HP & The Chamber of Secrets

Charles

Charles, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. So if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Charles was sure he'd have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He'd probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; Charles could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.

Charles half wished he hadn't found out how to work Riddle's diary. Again and again, Ron and Hermione made him recount what he'd seen until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," Hermione said. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people..."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," Charles said miserably. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

Ron tried a different tack. "Riddle does sound like Percy - who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," Hermione frowned.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," Charles said. "I don't blame him for wanting to stay here..."

The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," Ron scoffed. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"'

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally gotten bored of his "Oh, Potter, you rotter" song, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in Greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

"The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she told them. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing."

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously.

"it could affect our whole future," she told Charles and Ron as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

"I just want to give up Potions," Charles sighed.

"We can't," said Ron gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" said Hermione, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," said Ron. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

Neville had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody's advice but signed up for everything.

Charles knew he couldn't handle four subjects together like Harry, as he wasn't as naturally brilliant. That thought left him a bit bitter. The subjects he and Ron finally settled on were Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, and Charles signed up for Arithmancy with Hermione too, just because Harry had dropped it, being untalented at it.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner so Charles barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday's match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better.

But his cheerful mood didn't last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville, who was looking frantic.

"Charles - I don't know who did it - I just found -" Watching Charles fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.

The contents of Charles' trunk had been thrown everywhere. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. Nothing was damaged, thank Merlin.

Charles walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean swore loudly.

"What happened?"

"No idea," Charles said. But Ron was examining Charles' robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything missing?"

Charles started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn't there.

"Riddle's diary's gone," he said in an undertone to Ron.

"What?"

Charles jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy.

Hermione looked aghast at the news.

"But - only a Gryffindor could have stolen - nobody else knows our password -"

"Exactly."

Harry

Meanwhile, Harry was racing up to the Quidditch Pitch. It was getting dark and no one else was out. 

He found Yarrow already waiting for him. 

"Is this it?" she asked, examining the diary.

Harry nodded. "Yes, is it cursed?"

Yarrow released a long breath. "Yes... I don't know what, but this is extremely dark magic. It could even be possessive, you see. Very dark indeed."

Harry cursed. "I knew it. Look, I think... can you keep it? For me? I'll pay you fifty galleons to keep it safe and not let it go in the wrong hands. Just for a day or two, because I'm really not qualified for something like this."

Yarrow agreed, and he promised to pay her if and when two days passed and she still had the diary.

Charles

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Charles, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."

Charles had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Charles didn't like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.

As they were leaving the hall, Hermione suddenly clapped a hand on her forehead.

"Charles - I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"What does she understand?" Charles asked distractedly.

"Loads more than I do," Ron shook his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library."

Charles just shrugged. People were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

"You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven - the match - "

Charles raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goalposts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

Charles was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

"This match has been canceled," she called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

"But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play - the cup - Gryffindor -"

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone: "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please! And I will require Jéricho Black, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass to please come to me this instant."

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Charles over to her. "Potter, I think you'd better come with me..."

Confused, Charles saw Ron and Harry detach themselves from the complaining crowd. To Charles' surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object to either of them as they started to walk alongside Charles.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too..."

Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Charles, Harry, and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase, with Jéricho, Blaise, and Daphne behind them. 

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has been another attack... another double attack."

Charles' insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered.

Madam Pomfrey was bending over a Slytherin girl that Charles couldn't see. On the bed next to her was...

"Hermione!" Ron groaned.

Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them..."

She was holding up a small, circular mirror. Charles and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione...

Until the other girl came into view...

"Lyra!" Jéricho gasped and hurried over to her side. Harry, Blaise, Daphne, and Charles did the same, while Ron hung back. Lyra's still features were set in a mask of horror.

Professor McGonagall said heavily, "I need to address the students in any case."

Harry

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room and listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately.

"That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Slytherin, and one Hufflepuff, " said Lee, counting on his fingers. "But why a Slytherin? And a pure-blood, at that?"

"Maybe she just got in the way," Harry suggested half-heartedly. 

But Harry was only half-listening. He didn't seem to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione and Lyra, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. And if the culprit wasn't caught soon, Hogwarts would be closed. He wondered if he should tell the Headmaster about the diary. And maybe his father, too...

The fat lady suddenly appeared, looking disgruntled. "There's a Miss Yarrow here outside, looking for Harry Potter."

Harry's insides turned to ice as he quickly stood up. Mutters started up again, but Harry didn't pay them any mind. He hurriedly stepped outside and saw Yarrow panting there, looking extremely urgent.

"I'm so sorry, Harry!" she cried in distress. It was the first time he had seen her disheveled, and her hair was a bit out of place too, suggesting she'd been running. And Harry also jolted at his first name, which, as she had used, must mean it was something serious. Harry dreaded it wasn't...

"The diary's gone! At night, someone must have stolen it! But it wasn't there in my dorm when I just checked!"

Harry cursed colorfully. "Don't you keep wards in place?"

"I do! Someone surpassed them, which must mean they're older than me! And it must be a girl..."

"Alright," Harry said, trying to keep calm. "Just be on the lookout. This isn't a game anymore. That diary's cursed and dangerous. I think it's possessing someone..."

Josephine nodded. "Okay."

Charles

"What're we going to do?" Ron asked quietly in Charles' ear. "D'you think they suspect Hagrid?"

"We've got to go and talk to him," Charles said, making up his mind. "I can't believe it's him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he'll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start."

"But McGonagall said we've got to stay in our tower unless we're in class -"

"I think," Charles said, more quietly still, "it's time to steal my dad's old cloak."

Charles didn't want to do it, seeing as he would be breaking Harry's trust if he stole from him, but he knew that Harry wouldn't let him have the cloak at a time like this. It was their only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it.

So, when Harry was called out by Yarrow for Merlin knows what reason, Charles seized his chance and got Harry's cloak.

Charles and Ron went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville, Dean, and Sea mus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn't enjoyable. Charles, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset. Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. Their Invisibility Cloak didn't stop them from making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard.

Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors and eased them open. It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid's house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. "What're you two doin' here?"

"What's that for?" Charles pointed at the crossbow as they stepped inside.

"Nothin' - nothin' - " Hagrid muttered. "I've bin expectin' - doesn' matter - Sit down - I'll make tea -"

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" Charles asked. "Did you hear about Hermione?"

"Oh, I heard, all righ'," said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice.

He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Charles and Ron exchanged panic-stricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm, he carried a lime-green bowler.

"That's Dad's boss!" Ron breathed. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!"

Charles elbowed Ron hard to make him shut up. He knew who the man was!

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

"Bad business, Hagrid," said Fudge in rather clipped tones. "Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks. One on a respected pure-blood, too. Sirius Black is rather livid and threatening to push charges. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

"I never," said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something - the school governors have been in touch -"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Charles had never seen before.

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. "I'm under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn't Hagrid, he'll be back and no more said. But I've got to take him. Got to. Wouldn't be doing my duty -"  

"Take me?" said Hagrid, who was trembling. "Take me where?"

"For a short stretch only," said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid's eyes. "Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out with a full apology -"

"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it. It was Charles' turn for an elbow in the ribs; he'd let out an audible gasp.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Sirius both strode into Hagrid's hut. Malfoy was swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Sirius just seemed angry. Fang started to growl.

"Already here, Fudge," Malfoy said approvingly. "Good, good..."

"What're you doin' here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your - er - d'you call this a house?" Malfoy sneered as he looked around the small cabin. "I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't be touchy about the living arrangements here, Lucius." then he turned to the others, "I just met Lucius at the school as I was wandering around and came along for some air."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" Dumbledore spoke politely, nodding at Sirius to acknowledge him, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, "but the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension - you'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn't it? At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended - no, no - last thing we want just now-"

"The appointment - or suspension - of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. "And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks-"

"See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can't stop them," said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, "I mean to say, who can?"

"That remains to be seen," said Malfoy with a nasty smile. "But as all twelve of us have voted -"

Hagrid leaped to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

'An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," Malfoy drawled. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the Muggle-borns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.

"If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside -"

"But -" stuttered Fudge.

"No!" growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy's cold gray ones.

"However," said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Charles stared at Sirius, who had yet to say anything. It was unlike him; Charles thought he'd be the one having a yelling bout. But Sirius was staring at the scene in front of him with a strange calculating look in his eyes. 

Before leaving, Hagrid said, "If anyone's looking for answers, just follow the spiders."

Sirius's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn't look right to Charles; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.

Charles and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.

"We're taking no more chances," Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. "No, I'm sorry, there's every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off..."

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn't look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.

Charles constantly repeated Dumbledore's final words to himself "I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me... Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?

Hagrid's hint about the spiders was far easier to understand. The trouble was that there didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Charles looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren't allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Charles found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Charles didn't realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Charles overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore," he said, not troubled to keep his voice down. "I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the school's ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won't want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in..."

Snape swept past Charles, making no comment about Hermione's empty seat and cauldron.

"Sir," said Malfoy loudly. "Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?"

"Now, now, Malfoy," said Snape, though he couldn't suppress a thin-lipped smile. "Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he'll be back with us soon enough."

"Yeah, right," said Malfoy, smirking. "I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job - I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir -"

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now," Malfoy went on. "Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger -"

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy's last words, Ron had leaped off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.

"Let me at him," Ron growled as Charles and Dean hung onto his arms. "I don't care, I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands -"

"Lyra's a pure-blood, Malfoy," Charles snarled. "And she was attacked, too. Maybe you ought to reconsider your position. What if you're the next?"

Malfoy paled slightly.

"Hurry up, I've got to take you all to Herbology," barked Snape over the class's heads, and off they marched, with Charles, Ron, and Dean bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose. It was only safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses."

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione.

Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs. Charles went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found himself face-to-face with Ernie Macmillan. Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, "I just want to say, Charles, that I'm sorry I ever suspected your brother, and by extension, you. I've already apologized to him. I know Harry would never attack Hermione Granger or Lyra Black, and I'm sorry for all the stuff I said. We're all in the same boat now, and, well -"

He held out a pudgy hand, and Charles shook it. Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Charles and Ron.

"That Draco Malfoy character," said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, "he seems very pleased about all this, doesn't he? D'you know, I think he might be Slytherin's heir."

"That's clever of you," Ron said, who didn't seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Charles.

"Do you think it's Malfoy, Charles?" Ernie asked.

"No," Charles replied so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared. A second later, Charles spotted something.

Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Charles hit Ron over the hand with his pruning shears.

"Ouch! What're you -" 

Charles pointed out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, trying, and failing, to look pleased. "But we can't follow them now -"

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously. Charles' eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up.

"Looks like they're heading for the Forbidden Forest..." And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson, Professor Sprout escorted the class to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Charles and Ron lagged behind the others so they could talk out of earshot.

"We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again," Charles told Ron. They still hadn't returned it. "We can take Fang with us. He's used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help."

"Right," Ron said, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. "Er - aren't there - aren't there supposed to be dangerous creatures in the forest?" he added as they took their usual places at the back of Lockhart's classroom.

Preferring not to answer that question, Charles said, "There are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns..."

Ron had never been to the Forbidden Forest before. Charles had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

"Come now," he cried, beaming around him. "Why all these long faces?"

People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

"Don't you people realize," said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, "the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away -"

"Says who?" said Dean loudly.

"My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid if he hadn't been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty," said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two.

"Oh, yes he would," Ron said, even more loudly than Dean.

"I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart in a self-satisfied tone.

Ron started to say that he didn't think so, somehow but stopped in midsentence when Charles kicked him hard under the desk.

"We weren't there, remember?" Charles muttered.

But Lockhart's disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, and his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated Charles so much that he yearned to throw Gadding with Ghouls right in Lockhart's stupid face. Instead, he contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.

Ron read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.