HP & The Chamber of Secrets

Harry

Harry was not having the time of his life. He felt sick at the sight of his brother's horrorstruck face as he set eyes on the scene. 

"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.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by several other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry and the others, and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Pucey, Miss Greengrass."

"No!" Filch shouted. "He," he pointed at Harry, "killed my cat! He found the envelope- he-"

And Harry snapped, losing the bit of sense he had left in him. "SHUT UP!" he roared at Filch, who stepped back in shock. "I DIDN'T KILL YOUR BLOODY CAT, AND I DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE A SQUIB! SO SHUT THE HELL UP!"

There was complete stunned silence. Nobody had ever seen Harry lose his cool like this. And it didn't help that he'd just exposed Filch's secret, who had turned completely red. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Kindly come with me."

The 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 lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry exchanged tense looks with the others 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.

"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..." 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 the man, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, they would be expelled for sure.

And he hadn't helped their case. He didn't know what had come over him. He'd just felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and a burning anger had coursed through him. He'd just exploded.

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 Ouagadogou," 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.

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 through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say . . . ."

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry.

"No fourth 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! He knows I'm a squib-"

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't care that you're a squib, too."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. 

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

"Potter and his friends may have simply 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?"

They all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. "... 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?"

"Because," Jéricho said, "because I needed the restroom," he said.

"And you took the whole cavalry with you?" said Snape, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think so many people were needed to find a single toilet."

Adrian shrugged innocently. "Sir, we volunteered to accompany him. There wasn't any ulterior motive."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I suggest, Headmaster, that the students are not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I feel they should be taken off their respective Quidditch teams until they are ready, to be honest."

"Really, Severus," said Professor McGonagall sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boys playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that they have done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he were being X-rayed.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," 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!"

"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."

"Actually, sir," Jéricho piped up, giving Harry a nudge in the ribs. "We might be able to provide the school with the draughts if the process takes too much time."

Harry nodded along vigorously. "My mother might have some in her supplies." Dumbledore inclined his head. "That would be very generous of you. Now, you 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' darkened faces.

"Are you okay?" Sera asked Harry immediately. "I mean... you never lose your temper like that..."

"I don't know. I just... exploded. No reason." Harry hesitated. "D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"

"No," said Adrian, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

Something in Adrian's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"

"'Course we do," Jéricho said quickly. "But - you must admit it's weird..."

"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," Jéricho said slowly. "I think Dad told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once..."

Abruptly, Adrian stifled a snigger.

"Sorry, it's just - Filch's a squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much." he gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter."

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."

Lyra

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. Lyra 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."

Theo looked extremely upset at the fate of Mrs. Norris. When Lyra asked Blaise about it, he just shrugged. "He's a great cat lover, I suppose."

But Lyra knew that wasn't the case... Then again, Theo had looked off-color for a while now. He didn't engage in any conversations with them, and the only ones he still occasionally talked to were Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise seemed worried and upset that his best friend had withdrawn so much, but when they tried, Theo shut them out again and snapped at them to leave him alone. The attack had also affected Lyra and Charles. Their respective brothers were suspects for the petrification, and while both of them knew that Harry and Jéricho were innocent, it didn't help that students were now hesitant to talk to them.

On Wednesday, Daphne had been held back by Sera for something irrelevant, so Lyra and Blaise were going to the library to meet Charles, Hermione, and Ronald. They spotted Justin Finch-Fletchley coming towards them. Lyra, being a friendly acquaintance of his, had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of her, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

"Wha-?"

"He's scared." Blaise drawled. "Because of your brother. Or maybe he doesn't want to ruin his reputation by being seen talking to you. Besides, he's a mud-muggleborn."

Lyra narrowed her eyes at the slip but let it go for the moment. They found Charles and Ronald at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."

"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short," Charles scowled, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny. "

"Where is she?" Lyra asked, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling her own homework.

"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."

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down next to Charles and Ron. "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."

"Why do you want it?" Lyra asked.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" said Charles quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else-"

"Dad told us about it once." Lyra sighed. "And the problem is that I can't remember it, as well. Same with Jéricho!"

"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Ronald desperately, checking his watch.

"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it -"

"I only need another two inches, come on -"

The bell rang. Ronald 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 staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

The Slytherins were having it this year with the Gryffindors. Lyra thought that the Headmaster did this on purpose; paired them up so that a fight could stir as a source of entertainment. The two houses were not compatible. Of course, Lyra didn't have any problems with Gryffindors. But most others did.

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 put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed. "Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Pansy's head came up off her arms and Theo's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked. "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 and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers-" He stuttered to a halt. This time it was Blaise's hand waving in the air.

"Mr...?"

"Zabini. Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?

Professor Binns was looking at Hermione and Blaise in such amazement that Lyra was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead. "Well," he said slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at them. "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. Lyra 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 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 magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

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 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."

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 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.

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the 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's 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 true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," 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 Patil, "you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it -"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," snapped Professor Binns. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" began Blaise, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," 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 five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron loudly as they exited the class "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..."

"Oh, shut it, Ronald." Lyra snapped. "Your sister's in Slytherin, so maybe you should stop flouncing your hatred loudly in the corridors, for a start," Ronald turned beet red, "And secondly, there is no evidence whatsoever of this."

"But Professor Binns said-" Hermione argued. 

"This is so ancient." Blaise frowned irritated. "Nobody from the founders' time is alive, and nobody knows if all of this is actually true. It's all speculation, I tell you."

The three Gryffindors didn't look convinced, but none of them pushed the matter. 

"D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Lyra frowned. "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 no stiff cat was 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 poke around," Charles shrugged, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

"Scorch marks!" Blaise said as he knelt next to Charles. "Here - and here -"

"Come and look at this!" Hermione called. "This is funny . . . ."

Lyra got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was there, 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.

"Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Lyra wondered.

"No," Charles frowned, "have you, Ron? Ron?"

They looked over their shoulders and saw Ron standing well back, seemingly fighting the impulse to run.

"What's up?" Blaise asked.

"I - don't - like - spiders," said Ron tensely.

"I never knew that," Hermione said, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times..."

"I don't mind them dead," said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. "I just don't like the way they move..."

Lyra giggled.

"It's not funny," said Ron, fiercely. "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. Charles and Hermione were obviously still trying not to laugh. Lyra and Blaise, however, had no such qualms and were giggling madly. Charles coughed, "Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone's mopped it up."

"It was about here," said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. "Level with this door."

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter?" Lyra questioned.

"Can't go in there," said Ron gruffly. "That's a girls' toilet."

"Oh, Ron, there won't be anyone in there," said Hermione, standing up and coming over. "That's Moaning Myrtle's place. Come on, let's have a look."

Ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Lyra 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.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?"

The others went to look, too. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

"This is a girls' bathroom," she said, eyeing the three boys suspiciously. "They're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "I 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," Lyra mouthed at Hermione, not really wanting to talk to the gloomy teen ghost.

"What are you whispering?" Myrtle asked, staring at her.

"Nothing," Lyra quickly said. "We wanted to ask -"

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" said Myrtle, 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. "Lyra only -"

"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "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," Blaise quickly said. "Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween."

"Did you see anyone near here that night?" Charles asked.

"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," Ron supplied 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.

They stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle... Come on, let's go."

Lyra had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three 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, you know -"

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Lyra forcefully of Mrs. Weasley. "Get - away - from - there -" he strode toward them and started 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. 

"Five points from Gryffindor!" Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. "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.

Lyra muttered, "Who can it be, though? Who'd want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?"

"Let's think," said Ron in mock puzzlement. "Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"

She looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced. "If you're talking about Malfoy -"

"Of course I am!" said Ron. "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 -"

"It's not." Blaise fiercely said. "He's a poncy prat who thinks he's superior than everyone else, yes, but he's not the heir."

"You're just defending him 'cause you're a Slytherin," Ron said hotly.

"Oi, you listen here, you." Blaise scowled. "I share a dorm with him, so I think I'm the most qualified to pass judgment on him. He's not discreet enough to pull something like this off. Otherwise, he'd be announcing it in the Great Hall loudly for everyone to hear."

With that, Blaise strode off. Lyra followed him with a last look at Charles.

Charles

"They're wrong." Ron insisted once they were back in the common room that night. 

"Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?" said Hermione skeptically. "I think Blaise was right..."

"Look at his family," Ron said. "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. They could've had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!" said Ron. "Handing it down, father to son..."

"Well," said Hermione cautiously, "I suppose it's possible in an insane way..."

"But how do we prove it?" Ron said darkly.

"There might be a way," Hermione said slowly, dropping her voice. "Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect -"

"If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won't you?" said Ron irritably.

"All right," 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 realizing it's us."

"But that's impossible," Charles said as Ron laughed.

"No, it's not," said Hermione. "All we'd need would be some Polyjuice Potion."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"It transforms you into somebody else," Charles said, knowing about it due to her mother, who was a freelance potioneer.

Hermione nodded. "Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything."

"This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me," said Ron, frowning. "What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. "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. "Hard to see why we'd want the book, really," said Ron, "if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions."

"Guys, I don't think... I reckon Lyra's right. She'd tell us if Malfoy was boasting about it in the common room..."

Ron scowled. "She's on first-name basis with him! Of course, she isn't going to out her housemate!"

"Maybe Malfoy's being careful around her," Hermione suggested. "Now, I think that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance..."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," said Ron. "They'd have to be really thick..."

"Lockheart," Charles announced.