.

"Justin Finch-Fletchey," said Ron and Harry.

"Oh, he is," I agreed. "I've never heard anything out of his mouth where there wasn't an I."

Ron glared at his DADA essay. I'd done the same when I'd finished it.

"All that junk about Lockhart being so great —" Ron grumbled, trying to make his writing as large as possible. At that moment, though, Hermione came into view, looking as irritable as him.

"All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down on the chair next to mine. "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."

I was about to tell her of my own copy when I saw him. Tom looked over Harry's shoulder with a skeptical frown, a smirk tugging at his lips. When he caught me looking, he raised a finger to his mouth.

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked, looking genuinely concerned about Hermione's mad expression.

I blinked. The space behind Harry was once again empty.

"Same reason as anyone, I expect," I told him, finally, finally, feeling like I could breathe. "To read about the Chamber of Secrets," I added helpfully, seeing the boys' confused expressions.

"What's that?" Harry said sharply. I shrugged.

"That's just it. I can't remember," Hermione said, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else –"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ron desperately, after checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione with a scowl. "You've had ten days to finish it –"

"I only need another two inches, come on – Anne, help me out here!"

"Sorry mate, I don't want my head cut off."

Rolling my eyes, I followed the bickering couple. I glowered at their backs.

"Either those get married, or I'll kill them myself," I muttered, causing Harry to grin quietly.

History of Magic was as boring as ever. Combining the drone of Professor Binns's voice and my weak state, my eyelids were dropping constantly. One would think having a ghost teacher would be cool, but the only exciting thing that ever happened in this class was when he entered through his blackboard the first time a year ago.

According to rumors, Binns wasn't aware he had died. His routine had been dull back then, and it hadn't varied in the slightest since.

Today wouldn't be a common day, I thought, glimpsing Hermione's hand in the air.

Even Binns looked amazed. He stopped in the middle of his lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289.

"Miss – er –?"

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

I saw many react. Dean Thomas, who had been out of it and staring at a window, jerked on his seat; Lavender Brown's head came up from her folded arms, hair shooting all ways; 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, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping 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 them all, every face turned to his. I 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 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 magic was feared by common people, 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.

My chest tightened. But I wasn't half surprised to feel a smile cross my face when questions burst around the classroom, my classmates' expressions ranging from fear to skepticism.

When my hand touched Tom's diary, I breathed.

•••◘◘◘•••

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron told Harry, Hermione and I 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.

"Not all Slytherins are bad," I said, annoyed. "Just because old Salazar went around the bent doesn't mean the others are like him. It's people like Malfoy and Voldemort" – my friends flinched – "that give the House a bad image."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right, whatever you say, Anne."

I put my hands on my hips, walking in front of him. "What would have you done if either of us had ended there, Weasley?"

Gaping and turning red, Ron opened his mouth to retort but Colin Creepy's – Creevey – appearance stopped him.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hullo, Colin," said Harry automatically.

"Harry – Harry – 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; we heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and then was gone.

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

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," said Harry glumly.

"People here will believe anything," Ron said in disgust. My lips curled. If he wasn't our friend – Harry's friend – he'd fit in like a puzzle with the lot.

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.

"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning deeply. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be – well – human."

(Green scales. Red in my hands. A man's face in stone.)

We turned a corner and found ourselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. My friends stopped to look with varying degrees of emotion playing on their faces. I carefully avoided looking at the words, focusing instead on the trio.

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered. The caretaker, however, wasn't around to yell at us.

"Can't hurt to have a poke around," Harry said, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees. He crawled around, staring at the floor with intensity.

"Scorch marks!" he said. "Here – and here –"

I saw his finger point at a scorch in particular; it moved, and one became many.

Small and black, with too many legs, they crawled quickly from the darkness toward the light and out of a broken window.

Spiders. I hated spiders with a passion. I'd been bitten by a tarantula once, courtesy of Carol Davis, which had resulted in a mild fever and a weak stomach for three days. After that, I wasn't able to stand the sight of them unless they were truly dead.

But today I didn't jerk away. In fact, all I could muster was a shadow of my disgust.

It was a miracle.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" said Hermione wonderingly.

"No," Harry said, "have you, Ron? Anya? Guys...?"

When Harry looked over his shoulder, I swiftly turned my head to the side, trying to pull Ron's hand off my arm.

"What's up?" Harry asked us, looking between the two of us.

"I – don't – like – spiders," Ron said tensely as I said, "Yeah, Ron's got arachnophobia." At their unimpressed looks, I sighed, "I don't like them either. They make my skin crawl."

"I never knew that," Hermione said, looking at us surprised.

"Yes, that isn't exactly a thing you tell on a conversation," I muttered.

"But, you've both used spiders in Potions loads of times..."

"We don't mind them dead," I said as Ron was carefully looking anywhere but at the window.

"I just don't like the way they move..." He added unhelpfully.

Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny!" Ron and I snapped. "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.

"I prefer them all dead and twitching, thank you very much," I snapped, not adding further explanation.

Hermione still looked like she was trying not to laugh. Thankfully, Harry changed the subject. "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," Ron said, recovering 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."

"You're unbelievable!" said Hermione, moving around him.

"Ugh, I can't believe we're going in there. We swore we wouldn't... not even if we were about to piss ourselves."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," said Hermione grimly, turning the bathroom's doorknob abruptly. The OUT OF ORDER sign flew and hit the wood as she pushed the door open and then shoved the redheaded boy inside. Ron made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. "Nobody comes here!"

"Why?" Harry asked.

I snorted. "You'll see why in a second... if you don't hear her first, that is."

The bathroom was just as depressing and unkempt as I remembered. But this time, an ugly smell permeated the air. For some reason, it reminded me of my dirty shoes days ago.

I avoided this bathroom like the plague because of Moaning Myrtle, the resident ghost. She'd died as a teenager and was an egotist most of the time: she liked to cry over people's shoulders as they did their business, always complaining about Olive Hornby (whoever that had been); or sometimes, she peeped through the stalls to scare students.

The bathroom was dimly lit by a few candles burning in their holders, but I was still able to see the sinks and their giant mirror. My eyes unconsciously followed the row of taps to the last.

Hermione gestured the boys to be quiet and set off toward the last stall. When she peered inside, she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

We followed her. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. Her pigtails swayed as she surveyed us; her round spectacles caught in the light, looking like solid plastic for a second.

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

I bit back a sarcastic remark.

"No," Hermione agreed. "But I wanted to show them how – er, nice – it's here."

"I thought you said you wouldn't come here even if you were 'pissing yourself'," said Myrtle, eyeing me with contempt.

"Well, it is an emergency," I said slowly.

"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry whispered to me.

"What are you whispering?" Myrtle asked, glaring at him. I sighed.

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

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

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione hastily. "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," said Hermione quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

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

"I wasn't paying attention," Myrtle said 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," Ron said.

I sighed. "You idiot."

Sobbing loudly, Myrtle floated, and turning upside down dived headfirst into the toilet. With a splash of water, she vanished. Her crying – if possible – rang louder from the pipes.

"Honestly, that was cheerful coming from her," said Hermione, shrugging.

I grimaced at our damp clothes. "Come on. Let's go."

Harry was the last to come out, and as he closed the door, a loud voice boomed down the hall.

"RON!"

It was Percy Weasley. Wearing a gleaming prefect badge on his chest, he stood at the head of stairs, looking at us in complete shock.

"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 –" Percy 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?" Ron said hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"

"That's what I told Ginny," Percy said 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," Ron said, his ears now reddening. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy –"

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

As he strode off, the knot in my chest loosened. I made a mental note to send him a gift.

•••◘◘◘•••

The trio and I chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a foul 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 my surprise, Hermione followed suit.

"Who can it be, though?" she wondered under her breath. "Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," Ron said in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

"The list is quite long. But when you put it that way..."

Hermione looked unconvinced. "If you're talking about Malfoy –"

Ron snorted. "Of course I am! 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?" said Hermione skeptically.

"Look at his family," Harry said, 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."

Tom snorted. He was standing next to the lone bookshelf, browsing through the titles.

"The Malfoys are nothing but sheep," he said loftily. "They may be in a position of power, but they boast nothing but lies."

I looked at Harry. "Evil he may be, but that man's nothing but a tool. No matter how much they like to show off their wealth, the Malfoys are cowards in the end."

"I couldn't have put it better," said Tom, and he was swallowed by the light that filtered through the window.

"But they could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" Ron argued. "Handing it down, father to son..."

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

"Don't tell me we are really considering this?" I said irritably.

"You've got a better candidate?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Even then, we still haven't got a way to prove it."

Hermione glanced at Percy, who read his Prefect book across the room.

"There might be a way," she said slowly. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous – very dangerous." Her eyebrows were almost touching her hairline at the thought of such thing. "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?"

"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 realizing it's us."

My eyes widened. No. she couldn't be thinking of that...

"That's impossible," Harry laughed.

"No, it's not," I disagreed. I stared at Hermione, hard. "You aren't suggesting what I think you are, are you?" I accused. "Because that idea is stupid."

"Do you doubt me?" she asked coolly.

"It's dangerous. Way moredangerous than confronting this monster. If something goes wrong –"

"It won't. You'll have to trust me on this one, and if you don't..." Her face looked pinched. She shook her head. "It will work," she repeated and turned to the boys. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

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

"Snape mentioned it, last class," I said flatly.

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

"It transforms you into somebody else," said Hermione. "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 three 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..."

I looked at him, deadpan. Harry's expression was pretty much the same.

"Really?" I asked. "No one comes to mind? Cause all I can think about is flashing teeth and a fake toupee."