The Polyjuice Potion
Professor McGonagall stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and she rapped on the door. It opened silently.
One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat.
There was a strange, gagging noise. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. The bird looked baleful, making its gagging noise again. it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and a couple more feathers fell out of its tail. The bird burst into flames. The bird had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.
The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber. Dumbledore smiled.
"About time, too," he said. "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."
He chuckled as a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one. Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk. Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk with his penetrating, light-blue stare.
Before Dumbledore could provide exposition for the audience, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand. Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on about lack of security for the school's animal life, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly.
"Oh," said Hagrid, finally getting the idea, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."
And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk. Dumbledore considered matters known only to him, pressing the tips of his long fingers together.
The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.
"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Hermione. "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."
Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too.
Fred and George, however, found all this terror very funny. Percy was deeply disapproving of their behavior.
"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.
"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred.
George, chortling.
Ginny didn't find it amusing either.
"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred, or when George pretended to ward off any evil in the air with a large clove of garlic. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.
"It's because he's bursting to say it's really him," said Ron knowingly. "You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything."
"Not for long," said Hermione in a satisfied tone. "The Polyjuice Potion's nearly ready. We'll be getting the truth out of him any day now."
At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle.
Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower. The silence meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.
Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Ron, the only one left in his dormitory, was woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for him.
"Wake up," she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window.
"Hermione — you're not supposed to be in here —" said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light.
"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Hermione, throwing him his present. "I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready."
Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron's four-poster. "If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight."
At that moment, Hedwig swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak. For some reason it's a secret, so we never find out what the gift is.
No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts. The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remark about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.
Ron had barely finished his third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.
"We still need a bit of the people you're changing into," said Hermione matter-of-factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. "And obviously, it'll be best if you can get something of Crabbe's or Goyle's; they're Malfoys best friends, he'll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're interrogating him.
"I've got it all worked out," she went on smoothly, ignoring Ron's stupefied face.
She held up two plump chocolate cakes. "I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet."
Ron looked incredulous.
"That could go seriously wrong —"
But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had.
"The potion will be useless without Crabbe's or Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?
"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing him the single hair inside it. "Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she's gone home for Christmas — so I'll just have to tell the Slytherins I've decided to come back."
When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned down the corridor with a doom-laden expression. He could think of so many things that could go wrong with this plan.
But to Ron's utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. He lurked in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle. perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When he spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.
"How thick can you get?" Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them. Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces. Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backward onto the floor.
By far the hardest part was hiding them in the closet across the hall. Once they were safely stowed among the buckets and mops, Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. He also stole his shoes, because his own were far too small for Crabbe - and Goyle-size feet. Then, still stunned at what he had just done, he sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
He could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling his robes up over his face, Ron knocked softly on the door.
"Hermione?"
He heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her he heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Three glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.
"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione held up a small sack. "You'll need a bigger size once you're Crabbe."
They both stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should… once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."
"Now what?" Ron whispered.
"We separate it into two glasses and add the hairs."
Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.
The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.
"Urgh — essence of Millicent Bulstrode," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."
"Add yours, then," said Hermione.
Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.
Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses.
Ron said, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."
"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.
It tasted like overcooked cabbage.
Immediately, Ron's insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes — doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick — then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes — next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax — and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened, the knuckles were bulging like bolts — his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows — his robes ripped as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops — his feet were agony in shoes four sizes too small.
As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Ron lay facedown on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. With difficulty, he kicked off his shoes and stood up. So this was what it felt like. His large hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles, pulled on the spare ones, and laced up boatlike shoes.
"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe.
Ron opened his door. He stared. Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.
"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's flat nose.
"Unbelievable."
He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go —"
A high-pitched voice answered him.
"I — I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me."
"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you —"
"No — really — I don't think I'll come. You hurry up, you're wasting time —"
Five of his precious sixty minutes had already passed.
Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that the coast was clear, and set off.
He went down the marble staircase. All he needed now was a Slytherin that he could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around.
"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," muttered Ron to himself, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance.
"Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to her. "I've forgotten the way to our common room."
"I beg your pardon?" said the girl stiffly. "Our common room? I'm a Ravenclaw."
She walked away, looking suspiciously back at him.
Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, his footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe's huge feet hit the floor, feeling that this wasn't going to be as easy as he had hoped.
The labyrinthine passages were deserted. He walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking his watch to see how much time he had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when he were getting desperate, he heard a sudden movement ahead. Ron hoped it was one of the Slytherins. Who else would be wondering this deep in the dungeons? The figure was emerging from a side room. As he hurried nearer, however, his heart sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.
"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise.
Percy looked affronted.
"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Crabbe, isn't it?"
"Wh — oh, yeah," said Ron.
"Well, get off to your dormitory," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days."
"You are," Ron pointed out.
"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect. Nothing's about to attack me."
A voice suddenly echoed behind Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them.
"There you are," he drawled, looking at him. "Have you been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you and Goyle! Where is he anyway? Nevermind, I'll find him later; I want to show you something really funny."
Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy.
"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered.
Percy looked outraged.
"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"
Malfoy sneered and motioned for Ron to follow him. Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, "That Peter Weasley —"
"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.
"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."
He gave a short, derisive laugh. Ron gave an excited look.
Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.
"What's the new password again?" he said. "Oh, yeah — pure-blood!"
A stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Ron followed him.
The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.
"Wait here," said Malfoy to Ron, motioning him to an empty chair set back from the fire. "I'll go and get it my father's just sent it to me —"
Wondering what Malfoy was going to show him, Ron sat down, doing his best to look at home.
Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron's nose.
"That'll give you a laugh," he said.
Ron's eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly and gave a very forced laugh.
It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:
INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation. "Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."
Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.
"Well?" said Malfoy impatiently. "Don't you think it's funny? Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them! You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."
Ron's — or rather, Crabbe's — face was contorted with fury.
"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy.
"Stomachache," Ron grunted.
"Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me," said Malfoy, snickering. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."
Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin.
He dropped his hands and looked at Ron.
"What's the matter with you?"
Far too late, Ron forced himself to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe was always slow on the uptake.
Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy, in the midst of his ranting, was surely seconds away from telling Ron it was him — but then "I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."
Ron's jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't notice,
"And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing — last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time… I hope it's Granger," he said with relish.
Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, he did his best to restrain himself.
"Oh, yeah… Father also said whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban."
He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, "Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?
"Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor —"
"Ho!" said Ron.
Malfoy looked at him. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red, but it wasn't due to his blushing. His nose was also slowly lengthening — his hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself.
He jumped to his feet.
"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further ado he sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled himself at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything. He could feel his feet slipping around in huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; he crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where he'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving his shoes outside the closet door, he sprinted in his socks up the marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. Even though Ron hadn't found out who's doing the attacks, he gained valuable information against Malfoy. He would write to his father and tell him about the dark artifacts hidden under Malfoys' drawing room.
He was back to normal. Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.
"Hermione, come out, I've got loads to tell you —"
"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.
Ron looked worried.
"What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now, I am."
But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door, looking so happy.
"Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful —"
He heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.
"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"
Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink.
Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.
"It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"
"Uh-oh," said Ron.
"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.
It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw.
"Wait till everyone finds out you've got a tail!"