Blood and heirs
"What's going on here? What's going on?"
Attracted by, no doubt, Runcorn and Parkinson's screams, Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My - cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked.
And his popping eyes fell on Harry, who was still feeling flustured.
"You!" Filch screeched, pointing at him.
"Me? Why me?!"
"You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll--"
"Argus!"
Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past the six and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You six come along too."
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster, just upstairs-- please feel free--"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.
The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; So did Professors McGonagall and Snape.
As they encountered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the moving 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, Padma, Ron, Luna, Hermione, and Lisa exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs awkwardly, watching from afar.
The tip of Dumbledore's crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his fingers 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.
"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 countercurse that would have saved her... it only works at once, of course..."
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. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him-- though not very much. He felt much worse for himself and his friends. If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure, and who knows what Filch would come up with for the rest of them.
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.
"... I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "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 and looked much like a grandmother in the shows Dudley watched.
At last Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly. Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking hesitantly through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "But why's she all-- all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore. "But how, I cannot say.."
"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry, who blurted out at once, "I didn't do anything to your stupid--"
"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced--"
"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! In my office-- he knows I'm a-- I'm a--" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.
"I wouldn't even touch Mrs Norris! If I did, I'd be sneezing my way back to London!" Harry snapped loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. But he continued, "And I don't even know what a Squib is, for your information!"
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's rage only increased; He was sure nothing Snape had to say was ever going to do him any good.
"Potter and his friends may have simple been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't he at the Halloween feast?"
Padma, Ron and Lisa all launched into an explanation about the deathday party while Hermione stopped Harry from screaming his way to expulsion. "... there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there--"
"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"
And then they looked at Harry.
"Because..." Harry said, his heart thumping very fast-- something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a voice no one else could hear-- and it wasn't the normal voices, which was what had spooked him truly-- "Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed, what else? Keeping up a conversation with a bunch of ghosts isn't easy," he said.
"Without any supper?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."
"We weren't hungry in the first place," said Ron loudly as his stomach gave a huge rumble.
Snape's nasty smile widened.
"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful," he said. "It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."
"Really, Severus? The cat wasn't knocked petrified with a broomstick!" asked Professor McGonagall sharply, "There's no reason to stop him playing Quidditch. There is no evidence at all that any of these childrenPetrified a cat!"
Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he was looking at Mrs Figg's late husband-- he was very old, she looked very old. His mind was racing so fast that it had made sense, however stupid the thought may have been.
"He is innocent until proven guilty, Severus, and there is nothing we can do to say he is guilty," he said firmly. Snape looked furious. So did Filch.
"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"
"Oh? I want to see some proof--!" Harry started, but Hermione and Lisa slapped their hands over his mouth to shut him up.
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore patiently. "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."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep--"
"Excuse me," said Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."
There was a very awkward pause.
"You may go," Dumbledore said to the children.
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' darkened faces-- he could barely see anything.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"
"No," said Ron, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign. I bet it's not good in the Muggle world either."
"It's not! Especially not when something's been opened and people think it's you who's opened it." Lisa added.
Something in their voices made Harry ask, "You all do believe me, don't you?"
"I believe you," said Luna at once. "Daddy's heard all sorts of things, but he's always right. It must be one of those."
A moment had passed before Hermione said, very quietly, "I do, Harry..."
"You must admit it's weird..." Padma said, glancing at him nervously.
"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? 'The Chamber Has Been Opened'.... What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it rings a sort of bell," said Ron slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once... might've been Bill telling us about a some Prim girl or something and a cursed thing... or somethin'... maybe he'll know."
"And what on earth's a Squib?" said Harry.
To his surprise, Ron and Padma stifled laughter. Luna had not even bothered-- she burst out entirely, laughing to her heart's apparent content.
"Well, it's not funny really-- but seeing as it's Filch, it's hilarious," Ron said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a magical family but hasn't got any magic to be considered magical. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are pretty unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I can't just say he's a Squib-- but he admitted it too! And it would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much."
Padma gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter and jealous he can't do what we can. Serves him right-- as if anyone 'll ever let him put someone in those stupid chains he keeps--"
A clock chimed somewhere.
"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else."
As they walked to the common room, Padma spoke of nothing but people she'd remembered meeting who happened to be Squibs. Her favourite subject, for some reason, happened to be Runcorn's father.
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. Harry 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 seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover.
"But you haven't really got to know Mrs Norris," Ron told her. "Honestly, we're much better off without her."
Ginny's lip trembled. When he noticed, his ears went pink and frowned.
"Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," He continued, trying his best to assure her. "They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. Just hope he's got time to petrify Filch before he's expelled. Hey- w-wait, sis, I'm only joking!" He added hastily as Ginny blanched.
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for her to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Not a single person get a real answer from her whenever asked why, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.
It had been an annoying enough day-- 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 his friends at the Library before they spotted Amanda looking around curiously. It seemed she was looking for her friends. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Amanda caught sight of him, forced a smile awkwardly, and brushed right past him.
Harry found Ron and Padma 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. Lisa had been picking books from a shelf nearby, and Luna was fast asleep.
"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short...." said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll.
"And Hermione's done four feet seven inches-- her writing's tiny!" grumbled Padma, measuring the large writing on her parchment to be four inches short. "We already know Harry's done more than he needs to, but his writing's tiny too! And you never do your homework!"
"Sounds a bit like a you-two problem," Lisa giggled. "I mean, we had forever to get it done."
"Where is Hermione?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework. He was just a bit under nine inches over the required amount. He was very grateful that he spaced out his words to an unnecessarily-- but just almost unnoticeable-- amount. He was definitely sure that helped.
"Somewhere over there," said Ron, pointing along the shelves. "Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas."
Harry told Ron and Padma about Amanda.
"Dunno why you care. I always wondered why she wasn't in Hufflepuff," said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible and began to mutter, "All that junk about Lockhart being so great is a bunch of bull hockey and a--"
Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves and sat at the table. She looked ready to talk to them.
"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, looking miserable. "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 books I brought."
"I can lend you mine when we get the chance, but why do you want it?" asked Harry.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, propping her head on her palms. "To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What's that?" asked Harry quickly. It felt weird not knowing something; Even more when people were putting his name on it.
"That's just it. I can't remember." Hermione said uncertainly, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else, so I need your copy,"
"Hermione, let me read your composition," Ron asked desperately, checking his watch.
"No, I won't! You've had ten days to finish it, I'm not helping you be lazy!"
"I only need another two inches, come on! Harry--"
"He's not helping you either!"
The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. She hadn't even given him the chance to ask Harry again. Padma had finished hers just on time, and Lisa was scurrying after them. Luna had woken up just before the bell woke her. Fortunately, her composition was at just the perfect amount.
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 the single occurrence in which he entered the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shrivelled, many people said he probably hadn't even noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind 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. Padma was among those, always asking Harry or Lisa for their notes-- but it was ironic, really, because they were always asking Luna for hers. Binns had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before in his class; Hermione put up her hand.
Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked shocked.
"Yes, Miss-- er--?"
"Granger, Professor. I was wandering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets? I know it's not really history, but it's been considered history for ages," said Hermione in a clear voice.
One on side of the classroom, 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. On the other, Anthony and Michael both gasped and turned to stare at her. Amanda, who Hermione had been sitting by once again, looked at Hermione with her jaw slack in what looked to be amazement.
Professor Binns blinked.
"Yes, you are correct, my subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers--"
He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.
"Miss Grant--"
"Granger. Now, 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. And the rest of the class was doing so, too-- it was a surprise Hermione had pressed this hard about it. Not only did she hardly ever say anything to teachers a second time unless it was very important, but she'd given a reason to listen to something that wasn't fact. And she'd refuse at once if anyone else dared to try that to her.
"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "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.
"Oh, very well," he said slowly. "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 directly 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 magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution, such as being burnt alive..."
He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.
"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 naturally magical families-- the ones who had long, pointed ears and were born with them. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject, particularly between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.
"Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "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. This 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 a 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.
"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the whole school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."
Hermione looked at Harry, before her hand was back in the air.
"Sir, what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"
"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.
The class exchanged nervous looks.
"I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's- er- true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"
"Nonsense, O'Flahnerty," ("Finnigan, sir!") said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing--"
"But, Professor," piped up Parvati, "You'd probably have to use a form of Dark Magic to open it if--"
"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," ("Patil!") snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore--"
"But you pretty much said yourself that you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't possibly--" began Anthony, but Professor Binns had had enough.
"That will do with this," he said sharply. "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 a minute, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.
"I can't believe it! I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron said as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner.
"I can't believe he thought your last name was 'Pennyfeather,'" Luna said, and she laughed louder at the sight of Padma's red face. She shrugged her off, turning away to hide her face as she spoke.
"I never knew that he started all this Pureblood stuff. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me! Bloody-- I'd even stand being sent Howler after Howler by my parents if they wanted me to be Slytherin! Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to make me a snake, I'd would've got the train straight back home and got on the Knight bus... and I hate the Knight bus! It's dingy, and dirty, and--"
"It certainly explains why some Slytherins are jerks, if they've been raised like that, Pureblood this, that, this," said Lisa. Ron, Padma and Hermione nodded, but Harry didn't say anything. He felt odd.
Harry had never told anyone that the Sorting Hat had considered putting him in Slytherin. And not to mention his first friend was in Slytherin. Harry could remember it clear as ever, like it were yesterday that the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he'd placed the hat on his head a year before, and said words he wouldn't ever forget; "Cunning and ambitious... but creative and intelligent... you could do very well in both.... So where shall I put you? To Slytherin or to Ravenclaw..."
But Harry, who couldn't tell between either house, hadn't made the choice. The hat had declared him a Ravenclaw, and the thought has been at the back of his mind since. He could've been a Slytherin; He didn't think he'd ever forget that either.
Luna had been very quiet too, no longer laughing. She was staring at the ground, and, as unlikely as it was, evidently frowning. "I don't think they're terrible." she said quietly. "And it's not just Slytherins. My mother wanted to raise me like that."
"Oh," Padma gasped. "Um, er, w-well-- well, Luna, we didn't mean it like... er-- it, um, we didn't--"
"We just meant," Hermione then paused, and seemed to think of how to not sound rude. "we just meant we see it most... with Slytherins. Y-you know, because they make sure you know they're pureblood, when they're raised like that."
"It's just a bunch of rubbish," Ron agreed.
"Yeah," said Lisa.
"But I don't think it is," Luna replied, still frowning. Her voice was not nearly as polite as it normally was and was getting steadily louder. "My mother- she was raised like that, and she taught me all about it. And Draco was raised like that, too, but he's a great cousin. And, well, his father is not very good, but--"
"It's alright, Luna," Padma interrupted, smiling at her, though it was slightly uncomfortable. "We said it wrong. We said some Slytherins. And I was raised like that too, remember? But just some the Slytherins we've met aren't good."
Luna frowned at her. "Not everyone can be a great person, but that doesn't mean it's rubbish."
"Luna, we didn't--"
Luna turned around sharply and walked up ahead, working her way through the crowd, until she was out of sight. After that, they were all very quiet.
As they were walking along in a corridor, Colin Creevey went past.
"Hiya, Harry!"
"Hello, Colin," said Harry automatically. He felt bad-- did Luna really think they meant all Purebloods were bad? Or maybe he'd misunderstood something... but he didn't think...
"Harry-- Harry-- a boy in my class has been saying you're--"
Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; They barely heard him squeak, "See you, Harry!" and he was gone.
"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered.
"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I'd guess." said Harry tiredly. Nobody except him even knew that he was almost a Slytherin. How could they even get the thought that he was heir to a House he wasn't even part of? He didn't even care enough to feel bad about it. It was stupid, anyway.
"Well, he should shut up," Ron growled. "As if you'd be Slytherin's heir. You're not like that. People 'll believe anything, really."
Harry was grateful for that.
The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.
"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Lisa asked.
"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris right up, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not have been a spell."
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."
"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron muttered.
They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.
"Can't hurt to have a little peek," suggested Padma. Everyone but her got on their knees-- she refused only because she found the floor disgusting-- to search.
"Scorch marks!" Harry said. "Here, and here--"
"Come and look at this!" said Hermione.
Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where about 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.
"Something's scared them," said Lisa, turning her head and trying to peer into the crack.
"What, though?" said Harry. And then he noticed that everyone except one person had been watching the spiders appear and disappear from sight. "Ron? Ron?"
He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.
"What's wrong?" asked Padma.
"I-- don't-- like-- spiders," said Ron tensely, and he was blinking almost impatiently.
"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times no problem."
"I don't mind them dead, sometimes," said Ron, carefully looking anywhere but at the window and shaking. "I just don't like the way they move... it's-- it's... grotesque."
"Grotesque?" Lisa repeated, and she burst into giggles. Padma got a very large grin on her face.
"It's not funny!" said Ron fiercely. "If you must know, when I was three, Fred stole Mum's wand and turned my- my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick... on accident! Y- you wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and was trying to bite you..."
He was shuddering. Lisa was obviously still trying not to laugh, but Padma was still grinning ear to ear. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."
"It was about here," said Lisa, taking a breath to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with the door."
Ron, seemingly looking for any reason to be away from the spiders, rushed towards and reached to pull open the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand before he touched it.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked.
"We can't go in there," said Ron. "That's a girls' toilet. I can't-- I can't go in there! Blokes can't open the doors to the girls' toilets!"
"Oh, please-- there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, rolling her eyes and walking over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."
Ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign on the door, she pushed it open.
It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom he had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.
Padma put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "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.
"This is a girls' bathroom," she said quietly, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. "They're not girls." Ron's face went red with embarrassment, but Harry wasn't paying attention to Myrtle.
"No," Hermione agreed, stepping forward. "We just wanted to show them how, er-- nice it is in here."
She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.
"Ask her if she saw anything," Harry mouthed at Hermione.
"What are you whispering?" said Myrtle, staring at him.
"He's asking how come we get a prettier bathroom than they do," lied Hermione quickly, but Myrtle still looked quite upset. Padma suddenly spoke. "We wanted to ask you--"
"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" Myrtle said, in a voice choked with tears. "I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead!"
"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," said Hermione. "Harry's just very quiet, and--"
"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. There was a collective sigh as she sobbed. "My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!"
"We wanted to ask you if you've seen anything funny lately," said Lisa quickly. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."
"Did you see anyone near here that night?" asked Ron.
"I wasn't paying attention," said Myrtle dramatically. "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--"
"Already dead," said Ron helpfully. 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 confused, but Hermione and Padma shrugged.
"Well, for Myrtle, that was very cheerful, you know," Lisa said. "We're not gonna get anything out of her anyways. She said she was trying to- er- kill herself, she probably was. I think she does it weekly."
Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all five of them jump.
"RON!"
Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.
"That's a girls bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you--?"
"Just having a look around," Ron shrugged. "Clues, because, you know, Mrs N--"
Percy swelled up in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs Weasley.
"Get, away, from, there," Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. "Don't you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner--"
"Why shouldn't we be here?" said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. "Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!"
"That's what I told Ginny," said Percy fiercely, "Yet 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--"
"You don't care about Ginny!" said Ron, whose ears were now reddening and rising high enough to rival Percy's, "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy--"
"Five points from Gryffindor! And Ravenclaw!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. Hermione and Padma gasped before the rest of them. "And I hope it teaches you a lesson! 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 and his own ears twitching madly.
They all walked back to the library; 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 and slapped the fire furiously until it fizzled out. To Harry's surprise, Hermione followed suit and closed her book.
"Who can it be, though?" Padma said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having.
"Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?" wondered Hermione.
"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who would probably think Muggle-borns are scum?"
He looked at Hermione. She looked back, unconvinced. "If you're talking about Malfoy, you already know I think you're wrong. He's not worth a thing, he's just talking themselves up because he knows nobody's going to take him serious otherwise--"
"Malfoy?" Ron repeated. "Well, I was going to say Runcorn, but when you put it like that, I think it is Malfoy."
When he saw the identical look that they were all giving him, he shrugged. "What? Look at his family. The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin. And whenever they aren't, they're disowned. Same goes for whenever they don't act like a Slytherin, you know. Malfoy's probably always boasting about his family. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants. His father's definitely evil enough. His mum does Ministry work, but who's to say she's not faking it?"
Padma hummed. "I'll admit, they could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries, but I doubt it's really Malfoy. He's not actually annoying like most of the other Slytherins. Now, Tracey Davis, her, I'd understand. Her family's been claiming ancestry for centuries, and every time they're proven wrong, they return in a decade claiming another! But, um... well... if it was Malfoy, then it wouldn't be too surprising."
"Padma, if you're saying what I think you're saying," said Lisa, "you mean they've been handing it down, father to son for generations? I mean, that totally makes sense, but- the Malfoys? You think they could hide that?"
"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible..."
"But why Malfoy? It's just his family, what's he got to do with it? He's not that bad, I mean..." Harry said, but it went unheard.
"There might be a way," said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice, "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty-two school rules, I expect..."
"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know which fifty-two it is, won't you?" said Ron irritably.
"Shut it, Ron," said Hermione coldly. "What we'd need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us. Even if we could get him to say anything, he wouldn't tell us if he didn't know we wouldn't do anything about it."
"Like that would work," Ron said as Lisa gasped.
"It absolutely could! All we'd need would be a little bit of Polyjuice Potion."
"Not this again, Lisa," Padma grumbled.
"Polyjuice Potion?" Ron repeated.
"A Polyjuice Potion! It transforms you into somebody else completely," explained Lisa excitedly.
"Actually... think about it!" Hermione said, "We could change into five of the Slytherins and no one would know it was us! Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He'd probably be boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now if it really was him; All we have to do is get in there and get some information."
"I don't think it's Draco," Harry tried to say again, but it went unheard once more.
"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like Slytherins forever? What if it messes us up?"
"It wears off after a while," said Lisa. "Getting hold of the recipe's going to be difficult. It's in a book called Moste Potente Potions-- it's in the Restricted Section. I tried to get it once, but Madam Pince said she didn't trust me, and I couldn't get 'round there without being caught. And I don't get caught!"
Harry spoke up again, and finally, it was heard. "You need a signed note of permission from a teacher to get into the Restricted Section." If only he'd continued getting lucky-- when he tried to say again that he didn't think it was Draco, Ron spoke--
"Hard to see why we'd want the book, really, if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."
"I think that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance..." Padma said.
"Oh, come on, no teacher's gong to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick..."
"Can you think of no one?" Harry blurted, as he thought of a certain professor who was very stupid. Even stupider than himself, in that moment-- he'd had another chance! He was only slightly offended that they thought Draco was the one doing all this Chamber of Secrets stuff. He knew Draco wouldn't, even if they didn't. He just needed them to listen, but would they?
After dinner had ended that evening, Harry slipped off before Lisa or Padma could notice, and waited outside the Great Hall. When a crowd of Slytherins finally walked through, it wasn't long before he saw platinum blond hair easily recognisable as Draco's. He signalled, and somehow- he wasn't entirely sure, really- Draco saw. Harry slipped into a classroom, and Draco followed, Crabbe and Goyle skulking behind.
"What?"
"Atleast try to sound happy to see me, Draco,"
"I am-- it's just--"
"You sound like Snape. Okay, whatever, that's not why I called you over-- look, Ron, Hermione, Lisa, and Padma are gonna try to make a Polyjuice Potion and try to figure out if you're the Slytherin heir."
"What?" Draco deadpanned, looking offended. "Me-- Slytherin heir-- they're mental."
"Yeah, apparently, Snowflake, you're so egotistical that you're a suspect. Listen-- I just need you to tell me if you know anything about what's going on."
"I haven't gotten the chance to figure out anything. Crabbe and Goyle don't like the library, 'cause Madam Pince doesn't like them," He pointed at Crabbe and Goyle, who were still behind him. "She thinks they'll try to destroy books, or something. Now why did you just call me-- Snowflake?"
The back of Harry's neck was suddenly burning. He didn't say Snowflake, did he? He didn't remember saying Snowflake. Well, even if he did, it wasn't a very special reason. "Your hair's pretty much white-- like snow, get it, but you're not snow. You're Snow-flake. And you're also kind of sensitive."
Draco blinked at him, looking sort of unconvinced, but then he snorted, going pink in the face. "Snowflake. Fine. If I'm Snowflake, you're..." He paused to think for a moment. "Floppy."
"Floppy? Atleast Snowflake made sense-- where'd Floppy come from?"
"Your ears," Draco said immediately. "They're not like normal. They've got this round curve and before that, they bend kind of weird. Every time you move your ears, that curve moves sort of delayed and your ears look floppy. And- I see it most whenever you're in a bad mood. So, Floppy."
Before Harry could answer, Draco spoke again.
"Be careful. I doubt the real heir's finished. Your mother was a Muggle-born, and people can't look past things like that sometimes."
"I'll be fine Draco-- my dad was a Pureblood. Like anyone would go for someone born a 'Potter.'"
"Look, Harry, you may not have seen it yet, but people in the Wizarding world aren't as nice to people with... that kind of skin, all the time. And I think the heir is not above that, either."
Harry shrugged. "I'm used to it. People are the exact same in the Muggle world."
"Haha. Very funny, but nonetheless. Be careful. Muggles can't do magic. Bye, Floppy."
"Bye, Snowflake."