Filch: What's going on here? What's going on?
Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.
Filch: My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?
And his popping eyes fell on the six.
Filch: You! You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll…
Dumbledore: Argus!
Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Taylor, Grace, Amy, Harry, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
Dumbledore: Come with me, Argus. You, too, Mr. Potter, Miss Taylor, Miss Grace, Miss Amy, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
Lockhart: My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free…
Dumbledore: Thank you, Gilderoy.
The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Taylor, Grace, Amy, Ron, and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching. The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking.
Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.
Lockhart: It was definitely a curse that killed her — probably the Transmogrifian Torture — I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…
Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands. If Dumbledore believed Filch, they would be expelled for sure. Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.
Lockhart: …I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou, a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…
The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net. At last Dumbledore straightened up.
Dumbledore: She's not dead, Argus.
Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.
Filch: Not dead? But why's she all — all stiff and frozen?
Dumbledore: She has been Petrified.
Lockhart: Ah! I thought so!
Dumbledore: But how, I cannot say…
Filch: Ask them!
Dumbledore: No second years or a first year could have done this. It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced…
Filch: They did it, they did it! You saw what they wrote on the wall! Miss Taylor and Mr. Potter found—in my office—they know I'm a—I'm a Squib!
Taylor: We never touched Mrs. Norris!
Harry: And I don't even know what a Squib is.
Filch: Rubbish! They saw my Kwikspell letter!
Snape: If I might speak, Headmaster. The Potters and their friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?
Taylor, Amy, Grace, Harry, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. All: …there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there…
Snape: But why not join the feast afterward? Why go up to that corridor?"
Taylor, Grace, Amy, Ron, and Hermione looked at Harry.
Harry: Because — because… because we were tired and wanted to go to bed.
Snape: Without any supper? I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.
Ron: We weren't hungry.
Then his stomach gave a huge rumble.
Snape's nasty smile widened.
Snape: I suggest, Headmaster, that Miss Taylor and Mr. Potter are not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges until they are ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel they should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until they are ready to be honest.
McGonagall: Really, Severus, I see no reason to stop the children from playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with broomsticks. There is no evidence at all that the children have done anything wrong.
Dumbledore was giving the six a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made them feel as though they were being X-rayed.
Dumbledore: Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.
Snape looked furious. So did Filch.
Filch: My cat has been Petrified! I want to see some punishment!
Dumbledore: We will be able to cure her, Argus. Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.
Lockhart: I'll make it, I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep…
Snape: Excuse me, but I believe I am the Potions master at this school.
There was a very awkward pause.
Dumbledore: You six may go.
They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends and sisters' darkened faces.
Harry: D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?
Ron: No, hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.
Harry: You do believe me, don't you?"
Ron: 'Course I do, but — you must admit it's weird…
Harry: I know it's weird. The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? 'The Chamber Has Been Opened'… What's that supposed to mean?
Ron: You know, it rings a sort of bell. I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill…
Harry: And what on earth's a Squib?
To his surprise, Ron and Taylor stifled sniggers.
Taylor: Well — it's not funny really — but as it's Filch. A
Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much, he's bitter.
A clock chimed somewhere.
Grace: Midnight. We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.
For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Everyone had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess
Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy'. Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. According to Amy and Ron, she was a great cat lover.
Amy: But you haven't really got to know Mrs. Norris. Honestly, we're much better off without her.
Ginny's lip trembled.
Ron: Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts. They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking…
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione and Grace. It was quite usual for them to spend a lot of time reading, but they were now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Taylor, Harry, and Ron get much response from them when they asked what they were up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.
Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks. After a hurried lunch, he went upstairs to meet Ron and Taylor in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction. Harry found Taylor and Ron at the back of the library, measuring their History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."
Ron: I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short…
Taylor: Ha ha mine's done exactly three feet.
Ron: And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny.
Taylor: Grace has done four feet eight inches and she writes tiny too.
Harry: Where are they?
He grabbed the tape measure and unrolled his own homework.
Ron: Somewhere over there.
Taylor: They're looking for another book. I think they're trying to read the whole library before Christmas.
Harry told Ron and Taylor about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.
Ron: Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot.
Taylor: True that.
They high fived and Ron started scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible.
Ron: All that junk about Lockhart being so great…
Hermione and Grace emerged from between the bookshelves. They looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.
Grace: All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out.
Hermione: And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.
Taylor: Why do you two want it?
Grace: The same reason everyone else wants it to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry: What's that?
Hermione: That's just it. I can't remember.
Grace: And we can't find the story anywhere else…
Ron: Grace, Hermione, let me read your compositions.
Hermione: No, I won't.
Grace: Neither will I. You've had ten days to finish it.
Ron: I only need another two inches, come on…
The bell rang. Grace, Ron, and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since. Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione and Grace put up their hands. Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.
Binns: Miss — er — ?
Hermione: Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets.
Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom's elbow slipped off his desk. Professor Binns blinked.
Binns: My subject is History of Magic. I deal with, facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.
He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued,
Binns: In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers…
He stuttered to a halt. Grace's hand was waving in the air again.
Binns: Miss Potter?
Grace: Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?
Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.
Binns: Well, yes, one could argue that, I suppose. However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale…
But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.
Binns: Oh, very well. Let me see… the Chamber of
Secrets… You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when common people feared magic, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution. For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and
Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school. Reliable historical sources tell us this much. But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the
Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.
There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.
Binns: The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course. Naturally, the most learned witches and wizards have searched the school for evidence of such a chamber, many times. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.
Hermione's hand was back in the air.
Hermione: Sir — what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?
Binns: That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control.
The class exchanged nervous looks.
Binns: I tell you, the thing does not exist. There is no Chamber and no monster.
Seamus: But, sir if Slytherin's true heir can only open the Chamber, no one else would be able to find it, would they?
Binns: Nonsense, O'Flaherty. If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing…
Parvati: But, Professor you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it…
Binns: Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather. I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore…
Dean: But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't…
Binns: That will do. It is a myth! It does not exist!
There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!
And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.
Ron: I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony. But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home…
Hermione, Grace, and Taylor nodded fervently, but Harry didn't say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly. Harry had never told Taylor, Grace, Ron, and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before.
Sorting hat: You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…
But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin House's reputation for turning out Dark wizards, had thought desperately.
Harry: Not Slytherin!
Sorting hat: Oh, well, if you're sure… better be Gryffindor!
As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevey went past.
Colin: Hiya!
Taylor: Hullo, Colin.
Colin: Harry — Harry — a boy in my class has been saying you're…
But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall.
Colin: See you!
He was gone.
Hermione: What's a boy in his class saying about you?
Harry: That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect.
Ron: People here'll believe anything.
Taylor: D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?
Grace: I don't know. Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be — well — human.
As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message 'The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened'.
Ron: That's where Filch has been keeping guard.
They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.
Taylor: Can't hurt to have a poke around.
She dropped her bag and getting to her hands and knees so that she could crawl along, searching for clues.
Taylor: Scorch marks! Here — and here…
Hermione: Come and look at this! This is funny…
Taylor got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.
Grace: Have you ever seen spiders act like that?
Harry: No, have you, Ron? Ron?
He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.
Taylor: What's up?
Ron: I — don't — like — spiders.
Hermione: I never knew that. You've used spiders in Potions loads of times…
Ron: I don't mind them dead. I just don't like the way they move…
Hermione, Taylor, and Grace giggled, while Harry stifled a laugh.
Ron: It's not funny, if you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…
He broke off, shuddering.
Grace: Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up.
Ron: It was about here. Level with this door.
He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.
Harry: What's the matter?
Ron: Can't go in there, that's a girls' toilet.
Hermione: Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there. Taylor: That's Moaning Myrtle's place.
Grace: Come on; let's have a look.
And ignoring the large out of order sign, they opened the door. The girls put their fingers to their lips and set off toward the end stall. When they reached it Grace spoke.
Grace: Hello, Myrtle, how are you?
Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.
Myrtle: This is a girls' bathroom. They're not girls.
Taylor: No. We just wanted to show them how—er—nice it is in here.
Harry: (mouthing) Ask her if she saw anything.
Myrtle: What are you whispering?
Harry: Nothing, we wanted to ask…
Myrtle: I wish people would stop talking behind my back! I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead.
Hermione: Myrtle, no one wants to upset you. Harry only…
Myrtle: No one wants to upset me! That's a good one! My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!
Grace: We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately. Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.
Harry: Did you see anyone near here that night?
Myrtle: I wasn't paying attention. Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm — that I'm…
Ron: …Already dead.
Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend. Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Taylor, Grace, and Hermione shrugged wearily.
Taylor: Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let's go.
Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all five of them jump.
Percy: RON!
Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, with an expression of complete shock on his face.
Percy: That's a girls' bathroom! What were you — ?
Ron: Just having a look around, clues, you know…
Percy: Get — away — from — there… Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner…
Ron: Why shouldn't we be here? Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!
Percy: That's what I told Ginny, but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business…
Ron: You don't care about Ginny.
His ears were now reddening.
Ron: You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being a prefect.
Percy: No more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!
And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears. Taylor, Grace, Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2" shut. To Harry's surprise, Grace and Hermione followed suit.
Grace: Who can it be, though? Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"
Taylor: Let's think… Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?
Hermione: If you're talking about Malfoy…
Taylor: Of course I am! You heard him—'You'll be next,
Mudbloods!'—come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him.
Grace: Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?
Harry: Look at his family, the whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough.
Ron: They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries! Handing it down, father to son…
Hermione: Well I suppose it's possible…
Taylor: But how do we prove it?
Grace: There might be a way. Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect…
Ron: If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?
Hermione: All right. What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it's us.
Harry: But that's impossible.
Grace: No, it's not, all we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion.
Taylor, Harry, and Ron: What's that?
Hermione: Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago…
Ron: D'you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?
Grace: It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into five of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.
Ron: This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me. What if we were stuck looking like five of the Slytherins forever?"
Hermione: It wears off after a while. But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called "Moste Potente" Potions and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.
There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.
Taylor: Hard to see why we'd want the book, really if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions.
Grace: I think that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…
Ron: Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that. They'd have to be really thick…