Chapter 17 – Violence, terror and toothpaste

Dudders quickly proved himself to be the ideal servant – obedient, discreet and devoted to the point of mania. I set him to stalking Lockhart; already a common hobby among the female students. But I doubt anyone at Hogwarts did it as skilfully or successfully as dear old Dudders. Every night I would receive a summary of Lockhart's movements around the castle, a selection of his correspondence (mostly guff from admiring housewives) and any unusual information that might be relevant. It was pretty tedious, truth be told, but I stuck to it with a tenacity that I never applied to my essays. I was obsessed with finding the vital piece of information; the incriminating photograph; the shady story that would give me leverage over that smarmy git. And after three weeks diligent snooping, Dudders found something.

'Look, sir! Taken from his very own bathroom, sir,' he said, pressing the proffered object into my hands. It was a tube of toothpaste. It had a picture of a smiling wizard not unlike Lockhart on it and the word 'Glamour' written in golden letters.

'And?' I said.

'It is illegal, sir. Very illegal; banned by the Ministry, oh yes,' Dudders nodded, his ears flapping back and forth like two tiny flags, 'Dudders spoke to other elves. Elves with bad masters, wicked masters, not good, kind, noble master like Harry Potter, oh no…'

I enjoy a bit of sycophantic grovelling as much as the next man but now was not the time. 'The toothpaste, Dudders,' I said firmly.

'Oh yes, sir. The other elves say that this toothpaste must come from abroad, sir. Has to be smuggled into the country.'

'Why? Is it dangerously whitening?'

'It is enchanted, sir. Illegal spells have been cast over it. Changes human brains, sir, makes them think nice things about you if you put it on your teeth. It is used by bad wizards to seduce women. Not that Harry Potter would need such a thing, no sir. No, Harry Potter is a handsome wizard; a virile wizard. He does not need magic to win ladies, no…'

'Yes, yes, quite,' I said, waving him away, 'You've done well Dudders. Go and do… whatever it is you lot do for fun.'

'Oh yes sir. Thank you sir!'

Dudders disappeared with a loud 'crack', leaving me to plot. The toothpaste proved that Lockhart was a scumbag, no doubt about that, but it was not enough to bring scandal down on Lockhart's head. He could deny that it was his; say that I planted it on him to ruin his good name. But it was something. It certainly explained the strange attraction he held over even the most level-headed Hogwarts fillies. Maybe I could find out who was smuggling the toothpaste to him. I had my own contacts in the magical underworld and I was not short of gold to bribe the unscrupulous. Who knows what I might have uncovered about Witch Weekly's favourite? But I never had the opportunity. Larger events overtook me, bringing about the downfall of Dumbledore and my very near death.

It was a clear February morning when they found the dead girl on the great staircase. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling with a look of confusion and disbelief. Her name was Clearwater, a sixth year from Ravenclaw, and she was Muggleborn. No note or message was left this time but nobody was in any doubt: the Heir of Slytherin had killed again. Luckily for me I was nowhere near the body when they found it, which spared me another mauling at the hands of Hunt and Tyler.

Denied their favourite whipping boy, the Aurors took out their frustrations on the castle itself. A gang of marauding bandits could not have done more damage. Walls were knocked through, furnishings torn down, classrooms and corridors overturned. Every known secret passage and room was ransacked for clues. They even led an expedition into the trackless depths of the Forbidden Forest but to no avail. The Heir of Slytherin could not be found.

Faced with an imminent scandal the Ministry of Magic did what all public institutions do in times of crisis - find a scapegoat. In this they surpassed themselves by finding no less than two at Hogwarts. The first to go was Hagrid, who I learned later had some previous history involving dangerous beasts attacking students. The Aurors spirited him away to Azkaban in the night. I did not care. I was more concerned about the Ministry's next offering on the altar of public outrage: Dumbledore himself. With Malfoy's father leaning heavily on the college's board of governors, and Fudge's personal jealousy, it was relatively easy to squeeze Dumbledore out of office.

Don't misunderstand me - personally I did not give a jot for the old git. But he was a powerful wizard; still the best duellist I ever saw, even after all these years. Without him to protect the castle we might as well have organised official 'Muggle hunting' parties with sherry and nibbles served in the Great Hall afterwards.

A number of parents withdrew their children the week after Dumbledore left. Most of us stayed on but from that time we lived in a state of almost constant anxiety. Even the Purebloods were scared. Who was to say that the Heir of Slytherin would not turn on half-bloods next or on those with Muggleborns in their family trees? Extra safety measures were brought in – Quidditch was cancelled, Aurors patrolled the corridors, teachers escorted their students between lessons – but they only served to heighten the tension.

Ron and I felt the consequences of Dumbledore's departure first hand in early March, a few weeks after Clearwater was killed. We were making our way back to the common room (you did not hang around the corridors if you could help it) when we heard raised voices coming from a nearby courtyard. We turned aside to see what was going on. An amateur duel made great street theatre – the participants were as likely to jinx themselves as each other. If things got nasty we could always slip away before any teachers arrived.

What we found was far from your ordinary student scuffle. A first year Hufflepuff had been surrounded by a group of older students. The older ones were dressed in plain robes, so that you could not tell which house they belonged to, and simple white hoods cut out of bed sheets to cover their heads. They were jostling the first year, pointing their wands at him and jeering:

'Mudblood!'

'Go home, you Muggle bastard!'

'Get lost!'

The first year was sobbing and trying to make himself heard:

'P-please. I-I haven't d-done anything!'

'Mudblood filth!' spat one of the older students, who sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy, 'It's time we ran you all out of the castle.' He flicked his wand and the first year rose into the air, his arms and legs splayed like a spider climbing up a wall. The boy squealed as the spell began to pull his limbs out of their sockets. Some of the hooded students laughed. Others just watched with grim approval.

'Time to make ourselves scarce,' I whispered to Ron. We turned to go, only to meet Neville Longbottom coming the other way.

'Harry? What the devil's going on here?' he demanded. The other students turned and spotted the three of us.

'This is nothing to do with you, Longbottom,' said the Malfoy sound-a-like, 'You're a Pureblood, although Merlin knows you don't act like it.'

Longbottom stared aghast at the whimpering first year, who had turned a bright shade of purple.

'Let him go,' he said, drawing his wand. Six of the hooded students turned their wands on him in turn.

'Don't you see?' said one, a girl, 'This is the only way to protect ourselves. The Ministry can't help us; they're powerless against the Heir. We have to drive the mudbloods out or we will all be killed!'

'This is your last warning,' said Longbottom coolly. Malfoy scoffed.

'There's nearly a dozen of us. Back down, Longbottom. We're not afraid to hurt you.'

'I'm not alone. Harry, Ron - to me!'

Damn him to the deepest pits of hell! I had almost managed to slip away while Longbottom was busy doing the decent thing. No such luck. Longbottom was such a muddled ass that he probably thought he was doing us a favour. Well, I couldn't very well back out now without losing face could I? I strode forth from the archway, flourishing my wand dramatically.

'We're with you, Neville!' I boomed, striking a suitably heroic pose while making sure to keep Neville between me and the bulk of the mob.

My fame, both as the Boy Who Lived and as the student who beat Gilderoy Lockhart, seemed to have some effect. Whoever was torturing the little first year lifted their spell and he dropped like a stone. The hooded students clustered around him like hyenas over a fresh kill.

'Well there we go,' I said breezily, 'That's that sorted then. Let's be on our way, shall we Neville?'

'We have to take him to Madam Pomfrey,' he said, still pointing his wand at the others.

'Try it,' sneered Malfoy. I sidled behind Ron while trying to make it look like I was covering Neville's flank.

'Have it your way then,' he said, taking a step forward. A hex flashed from Malfoy's wand. Neville deflected it and responded with a jet of red light that threw Malfoy across the courtyard. The other hooded students raised their wands to attack when there was a sudden cacophony, as if dozens of bells, all of different sizes, had suddenly started ringing. I was already two corridors away, having fled with the speed and discretion of a born coward when the first spell was cast, but I learned afterwards from Ron that a team of Aurors had descended on the courtyard. There was a brief skirmish, in which most of the students disappeared, but a few of the mob were caught (not Malfoy, sadly).

The culprits were swiftly expelled but that did not stop the attacks. Muggleborns were soon afraid to leave their dormitories without an escort. Hermione even insisted that Ron and I stand guard outside the bathroom when she went to the toilet, although I wondered at the time what help she thought we would be against an angry mob. Some of them were racist bastards who just needed an excuse to cause trouble but many were simply trying to preserve their own skin by running all the Muggleborns out of the castle. The Aurors and the teachers tried in vain to stamp it out but every now and then some unlucky Muggleborn would take a jinx in the back and spend the next week in the Hospital Wing with toadstools growing out of their gums.

With all this violence and anxiety going on around me, can you blame me for seeking out a bit of totty? It was around this time that I first made the acquaintance of 'Moaning' Myrtle. And no, she was not a ghost. She was a fifth year student in Ravenclaw and very much alive. Now, I am not saying that she had a reputation for being 'easy', but I have a good authority that she once took Gregory Goyle into her well-worn bed. Not that I was bothered. A straightforward, uncomplicated shag was what I wanted. If that meant having to take a generous dose of Clarence Cumberbatch's 'Cure All Clap' Cordial the next day, so be it. Besides, I was intrigued to hear the vocal displays that had earned her such a distinctive nickname.

Smuggling a girl past the Aurors into the common room would have been all but impossible, even with my invisibility cloak, so I arranged to meet her in the second floor girl's bathroom where Ron and I had tried to create our 'monster' before Christmas. She was a cracking little piece; all saucy blue eyes and curls. We soon set to in one of the cubicles, rattling the cistern as her screams echoed from the tiled walls.

Yes, we were having a fine old time of it when I heard a noise outside. Somebody coming into the bathroom? Possibly but it wouldn't be the first time that had happened to me. I tend to press on with the task at hand and trust in the interloper's discretion. But this did not sound like a door opening. It was a grinding noise, like stone blocks scraping against one another. Then there was a voice speaking, although I caught only a few words over Myrtle's cries:

'Seek… Muggles… cleanse… all of them… master's bidding…'

By now Myrtle had stopped and was simply sitting astride me, head on one side, looking puzzled. I gave her a slap on the rump.

'Come on, girl!' I hissed, 'Don't mind them. They'll go away.' She ignored me. I could hear the voice more clearly now. It was a high, hissing voice, very slow and cruel:

'… smell their blood. I go to feast. Tender flesh of Muggles and blood traitors…'

'Who is that?' Myrtle murmured. She climbed off me, pulled her knickers back on and turned towards the door.

'Leave it alone!' I squeaked.

'I'll just take a peak,' she said, easing the door open. By now I was whimpering, curled up on the toilet seat. I caught a glimpse of something brilliant green outside and then I buried my head in my hands. I heard a 'thud' as Myrtle fell and then something large and scaly slithered across the tiles. I just sat in my cubicle and tried not to make a sound.

After an age, which probably lasted no more than a few minutes, there was the same stony, grinding noise and then silence. It took me even longer to uncurl and venture, inch by inch, out into the bathroom. Everything was still. Myrtle's body lay face down on the tiles. There was not a mark on her, nor any trace of the creature that killed her. As soon as I was sure that it was not lurking behind the door for me, I leap out of that bathroom and ran as fast as I could back to Gryffindor Tower and my stash of firewhisky.

And that, children, is how I discovered the location of the Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't very heroic but then, I am not a hero. I only pretend to be one.

As soon as I had calmed down, with the help of half a dozen stiff drinks, I realised the full import of what had happened. I had found the entrance to the Chamber. I was perhaps the only person alive who knew of it, apart from the Heir himself. And I was determined to keep it that way: the only person alive. I resolved that night to say not a word to anybody. The Aurors had already searched the castle – Myrtle's body would be no help to them. If I told them what I knew they would only expect me to lead some damn fool monster hunt into the Chamber. That is if the Heir did not kill me first. No, silence was the best course all around.

And that would have been the last I had to do with the Chamber of Secrets if Ron's sister hadn't got herself kidnapped.