Here we are again! Hope you all had a good Summer!

We're definitely heading towards the endgame for this story, and I notice that, just like last time, the climax of the story takes place in December. I swear this wasn't intentional on my part; yes, the canon books did have a deliberate pattern with the climax happening in June (the exception being Deathly Hallows, with the Battle of Hogwarts taking place in early May) but I honestly was not aiming for a similar pattern with December. It's just that the way the story has gone, developments were quicker and there's a limit to how long you can drag them out before it gets too far-fetched.

There'll be at least a couple more chapters and an epilogue, so my original estimate of this story being "somewhere between sixteen and twenty chapters" seems to have been accurate.

WEASLEY GIRL: SECRETS OF THE PAST

Based on the Harry Potter stories by J. K. Rowling

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All Right, Let's Talk About the Imperius

It was just past eight o'clock by the time they left Dumbledore's office and began making their way through the corridors. The sun had gone down and the outside sky was heavily overcast; no moon or stars shone in through the windows and all light was provided by the flickering torches on the walls.

Everything was quiet, or at least as quiet as it ever got in a place like Hogwarts. A few scattered footsteps about as students hurried to their common rooms, Prefects beginning to go on their rounds, maybe Filch searching for messes he could blame on students — but no huge groups of students rushing about and chattering about homework or about who fancied who, no explosions caused by Fred and George's latest pranks (with the common follow-up of teachers yelling "Detention!" or "Twenty points from Gryffindor!").

It all made the smaller sounds of Hogwarts come forth much more clearly: The silent crackling of burning magical torches, the occasional muffled hiss of the plumbing, the icy December wind rattling the windows, the mutterings of portraits either talking in their sleep or chatting with one another.

Usually, Ronnie liked walking through the corridors on nights like this; even though it was cold (and none of them had brought their cloaks) there was something nice and peaceful about the darkened hallways and the way the torches made the long shadows dance and move.

Right now, however, it felt eerie — the underlying thought that somewhere in this castle there might be an unregistered Animagus with unknown motives and goals, and someone who keeps Petrifying people, would probably make any place feel a little creepy. And the sneaking suspicion that the mysterious Animagus and the unknown Petrifyer might be one and the same doesn't help matters at all.

It did help a little that Crookshanks was walking up front, with the utmost confidence — and that Fawkes was probably somewhere close by. (The phoenix had not accompanied them from Dumbledore's office, but Ronnie was confident he would be there if they needed him.)

Still, walking along like this and just listening to the eerie almost-silence was a little unnerving.

"All right," she said, deciding to voice her thoughts to distract herself from the silence. "New theory!"

The others glanced at her. Only Colin looked eager to hear the theory; Ginny and Hermione looked less than enthusiastic and Neville almost seemed like he hadn't heard.

Ronnie ignored the lack of enthusiasm from three-quarters of her audience. "You know that voice Harry keeps hearing right before we find people being Petrified? The voice that nobody else hears? I think that's Wormtail!"

"Pettigrew?" Hermione didn't look convinced. "He didn't seem like the type to talk about tearing people apart."

"There were a lot of types he didn't seem like," said Ronnie, a sentence that sounded a lot more sensible in her head than when said out loud. Before anyone could comment on that, she hurried to say: "Dumbledore said he didn't seem like the type to fake his own death, but I think we can say it's proved he did, wouldn't you?"

"It does look like it," Hermione agreed. "The question is why."

"Because the little pink Nargles told him to, maybe," Ginny muttered.

"There are pink Nargles?" gasped Colin. "Hermione, I thought you said Nargles didn't exist!"

"No, I meant maybe he was just mad. You know, seeing Nargles and — never mind." Ginny sighed. "The big question is, if it is Wormtail, come only Harry can hear him, while the rest of us can't? You have to admit that's odd."

"That part's odd whether it's Pettigrew or not," said Hermione. "Because I think it's pretty clear at this point that there is a voice and not just Harry's imagination. There's something about Harry that gives him the ability to hear it. Like —" she paused, her eyes widening. "I think I've got it."

"What?" said Ronnie.

"Remember last year, when his scar would occasionally hurt?" said Hermione. "And it turned out that it was reacting to the presence of Voldemort?"

"Yes?"

"I'm starting to wonder if we're not seeing a variant of the same thing. Once more, Harry's able to sense something that we can't! It might be connected!"

"Are you saying that Harry's scar makes him hear voices?" said Ginny.

"Well, why not?" said Hermione, a tad defensively. "It's clear that something odd's going on with Harry's scar." She frowned. "Too bad the library's closed by now; I would have liked to look up curse scars and see if it's common for them to act strange."

"You think maybe that was what Dumbledore noticed?" said Ginny. "You know, when he said something was bothering Harry?"

"Why don't we just ask Harry?" said Ronnie. "Shouldn't be too hard to find him. He's either still at the hospital wing with his Uncle, or he's gone back to the common room."

"We could go up to the Owlery!" said Colin. When everyone turned to look at him, he added: "If Wormtail really is Hedwig, that's worth checking it out, isn't it? And if he isn't, there are still a lot of other owls there he could be."

"That's good too!" said Ginny. "Hermione, do you remember that spell Dumbledore showed us?"

"I think I could do it," said Hermione dubiously. "But let's be at least somewhat realistic here. I can't cast it on every single owl in the Owlery. We'd be there all night!"

"All right, but other than a bit of time, what have we got to lose by trying?" said Ginny. "Up until just now, we didn't have a single lousy plan — now we have two lousy plans! That's progress!"

"There's not really a whole lot to go on," said Hermione slowly, "but in that case, we have three lousy plans." She motioned towards Crookshanks, who was watching them all with mild interest. "We still haven't done the Animaloqui."

"Even better!" said Ginny. "What do you think, Neville?"

Neville, who hadn't said anything since they left Dumbledore's office, gave a start. "What?" he said, blinking. "Oh. Er, sorry. What was that?"

"Are you okay?" said Ronnie. "You looked like you were miles away."

Neville gave them all a sheepish half-smile. "Sorry. I was just trying to remember something."

"Remember what?" said Colin curiously.

Neville shook his head. "That's just it — I can't remember. Sorry," he added with a slight murmur, "you know my memory's not very good."

"That's rubbish!" Hermione suddenly said. "You have a great memory!"

It was quite possible that nobody had ever told Neville anything like this before, because he just stopped and gaped at her.

Even Ronnie was a little perplexed; Neville was a great guy, but she'd never met anyone who so consequently forgot names and passwords, or even whether he had done his homework for the day or not.

"Don't believe me? I'll prove it!" said Hermione. "Neville, how long does it take for a Puffapod seed to bloom?"

"Er — no time at all," said Neville. "It blooms the moment it comes into contact with anything solid."

"What's a Mimbulus Mimbletonia?"

"It's a sort of cactus-like plant from Assyria, isn't it? It's really rare, I don't even think the greenhouses here have any. Why?"

"And speaking of the greenhouses, how many different kinds of plants are there in Greenhouse Three?"

"Three hundred and forty-two. Er, three hundred and forty-three if you count the Spiky Bushes and the Spiky Prickly Plants as two separate kinds."

"See?" said Hermione. "I've had Herbology with you in that same greenhouse all year, and I didn't know that last one!" (Sure you didn't, Ronnie thought, but didn't say it out loud.) "When it comes to these things, you remember everything!"

"Oh." Neville fidgeted a little, as if uncertain how to handle the compliment. "But that's just plants, that's easy. It's not like it's anything import—"

"Don't you dare say it's not important!" Hermione snapped. "When Lavender is revived from her Petrification thanks to Mandrakes, you can ask her how important she thinks plants are!"

"She's got a point, you know," said Ronnie. "It's like Dumbledore said, we remember more than we think we do. Like how the Pensieve showed that I remembered more about Wormtail than I thought."

"But I don't have a Pensieve to help me remember," said Neville. "All I have is a Remembrall, and all that does is turn red when I've forgotten something. And I already know I've forgotten something, I just don't know what I've forgotten."

"Pretend it's a plant, maybe that'll help!" said Colin.

Neville shook his head. "It's not a plant, it's…" He blinked, and then for some reason cast an anxious glance at Ronnie. "Actually, it's probably nothing important. Forget I said anything."

"After you got us all worked up about it? Not a chance!" said Ronnie, placing her hands on her hips. "Go on, Neville. What is it?"

Neville fidgeted. "Actually," he said, refusing to look her in the eye, "It was about the Imperius."

"Oh." Ronnie swallowed. For a brief moment she wondered if the others could hear how her heart suddenly began beating louder than before, but she forced herself to calm down. Don't think about the Imperius! "You're right, let's not talk about that!"

"Why?" said Colin, looking from Neville to Ronnie and clearly wondering what he was missing. "What's about the Imperius?"

"It's nothing!" said Ronnie, in as convincing a tone as she could manage. "We can't be standing around here all evening, we've got two — three plans to pull off, or leads to follow, whatever, and then we've got a common room to get back to! Percy's probably livid by now, and it'll be curfew soon, and —"

"What's wrong?" said Colin, never one to take a hint. "You've gone all pink again."

"Nothing's wrong! Can't a girl be pink if she wants to?!"

Hermione's expression had changed to one of concern mixed with exasperation. "Ronnie," she said. "When we talked about this back in September, you promised me you would think about talking to someone."

Ronnie swallowed. She'd hoped against hope that Hermione had forgotten. "I did think about it. And I decided I didn't want to talk to anyone."

"Well, you can't continue like this," said Hermione. "I've given you time to deal with it, but you're not getting any better. I told you, repressing like this isn't healthy."

"How about you let me worry about my own health, Hermione, and start thinking more about your own —" (Ronnie paused as she struggled to think of a problem Hermione had.) "— poor taste in Defence teachers."

But Hermione didn't take the bait. "It's been a year, Ronnie. I know it was a traumatic experience for you, but you can't keep avoiding the subject it like this."

Ronnie exploded. "I don't want to talk about the fucking Imperius, okay?!"

Hermione actually took a step back at that. "Ronnie —" she began.

"No!" Ronnie could hear that her voice was in danger of turning shrill again. She hid it as best as she could by clearing her throat and continued in what she hoped was a calm, measured tone: "You guys go up to the Owlery and, and on your way there you can talk about that stupid curse all you like, all right? I'm going to the hospital wing to get Harry!"

"You can't go off alone!" Hermione protested.

"I won't be alone; I'll take Crookshanks! And I'm still wearing my Warning Fang, anyway! C'mon, Crookshanks!"

With that, Ronnie turned on her heels and ran as fast as she could towards the stairs, not giving Hermione or the others any time to protest, or to point out that the Warning Fang really wasn't as useful as it should be.

She stopped to catch her breath on the ground floor. Leaning against a wall, she let herself pant heavily and feel her heart was pounding in her chest — much harder than it otherwise would from a little running.

Crookshanks, who had been following her all the while and didn't look the least bit tired, rubbed himself comfortingly against her ankles, just where her too-short robes were baring them. She gently crouched down to scoop the cat up in her arms.

Slowly, stroking Crookshanks's soft fur, she calmed down again.

What was wrong with her?

It had been almost a year. A year since Quirrell had pointed his wand at her, and —

No. Don't think about it.

But the memory was still there, as clear as if she'd been viewing it in the Pensieve. Hermione was right that Ronnie had been doing her best to repress it. Sometimes it seemed like she'd managed to; days or even weeks could pass without her thinking about the Imperius at all, and then suddenly someone would say something, or something would happen that reminded her of it, and she would remember —

"Mrrow!" said Crookshanks in her arms. Ronnie lifted her head to look at him, seeing that he was looking pointedly towards the stairs.

And now she could hear it too, the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, accompanied by a familiar puffing that clued her in to who was coming long before his familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

"Neville?" she said.

Neville came to a stop next to her, red-faced and puffing. He'd never been an athlete; he had always been the slowest member of Potter's Gang — and now, as he stopped he had to stand and heave for his breath for a little while before he could speak.

"Didn't you go up to the Owlery?" said Ronnie. "Did something happen?"

"No," Neville breathed. "It's fine." He swallowed and looked at her. "Hermione, Colin and Ginny went, but — Look — I just wanted to day — I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah — for mentioning — you know."

"Oh." Ronnie felt her blush creep back in. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything. I just… I just didn't want to talk about it."

"I know." Neville's still-rather-red face was serious. "Look, I —" he faltered, swallowed and took a deep breath. "I think Hermione's right."

"And in other shocking news, the sky is blue and dragons breathe fire," said Ronnie. "All right, all that tosh about repressing, maybe she does have a point, but I don't want to —"

"Not about that," said Neville. "I mean — she's right about my memory. I think I have a better memory than I give myself credit for." He lowered his voice just slightly. "It's been almost a year, but I still remember what it was like. You know, to be under the Cruciatus."

Ronnie's heart sank a little further. "Oh," she said again.

"I know it was only a few seconds," said Neville quietly. "It felt like longer. The pain was worse than anything I've ever felt. I thought I would die. I wished I would die. Anything to just end it. I still have nightmares about it sometimes."

Ronnie had no idea what to say to that.

"D'you know what the worst part of it was?" said Neville. "It wasn't the curse itself. It was — it was knowing that someone would use it so… so casually. I mean…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. He looked at her again, and once more seemed uncertain whether or not he should carry on — but then he made up his mind and continued: "When Bellatrix Lestrange used the Cruciatus to torture my parents —" He paused again, grimacing.

Crookshanks looked at him from his place in Ronnie's arms. Neville smiled briefly at the cat, and then grew serious again. He'd got his breath completely under control now.

"For as long as I can remember," he said, "ever since I was old enough to understand why Mum and Dad were at St. Mungo's and didn't know who I was when I came to see them, I thought about Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus. I tried to make sense of it all. Why would anyone do something like that to another person? I wanted to at least understand. And, well, I thought up a lot of answers. They were both trained Aurors she was trying to get information from. She was probably beside herself with anger because You-Know-Who was gone, and in a bit of denial because she didn't want him to be. Everybody knows she'd lost her marbles long before she was ever tossed into Azkaban."

Ronnie swallowed.

"But then, last Christmas," said Neville, still speaking in that soft voice, "Quirrell cast the Cruciatus on me. For barely any reason at all. I was no match for him; a Knockback Jinx or a Stunning Spell would have taken care of me. But he chose the Cruciatus. Just because I was in his way, a minor obstacle. He wasn't even that angry at me, just annoyed that I wouldn't let go of you. And — well."

"…Well?" she repeated.

He seemed to be searching for the right words. "After it was all over, I had to face the fact that I lived in a world where people did that. Subjected others to terrible torture for barely any reason at all. Doing something like that to a fellow living being… and for what? A minor annoyance? Don't mind telling you, the realisation that such people exist is enough to keep me awake at night."

"Oh." She couldn't help but feeling a bit of surprise at this. She hadn't even considered that angle to it.

"Anyway," he added hurriedly, "I just wanted to tell you that. To let you know that — err, well — I think I kind of understand a bit of what you're going through, and why you don't want to talk about the — you know…"

She looked at him then, at his embarrassed but concerned expression. He was so close, and yet so far away, from the real issue. And for a moment, just for a moment, she pondered telling him everything. He was one of the kindest people she had ever met, he'd probably understand…

Feeling the comforting weight of Crookshanks in her arms, she took a deep breath. "All right," she said. "Let's talk about the Imperius."

Neville blinked. "Er, I wasn't trying to get you to talk about —"

"I know. That's why I do want to talk about it."

And he understood. "Okay," he said.

Ronnie took a deep breath. "It's not that I'm scared," she said. "I mean, okay, the way you put it, it is scary. But that's not why…" She paused, but only briefly. This was it, this was what she had been carried around for very nearly a year without wanting to put word around it. But she had made up her mind. "I'm ashamed."

"Ashamed? For being Imperiused?" said Neville.

"No, for —" The words almost caught in her throat. She took another deep breath, and then spat them out: "Because I liked being Imperiused!"

There. She'd said it. Now she hurriedly averted her eyes to avoid meeting his perplexed look, and hugged Crookshanks a little tighter.

"It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, Neville," she murmured, feeling the cat's soft fur against her cheek. "Better than anything I'd ever felt in my life. I was — everything was so nice, and I was so happy, and that bastard Quirrell was right there, killing and torturing, and I didn't care. I didn't want it to end. I just wanted to stay a mindless puppet forever because it felt so good to be one."

"Ronnie —"

"What does that say about me, Neville?" She still refused to look at him. "What sort of person — what sort of person just stands around like that and fucking loves what's happening to her, while her friends — her best friends! — are fighting for their lives and being tortured?!"

"Actually, I think there is a term for people like that," said Neville quietly. "They're called 'people who are being Imperiused.'

"You don't get it! I was standing there, and I was practically —"

"I'm pretty sure that's what the Imperius does to people," said Neville, who was blushing a little. "It's called the euphoric… something. I forget what it's called. Hermione would know. But that's why the Imperius is so dangerous and so hard to fight. It makes you feel so good that you don't want to fight it."

Ronnie raised her head then to meet his eyes, and saw no judgement in his expression — only honest compassion. "You know a lot about the Imperius," she said, feeling impressed.

"I — I sort of read a lot this Summer when I was sick," Neville admitted. "Gran wouldn't let me leave my room, but she did let me have all the books I wanted. I don't remember half of what I read now, of course, but I do remember reading about the Unforgivables…" He looked at her. "You've been feeling bad about the Imperius this entire time?"

"No! Yes. I don't know."

And for the first time since they'd known each other, he hugged her. She had hugged him before, of course; she hugged all her friends. But this was the first time that he'd been the one to initiate a hug. It was a somewhat clumsy hug, not made any more elegant by the fact that she was still holding Crookshanks in her arms and the cat came between them, but it was warm and comforting.

"Ronnie," he said. "We already knew that you liked it. It was one of the first things you told us after you were back to normal."

"It — it was?" Ronnie didn't even know how to feel about that. Parts of the aftermath of her encounter with the Imperius were a bit of a blur. Had she confessed back then and just forgotten that she had? "I said that?"

"Yeah." Neville pulled back from the hug; he was blushing a little. "I do remember that much. We understand, Ronnie. Nobody blames you, and nobody thinks you're a bad person."

"Oh." Ronnie was sure she was blushing much brighter than he was. "Hermione was definitely right. You do remember more than you think."

"Maybe I do." Neville smiled.

"That's probably — ow!" All of a sudden, Ronnie felt a painful heat against her chest; the Warning Fang under her robes was growing hot again. At the same time, Crookshanks perked up and began growling out towards the darkness.

"What?!" The smile vanished from Neville's face.

"I don't know, the Warning Fang — ouch!" Ronnie winced at the uncomfortable heat and tried to look around to see what there could possibly be around that the Fang was reacting to.

And looked straight at the approaching forms of three highly unwelcome figures.

"Neville," said Ronnie as she slowly pulled away from her friend, "don't look now, but it seems like the corridor's infested by Trolls."

And true enough; here came three of Ronnie's least favourite people in the world; Malfoy in the center, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, all three of them strolling casually up along the corridor with the air of self-assured arrogance and menace they always had when they thought themselves to be in control of the situation.

"Isn't this cute," said Malfoy in his caracteristic lazy drawl. "Weasley and Longbottom, hugging in dark corridors. I believe I'm going to gag."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, as they always did whenever Malfoy said something he intended to be funny.

Despite the evil grins of the Trolls, however, Ronnie noticed to her surprise that the Warning Fang was cooling down; either the loathsome Slytherin trio hadn't been the danger it was warning against, or they had changed their minds about whatever they'd been planning to do when they found out they'd been noticed.

Crookshanks leapt out of Ronnie's arms and down to the floor, where he stood protectively in front of Ronnie and Neville and gave the Trolls some impressively dirty looks.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Malfoy?" said Neville, straightening himself and clearly trying to look like he wasn't intimidated by the clenching fists of Crabbe and Goyle. "Spying on us?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Longbottom," said Malfoy in an exaggeratedly bored tone. "You and Weasley could be stripping each other naked and it wouldn't be worth watching. Actually, I take that back. Probably a Magizoologist or two might find the Weasley mating habits mildly fascinating. No — we're just on our way back to our common room. We've been having a chat with my father."

"Your father's here?" said Ronnie. "What, someone finally discovered how stupid he was and forced him to re-enrol at Hogwarts so he could get some basic education?"

Malfoy scowled. "I'd tell you not to show your ignorance, Weasley, but that's clearly too big a task. My father is here on business for the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Don't tell me you didn't know he was the chairman of the board?"

"What, you actually did get him to come and try to give Professor Flamel the sack for not accepting your speech on how wizards were superior to Muggles?"

Malfoy's scowl turned into a smirk. "No, but that's not actually a bad idea," he said. "I'm pretty sure that Flamel broke some school rule by dangling a hundred house points in front of us and then not accepting my rebuttal. But that aside — if you want to know what my father is doing here, you're welcome to ask him. In fact, I dare you to do it. He's right there, in the Deputy Headmistress's office."

He pointed towards a door down the corridor; a door that Ronnie knew well, even though she had never actually entered the room in question. As Deputy Head, McGonagall had her office on the first floor, and she had told all the Gryffindors that if they had any troubles, her door was always open. (A statement none of them had taken literally, because while Professor McGonagall had many admirable qualities she just wasn't the sort of teacher you felt comfortable confiding in.)

"Well?" said Malfoy. "What are you waiting for, Weasley? Go ask him. I'm sure he'll be ever so pleased to see you."

He was goading her, she knew, and the wise thing to do would be to turn around and leave without even going near McGonagall's office. But such logical argument went off to die a quiet and undignified death in the back of Ronnie's mind when faced with Malfoy's infuriating smirk. "Don't think I won't! I'm not afraid of your father!"

"Prove it."

"I will!"

"I'm not stopping you."

Neville, clearly bracing himself (and not quite able to hide the nervous looks at Crabbe and Goyle) took a step closer to Malfoy. "Stop trying to goad her, Malfoy! You just want her to get into trouble!"

Malfoy looked at him with disdain. "Did you figure that one out all on your own, Longbottom? Or did the cat help you?" (Crookshanks growled again, but Malfoy ignored him.) "Crabbe, Goyle — let Weasley past, will you?"

Pretending she didn't hear Neville's protest, Ronnie stepped up towards the door to McGonagall's office. She wasn't quite sure just what she was going to do, and as she got closer she grew even less sure. What, was she just going to barge into McGonagall's office and start calling Lucius Malfoy a wanker? The idea was tempting, but would probably land her in detention for the rest of the year.

As she got close enough, however, she could see that the door was slightly ajar. A small, thin strip of light contrasted against the darkness of the corridor; seemed like Malfoy hadn't bothered to make sure the door was completely closed.

"— for the third time, Mr. Malfoy, the Headmaster will see you when he is available!"

That was McGonagall's voice; not very strong but clear enough now that she was close enough. Almost without meaning to, Ronnie stopped only a foot or so away from the door.

"I would have thought," came the deep, silky voice that Ronnie immediately recognised as that of Lucius Malfoy, "that a Headmaster who is at all interested in keeping his job would not keep the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors waiting,"

"As I recall, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall dryly, "you have made similar threats before. Last time, unless I am much mistaken, it was over the Headmaster's refusal to remove The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the school library, as you felt it promoted marriage between wizards and Muggles."

"I wish only protect my son against dangerous influences," said Mr. Malfoy coldly. "And I assure you, madam, that I will stop at nothing to ensure his safety. Neither as a school governor nor as a father will I sit idly by while some unknown menace is attacking the children of the school."

"And I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, that the removal of Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster will do nothing to increase security."

"Is it not true that you have a Muggle — a Muggle! — in the hospital wing?"

"I rather doubt that poor man is in any shape to be a threat to your son." (Ronnie could almost imagine Professor McGonagall's disapproving expression as she said this.) "I would hardly call young Draco a top student, but I have every confidence that he is capable of defending himself against an ailing Muggle that happens to be in the same building. Even if said Muggle employs such vicious and underhanded tactics as lying unconscious and under supervision in the hospital wing."

Apparently Mr. Malfoy had no good counterarguments for that, because he ignored it and went on: "And I suppose the Chamber of Secrets is harmless as well?"

(Ronnie stifled a gasp.)

"It's fifty years, to the year, since the last time the Chamber was opened," said Mr. Malfoy. "My father attended the school back then. He remembered the attacks well; the horror, the uncertainty… and it all ended in the death of a student. And worse, though the culprit was caught, he's still at Hogwarts to this day!"

"It was never proved that he had anything to do with the attacks or the Chamber," said McGonagall. Her voice was controlled, but it was easy to hear the anger in it. "You see, Mr. Malfoy — I will not claim that our legal system is perfect, but we do try to treat a person as innocent until proven guilty. I believe you yourself have reason to be grateful for that."

There was a sharp thud from within, as if of someone slamming a fist down on a desk. Mr. Malfoy's voice was not quite a yell: "Am I to understand that you're not going to do anything about this?"

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Malfoy. I am going to ask you, for the fourth time, to wait until the Headmaster is available to see you."

At this point, there was a slight noise next to Ronnie. She had almost forgotten where she was and that she was eavesdropping — startled, she spun around to look straight into the concerned eyes of Neville.

"Come on, Ronnie," he said softly. "This isn't doing anyone any good. Let's go."

"Er — yeah." Ronnie felt silly, kind of like she'd just been pulled out of some weird trance.

Further down the corridor, with Crookshanks still eyeing them with suspicion, the Trolls were positively radiating self-satisfaction. "See, Crabbe?" said Malfoy. "I told you she'd back out at the last minute. So much for daring, chivalrous and brave."

Ronnie stepped away from the door and closer to them. "Sod off, Malfoy!" she hissed.

"Back to the old classics, are we?" Malfoy smirked. "Face it, Weasley, you're just like Longbottom: ugly, stupid and cowardly."

Ronnie would have lunged at him there and then, if it hadn't been for the fact that Neville had apparently seen this coming and placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. Instead, she just spat, as venomously as she could: "For your information, I was just put out for a moment because I heard your father say he didn't think you could defend yourself against an unconscious Muggle!"

Malfoy snorted. "Oh, good one, Weasley."

"It's true!" Ronnie suddenly saw the opportunity to turn the tables. "Go in there and ask him if you don't believe me!"

But Malfoy, like Hermione earlier, didn't take the bait. He just waved his hand in a dismissing manner. "If you think I'm falling for that, Weasley, you're stupider than Longbottom. Come on, Crabbe — Goyle. Let's get back to our common room."

Determined to get at least one parting shot in, and deciding to take a gamble, Ronnie hurried to say: "He said something about the Chamber of Secrets, too!"

Malfoy had just been about to turn around, but at this he stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, he looked taken aback — but then, he quickly caught himself, and his expression changed back to smug superiority. "Oh, really," he said, trying and not quite managing to sound dismissive.

"You know what the Chamber of Secrets is, don't you?" said Ronnie, moving towards him.

"And I see that you don't," said Malfoy.

"What is it?!" she demanded.

His eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you, if you don't already know?" With that, and motioning for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, he slinked off down the corridor.

For a moment, Ronnie wanted to run after him and threaten to kick his balls if he didn't tell her — and if he had been alone, she probably would have. But Crabbe and Goyle were there, walking behind Malfoy and occasionally turning back to shoot her menacing looks, and Ronnie knew all too well she'd be no match for them physically. They wouldn't even have to hit her, just hold and lift her the way they'd done the first time she'd met them, on the Hogwarts express… ugh.

"What is the Chamber of Secrets?" said Neville, looking ready to hold her back again.

"Oh. Right, you weren't there." Ronnie forced herself to look away from the retracting Trolls. "Harry's Uncle said something about it when we found him. I don't know what it is, but it seems like the Malfoys do."

"Mrrow!" said Crookshanks. He was sitting on the floor, staring up at her with intense yellow eyes. His bottle-brush tail was twitching agitatedly.

Something clicked in Ronnie's head. "Crookshanks, you know what the Chamber of Secrets is?!"

"Meow!"

"Of course." Ronnie turned to Neville. "Dobby belongs to the Malfoys! He talked about something that happened fifty years ago — and right now I heard Malfoy's Dad say that the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago! So whatever the Chamber of Secrets is — Dobby must've told Crookshanks about it!"

Crookshanks just kept looking at her, as if to say Finally, you got one right.

"That does make sense," Neville admitted. "In that case, maybe we should find Hermione after we've fetched Harry. Then she can put that Animal Talk Charm on you, or maybe on all of us, and then we can ask Crookshanks all about it."

Ronnie nodded. "How about it, Crookshanks?"

The cat half-closed his eyes in approval.

"To the hospital wing, then!" said Ronnie.

Ronnie would probably have reached the hospital wing faster if the un-athletic Neville hadn't been with her — but it would have been mean to say so. So she kept the pace of the walk manageable for him, letting Crookshanks lead the way as he'd done so often before.

Once again, she was struck by how different the corridor was at night. She'd walked this way hundreds of times — all right, dozens of times, then — back in the days when Madam Pomfrey was still testing her and the rest of Potter's Gang for their immunity to potions, and they'd been called to the hospital wing every few days for a number of weeks. But all those trips had been during the way, with normal levels of light and noise.

Everything was quiet now, and the vaguely ominous feeling from before was sneaking back up on Ronnie, even stronger than before. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that something nasty was waiting for them…. but no, surely it was nothing, she was just a little shaken by everything that had happened lately. The Warning Fang was quite cool against her chest, and Crookshanks didn't seem like he was sensing any danger. It was all fine.

"So," she said, once again to distract herself from the silence, "what was it you remembered about the Imperius earlier?"

"What?" said Neville. "Oh! Er, well, it was just a thought I had. I'm not sure how important it really is."

"Go on!"

"It was when Dumbledore said how Professor Flamel could recognise the Imperius if he got close enough to people," said Neville. "I remembered how Professor Lockhart always moved away whenever Flamel got too close to him… like that time at the Quidditch match. And I thought… well, it's silly, but what if…?"

Understanding dawned on Ronnie. "You think Lockhart's been under the Imperius this entire time?"

"It really is silly, isn't it?" Neville murmured. "Hearing it said out loud… just forget I mentioned it."

"No!" Ronnie shook her head eagerly. "Neville, that's it! It would explain so much! Remember how Mad-Eye Moody once said that he'd known of people who were under the Imperius for years? And how a properly-cast Imperius is almost impossible to notice? If Flamel's the only one who could see through it… that's why Lockhart's been avoiding Flamel! He must've known that Flamel could see through him!"

Neville nodded. The fact that she wasn't dismissing his thought seemed to encourage him. "Or, er, whoever Imperiused him must've known, and ordered him not to let Lockhart get too close."

"Right! And sometimes he got this glazed look on his face…"

"Like when we saw him in the Pensieve?"

"Yes, but he's been getting that look on and off all year! Luna's noticed it too! She said thought it was Wrackspurts…"

"…but what if it was just Lockhart trying and failing to fight off the Imperius?!"

"Exactly!" Ronnie nodded. "And if Harry's Uncle was under the Imperius, it makes sense that Lockhart was! Neville, I bet that Shirley Holes girl would be proud of you! And maybe —" She paused as a new thought struck her. "That was why the replacement rats were white!"

"What?" Neville blinked.

"Think about it! We're pretty certain now that the rats I saw in Lockhart's office were Harry's Transfigured Aunt and Uncle, right? And whoever it was that Imperiused Lockhart — knew the office would be searched, and knew that Transfigured humans would be discovered, so they ordered Lockhart to get a couple of normal rats to replace them!"

"Yeah?" Neville nodded. Like Harry, he'd had no problem accepting this theory as plausible when she'd first told him.

"But those rats were grey, and the replacement rats were white. Pretty big difference. The only reason nobody noticed was nobody except me had seen the original rats, and I didn't get to see the replacements. When I found out, I thought it was just one of Lockhart's normal muck-ups, but what if it wasn't? What if it was Lockhart managing to fight the Imperius just enough that he managed to leave us a clue that something was off?"

"Of course!" Neville exclaimed, and then looked a little more thoughtful. "Er — is it possible to do that? Fight against the Imperius in that way?"

Ronnie felt herself turn pink again, as the uncomfortable memories of being under the Imperius forced themselves into her head. But this time she didn't try to repress the memories; it seemed like allowing herself to think about the Imperius did help her, at least when it came to figuring things out.

The Imperius was so… overwhelming. So… well, so nice. Could you really fight against that overpowering feeling of bliss?

"Dunno," she finally admitted. "I know I couldn't have done it. If Lockhart managed, I might have to start respecting him… just a little."

"We should tell Dumbledore about this," said Neville. "If he hasn't figured it out already, he needs to know."

"Yeah." She nodded. "Who d'you think Imperiused Lockhart? Wormtail? Or, hell, maybe Wormtail's gonna turn out to have been Imperiused all along too."

"Maybe Harry has some ideas," said Neville. "We can ask him — here we are."

They'd reached the heavy door that separated the hospital wing from the rest of the castle, and Neville reached out and opened the door to let Ronnie through.

"Maybe Crookshanks should stay out here," he began. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't like pets in the hospital wing, you — hey!"

The surprised exclamation was to Crookshanks, who had quite ignored what Neville had to say about Madam Pomfrey's opinion of pets in the hospital wing, and darted inside, vanishing into the infirmary.

"Crooksh — Oh, Merlin's pants!" said Ronnie. Any moment now, Madam Pomfrey would appear in the doorway and tell them off for letting a cat into the infirmary…

But nothing happened. The matron was nowhere to be seen — which was odd. Usually she had an uncanny way of knowing when someone set foot in the hospital wing and would be there in moments to hear what they wanted and make sure they didn't disturb any patients. And the presence of a cat should have summoned her in seconds.

Ronnie met Neville's eyes, and knew he was thinking the same as her.

"Maybe she's busy measuring out potions or something?" he said, though not very hopefully.

And then, all of a sudden, a loud meow from inside.

"Crookshanks!" Without waiting for Neville, without even thinking, Ronnie stormed through the door to see what her cat was meowing about.

Moments after she's entered the infirmary, she stopped dead in her tracks, for a brief moment unable to do anything but stare.

The room was almost devoid of people. The curtains around the beds were all pulled open, revealing that only three beds were in use — two of them contained the Petrified Lavender Brown and Gilderoy Lockhart, both of them lying in awkwardly stiff positions and staring blankly up at the ceiling, while on the opposite side of the room, a third bed contained a hollow-cheeked and apparently unconscious Vernon Dursley.

And on the floor, between the rows of beds, an agitated Crookshanks was pacing in front of Madam Pomfrey, who was lying still and unmoving on the floor.

And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Notes: Dramatic music! What happened to Madam Pomfrey? And where's Harry — did he just skip back to the Gryffindor common room, or has someone taken him away? Find out next chapter!

Sometimes I worry that I'm not giving Neville enough to do in the story. He's one of my favourite characters in the franchise, perhaps because he's one of the very few people in the wizarding world who is just an all-around good person, completely without guile or malice. Problem is that he's not very assertive — and when he's in a Gang with three strong-willed girls, one bundle of energy in the shape of a boy, and the Boy Who Lived, this often means Neville takes a backseat to the rest of them. So I'm grateful when I get the opportunity to give him some moments like in this chapter.

In case you haven't seen it, I recently made a few slight alterations to the previous chapters of story. Nothing big, just a few word swaps to better and more clearly set up certain developments in this chapter. The most noticeable change is that there's an extra scene in chapter seven, with a dialogue between Ronnie and Hermione that touches upon the Imperius.

I've always known exactly why Ronnie didn't want to talk, or think, about the Imperius, and I also knew that Hermione would eventually confront her about it. However, the story as it was written didn't quite seem to gel, and I began worrying that I hadn't set up Hermione's concern clearly enough from the start. That is the problem with publishing a story chapter-by-chapter as you write it; sometimes clarity and story flow suffers a little.

With the extra scene, it should be clearer that Hermione knew all along that Ronnie was avoiding talking about the Imperius, even if she wasn't grasping the full story. (Plus the extra scene also gave me an opportunity to touch a little more on the issue of Hermione's parents.)

Oh, and just for fun: I took the Pottermore Sorting quiz in-character as Ronnie, and she became a Gryffindor. I knew it.