HP & The Chamber of Secrets

Charles

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o'clock onward the Gryffindors had nowhere else to go. They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn't empty until past midnight.

Charles went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear. Fred and George challenged Charles and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, and Harry sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione's usual chair. Charles couldn't help but worry about his brother, who seemed even more stressed than usual. When asked, Harry said that it was due to his so many subjects, and because the exams were near. Charles wasn't convinced, but he didn't push.

Harry kept looking at the portrait hole, as if waiting for someone, and went to his dorm early that day, looking disappointed. Charles and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly, but even so, it was well past midnight when Fred and George finally went to bed.

Charles and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last, they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.

"'Course," Ron said abruptly as they strode across the black grass, "we might get to the forest and find there's nothing to follow. Those spiders might not've been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but..."

His voice trailed away hopefully.

They reached Hagrid's house, sad and sorry-looking with its blank windows. When Charles pushed the door open, Fang went mad with joy at the sight of them. Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, they hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.

Charles left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid's table. There would be no need for it in the pitch-dark forest.

"C'mon, Fang, we're going for a walk," Charles patted his leg, and Fang bounded happily out of the house behind them, dashed to the edge of the forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree. Charles took out his wand, and murmured, "Lumos!"

A tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to let them watch the path for signs of spiders.

"Good thinking," Ron said. "I'd light mine, too, but you know - it'd probably blow up or something..."

Charles tapped Ron on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.

"Okay," Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, "I'm ready. Let's go."

So, with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots and leaves, they entered the forest. By the glow of Charles' wand, they followed the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path. They walked behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves. Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and Charles' wand shone alone in the sea of dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path.

Charles paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside his little sphere of light was pitch-black. He had never been this deep into the forest before. He could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path the last time he'd been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

Something wet touched Charles' hand and he jumped backward, crushing Ron's foot, but it was only Fang's nose.

"What d'you reckon?" Charles said to Ron, whose eyes he could just make out, reflecting the light from his wand.

"We've come this far," Ron shrugged.

So they followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. They couldn't move very quickly now; there were tree roots and stumps in their way, barely visible in the near blackness. Charles could feel Fang's hot breath on his hand. More than once, they had to stop, so that Charles could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

They walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, their robes snagging on low-slung branches and brambles. After a while, they noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making both Charles and Ron jump out of their skins.

"What?" said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch-dark, and gripping Charles' elbow very hard.

"There's something moving over there," Charles breathed. "Listen... sounds like something big..."

They listened. Some distance to their right, something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees.

"Oh, no," Ron moaned. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh -"

"Shut up," Charles snapped frantically. "It'll hear you."

"Hear me?" Ron said in an unnaturally high voice. "It's already heard Fang!"

The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence.

"What d'you think it's doing?" Charles asked.

"Probably getting ready to pounce," Ron replied. They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move.

"D'you think it's gone?" Charles whispered.

"Dunno -"

Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that both of them flung up their hands to shield their eyes. Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelped even louder.

"Charles!" Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief. "Charles, it's Elvendork!"

"What?"

"Come on!"

Charles blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later they had emerged into a clearing.

Sirius' motorbike was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Charles walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.

"It's been here all the time!" Ron exclaimed delightedly, walking around the car. "Look at it. The forest's turned it wild..."

The sides of the motorbike were scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently, it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own. Fang didn't seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Charles, who could feel him quivering. His breathing slowing down again, Charles stuffed his wand back into his robes.

"And we thought it was going to attack us!" Ron leaned against Elvendork and patted it. "I wondered where it had gone!"

Charles squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders, but they had all scuttled away from the glare of the headlights.

"We've lost the trail," he said. "C'mon, let's go and find them."

Ron didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Charles. His face was livid with terror.

Charles didn't even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly he felt something long and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he was hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking and saw Ron's legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling - the next moment, he was being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, Charles saw that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were moving into the very heart of the forest. Charles could hear Fang fighting to free himself from a third monster, whining loudly, but Charles couldn't have yelled even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his voice back with Elvendork in the clearing.

He never knew how long he was in the creature's clutches; he only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming with spiders. Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on.

Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying Charles made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

Charles fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. Ron and Fang thudded down next to him. Fang wasn't howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like Charles felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping.

Charles suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was saying something. It had been hard to tell because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.

"Aragog!" it called. "Aragog!"

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.

"What is it?" he said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

"Men," clicked the spider who had caught Charles.

"Is it Hagrid?" said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

"Strangers," clicked the spider who had brought Ron.

"Kill them," clicked Aragog fretfully. "I was sleeping..."

"We're friends of Hagrid's," Charles shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in his throat.

Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.

Aragog paused.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," he said slowly.

"Hagrid's in trouble," Charles said, breathing very fast. "That's why we've come."

"In trouble?" said the aged spider, and Charles thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. "But why has he sent you?"

Charles thought of getting to his feet but decided against it; he didn't think his legs would support him. So he spoke from the ground, as calmly as he could.

"They think, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting a - something on students. They've taken him to Azkaban."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn't usually make Charles feel sick with fear.

"But that was years ago," said Aragog fretfully. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

"And you ... you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?" Charles asked, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead.

"I!" said Aragog, clicking angrily. "I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness..."

Charles summoned what remained of his courage. "So you never - never attacked anyone?"

"Never," croaked the old spider. "It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet..."

"But then ... Do you know what did kill that girl?" Charles asked slowly. "Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again -"

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him.

"The thing that lives in the castle," said Aragog, "is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school."

"What is it?" Charles asked urgently.

More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in.

"We do not speak of it!" said Aragog fiercely. "We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dreadful creature, though he asked me, many times."

Charles didn't want to press the subject, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of taming. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward Charles and Ron.

"We'll just go, then," Charles called desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him.

"Go?" said Aragog slowly. "I think not..."

"But - but -"

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friends of Hagrid."

Charles spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a solid wall of spiders, clicking, their many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads. Even as he reached for his wand, Charles knew it was no good, there were too many of them, but as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow.

Elvendork was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. It screeched to a halt in front of Charles and Ron.

"Get Fang!" Charles yelled, diving onto the seat; Ron seized the boarhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the sidecar. Ron jumped in behind Charles, who didn't need to touch anything - Elvendork seemed to know exactly what to do. The engine roared and they were off, hitting more spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the forest, branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

Charles looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes weren't popping anymore. "Are you okay?" Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back seat, and Charles saw the side mirror snap off as they squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and he could again see patches of sky.

Elvendor stopped so suddenly that Charles nearly fell down. They had reached the edge of the forest. Fang flung himself out in his anxiety, and he shot off through the trees to Hagrid's house, tail between his legs. Charles stood up too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain the feeling in his limbs and followed, still stiff-necked and staring. Charles gave Elvendork a grateful pat and a muttered "thank you" as it reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.

Charles went back into Hagrid's cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak, and saw Fang was trembling under a blanket in his basket. When he got outside again, he found Ron being violently sick in the pumpkin patch.

"Follow the spiders," Ron mumbled weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I'll never forgive Hagrid. We're lucky to be alive."

"I bet he thought Aragog wouldn't hurt friends of his," said Charles.

"That's exactly Hagrid's problem!" said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. "He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're made out to be, and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban!" He was shivering uncontrollably now. "What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I'd like to know?"

"That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets," Charles threw the cloak over Ron and prodded him in the arm to make him walk. "He was innocent."

Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent.

As the castle loomed nearer, Charles twitched the cloak to make sure their feet were hidden, then pushed the creaking front doors ajar. They walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding their breath as they passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking. At last, they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stairs to their dormitory.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Charles, however, didn't feel very sleepy. He sat on the edge of his four-poster, thinking hard about everything Aragog had said.

The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle sounded like a sort of monster Voldemort - even other monsters didn't want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to finding out what it was, or how it Petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was in the Chamber of Secrets.

Charles swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against his pillows, watching the moon glinting at him through the tower window. He couldn't see what else they could do. They had hit dead ends everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of Slytherin had gotten off, and no one could tell whether it was the same person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was nobody else to ask. Charles lay down, still thinking about what Aragog had said.

He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last hope occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Ron," he hissed through the dark, "Ron -"

Ron woke with a yelp like Fang's, stared wildly around, and saw Charles.

"Ron - that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom," Charles ignored Neville's snuffing snores from the corner. "What if she never left the bathroom? What if she's still there?"

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too.

"You don't think - not Moaning Myrtle?"

"All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away," Ron said bitterly at breakfast the next day, "and we could've asked her, and now. . ."

It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls' bathroom, the girls' bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.

But something happened in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks. Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their exams would start on the first of June, one week away.

"Exams?" Seamus howled. "We're still getting exams?"

There was a loud bang behind Charles as Neville Longbottom's wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk. Professor McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus.

"The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education," she said sternly. "The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard."

Studying hard! Charles had completely forgotten about exams with the castle in this state. There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.

"Professor Dumbledore's instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible," she said. "And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year."

Charles looked down at the pair of white rabbits he was supposed to be turning into slippers. What had he learned so far this year? He couldn't seem to think of anything that would be useful in an exam.

Ron looked as though he'd just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest.

"Can you imagine me taking exams with this?" he asked Charles, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.

"I have good news," she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted.

"Dumbledore's coming back!" several people yelled joyfully.

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!" squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

"Quidditch matches are back on!" roared Wood excitedly.

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

There was an explosion of cheering. Charles looked over at the Slytherin table and wasn't at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn't joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he'd looked in days.

"It won't matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!" he said to Charles. "Hermione'll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she'll go crazy when she finds out we've got exams in three days. She hasn't studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they're over."

Charles knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up - and to his delight it did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors. His hair wasn't as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

"Mark my words," he said, ushering them around a corner. "The first words out of those poor Petrified people's mouths will be 'It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary."

"I agree, sir," Charles painfully curved his lips upwards in a polite smile, making Ron drop his books in surprise.

"Thank you, Charles," Lockhart said graciously while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. "I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night..."

"That's right," Ron said, catching on. "Why don't you leave us here, sir, we've only got one more corridor to go -"

"You know, Weasley, I think I will," Lockhart agreed. "I really should go and prepare for my next class -"

And he hurried off.

"Prepare his class," Ron sneered after him. "Gone to curl his hair, more like."

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme...

"Potter! Weasley! What are you doing?"

It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

"We were - we were-" Ron stammered. "We were going to - to go and see -"

"Hermione," Charles said. Ron and Professor McGonagall both looked at him.

"We haven't seen her for ages, Professor," Charles went on hurriedly, treading on Ron's foot, "and Lyra, too. She's my cousin and I've grown up with her, as you know. We thought we'd sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell the girls the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry -"

Professor McGonagall was still staring at him, and for a moment, Charles thought she was going to explode, but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

"Of course," she said, and Charles amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been... I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course, you may visit Misses Granger and Black. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey that I have given my permission."

Charles and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that they'd avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

"That," said Ron fervently, "was the best story you've ever come up with."

They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall's permission to visit Hermione and Lyra.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly.

"There's just no point talking to a petrified person," she said, and they had to admit she had a point when they'd taken their seats between Hermione and Lyra. It was plain that the girls didn't have the faintest inkling that she had visitors and that they might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

"Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?" Ron said, looking sadly at Hermione's rigid face. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one ever will know..."

But Charles wasn't looking at Hermione's face. He was more interested in her right hand. It lay clenched on top of her blankets and bending closer, he saw that a piece of paper was scrunched inside her fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed this out to Ron.

"Get it out," Ron whispered, shifting his chair so that he blocked Charles from Madam Pomfrey's view.

It was no easy task. Hermione's hand was clamped so tightly around the paper that Charles was sure he was going to tear it. Ron kept watch he tugged and twisted, and at last, after several tense minutes, the paper came free.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Charles smoothed it out eagerly and Ron leaned close to read it, too.

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Charles recognized as Hermione's. Pipes.

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.

"Ron," he breathed. "This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber's a basilisk - a giant serpent!" Charles looked up at the beds around him.

"The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one's died - because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified. Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick. Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again... and Hermione and Lyra were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. I bet you anything she warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And Lyra pulled out her mirror - and -"

Ron's jaw had dropped. "And Mrs. Norris?" he whispered eagerly.

Charles thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Halloween.

"The water..." he said slowly. "The flood from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection..."

He scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it, the more it made sense.

"'...The crowing of the rooster... is fatal to it'!" he read aloud. "Hagrid's roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn't want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! Spiders flee before it... It all fits!"

"But how's the basilisk been getting around the place?" Ron asked. "A giant snake... Someone would've seen..."

Charles, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the foot of the page. "Pipes," he said. "Ron, it's been using the plumbing..."

Ron suddenly grabbed Charles' arm. "The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!" he said hoarsely. "What if it's a bathroom? What if it's in -"

"- Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Charles finished.

They sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able to believe it.

"But..." Charles said, "This means that Harry can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been controlling the basilisk."

Charles would never even dare imagine that it was Harry, because he knew his brother.

"What're we going to do?" said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. "Should we go straight to McGonagall?"

"Let's go to the staff room," Charles jumped up. "She'll be there in ten minutes. It's nearly break."

They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the staff room. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. And it wasn't deserted...

"Harry?" Charles and Ron blurted in surprise. Harry, who had been pacing around the room, abruptly stopped and whirled around. Nearby, a first-year Slytherin girl stood up from where she was sitting. They were all shocked to see one another.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked sharply.

"I could ask the same." Charles shot back.

Harry shrugged. "To talk to McGonagall."

Charles exchanged a look with Ron before facing Harry again. "Us too. Who is she?" he added, pointing at the only Slytherin in the room. 

Harry introduced her, "Josephine Yarrow, she's a friend of Ginny's."

Yarrow narrowed her eyes. "What you have to tell McGonagall... is it about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Before Charles could open his mouth to respond, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall's magically magnified voice. "All students return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please." 

Harry

Josephine wheeled around to stare at Harry. "Not another attack? Not now?"

"What'll we do?" Ron asked, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"

"No," Harry glanced around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers' cloaks. "You three, in there. I'll delusion myself. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we came here for."

As the three hid themselves inside the wardrobe, Harry stood near it, invisible, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open. They watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

"It has happened," she told the silent staff room. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," said McGonagall, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. "His skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.'"

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

"Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. "Which student?"

"Theodore Nott," Professor McGonagall said.

Harry's mouth parted in surprise and horror. 

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," McGonagall continued. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said..."

The staffroom door banged open again. For one wild moment, Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.

"So sorry - dozed off - what have I missed?"

He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the man," he said. "The very man. A boy has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

Lockhart blanched.

"That's right, Gilderoy," chipped in Professor Sprout. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I - well, I -" Lockhart sputtered.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" piped up Professor Flitwick.

Harry figured that if the situation had been any different, he would have been laughing at the phony's fate. "D-did I? I don't recall -"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," Snape said. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues. "I - I never - you may have misunderstood -"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," McGonagall decided. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.

"V-very well," he said. "I'll - I'll be in my office, getting... getting ready." And he left the room.

"Right," said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, "that's got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students about what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories?"

The teachers rose and left, one by one.

The second they left, Josephine, Charles, and Ron came out. Josephine swirled around to look at Harry. "Do you think-?"

"Yes." Harry firmly confirmed. "There's no other reason. He's a pure-blood and a Slytherin, after all."

"Harry," Charles interuppted. "What are you talking about?"

Harry sighed. "We think Nott was being possessed by the stupid diary you had, Charles."

"What?" Charles asked, stunned. "How-?"

"It's cursed." Harry spat. "I gave it to Josephine, but Nott stole it back."

Ron blinked. "You were the one to steal it from Charles?"

"'Course I was," Harry said dismissively, as if that should be very obvious. "I didn't want to spread panic when I myself wasn't sure, so I didn't think it was time to tell you yet."

"So you stole it," Charles stated dumbly.

"Haven't you been listening?" Harry snapped. "Yes, I stole it. And turns out I was right; it was cursed. It's been possessing someone all year to open the chamber. Well, we found out who."

"So you think it's Nott?" Ron asked skeptically.

"It makes sense." Josephine agreed. "He's been off-color all year, anyway."

"What d'you think we should do then?" Ron asked.

"Go and see McGonagall?" Josephine suggested a bit desperately. "We have nothing else to do!"

"There's no time; Nott might be dead," Charles argued. "We can just go down there ourselves-"

"You're forgetting a small detail, little brother," Harry snapped. He was already on edge; he didn't have time to handle any stupidity. "We don't know where it is."

"Actually..." Ron and Charles shifted from feet to feet. Harry groaned. "Don't tell me you know where it is!"

"We might," Charles admitted sheepishly. "Have an idea, I mean. Myrtle's bathroom."

Understanding dawned on Harry. "The girl who died last time. You mean to say it was Myrtle?"

"How'd you know about that?" Ron frowned.

Harry scoffed and ignored his question. "Come on, we don't have too much time."

Josephine stopped them. "I should go to Lockhart. He's going to try and get into the Chamber, anyway." 

"Yeah, and tell him it's a basilisk in there," Charles said.

Harry paused. "Wait, a basilisk?! That's why-!"

He stopped abruptly. That was why he had been hearing voices all year! But he had been hearing them inside the walls...

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Has it been going around through the plumbing, by any chance?"

Charles and Ron looked thunderstruck. "How-?"

Harry waved their questions away again. "Go on then, Josephine. Stop that idiot from getting himself killed. Charles, Ron, come with me."

Josephine

There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Josephine knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and she saw one of Lockhart's eyes peering through it.

"Oh - Ms. Yarrow -" he said, opening the door a bit wider. "I'm rather busy at the moment - if you would be quick -"

"Professor, I've got some information for you."

"Er - well - it's not terribly -" The side of Lockhart's face that they could see looked very uncomfortable. "I mean - well all right -"

He opened the door and she entered.

Her office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor. Robes, jade-green, lilac, midnight-blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other. The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

"Are you going somewhere?" Josephine asked coldly.

"Er, well, yes," said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call - unavoidable - got to go -"

"And what about Theo Nott?"

"Well, as to that - most unfortunate -" said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. "No one regrets more than I -"

Josephine scowled. "You mean you're running away? After all that stuff you did in your books -"

"Books can be misleading," said Lockhart delicately.

"You wrote them!"

"My dear girl," Lockhart straightened up and frowned at Josephine. "Do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on -"

"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done? How did you manage that?" 

"Miss Yarrow," Lockhart sighed, "There was work involved on my part. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my Memory Charms. It's not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog."

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them. "Let's see," he said. "I think that's everything. Yes. Only one thing left."

He pulled out his wand and turned to her. "Awfully sorry, my girl, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I'd never sell another book -"

As Josephine reached for her wand, Lockhart had already raised his. A voice bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" from the door, and Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Josephine caught it, and flung it out of the open window.

Then she turned. 

Jéricho Black, Pucey, Diggory, and Serafina Greengrass were standing there, with their wands out. Greengrass sneered in disgust. "What a pathetic, cowardly man you are! An utter talentless phony!"

"Luckily," Pucey drawled as he smirked, "We have clear evidence of your crimes, Lockheart."