The pieces are moving into place, and Ronnie's "inner Shirley Holes" is about to get a bit of a workout. In this chapter, quite a few mysteries will be answered. Some of them you probably already guessed, some of them anyone who's read the canon books will know. Some of them will be answered by those in the know, and some of them Ronnie's going to have to work out for herself.

But will she be able to work out the correct solutions, or will she jump to the wrong conclusions again?

Let's find out.

WEASLEY GIRL: SECRETS OF THE PAST

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
What Are You Meowing About Now?

"Madam Pomfrey!" Neville had entered the room just moments after Ronnie, wand drawn, and now he was staring at the scene.

"Harry!" Ronnie called, brandishing her wand, hoping against hope that he'd hear her and answer. "Harry?!"

Silence. Harry really wasn't there.

There was, of course, always the chance that he'd simply gone back to Gryffindor Tower before Madam Pomfrey got Petrified — but Ronnie didn't believe that for a second. She knew in her soul that Harry was gone. Harry was in trouble.

From his bed, Vernon Dursley suddenly jerked and opened his eyes. He heaved for his breath and looked like he was trying to sit up, but seemed to be stuck to the bed. (A Sticking Charm, maybe? Sometimes Madam Pomfrey used them to stop spasming patients from hurting themselves.)

"You!" he managed to say, his voice hoarse and croaked.

"Mr. Dursley!" Ronnie was over by him in a flash. "What happened? Did you see anything?"

He stared at her with a wild expression on his face. Once more, he looked like he was trying to sit up. "The man," he wheezed. "That bastard of a rat! Came out of the wall… The boy! Petunia… PETUNIA!"

"The rat that came out of the —?" Ronnie blinked.

"YOU TOOK MY WIFE, YOU MONSTERS!" Vernon suddenly bellowed, causing Ronnie to step back in alarm. He began thrashing around, trying to tear himself loose from the bed, but to no avail. (Definitely a Sticking Charm.) "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL THE LOT OF YOU!"

Ronnie caught her breath again, looking at the man as his roars of anger dissolved into pitiful sobs. She felt a stab of sympathy, mixed with frustration. This poor bloke wasn't going to be any help at all; he was too far gone for her to reach him.

"Petunia!" Vernon sobbed. "Don't hurt my Petunia!"

"Ronnie!" Neville called out from behind her. He was kneeling down by the still form of Madam Pomfrey, along with a still-pacing Crookshanks. "It's Madam Pomfrey — she's not Petrified! She's asleep!"

"What?" Ronnie forced herself away from the crying Vernon. "Why'd she be taking a nap right — wait. Wait a minute."

Suddenly, it all slid into place in her head, just like it no doubt did in Shirley Holes's head whenever she deduced something.

"The Hogwarts Express," she said, looking at Neville.

"What?" He blinked in confusion. "What about it?"

"Why'd Madam Pomfrey decide to take a nap right now? Same reason we slept through the entire train ride back in September! Bet you anything it's the same spell! Neville, it's so bloody obvious! I know who took Harry — it was the same person who took the diary from me back on the train! It was Wormtail!"

"Er —"

"Think about it! Wormtail's an Animagus, right? How easy would it have been for him to sneak aboard the train in animal form? You know what it's like on Platform Nine-and-three-quarters on September the First! It's full of pets, and they're not all in carriers either! Even Trevor went wandering on the train, remember? Who'd notice an extra pet?"

Now it seemed to dawn on Neville as well. "So what you're saying is that Wormtail hid on the train in animal form, and waited until nobody saw, then he turned human again —"

"Right! And then he put us to sleep, all so he could get his hands on the diary! That book's full of Dark Magic, it could have taught him how to Petrify people, and how to put Lockhart under the Imperius — it probably even told him how to kidnap Harry's Aunt and Uncle! Since those protections on Privet Drive were gone, it wouldn't even have been all that hard for him to get to them! It all fits, Neville!"

"But why?" said Neville. "Why's he doing all this? And if he stole the diary from you, how did he know you had it in the first place? And, most importantly — where has he taken Harry?!"

"The Chamber!" Vernon suddenly croaked from his bed. When Ronnie and Neville turned to look at him, he met their eyes — clearly straining to focus, but more lucid than he'd been before. "It's the Chamber… Chamber of Secrets!" he hissed.

"Chamber of Secrets!" Ronnie exclaimed. "There it is again! It that where Harry is?"

Vernon breathed heavily. "You have to — get to the Chamber of Secrets," he managed to say. "Petunia… the boy…. ugh." With that, he collapsed back down, his eyes closing.

"Mr. Dursley!" Ronnie was over by him in a heartbeat. "Mr. Dursley, where is the Chamber of Secrets?! How do we get there?"

But Vernon didn't answer; he was lying still, breathing shallowly. Clearly that attempt at focusing had used up the last bit of his strength.

Ronnie had to stop herself from crying out in frustration. Instead, she turned around to look at Crookshanks, who was still by the sleeping form of Madam Pomfrey. He had stopped pacing, but was staring intensely at her, tail flicking.

"Crookshanks," she said. "You know where the Chamber of Secrets is, don't you? Can you take us there?"

He cocked his head and then sat down on his haunches, his large ears twitching slightly. He didn't seem annoyed, just reluctant.

"We can't do this alone," said Neville. "We should go get help! Dumbledore — McGonagall, Flamel, Hagrid! Hermione, Ginny and Colin!"

"We don't have time to run around and find them all," said Ronnie. "It'll take too long…" and then, quite without any sort of warning, the idea was there in her head. She straightened herself and called, as loud as she could: "Fawkes! FAWKES!"

The words had barely escaped her lips before the brilliant firebird appeared in a puff of flames right over them, flapped his wings, and, like it was nothing, settled down to perch on her shoulder.

"Fawkes," she said in relief, quickly stroking his head with a gentle finger, once again feeling the familiar surge of warmth and confidence that always came in the phoenix's presence. She could do this; she knew she could do this. "Dumbledore said you would keep an eye on us, so I hoped you'd hear me call. You'll help us, right?"

He answered with one of his musical trills.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said hurriedly. "Listen. I need you to take Neville up to the Gryffindor common room to check if Harry's there. If he isn't, then take him to Dumbledore's office. Get Dumbledore."

"Why me?" said Neville, clearly not looking forward to another fiery Apparition, even as Fawkes took off from Ronnie's shoulder and landed on his head.

"Because Fawkes can't talk, and we don't have the time to write notes or play guessing games." Ronnie looked at Crookshanks. "Besides, while you're doing that, I have a cat to talk to."

Neville looked like he was about to argue, but then apparently thought better of it. He nodded (carefully so as not to upset the phoenix on his head). "Right. We'll be back with help right away."

And then, without further ado, boy and bird alike vanished in a puff of flames. Leaving girl and cat alone in the infirmary, amidst the unconscious, sleeping or Petrified people.

Ronnie looked about. The infirmary seemed even darker and colder without Neville and Fawkes. The still forms of Lavender, Lockhart, Madam Pomfrey and Vernon Dursley just made the eerie feeling that much stronger; for a moment Ronnie felt like she was the only human awake in a world of still, unmoving people...

She shook her head, repressing the feeling. No time to start getting the chills.

Instead, she looked down at Crookshanks. She was more certain than ever that he knew more about all this than anyone; especially about this Chamber of Secrets. If she could talk to him — talk properly — she could probably convince him to take her there. To take them all there, she corrected herself, when Neville and Fawkes returned with backup. She had almost managed the Animal Talk charm earlier the same day. Now, that she needed it more than ever…!

She took a deep breath. "Okay, then," she said, careful to keep her voice calm and steady as she raised her wand. "Ready, Crookshanks? Wand ready. Eye contact. Swipe and point. Animaloqui!"

Nothing happened. Not even the flash of purple light from earlier that day. Crookshanks looked up at her with a clear expression of bemusement.

Ronnie lifted her wand to her face. "Listen, you piece of garbage," she hissed. "We don't have time for this! I don't care that you're a triple hand-me-down. I don't care that you're old and worn and that your unicorn hair core is showing. You're the only wand I've got, and if you don't perform this spell right now, I'm going to break you in two and set fire to the pieces! "

The wand, of course, didn't react, but the threat made her feel a little better. She grasped it again and pointed it at Crookshanks — who, she was certain, would have been rolling his eyes right now if he could.

"Now —swipe and point — Animaloqui!"

Whether it was her threat or not was hard to say, but this time the wand lit up with brilliant purple light. She felt a slight tingle in her throat and in her ears, and then the light faded, leaving everything looking normal again.

Something had happened, that was clear. But what? Carefully lowering her wand (and making a mental threat to it that it wasn't too late to break it in two), she drew a breath. "Did it work?"

"Dunno, Princess," said Crookshanks. "You tell me. Way fings are going, probably not."

Ronnie stared at him. "I... Did you just say that?"

Crookshanks's left ear twitched, and there was a hopeful look on his permanently-grumpy face. "I did! Did you just hear that?"

"I did! And did you just say that?"

"That was me!"

"All right," said Ronnie calmly. And then she let out a huge cry of triumph and punched the air. "Yes! Yes! Oh, you brilliant triple hand-me-down!" she said to her wand, placing it to her lips and kissing it before looking down at her cat. "Crookshanks, it worked! I can understand you! Say something more!"

The cat cocked his head, giving her an odd look. "Wotcha fink I am, Princess, a parrot?" he said, back to a more flippant tone.

"No but —" Ronnie paused, realising that she hadn't said any of this with her voice.

Talking in cat language wasn't quite like talking in any human language. She had already known that cats didn't communicate verbally all that much; meows, chirps, hisses and purrs were just a tiny part of their language, and a lot more was said through body language and movement — but she hadn't quite been prepared for just how much that was said without uttering a single sound. Crookshanks, she now understood, could speak volumes with a single flick of his bottle-brush tail, or by moving a paw in a certain way — even though she had thought she'd started to pick up a lot of what he was trying to say over the months, now that she was under the Animal Talk charm it was incredible just how much that had passed her by.

For example, she'd never quite realised just what a marked London accent — or the feline equivalent of an accent — that her cat had.

"Bloody hell," she said, slightly relieved that she could still swear even if she was speaking cat language. "This is a weird way of talking."

"Nah, it ain't, Princess," said Crookshanks cheerily. "Your normal way of talking, now that's weird."

She looked at him. So many things she'd wanted to say to him, to ask about. And yet, now that she could, the first thing that came to mind was "…why do you keep calling me 'Princess'?"

"Why not?" Crookshanks cocked his head. "You keep calling me 'Crookshanks,' don'tcha?"

Ronnie blinked. "Yeah, because that's your name."

"Nah, that was just what 'at witch back in the pet shop called me." Crookshanks leapt elegantly up onto one of the empty beds and sat down on his haunches. "By the by, never formerly thanked you for getting me out of that place, did I?"

"Er — you sort of implied it, I think," said Ronnie.

"Certainly meant to," said Crookshanks. "Boringest place I ever set paw in. Only 'alf-decent bit of conversation I ever 'ad in that place was with 'at bloody Jarvey. So I reckon you can call me whatever you like. If you like 'Crookshanks,' well. 'at's fine by me. But it wasn't the name me mother gave me."

"Oh, sorry." Ronnie had to admit, when it came to naming conventions of cats she knew nothing. "What did your mother call you?"

"She called me 'Meow,' of course," said Crookshanks. "Bit of a traditionalist, me mother. She named all 'er kittens 'Meow.' Made it easier for 'er to call for us."

"…didn't it get awfully confusing if everyone had the same name?" was all Ronnie could think to say.

"Why should it? I knew who I was. Siblings knew who they was. Cats don't need need separate names to remind us who we are, it's only you people what's never sure," said the-Meow-Also-Known-As-Crookshanks. "Anyway, just to make it easier on you, keep calling me 'Crookshanks,' and I'll keep calling you 'Princess.' Deal?"

"All right, deal." For a moment, Ronnie considered holding her hand out so they could shake on it, but she dismissed the idea as too ludicrous. Besides… as the initial overwhelming feeling of actually being able to talk to her cat was fading, the reason for why she had cast the spell to begin with once more presented itself in her mind. She had some serious questions to ask. "So, Crookshanks, I wanted to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yeah," Crookshanks didn't seem too enthusiastic. "Thought we'd get to that."

"I'm almost certain that's where Harry's been taken — and I'm almost certain you know where to find it!"

"Oh, I know it, don't I just," said Crookshanks. "But this ain't like back in London, Princess. Just 'cos I know where it is, it don't mean I know 'ow to get to it."

"What d'you mean?"

"Just that to find the Chamber of Secrets, you need that stinking book. Won't be able to get in without it."

"Book?" said Ronnie, blinking. "The diary?"

"Got it in one, Princess!"

Ronnie frowned lightly. "How come? Does it have a password or a key or a charm or something?"

"Or somefink," Crookshanks agreed. "The book is the key. If I'd known 'ow much it woulda matterered, I woulda put up a bigger fight back on the train, 'y'know, when you lot was off in dreamland and the rat came to steal it."

"Rat?" Ronnie repeated. Vernon had also mentioned a rat. Which would mean... Of course, it made sense. Wormtail. Either he'd been a rat Animagus already at Hogwarts, or the Marauders had been really lucky when picking a nickname for him. "So that's Wormtail's Animagus form? A rat?"

Crookshanks looked at her. "Yeah, about that," he said. "You're right that 'e was the one what stole the book but... I got a bit of a story to tell you, Princess."

"I would have loved to listen to your stories all night long," Ronnie sighed, "but we don't have time! Harry's gone, and Neville's fetching Dumbledore — oh, fuck!" she suddenly snapped, her swearing coming out as a hiss. "Dumbledore's not gonna be in his office! He'll have gone off to show my stupid memory to Mr. Lupin, won't he?"

Her mind raced. What would Neville do when Dumbledore wasn't in his office? He did have Fawkes, and Fawkes could take him anywhere — Phoenixes could Apparate over pretty long distances, but Ronnie wasn't sure if they could take passengers over long distances too. Yes, they probably could. But would Neville think to use Fawkes to Apparate to Dumbledore, or would he instead go fetch someone else? The Gang, Flamel, McGonagall…. Either way, it would take longer for him to get back with the help than Ronnie had anticipated.

She sighed and as down on the bed next to her cat. "Might as well tell me the story then," she said. "Doesn't look like we're going anywhere for the moment."

Crookshanks placed a paw on her knee. "I'll make it brief," he promised. "Such a lotta things I've wanted to say to you, for a long time. Apart from, y'know, thanks for getting me out of that pet shop."

She couldn't help but smile at that, scratching his ears gently. "You're welcome. Go on, then."

He purred briefly before growing serious. "All right, let's start with the book. When I saw you wiv it, I knew straight away it was bad news. It smelled rotten. Didn't know just 'ow bad it was until the elf told me about it, mind."

"That'd be Dobby," said Ronnie, allowing herself a moment of pride for her idea to let Dobby talk to Crookshanks.

"Right you are! Ain't as stupid as 'e looks, that elf, he knew a lot about what's been going on, and about the book. Said if you carry it around long enough, and write in it, it can make you do things, and you don't even know you're doing 'em."

Ronnie felt a small chill. The diary had seemed so innocent when she found it. Even after they'd found out that it could think for itself, despite Dad' warnings about such objects, both she and Ginny had decided to keep it a secret. Of course, the plan had been to take it to Dumbledore, but… why hadn't they wanted to tell anyone else about it?

"Did —" She had to ask. "Did the book ever make me do anything? Or Ginny?"

"Nah, don't fret none, Princess. The book needs a bit of time to work, and the rat scattered wif it before it could do anyfink to either of you. Besides, I stopped you from writing in it when I could, didn't I?" Crookshanks nonchalantly licked a paw.

Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. "You're a treasure, you know that?" She gave him a cat-smile. "Thanks for trying to look out for us."

"Course I did," said Crookshanks, as if this was obvious. "You and your sister are a couple of silly girls, but you're my silly girls now. Any book wants to cause you any 'arm, I'll tear its pages out."

Ronnie had never in her life wanted more to scoop someone up in her arms and hug them tightly — but she stopped herself. Later, she told herself. When we've got Harry and everything is safe, I'm going to hug Crookshanks for an hour. And then get him the biggest salmon I can find.

"But what's the link between the diary and the Chamber of Secrets?" she said.

"Ah, getting to that, 'cos that's where it gets inneresting!" Crookshanks flicked his tail nonchalantly. "From what the elf told me, the Chamber was created long ago by one of them four Founders. I forget 'is name, you know, the snake-talker."

"Er… Slytherin?"

"That's the bugger! 'E made the Chamber in secret and then 'e made it so that only other snake-talkers could find it. And when 'e left the school later on, 'e 'id a monster in 'at Chamber, one that'd sleep until it was woken up by 'is true heir. Cause only that true heir could control the monster, or some rot like that. And then it'd purge the school of all the people 'e didn't like."

The Heir of Slytherin, Ronnie realised.

Of course, everybody knew that all four Founders had plenty of descendants and that there were old Pureblood families who could (or at least said they could) trace their ancestry back to one of the four. But the Heir of Slytherin was special.

It was a title nobody really wanted because old Salazar had been a twisted old loony, but nevertheless — for as long as Ronnie could remember, there had been the occasional whisper, joking or not, that there still were those wizards and witches around who were Salazar's direct-line descendants, and who still knew all sorts of terrible Dark magic and terrible secrets that everyone else had forgotten.

Ronnie's family had never taken that seriously; certainly Mum would always dismiss the idea whenever it came up. But what if it was true? What if Wormtail —

Ronnie shook her head. No. Of course. Wormtail wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. But he did have a book that had been written by, and contained the thoughts and memories of…

"Bloody hell," she repeated, feeling stupid. "You-Know-Who's the Heir of Slytherin. And that's why the diary can be the key to the Chamber of Secrets, it can probably make you talk in Parseltongue! It's so bloody obvious that it took me eleven years to figure it out. That entire Parseltongue thing's a dead giveaway. Pokesby said it ran in the family…" All of a sudden, the thought was interrupted as an icy hand clenched her heart. "Crookshanks!" she gasped. "D'you know what this means? Harry's locked in a Chamber with a monster that only You-Know-Who can control!"

"Worse 'n that, Princess," said Crookshanks grimly. "'E's locked in a Chamber with a monster and a rat."

Ronnie shook her head. "Yeah, well, forgive me if the rat isn't my biggest concern right —"

"A rat that used to live in your 'ouse."

"What?"

"I was trying to ease you into this, but, well, why'd you fink I started chasing that rat the moment I smelled 'im? Any cat worth 'is dinner could tell from one whiff that wasn't no real rat! Reckon 'e saw that 'orrid man slip you the book back in 'at book shop. Rats got sharp noses, so 'e musta been able to smell the rottenness of it all already then. That's why 'e panicked and ran for it. Dunno why he changed 'is mind afterwards, but apparently 'e did, since 'e came on the train to steal the book —"

"Wait, what?" Ronnie interrupted him, trying to make sense of this. "What are you talking about?"

Crookshanks flicked his tail. "Oh, come now, Princess! You're smarter than this! Back at the book shop! You saw the rat make a run for it, caused a great ruckus wiv all the people there! I woulda caught 'im, too, but that giant bloke got to me first, and so the rat gave me the slip —"

"Scabbers?!"

"Oh yeah, that's what you called 'im. I forgot. Bet that wasn't 'is real name either, mind."

"Scabbers is Wormail? Ginny's pet rat Scabbers?! That Scabbers?!"

"That's the bugger."

Ronnie shook her head. "Come on, get off it, Crookshanks, that's stupid! Scabbers is gone, probably long dead! And he wasn't an Animagus, he was just Ginny's old, lazy pet rat! He was in the family for eleven years, he's as old as Ginny, and he never —"

"Never been no real rat," said Crookshanks firmly. "He smelled almost as rotten as that book!"

"But…" She forced herself to think a little more closely about it. Scabbers had been in the family for eleven years. In fact, hadn't Percy found him just shortly after the war had ended? How many normal rats lived for that long? If Wormtail faked his death eleven years ago, and he'd been living as a rat ever since… wouldn't it make sense that he'd get himself adopted by a wizard family? If he was on the run from Sirius Black, and Black ever escaped from Azkaban, the wizard family would get the news, and Wormtail would be prepared…

"No! That's stupid!" she said again. "Scabbers can't have been a human all along. Someone would have noticed! I would have noticed! Animals is my thing; I would have noticed!"

"Little strange that you didn't, I thought," Crookshanks agreed.

"Yeah, so you see how it's stupid…" Ronnie paused. Hadn't she noticed? She had never quite liked Scabbers, had she? She'd felt bad about not liking him, but she'd pretty much just thought that she never took to the rat because he was one of few animals she knew that didn't adore her. But what if she'd subconsciously just sensed that something was off about him?

Come to think of it, Charlie had never taken to Scabbers either. That was why Percy had adopted and kept the rat, even if all the other animals in or near the Burrow took to Ronnie and Charlie…

Hah! It made sense! If Scabbers wasn't a real animal, of course he wouldn't bond with Ronnie! There wasn't anything wrong with her after all; it was just an Animagus who hadn't known, and probably not even been interested in, the fact that he was supposed to love her the way all animals did!

The brief surge of vindication Ronnie felt at this suddenly gave way to a sense of squeamishness.

Eleven years. Eleven years an Animagus — an adult human man — had lived with them without any of them ever knowing. Even worse, for the last two years he'd lived in Ronnie's and Ginny's room. Sometimes Ginny had even let him sleep in her bed.

Bed. Oh, God, he'd been right there when they'd undressed for bed. He'd seen them naked. He'd been there to watch them sleep. Ronnie had never been so grateful that rats had such poor eyesight — hang on, did rat Animagi have as poor eyesight as normal rats?! And… he'd been in his cage for most of the time, but a rat with a human intelligence could probably exit a simple rat cage without much trouble if he wanted to… and he was adept at sleep spells too… he could have taken on human form while they slept, and… her skin crawled.

"You all right there, Princess?" said Crookshanks, sounding concerned.

Ronnie swallowed heavily. Then, squeamishness gave way to anger. "If what you're saying is true," she growled, "then I'm gonna kill that rat!"

"Sounds good to me," said Crookshanks. "Love to get me paws on 'im myself."

"Right!" Ronnie clutched her wand. "We're done waiting! You said you know where the Chamber is, so take me there!"

"Told you, I know where it is, but we can't get to it without the book," said Crookshanks. "Leastways, I don't reckon we can."

"What d'you mean?!"

"Well, I knew the rat's been 'iding out in this castle for months. Sniffed out 'is 'ideout, but I couldn't get in. Couldn't even find a door. You remember, it was back when you asked me to look for that bloke." (He indicated the unconscious Vernon with a glance.)

"Oh yeah..." Ronnie remember. That time when Crookshanks had taken them all to the seventh-floor corridor, just before she'd got her Warning Fang back from Luna. "And you think that hideout might be connected to the Chamber of Secrets?" She nodded. "All right, take me there!"

"Told you, Princess, there's no door! Got a plan, 'ave you?"

"Yeah, I've got a plan! When I find the rat, I'm gonna step on him! Or if he's human at the time, I'm gonna kick him in the nads so hard he turns into a woman!"

"Yeah, great plan, Princess," said Crookshanks. (It was amazing just how sarcastic feline language could sound, even when it wasn't verbal.) "Go down in 'istory as one of 'oomanity's greatest finkers, you will."

"You don't understand! If that — that pervert has got Harry, then I'm not leaving him alone with him for a second more!" Ronnie realised that she was hissing and that she was swaying her hips back and forth as if she was angrily lashing with a tail she didn't have. She forced herself to calm down. "Please, Crookshanks! Harry... he was the one who gave me the money to get you from the Magical Menagerie! You wouldn't even have been here if it wasn't for him!"

Crookshanks sighed, in a very human-like way. "All right, all right, I never said I wouldn't 'elp. Just not sure 'ow much good it'll do. Dunno about you, Princess, but walking through walls ain't one of my particular talents."

"But if we can just find the place... if there's even a slight chance that we can get to Harry... wait!" Ronnie suddenly interrupted herself. "Of course! Walking through walls? I know who can do that!"

Crookshanks flicked a vaguely annoyed ear. "You don't mean…"

"Think about it! Why were the ghosts all Petrified? Because they can walk through walls! They would have found Wormtail's hideout sooner or later! But there's one ghost left!"

"What do you want?" said Moaning Myrtle. She was floating in mid-air over one of the sinks, with her arms crossed and a sour expression on her bespectacled face. "I thought I told you to stay out of my bathroom!"

The run over to the out-of-order bathroom had only taken a couple of minutes, and Ronnie had to catch her breath before she could answer the ghost.

"Myrtle," she panted, ready to swallow her pride and grovel if necessary. "I'm sorry, okay? Sorry for everything! But I need your help!"

Myrtle blinked, a look of surprise on her face. Then, to Ronnie's complete astonishment, she started giggling.

It was the first time Ronnie had ever heard her laugh, and she wasn't certain it was a pleasant experience; Myrtle had a high-pitched, oddly hollow and eerie-sounding giggle that was much more unnerving than her usual wails and sobs.

"What d'you mean, 'meow, meow'?" the ghost managed to say between her giggles. "Do you think that if you act like a cat I'll forgive you for being mean to me?"

"I'm not —" Ronnie began.

"Still talking cat language, Princess," said Crookshanks from the floor next to her. He'd kept up with her easily on the swift run to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and now he was peering up at the ghost with a decidedly unimpressed look.

Ronnie's heart sank. Of course, she was still under the Animaloqui. Which meant that for the moment, she couldn't speak any language apart from the feline one — she was stuck meowing and using feline body language until the Charm was broken, and there was nobody here with a wand who could provide that particular service for her.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you," she said to the giggling Myrtle.

"Some of the ghosts 'ere can talk to us cats," Crookshanks offered, "but I don't fink she's got enough brains in 'er 'ead for that."

"Are you talking to your kitty?" Myrtle giggled. "That's just adorable!"

Ronnie stifled a very feline hiss of frustration, and instead looked around the discarded bathroom. As she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, an idea fell into her head. Hoping that the Animaloqui only kept her from verbally communicating in human language, she scooted over to the mirror and breathed on it to make it fog up.

Then, she extended one finger to write in the fog: I'm under a charm and can't talk.

This turned Myrtle's giggle into a hearty guffaw. "Oh, poor you!" she cheered without the slightest bit of sympathy in her voice. "You'll be teased something awful when you return to your common room!"

Ignoring the impulse to throw something at Myrtle, Ronnie breathed on the mirror again and wrote: I need your help.

Myrtle snorted, but the prospect of Ronnie being teased seemed to have put her in such a good mood that she didn't start wailing about how mean everyone was. "I can't break that charm!" she said. "And even if I could, I wouldn't! You can go around meowing for a bit, and it serves you right!"

Ronnie shook her head, breathed and wrote: Help to find the Chamber of Secrets!

"Chamber of — oh, that old thing again?" Myrtle scoffed, her smile instantly vanishing. "That was all anyone wanted to talk to me about when I died too. Nobody cared that I'd been bullied by Olive Hornby and that I wouldn't even have been in this bathroom if she hadn't laughed at my glasses. No, it was 'Chamber of Secrets' this, and 'Chamber of Secrets' that. I didn't see any stupid Chamber of Secrets, I just sat right here in this bathroom and then I died, and it was all because of Olive Hormby!" The smile returned, but this time it was gleeful and almost malicious. "Wasn't she sorry afterwards, when I came back to haunt her!"

"Talks a lot, don't she?" Crookshanks commented. "Don't fink you'll get any 'elp from 'er, Princess."

But Ronnie barely paid attention. For the second time in less than an hour, something slid into place in her mind. Myrtle had died in this bathroom. Myrtle had earlier said that her fiftieth deathday was coming up.

"Myrtle!" she meowed. "I know who killed you!"

The ghost stopped her tirade about Olive Hornby and turned to look at her. She clearly hadn't understood what Ronnie said, but seemed at least to get that Ronnie was agitated. "What are you meowing about now?"

Trying not to let her hands shake with the excitement, Ronnie wrote on the mirror, in large letters: I KNOW WHO KILLED YOU.

Myrtle read the text twice, mouthing the words as she did so. She looked at Ronnie with somewhat more interest than before, and then pouted and crossed her arms. "You're just saying that."

Ronnie shook her head eagerly.

Myrtle frowned. "Oh yes. I get it. You're not saying it, you're writing it. Ha ha, very funny. If you're going to make fun of me like that, you can just get out!"

Ronnie slapped her palm against her forehead. She took a deep breath to calm herself, gave Myrtle what she hoped was a scathing look, and then turned to breathe on the mirror again. As calmly as she possibly could, she wrote: It's true. I know who killed you. I just figured it out.

After a slight pause, and deciding to make a gamble, she added: They're in the Chamber of Secrets right now. I'll tell you everything when I get my human voice back. If you agree to help me.

"Well, now you went ahead and made me wish you weren't under that stupid charm," Myrtle complained. She sniffed and then shook her head. "No, you're just like the rest. You only want to help me when there's something in it for you. If you had any decency at all, you'd tell me who my murderer was right away without asking anything in return. I don't think I feel like helping mean girls today!"

Ronnie could have strangled her, if the ghost had had a physical neck to strangle. Here Harry was in trouble, possibly it was already too late, and Moaning Myrtle was making everything more difficult. But without being able to actually talk, Ronnie had no chance of actually convincing her, or appeal to her better nature (if Myrtle even had a better nature to appeal to), or anything at all…

Unless. The idea just came to her.

Slowly and elaborately, making certain that the ghost was watching, she breathed on the mirror again, and wrote, in even larger letters than before. I'LL THROW YOU A PARTY.

That got a reaction. Myrtle blinked and stared at the mirror, then at Ronnie. "You'll what?"

Your fiftieth deathday, Ronnie wrote. Her finger was starting to ache a little, not being used to this kind of writing, but she kept up. You wanted a party. I'll throw you one.

For about five seconds, Myrtle just stared at her with an open-mouthed expression of utter astonishment. "No-one's ever thrown me a party before…" she said in a hushed tone. After a few more seconds of silence, she added: "A big party? With loads of guests, and music, and a tombstone-shaped cake like the one Nick had?"

Ronnie nodded desperately. She had no idea how to manage any of that, but for the moment it was more important to get to Harry.

"Well…" Myrtle seemed determined to make a big show out of hesitating, but the thought of a party just for her became too tempting. "All right. What do I have to do?"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Author's Notes: I'm not 100% sure, but I think this is the shortest chapter of the story yet. Again, most of it was set-up and exposition, but at least a few mysteries found their answer. Next chapter… well, there's still a monster and a rat to deal with.

But more importantly: The Animal Talk Charm finally worked!

I will admit, I was a little uncertain on whether giving Crookshanks an actual voice would actually work for the story or not. After all, there's been Harry Potter fanfics with talking pets before — usually some snake that Harry adopts because he can talk to it — but honestly, I never found any of them very interesting to read about. Particularly the snakes never seem to have much in the way of personality, or much of a function in the story beyond showcasing Harry's Parseltongue.

Crookshanks, however, has a personality. In fact, of all the animals that show up in the books, Crookshanks is the most strongly-characterized one, and that's without a single spoken line. So when the time came to have him actually talk, I knew he needed a distinct way of talking; an accent or speech pattern that had as much personality as he did.

In the end, I modelled him on the Artful Dodger from Oliver Twist, especially the interpretation of the character from the 2001 TV series Escape of the Artful Dodger. Imagining Crookshanks with Luke O'Loughlin's voice and faux-Cockney accent seemed to add something to him; not only did it encompass the aloofness, the stubborn independence, and the almost reluctant warmth and loyalty, but it also added a certain devil-may-care cheekiness that really made his dialogue fun to write. (And yes, Crookshanks calling Ronnie "Princess" is a direct reference to that series.)