Chapter 16: Kidnapped

As it turned out, Ron's prediction was a little on the pessimistic side. There were in fact no more attacks during the next fortnight. This was held up as a major success by Umbridge and the Aurors; Harry felt it more likely that the Heir of Slytherin was simply building up to something truly special. Of course, there was another theory. It had been introduced in Defence Against the Dark Arts, three days after Hermione and Neville had been attacked, after Hagrid had been arrested. Lockhart had bounded into the classroom, a delighted grin on his face. He had poured scorn on their suggestion that something was going to happen soon, claiming that in reality, Hagrid must have been behind everything. According to Lockhart, Hagrid must have given the diary to Ginny, then reclaimed it after her possession had been discovered. Now that he had been arrested, all that remained to be revealed was how he had enchanted the diary and where the Chamber was.

When he finished speaking, he had been forced to cancel the class; Harry's magic exploded once more, and the portraits around the room had caught fire.

Hogwarts had never seemed so awful to any of them. When the students weren't in lessons, they were restricted to their common rooms. Percy Weasley had tried to get them to look on the bright side by pointing out the amount of extra time they had to revise now, but that hadn't gone down well. Harry and Ron found it difficult enough to force themselves to revise anyway without Hermione's help; when two of their friends were lying in the Hospital Wing it was even further down their list of priorities.

There was one bright spot on the horizon. The Mandrake roots, which would be required to heal the students who had been Petrified, were nearly at full maturity; within a month the victims would be up and about once more. Harry had spent quite some time drawing up a list of questions for Hermione and Neville once they had been revived. Neither he nor Ron had quite convinced themselves that it really was a basilisk roaming the school, given the disparity between the facts and what had actually happened. But neither had they come up with any alternate theories. They weren't too dispirited by this; it was obvious that Umbridge and her Aurors didn't have a clue what they were searching for either, so two second years could hardly expect to solve the mystery. Harry had considered telling them about the voice, in case that would be of use, but given Umbridge's fanaticism she would probably have shut him up in Azkaban if she found out he was a Parselmouth.

It didn't really seem to have sunk in for the majority of students that Dumbledore had been suspended. Most of the time he was only seen at meals, and since they weren't eating in the Great Hall for the present it was hard to say that he was actually missed, by the student body at least. The teachers were another matter. Lockhart was the only one who had been seen with a smile on his face in the last fortnight, and even those staff members who weren't expected to be cheerful, such as Snape, seemed in even worse moods. Snape had in fact taken to largely ignoring his classes; he would sit at the front of the classroom, twirling his wand in what seemed to be a nervous twitch. Harry couldn't blame him. The Potions Master would not be a good person to be around if Dumbledore was permanently removed from his post and Voldemort was on the rise once more. Harry was surprised that Snape had stuck around this long; if he had been in Snape's position, he would have run the moment Dumbledore had gone. Harry supposed that Snape was trying to convince himself that Voldemort had nothing to do with it, that it was just a malicious joke. That was indeed the popular theory; that a Death Eater – or child of a Death Eater – was behind it. Ron was amongst these people, and had suggested Theodore Nott as a likely candidate. Draco had dismissed this the minute Ron had shared his theory; Nott was apparently fairly liberal as Purebloods went, with no particular feelings regarding Muggleborns either way.

While Ron had found this rather bizarre, it actually worried Harry. If Nott wasn't a stereotypical Pureblood, looking down on anyone outside their particular group, then why did he have such a problem with Harry? He could at least understand it in the case of someone like Julius Mulciber, a seventh year Slytherin. His father had ended up in Azkaban after the war, so his family was not exactly on Harry's Christmas card list. So what was Nott's problem?

Another week passed without incident. Harry and Ron were in the Hospital Wing, part of a group of students being escorted to visit their sick friends, whether Petrified or otherwise. They went everyday to sit with Hermione and Neville for an hour or so, taking work sometimes, other times just sitting there, talking quietly. Harry had on a couple of these visits tried to get the rest of the sheet of paper out of Hermione's fist, but without success.

That particular evening, they were sitting there with some Potions reading, hoping to perhaps absorb the knowledge from Hermione via osmosis, when Harry had the curious sensation of being watched. Given that he was in a room of living statues, it was a little disconcerting, not least because of the way he instantly recognised the feeling. Did people really spy on him so much that he could instantly recognise the feeling at only twelve years of age? He put his book down, looking around him. His lip curled in distaste. Ernie Macmillan was standing in the doorway to the private room for the Petrified, a flustered look on his face. The annoying Hufflepuff had said nothing to him since the holidays, apparently too scared to meet his eye. Harry wondered dispassionately if Pechorin and Carter had told the rest of their house what had happened to them, and at whose hands. Judging by his classmate's tense posture, they had shouted it from the rooftops.

Harry looked at him, trying to look aloof yet receptive. Behind him, he heard Ron put his own book down, and he knew that his friend was likely getting ready to grab his wand if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. If Ron was forced to duel over the Petrified bodies of their friends then Macmillan's injuries would be serious. Macmillan seemed to realise this himself; he held his hands up, open-palmed in the traditional gesture of submission.

"I'm not here to fight. I… I wanted to – to apologise to you Potter."

Harry quirked an eyebrow in amusement. This would be fun.

"Oh? What for Macmillan?"

"Well… You know…"

"Do you mean the way you've been slandering me? Accusing me of bigotry, of violent tendencies, mental instability, that kind of thing?"

"Well – well yes, I suppose so."

Harry snorted in amusement.

"Well, I must say you're doing a brilliant job of getting your sentiments across sincerely Macmillan. I might almost think that you're apologising out of fear more than genuine regret."

Macmillan's face, already flushed, turned a deeper shade of red. Harry turned his head, grinning at Ron. He didn't return it. Sighing, Harry turned back to the Hufflepuff.

"So what are you scared of Macmillan? Afraid I'll hurt you if you don't say sorry?"

"We have heard what you did to Jack and Joey, Potter. Did you think we wouldn't?"

Harry smirked, in what he hoped was a smug fashion. He would need to get lessons from Draco…

"Carter and Pechorin tried to kill me Macmillan. Slightly different to spreading malicious rumours about me you know. In all honesty, I really don't give a damn if you apologise or not, I'm sure I can get through life without seeing or speaking to you ever again if that's what you really want. But if you are going to apologise, at least have the decency to do it properly, especially if you're going to do it next to my friends." Harry let a hint of real anger show, trying to show Macmillan that he was being serious.

This time, it definitely worked. Macmillan swallowed audibly, with a nervous glance at Hermione and Neville. He looked back at Harry.

"I do mean it. I jumped to conclusions, and they were wrong. Cedric told us that you came to see Zach's body; that was… that was good of you. I know he was a little weird around you, so…"

He paused, running his fingers through his hair.

"Look Potter, I'm not very good at this."

"It shows." Ron muttered softly. Harry didn't think that Macmillan heard him fortunately.

"I just want you to know that I really am sorry about everything I said. And – I hope Granger and Longbottom are ok."

Harry looked him in the eye for a long moment, before nodding.

"Thank you. And I hope Justin is as well. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

Macmillan nodded fervently.

"None of them did, it's awful what's happened. I don't suppose… that you've got any idea what is actually going on have you? I mean, one way or another you seem to know what's going on and get involved more than any other student!"

Harry smiled ruefully, the first time he could remember doing so in Macmillan's presence.

"I know Hagrid didn't have anything to do with it."

"We didn't think that he did. That Umbridge is a real idiot."

Harry and Ron both laughed, rather bitterly.

"That's more true than you know Macmillan."

Macmillan remained for a few more minutes, trying – and succeeding largely – to make himself pleasant. Harry was fine with this – he had worked off most of his frustration with his doubters with his duel – but Ron was a little less warm. Still, the Weasley temper was famous for a reason. Harry was just pleased that he wasn't being openly rude. Once Macmillan left to go and sit with Justin, Ron rounded on Harry.

"So you did duel them. How come you didn't ask for help?"

"Ron, the whole point was to show them that I wasn't afraid of them. How could I do that if you guys were helping me out? Besides, they weren't that good; you'd just have ended up watching."

"That would have been fun though" Ron commented, a slightly sour look on his face.

"Well, I'm sorry ok. Next time I decide to go and curse some older students I'll take you along. I can use you as a shield at least." Harry said with a grin.

Ron frowned at him, before throwing some screwed up paper at him with a grin.

Yet another week passed without incident. Feeling in the school was split between relief and puzzlement. With only a few weeks of the term left, it was beginning to look as if there would be no more attacks before the summer – or at least, no more fatalities. Harry was sitting by the window in the common room, looking wistfully at the Quidditch pitch. No-one was allowed to go down to them, and that day especially it was a shame. There was barely a cloud in the sky, and the sun was blazing down. It would have been great to have indulged in some flying to relieve his stress.

As he sat there, his attention caught by a pair of birds flitting in and around the castles towers, the portrait door opened, and Ginny almost staggered in, a weary expression on her face. She had been having mental healing sessions with Dumbledore before the Headmaster's suspension, in order to restore the memories that had been fractured when she had been released from her possession. During Dumbledore's absence, the sessions were being held with Professor Snape, and although she was still getting better, she was always in a bad state for about an hour afterwards. Snape was anything but gentle with her.

Harry waved his hand in greeting, and she came over, joining him on the window seat. He listened to her rant about Snape, only half paying attention, his mind still on other things, occasionally nodding in agreement. Then she said something that brought him back to reality with a jerk.

"It's weird though. I can't remember ever going into Myrtle's bathroom."

"Myrtle's bathroom? Who's that?"

"Moaning Myrtle. She's a ghost, she haunts a bathroom on the second floor. The one where… where Mrs Norris was attacked."

Ginny fell silent for a moment, and Harry squeezed her hand, attempting to comfort her. She smiled briefly.

"I suppose I must have gone in there on Halloween, when he was in control. She certainly looked scared."

She still looked miserable, so Harry attempted to inject some humour into the conversation.

"I think I've met Myrtle, at Nick's Deathday party. She was so miserable! And, it has to be said, more than a little weird. Of all the places to haunt…"

He carried on in the same vein, until Ginny began to smile once more, and join in. This occupied them for a while, leading onto other safe topics. By the time they all went to bed that evening, Harry had more or less forgotten the conversation.

The next day, disaster struck.

Harry and Ron were in the Hospital Wing again, watching Madame Pomfrey administer the preliminary dose of the Mandrake potion. It would be too dangerous to reverse the Petrification all at once, so it would be done in stages throughout the day. Friends of the Petrified students had been given permission to miss lessons if they wished, and Harry and Ron had jumped at the chance. This wasn't so much to do with a desire to see Hermione and Neville getting better, although they wanted that very much. However, they were very interested in seeing if they would be able to get the scrap of paper out of Hermione's hand to see if there was anything they had missed concerning basilisks. They had been through other books when they were able, but had discovered nothing.

They watched Madame Pomfrey tip the potion down their friend's throats with bated breath. There was little change in Neville's posture, but Hermione's arms sagged slightly as her condition abated. They were unable to suppress mutual whoops of excitement, much to the Medi-Witch's annoyance. As she went over to Justin, Harry scurried over to Hermione's side. He tried to withdraw the paper once more – and this time it slipped out with ease, her fingers having relaxed somewhat. Harry stuffed it in his pocket as the Auror who was escorting them came over, ushering them back to the common room for their lunch.

Once they were safely back, they huddled in a corner, poring over the paper in anticipation. Much of it was information that they already knew, but there were two hand-written words, in Hermione's easily recognisable handwriting: Pipes and mirror.

The two of them looked at each other in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? Harry stared at the paper, and an idea began to form in his head. He took a piece of parchment from his bag, and was just about to begin writing when Professor McGonagall's voice echoed around the room, magically amplified.

All students are to be escorted to their common rooms immediately. All teachers and Aurors to the staff-room once all students have been accounted for. Immediately please.

Harry stared at his friend in shock, an ice-cold bolt of terror shooting down his spine. Had the Heir struck again? He sat there, unable to write, silently awaiting confirmation.

It wasn't long in coming. McGonagall came into the common room, followed by Umbridge, who was looking uncharacteristically worried. The professor gathered Ron and his brothers, before leading them out of the common room. Watching them leave, Harry came to a realisation.

He hadn't seen Ginny all day.

Ron confirmed his worry when he returned. Ginny's bag had been found underneath another message: She will lie in the Chamber forever. She hadn't just been attacked. She had been kidnapped. And given that no-one knew where the Chamber was, or how to get into it, the chances of her being rescued were almost zero. At this Ron laughed bitterly. Lockhart was apparently lending his expertise to the investigation; Umbridge was quite the fan.

Shortly after, all four Weasley's were summoned to see their parents, who had just arrived. Harry sat in silence for some length of time, trying not to picture what might be happening to her. Then his idea returned. He started making a list of all the attacks. Zacharias he could discount; the Hufflepuff had fallen to his death. The slaughtered Aurors he also ignored; he didn't know enough about their injuries to be able to learn anything from them. But the others… Mrs Norris had been attacked outside that bathroom – and there had been a large pool of water. Justin had been with Nearly Headless Nick – which was a bit more uncertain. Hermione and Neville had been found with a mirror, which Hermione had apparently thought important. What if they had all seen only a reflection of the basilisk's gaze? Could it be possible that a reflection would dilute the power, resulting in the victim being Petrified as opposed to killed?

Harry stared at his list, his heart thumping. He must be right, there was no other explanation. What about the pipes though? The realisation struck him like an arrow; a snake could fit into the pipes around the castle easily, and it would explain why no-one had ever seen it.

And then the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Ginny had remembered Moaning Myrtle being scared of her – but the only time she knew of that she had been in that bathroom was at Halloween. Which was, as far as Harry knew, the only time that Myrtle had left the bathroom, to go to the Deathday party; Ginny couldn't have seen her then. It therefore followed that she must have been to the bathroom on some other occasion – and if, as she had said, Hermione had warned her away due to Myrtle's presence, then it must have been when the Heir had been in control.

Harry almost yelled in triumph when he remembered what Hagrid had said: 'a girl died, and they blamed me. Like I'd hurt anyone! And Myrtle was ok, one o' the only ones who didn' make fun of me 'cause a'me height.' It must be the same Myrtle, it had to be!

Two attacks in the same location had to be more than coincidence, surely? The probability of it, given the size of the castle, was a million to one. Harry needed to tell someone – Lockhart! He was leading the investigation now, and even if he personally was an idiot, the Aurors would surely listen to him. His exultation dimmed slightly as he realised something else; he would probably need to be there to open the Chamber – how else would you get in there if you weren't a Parselmouth?

Harry pocketed the list and, grabbing his invisibility cloak from his trunk, left the tower. The Auror guard had been withdrawn to search the castle, so his exit went un-noticed. The route to Lockhart's office on the third floor was mercifully empty. He listened as he walked up to the office door. Yes, Lockhart was definitely in there. He took his cloak off, and knocked on the door. Silence fell from the other side of the door, followed by a call of "Come in!"

Harry pushed the door open, and stopped in surprise. Far from leading a frantic investigation, Lockhart was sitting down with a glass of firewhiskey. His eyes widened in surprise at Harry's appearance, and he beckoned him in.

"And what can I do for you Mr Potter?"

How could the man be so calm? Harry pushed his dislike of the man deep down inside himself, and stepped forward.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Chamber sir. Here…"

And he gave Lockhart the list he had made, explaining his theory. Lockhart sat very still as Harry spoke, absorbing everything that was said. When Harry had finished speaking, Lockhart stood up abruptly.

"Well Harry, I must say, that sounds very likely indeed! Let's get you back, and I'll head down to this bathroom and see what's what eh?"

Harry winced. This would be the difficult bit.

"Actually sir… I think I might need to come with you. You see, I don't think you'll be able to get into the Chamber without me."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I'm a Parselmouth."

Silence fell across the office once more. Lockhart stared at Harry incredulously, and Harry waited nervously for his reaction.

"Well… Well that is extraordinary Harry! Yes, very well, I suppose you'd better come with me then."

Lockhart began to walk out of the office, when Harry called him back in confusion.

"Shouldn't we get the Aurors professor?"

"They're in different parts of the castle Harry. Let's see if your theory is right, then we'll get hold of them ok?"

Harry nodded, before joining the professor. They walked in silence down the stairs, before walking into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in some trepidation. Sure enough, she was there, hovering above the sinks. Harry called to her.

"Myrtle!"

The bespectacled ghost looked up, before floating down to him.

"What is it? You shouldn't be in here, you're a boy!"

"Yes, my name's Harry – we met at Nick's Deathday party remember?"

Myrtle frowned, then nodded.

"I wanted to ask you something; about how you died?"

Myrtle smiled brightly, much to his surprise.

"Oh, it was awful! Olive Hornby had been bullying me – she was such a foul girl – so I was in here, crying to myself, when I heard this noise. It was a man – or a boy I suppose – and he was hissing something! Well, I came out of my toilet to tell him to go away, but all I could see where these eyes – huge, golden eyes. And then, I was dead."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that! Do you think I don't remember how I died?"

"Yes, of course, sorry about that… Whereabouts was the hissing Myrtle?"

"Oh, it was somewhere over there."

And she pointed at the sinks. Harry hurried over, examining them frantically. Behind him, he heard Myrtle gasp at something. Looking up, he realised Lockhart had moved into the light. Myrtle had disappeared; it must have been a shock having two men in her bathroom. He turned back to the sinks – and cried out in triumph as he saw the small carving on one of the taps. It was a snake.

He took a step back, and, concentrating on the image, spoke to it.

"Open."

The room rumbled, and the sinks began to split apart, revealing a dark tunnel that went practically straight down. Harry turned to Lockhart in triumph – but the professor looked more amused than anything else.

"Well done Harry. Well done indeed. Of course, I knew you were a clever lad."

Lockhart stepped further forward into the light, revealing the sinister red glow in his eyes. Harry swore, going to draw his wand, but Lockhart was already casting, his spell leaving Harry unconscious before he had hit the floor.

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