HP & The Chamber of Secrets

Harry

Harry looked around so that he didn't have to look at his parents. 

Dumbledore's office was quite interesting and didn't cease to amaze Harry, no matter how many times he had been there. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. Several 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.

"So, Albus?" Lily said.

Before Dumbledore could speak a word, 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.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir - "

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

"- it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to -"

"Hagrid, I -"

"- yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never-"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry attacked those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. "But I still want to talk to you."

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together.

"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said gently. "Anything at all."

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of Malfoy shouting, "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" and of the Polyjuice Potion simmering away in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Then he thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Adrian had said: "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin...

"N-no, professor."

"Sweetheart, are you sure?" Lily asked gently. 

"I - what d'you want me to say?" Harry searched his parents' faces desperately. "I'm a freaking Parselmouth, and everyone thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin, and people are slandering my name, along with my family's! The other day I heard them even talk ill of Ech and Padfoot! I... I don't know!"

James hugged him soothingly. "It's okay. You're not the heir, and you're a good person. Doesn't matter that you're a Parselmouth, okay?"

Harry nodded, close to tears. But he didn't allow himself to cry. "I'm sorry..."

"S'not your fault." Lily smiled gently. "You wanna come back for the holidays?"

"No. I'm staying this year, and so are all my friends."

Lily narrowed her eyes slightly. "Why's that? Charles wrote and said he's staying, too."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know about him. My friends and I are working on a project, is all."

James grinned. "Let him be, Lils."

Lily huffed and relented. Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking amused. "Well then... you may leave, Harry."

Charles

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? What terrible power could harm someone 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 Charles and Hermione. 

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Charles was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around Harry in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed. Some thought Charles was in league with him, as well. And Charles worried about Harry, who looked constantly irritable these days.  

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting,

"Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through..."

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Harry told Charles that he didn't mind; that it made him feel better that there were people who thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. 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, and you're getting all the credit for his dirty work."

"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. Charles found it peaceful, rather than gloomy and enjoyed the fact that Hermione, the Potters, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. 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. Charles and Ron, the only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.

"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."

Charles sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," said 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.

"Hello," Charles said happily as she landed on his bed. "Are you speaking to me again?"

She nibbled his ear affectionately.

Hagrid had sent Charles a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry, true to his word, hadn't given him a present. His parents and relatives all got him mundane but great stuff. Charles opened the last present to find a new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. 

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, and Hagrid boomed 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. Charles didn't even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours' time.

Ginny hadn't joined them for dinner at their table, but had given them all their presents and wished them a happy birthday before going back to her friends. Ron grouched and mumbled about her 'new snakey friends' for a while, but eventually calmed down.

Charles and Ron had barely finished their 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," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone, 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 and Goyle's; they're Malfoy's best friends, and 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 the boys' stupefied faces. 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."

Charles and Ron looked incredulously at each other.

"Hermione, I don't think -"

"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 and Goyle's hair," she said sternly. "You do want to investigate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right, all right," said Charles. "But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?"

"I've already got mine!" said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. "Remember Pansy Parkinson, the pug-faced girl who follows Malfoy around? I've already taken care of her, don't worry."

When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Charles with a doom-laden expression. "Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?"

But to the boys' utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said. They 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. Charles had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Charles and 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, Charles yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle's forehead and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe's hairs. They also stole their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe's and Goyle's feet. Then, still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

They could hardly see through the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Charles and Ron knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her, they 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. Charles showed her Goyle's hair.

"Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry," Hermione said, holding up a small sack. "You'll need bigger sizes once you're Crabbe and Goyle."

The three of them 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 three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Parkinson'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 purplish pink.

"Urgh - the essence of Pansy Parkinson," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Bet it tastes disgusting."

"Add yours, then," said Hermione.

Charles dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Hang on," said Charles as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. "We'd better not all drink them in here... Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit."

"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."

Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Charles slipped into the middle stall. "Ready?" he called.

"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices. "One - two - three -"

Pinching his nose, Charles drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his 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. Charles 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, being Goyle. 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 Goyle's boatlike shoes. He reached up to brush his hair out of his eyes and met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead. Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Goyle obviously didn't need them - he took them off and called, "Are you two okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.

"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.

Charles unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deep-set eyes. He scratched his ear. So did Goyle.

Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. 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. "

"We'd better get going," Charles said, loosening the watch that was cutting into Goyle's thick wrist. "We've still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow. . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Charles, said, "You don't know how bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking." He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go -"

The door opened and came out Hermione, as Pansy Parkinson. "I'm ugly."

Charles and Ron let out surprised guffaws. Hermione opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that the coast was clear, and set off, them trailing behind.

"Don't swing your arms like that," Harry muttered to Ron.

"Eh?"

"Crabbe holds them sort of stiff . . . ."

"How's this?"

"Yeah, that's better . . . ."

They went down the marble staircase, following Hermione. Ron asked, "Where's the Slytherin common room?"

"I know." Hermione shrugged. "Followed Lyra some days ago."

Charles eyed her with admiration. "You're bloody brilliant."

As they paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall, they exchanged anxious glances. They didn't know the password...

"Oi, what're you doing?" 

They froze as they heard the voice, and accompanying footsteps. Ginny stood there with two girls with her. "What?"

"Forgot the password." Hermione squeaked. 

Ginny raised a suspicious eyebrow. "No insults today, Pansy?" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "Pure-blood!"

A stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Ginny and the girls marched through it, and the other three 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," Malfoy spotted them and waved them over. "Where were you? Wait a minute, I've got something to show you three. Wait a minute, I'll go and get it. My father's just sent it to me -"

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Charles, Ron, and Hermione sat down on empty chairs, doing their best to look at home. Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping, and read the clipping aloud.

"INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for helping to bewitch a Muggle motorbike, and Lord Sirius Black, a famed and respected Curse-Breaker and a war hero, was fined fifty galleons for bewitching and owning said motorbike.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted motorbike 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 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.

Meanwhile, Lord Black has received formal permission to legally bewitch another bike and is going to register it with the ministry."

"Well?" Malfoy asked impatiently. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," Charles laughed bleakly.

"Lord Black is a blood-traitor, who loves muggles very much... a disgrace, I'd say, but at least his blood is ridiculously pure. And thankfully he married into a respected household, too. So, I suppose he's pardoned... Arthur Weasley, on the other hand... he loves Muggles so much that he should snap his wand in half and go and join them," said Malfoy scornfully. "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 have let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "'Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?'"

Hermione let out a high-pitched giggle. Malfoy dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron. "What's the matter with you two?"

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. Now, Harry Potter, on the other hand... An heir to such a respected household, with friends of high status... You can see his company. I don't think I've ever really seen him properly with any Mudblood! Still... when you look at it, despite his mother being a Mudblood, and despite his friendly behavior with everyone, it would be easy to think of him as Slytherin's heir if he wasn't so Gryffindorish!"

Charles, Hermione, and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them 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 Charles, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all..."

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" snapped Malfoy. "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 - the 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, and Hermione had to put a hand on his arm. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Charles shot him a warning look and said, "D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?"

"Oh, yeah... whoever it was was expelled," said Malfoy. "They're probably still in Azkaban."

Charles shuddered a bit. Sirius had been there one time, even if it was only for a month. And he still shut down whenever it was brought up. Azkaban must be truly terrible.

Malfoy 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 to get rid 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?"

Charles tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.

"Yeah..." said Malfoy. "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. So did Charles and Hermione. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening - their hour was up, and Ron was turning back into himself. Hermione, too, was slowly changing...

All three of them jumped to their feet.

"Medicine for my stomach," Ron grunted, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn't noticed anything.

Charles could feel his feet slipping around in Goyle's huge shoes and had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where they'd locked Crabbe and Goyle. Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, they sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. "I know we still haven't found out who's doing the attacks, but I'm going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys' drawing room."

Charles checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal. He put his glasses on as the bathroom door banged open. In stepped Lyra.

"Hello, Charles." her lip curled upwards in disgust. 

Charles, Hermione, and Ron just stared at the Slytherin in horror. She looked livid, and there was a hint of hurt in her eyes that made Charles feel sick.

"So, you sneaked in. Polyjuice? I assume Hermione made it?"

Hermione wordlessly nodded. "And the ingredients?"

"Harry." Charles cleared his throat. "We didn't tell him anything, but he didn't ask many questions. It kinda cost me my Christmas present."

Lyra scowled fiercely. "I and Blaise told you to drop it, didn't we? We told you he isn't the heir! Couldn't you trust us? Me?"

"How can you expect us to? For all we know, you could be lying to save Malfoy. He's your snakey pal, isn't he?" Ron grumbled.

Charles shot his best friend a look before looking over at Lyra. She was staring at Charles with such betrayal that he had to lower his eyes.

"Alright, then." Lyra took a deep breath. "This isn't a surprise from Ron, but I expected better from you, Charles. Even you, Hermione. I thought we were friends. I thought you said my house didn't matter to you, Charles, but I guess you've gotten better at lying. I don't know why I was wasting my time being with you when you don't even trust me."

"Ly, please-" Charles choked out, but Lyra had already stormed away.

Josephine

"Miss Yarrow?"

Josephine whirled around. She was in an empty corridor after dinner, heading back to her common room. The holidays had ended some time ago, and so, not wanting to be in crowds, she'd gotten up from the table late.

Harry Potter was leaning on a wall, looking coolly at her.

"Can I help you?" Josephine asked politely. 

Potter pushed himself off the wall. "Yes, actually, you can. Is it true you find information for others?"

Josephine narrowed her eyes slightly. "At a price."

Potter nodded. "I need to know about a house-elf named Dobby. He's probably from a well-kept pureblood household. I need to know everything about him - his masters, his treatment... As much as you can collect."

Josephine considered it. "I'll need forty galleons."

"Twenty-five's my final offer."

"Thirty's mine."

"Deal." They shook on it.

"Oh," Josephine said, "And fifteen in advance, as a show of goodwill."

Potter immediately handed her the sum, and turned to leave. "You have a week."