Pride

Summer ended with an explosion of fireworks in the kitchen.

Ron still had afterimages imprinted on the backs of his eyelids the next morning as they packed up the Ford Anglia. They had to go back to the Burrow several times for forgotten brooms and books and more fireworks. Everyone was in a bad mood as owls shrieked and Scabbers squeaked and a duck quacked. 

“What was that?” their mum asked, turning around to glare at the children lined up in the back seat. 

“Nothing,” Ginny said, trying to cover the cage she sat on with her robes. 

“Quack.”

“Is that a duck?” their mum asked. “Who brought a duck with them? Did one of your brothers put you up to this?”

“It was all Ginny’s idea,” Ron said, safely sitting on Harry’s other side, avoiding his sister’s wrath. “She thinks she can train it up to work like an owl.”

She was a pretty duck, with a rosy orange bill and light pink feet, a dark green head with white markings under her eyes. She was mostly white, but with a band of chestnut feathers around her chest, and wings tipped in black that transitioned to emerald green, with a black belly.

“I can!” Ginny said, climbing off the cage now that the jig was up. Ron noticed it was one of the pixie cages they had used earlier in summer. How Ginny had got one, he didn’t know.

Their mum sighed. “I suppose she can live on the Black Lake. A duck isn’t the most unusual pet. Are you sure she didn’t have ducklings?”

“I asked her if she wanted to come,” Ginny said defensively. “Her ducklings have already fledged.”

“What’s her name?” Fred asked, putting a finger in the cage. The duck clacked her bill at him. 

“Custard,” Ginny said, smiling at her duck. Custard honked in approval.

They arrived at King’s Cross with just fifteen minutes to spare. By the time they got the trolleys together and the pets secured, there were only five minutes left. 

They weren’t the only ones running late. Ron and Harry waited as Percy, Fred, George, their dad, and finally their mum and Ginny went through the barrier. 

“...can’t believe the floo was blocked…had to apparate into a station filled with muggles…”

Ron and Harry were pushed aside by an elderly woman wearing an impressive hat with a stuffed vulture perched on top, its wings spread out as if spotting some particularly delectable carrion. It was Neville’s gran, frog-marching Neville through the barrier with his croaking toad. Ron and Harry ran after them, but it was too late. The barrier was a solid wall of brick. They crashed into it.

Harry reeled around his trolley to check on Hedwig, clutching his chest. She was audibly upset, but unharmed. Scabbers was shivering, but also fine. 

A guard yelled at them, people were staring, and Ron and Harry had no idea what to do.

“We’ve missed it,” Harry said, looking up at the station clock. 

“If we can’t get in, then mum and dad can’t get out,” Ron said.

“Let’s wait by the car,” Harry said, pushing his trolley in that direction. “I hope we don’t miss the sorting."

The two boys found a bench to sit on, drawing some attention for the amount of luggage they had, and Scabbers, and of course Hedwig stood out. Harry let her out of her cage so she could make her own way to Hogwarts, rather than have people try to come up to her. She flew off gratefully, though even that had people asking him questions about setting a snowy owl loose in London. 

Ron looked around the station anxiously, worried about his parents. The Ford Anglia got a citation for blocking traffic. Taxis were lined up behind it, honking. 

“It’s going to get towed,” Harry said, watching as police circled the car.

“We could move it,” Ron said, already knowing it was a bad idea. There were tons of muggles around, and he’d heard his parents talking about the various loopholes his dad had exploited simply to work enchantments on the car. He'd get in trouble if Ron and Harry were caught flying it.

“Ron! Harry!”

Ron’s mum came running at them, out of breath. “Where were you two?” 

His dad went to talk to the police officers, giving them some kind of story, before ultimately resorting to magic to send them away, confused. 

“I’ve already sent Hedwig ahead,” Harry explained to Ron’s mum, who was frantic about what to do with them. 

“I suppose Arthur will be getting his wish then,” she said, hurrying them into the car. “Hogsmeade hasn’t got any public floo access, and of course we can’t floo you into the school. We could apparate you, though with Harry’s condition…”

Harry bowed his head, and Ron scooted closer to him. “It’ll be fine. We’ll get to school one way or the other.”

Harry no longer had to wear the lavender-scented thurible, but there was still some scarring on his lungs the healers weren’t able to fully repair, and he’d have to see Madam Pomfrey for treatment every month. Ron was grateful they said he could still play quidditch on the school team, if Harry got on. 

Ron’s dad pulled into the muggle traffic, finding a route back out of the city. 

“We were so worried when you didn’t come through the barrier,” his mum said, rambling a little. “The train was already leaving when we noticed. And then we couldn’t get through either!”

“And there’s no other way on or off the platform, for security reasons,” his dad said. “Luckily some MLEs have children in Hogwarts, and we managed to open the barrier again. There’s going to be an inquiry, since the station is legally under Hogwarts’ purview.”

“The train takes about eight hours to get to Hogsmeade station,” his mum said.

His dad stared at her, forgetting he was on the road. “You want us to drive eight hours?”

“Unless you’re expecting this car to do something else, Arthur.”

“Er, no. Of course not. Road trip it is.”

After an hour passed sluggishly by, and Ron’s mum realized how bad traffic truly was, his dad found some backroads and empty fields, and the Ford Anglia took flight.

“This is…” his mum said as they went invisible, seemingly nothing between them and the ground far below.

“We’ll get above the clouds for cover,” his dad said. “There’s some toffees in the glove compartment.”

They flew for hours, the sun burning bright about them. They shared the lunches Ron’s mum had packed for him and Harry, and she summoned fresh water from a stream they landed near for a break.

By the time they reached Hogsmeade it was dark. The two boys looked around the village with wide eyes. Neither expected to visit it before third year, but there was no time to explore. His dad had gone off to find lodgings overnight and to send an owl to the Ministry letting them know he’d not be at work the next day. His mum levitated their trunks and walked them up to the castle.

“I’ll just explain to Professor Flitwick what happened,” she said as they passed the gates and walked through the grounds. “I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re both missing.”

They made it past the great oak doors, and his mum set their trunks against the wall of the entrance hall.

“It looks like the sorting’s already begun,” she said. “There’s Ginny! Oh dear, she looks nervous.”

Ron looked up at the head table, dismayed to see Lockhart had been telling the truth that he was the new Defense teacher. The other professors watched as a small boy was first to sit on the stool.

“Hurry in, boys,” Ron’s mum said. “Shame you missed the Sorting Hat’s song, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“Where’s Snape?” Harry asked as they started for the Great Hall.

“Waiting to hear why you two didn’t arrive on the school train.”

Snape cut a Byronic figure as he confronted them in the entrance hall. Black robes billowing in the cold wind blowing through the oak doors, pitch black hair framing a haunted and pale face, looming over Ron’s rather short mother and two twelve-year-old boys, all tired from a long trip. The look of disgust on his face belied his stoic image.

“Good evening, Professor Snape,” his mum said, a little unsettled by his abrupt appearance. “Has the school already been informed about the issue at the station?”

Snape left off staring at Harry to turn his dark gaze on her. “Issue?”

“The barrier was blocked,” Harry said. “We couldn’t get through.”

“Arthur and I drove the boys here,” his mum said, meeting Snape’s eyes. “The barrier created quite a stir. I’m surprised to hear that the news has traveled slower than us!”

She turned to Ron and Harry. “Go on in, you two. Don’t want to miss Ginny’s sorting. I’ll handle this.”

Ron and Harry glanced at the two adults, but hurried into the Great Hall and to the Ravenclaw table.

“Potter—”

“Is not in your house, Professor Snape. Nor is Ron, for that matter! I would be happy to speak with Professor Flitwick, who is their head of house, and the headmaster. Arthur is in Hogsmeade, I can call him here as well.”

Ron smiled at his mum’s handling of Snape. Why he was lurking around to catch them, he didn’t know. Probably his bizarre vendetta against Harry.

“Hello Harry, hello Ronald,” a light voice called as they sat down.

“Luna?” Harry said, sitting between the other second-years and the first-years.

“Congratulations,” Ron whispered, turning to see Ginny approaching the stool, white as a sheet. The Hat had barely fallen over her eyes when it shouted, “Gryffindor!”

Ron and Harry stood up to clap for her, Luna joining them at a much lower volume.

“I don’t think we’ll have any classes together,” Luna said sadly.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t still be friends,” Harry said.

“And you can study together,” Ron said, watching as Ginny happily talked with the other Gryffindor first-years, sneaking shy peeks at Neville. One mousy-haired boy kept missing his mouth with his fork and ended up with food spilling down his robes.

He knew Luna and Ginny were friends mostly because they were the only two witches of their age in Ottery St. Catchpole. Ron wasn't sure how well that friendship would hold up in school.

“And you’ve got us,” Harry said, smiling at the slightly dazed Luna.

Luna nodded, her pale eyes saucer-wide as the feast appeared before them. “Oh, haggis!”

Sue Li leaned across the table. “Where were you two? No one saw you on the train. Your prefect brother kept searching compartments the whole time.”

Ron looked over to the Gryffindor table and gave Percy an apologetic smile. He knew he’d get swarmed by his siblings for an explanation, if not that night then the next day. 

Ron turned back to his food, listening as Harry explained to their yearmates what had happened. 

After dessert was served and subsequently cleared, and Dumbledore had given his speech, they climbed up Ravenclaw Tower and collapsed on their beds, ready for the long day to be over. 

Ginny plopped herself at their table during breakfast, Custard under her arm. 

“Can I borrow Hedwig?” she asked Harry. “I want her to start training Custard.”

“Go ahead,” Harry said.

“Do you know how to get to the Owlery?” Ron asked.

“Fred and George told me how,” she said, stealing a piece of bacon for Custard.

“I don’t think ducks should eat bacon,” Harry said, watching as Custard broke off a piece and gobbled it down.

“She’s a magical duck,” Ron said. “Or, more magical than other ducks, since she’s from our place.”

“Morning, Luna!”

“Good morning, Ginny,” Luna said. “That’s a lovely duck.”

“Quack!”

“Thanks, see you later!”

Flitwick came by with their schedules, pausing next to Ron and Harry to let them know they weren’t in any trouble for missing the train. Ron’s mum had already left by the time the feast was over, so they hadn't got a chance to say goodbye.

“We’ve got double defense first,” Harry said, frowning. 

“You aren’t looking forward to it?” Padma asked. 

Ron snorted. 

“I read all of his books already,” Terry gushed. “That one scene in Year with the Yeti…”

Ron and Harry exchanged looks with their saner yearmates. Morag, Anthony, and Lisa were the only others immune to Lockhart’s charm. Nearly the entire school was fascinated by the new celebrity in their midst, while the professors looked already put off by his bombastic mannerisms.

Their first Defense class was predictably a disaster. Ron and Harry stared at the absurdly long quiz on Gilderoy Lockhart they had been given, scribbling random things as answers. They shared the class with Slytherin, who as a whole seemed as unimpressed with this Defense teacher as they had been with the last one. 

Then Lockhart unleashed a swarm of Cornish pixies on them.

Harry quickly rallied their housemates and taught them the freezing charm Lyall Lupin had used. The incantation Lockhart gave them was useless. Anthony kept trying it until he was blue in the face.

A few of the Slytherins picked it up too, Millicent Bulstrode taking to it with particular glee, while Lockhart hid under his desk.

The shine had mostly worn off Lockhart by the end of the lesson, though a few people tried to defend him as they walked to Charms.

“Just because he’s got a pretty face doesn’t mean he’s any good at magic!” Lisa finally snapped at Mandy, who blushed furiously and began talking to Terry, another Lockhart fan, instead.

It was the start of a long first week back.

On Saturday morning there was a posting in the common room for quidditch tryouts. Ron and Harry signed up immediately.

“Want to order our brooms now or wait until we make the team?” Harry asked.

“Confident, aren’t you?”

They turned to see Samantha Fawcett smiling at them. “I made captain this year. Most of our team graduated, or wants to move to the reserve team so they can study for N.E.W.T.s or O.W.L.s. What positions are you trying out for?”

“Harry’s going to be seeker,” Ron said. “I’m hoping for chaser.”

Samantha nodded. “If you don’t get brooms on time, you can borrow from someone else. Your brothers are beaters on the Gryffindor team, right?”

“Ron wants to surprise them,” Harry said. “Come on, let’s go to the Owlery. Hedwig should be back by now.”

A few other students came over to sign up, a third-year girl named Cho Chang giving Harry a considering look. Ron frowned at her, but was pulled away by Harry before he could wonder why he disliked her so much.

Samantha paced in front of the team hopefuls. 

“We’ve got some intel from Penny,” she said, nodding to Penelope Clearwater, who was slapping a beater’s bat in her hand. “The Slytherins have a new seeker, that second-year Malfoy. And his father has bought the whole team Nimbus 2001s.”

“Are you serious?” one of the regular chasers, a fourth-year named Roger Davies, asked. “Did he buy his way onto the team?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Penelope said grimly. “They stormed the pitch when the Gryffindors were practicing last week to show off.”

“Ron and Harry confirmed it,” Samantha added. “Which means we need to focus on strategy. We can’t match their speed, but we can surpass them in skill. First up, seekers!”

The tryouts went by quickly. The only other person up for seeker was Cho Chang, but Harry was just too fast, even on a borrowed Comet.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Samantha whispered as Harry pulled out of a nearly vertical dive, holding the snitch over his head. “He’s only been playing for two years, during the summer?”

Ron grinned at her. “He’s a prodigy.”

Cho was put out, but rallied when she tried out for chaser. Her and Ron worked well with Roger, and made the team. A third-year named Eddie Carmichael and a surprisingly vicious Penelope became beaters. A mix of other students were put into reserve, including Terry, Michael, and Padma.

“There’s no way we can lose,” Samantha said, looking proudly over her new team. “McGonagall’s going to have kneazles when she sees us play.”

The weeks passed in a blur of classes and practice. Ron and Harry volunteered to spy on the other teams. The Slytherins were fast on their Nimbus 2001s, but Harry was faster on his 2000, and Ron’s Cleansweep 8 better matched the other chasers. The Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, appeared to be basing their entire strategy on being faster and fouling the other team.

Flitwick was talked into charming part of the Owlery into a small pool for Custard, who had proven a reliable messenger, at least to the Burrow and back.

All of their classes were fine, except for Defense and Potions. Lockhart was completely useless, and by October everyone in Ravenclaw agreed he was a joke. Notes and books from upper years were passed down, though the seventh-years were in a state of growing panic over N.E.W.T.s. Ron and Harry reviewed notes from third-years during Lockhart’s dramatic readings and reenactments.

Potions was its own trial, given Snape. The best Ron and Harry could hope for was to be left alone by the man. Harry had got a special mask from St. Mungo’s to filter out potion fumes, and when Harry refused to take it off at Snape’s demand, Snape docked house points and gave Harry a week of detention. Two days later Snape got a Howler from a furious Molly Weasley—he silenced the area before anyone could hear what she said—and was subsequently cornered by Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey. Snape never brought it up again.

The weather had begun to turn, frequent rain and foot traffic across the grounds churning the grass into mud. Penelope and Samantha cast impervious and warming charms over them so they could still practice in poor conditions. Ron and Harry practiced the charms themselves for their walks to Herbology, and learned how to spell themselves dry when they forgot. It was something they could practice during Lockhart’s self-indulgent lectures.

A cold went around, and Harry was sequestered in the hospital wing for several days while it peaked. 

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked, looking around the empty hospital wing. He held a steaming pot on his lap, a mixture of aromatic herbs he had to spend an hour with every month. 

“Hear what?”

They were working on a History of Magic essay just to get it over with, but had got distracted by arguing over how Binns physically graded their papers.

“Someone saying they want to kill someone. Rip them, tear them. It’s not very creative, honestly, if they’re trying to scare us.”

They were quiet for a moment, listening, but nothing happened.

“Must be imagining things,” Harry said, frowning at the bowl he held. Sir Nicholas rose out of it, and the boys jumped back in fright.

“Hello Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley!”

Ron scowled at the ghost, rubbing Harry’s back until he got control of his breathing. He coughed a few times, but was okay.

“Warn a person,” Harry said, setting the bowl back down. Luckily it was spelled unspillable.

“Sorry about that, dear boy! I wanted to personally invite you two to my 500th Deathday fête next week!”

“Sure,” Ron said. “Should I bring my chessboard again?”

“Please do, the Baron hasn’t let me live down my loss all year!”

“Will there be things for us to eat?” Harry said. “Or can we bring our own food?”

Sir Nicholas nodded, making his head flop to the side. He popped it back into place. “I’ll speak with the house-elves and make arrangements for my living guests.”

He floated out of the hospital wing, smiling and talking to himself about someone named Sir Patrick.

Ron and Harry grinned at each other. 

“So,” Harry said, “the Binns-is-a-poltergeist theory—”

“He is not.”

"Ron, he bored himself to death."

Ron and Harry sat at a table surrounded by ghosts. Sir Nicholas had gone all out. Not only was there a table buckling with food from the Halloween feast in the Great Hall, but actual seating had been provided for them. Ron thought Sir Nicholas had gone a bit overboard with the number of chairs, but it was appreciated, as was the small fire that emitted actual heat despite its blue color. They still cast warming charms on each other.

Ron and Harry were just setting up another game for the guests when the reason for the additional chairs walked into the party hall.

Neville and Hermione had been invited too.

They were easily seen through the sea of ghosts filling the hall, shivering as they crossed the floor in a tight huddle. Ron and Harry watched Peeves offer them food from the rotting buffet, then as he called for a ghost named Myrtle to join them. After a few moments she started crying and left.

“What are they doing here?” Ron asked.

“Sir Nicholas is their house ghost,” Harry said, moving a piece, and watching as Sir Nicholas approached the two Gryffindors.

“King’s knight to knight two,” Ron’s ghost player whispered.

The saw orchestra stopped playing. Sir Nicholas cleared his severed throat, but before he could begin speaking a group of ghost horses burst through a wall, bearing headless riders. The leader had his head under his arm and blew a horn. The crowd cheered. The game of chess was abandoned in favor of watching the headless riders cavort.

“This isn’t good,” Ron said, standing up. Harry joined him, and they walked over to where Sir Nicholas stiffly watched the leader approach.

“Nick!” he roared, clapping Sir Nicholas on the shoulder. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?”

“Welcome, Patrick.”

“Live ones!” Sir Patrick said, turning to Neville and Hermione. He jumped in alarm, and his head rolled on the floor to uproarious laughter. 

“Very amusing,” Sir Nicholas said drily. Ron and Harry moved next to him. 

“Did you invite him?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately,” Sir Nicholas murmured back.

“Don’t mind Nick!” said Sir Patrick’s head from the floor. “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But, I mean to say, look at the fellow!”

Sir Nicholas gave Neville a significant look. 

“I think Nick’s very frightening,” Neville said tonelessly, “and, well…”

“Ha! Bet he asked you to say that!”

“I think being nearly headless is far more interesting that being completely headless,” Harry said, frowning at Sir Patrick’s head. “Sir Nicholas is unique.”

“Rather rude of you to burst into his 500th Deathday and make a spectacle of yourself,” Ron said, as Sir Patrick picked up his head and placed it back on. He looked at Ron and Harry, and floated slightly away from them.

“Nick, if I had known—”

Lady Helena drifted over. “Sir Nicholas, isn’t it time for your speech?” She looked at Sir Patrick disdainfully. “You may have a game of Head Hockey afterwards. If you must.”

“No, no,” Sir Patrick said, backing away, eyes not leaving Ron and Harry. “The boy is right, this is Nick’s moment. Apologies, my good man!”

“Think nothing of it,” Sir Nicholas said, lifting his chin. He cleared his throat again. “If I may have everyone’s attention! My late lamented lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…”

There was a smattering of applause at the end of Sir Nicholas’ speech. The orchestra struck up another heinous tune, ghosts returned to the dance floor, and the Headless Hunt started a rather tame game of Head Hockey. Even Sir Nicholas took a turn at kicking Sir Patrick’s head through the air. A little vindictively, true, but at least he was having fun.

Ron and Harry wandered back to the section for living people, Neville and Hermione trailing after them. 

“What are you two doing here?” Neville asked, sitting next to the fire. Hermione was shivering violently, and got as close as she could to the heat source. 

“It’s not that cold,” Harry muttered to Ron.

“We were invited,” Ron told Neville. 

“We came last year too,” Harry said. “They’ve got food for living people this time,” he added, motioning towards the small banquet laid out for them. 

Neville and Hermione went over to the food the house-elves had thoughtfully provided, grabbing plates to fill. They found seats around the chess table, where Ron and Harry and their ghosts had started up the game again. 

“Why did you come last year?” Hermione asked them. 

“Because we were invited,” Ron said. 

“Rook to queen’s knight one,” Harry’s ghost whispered.

“Queen to rook four,” said Ron’s.

Harry swung around to look at a wall, frowning. 

“What is it?” Ron asked. 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing.”

Lady Helena approached them just as Harry’s ghost entered check. “It’s nearing curfew, children,” she said. “The feast shall end soon.”

“Bishop to knight. Mate,” Ron’s ghost said. “That’s game.”

“Thanks for telling us,” Harry said to Lady Helena. She nodded and floated away. The small crowd of ghosts drifted back to rejoin the rest of the party. 

“Do you actually like this?” Neville asked, looking around the hall and shuddering. “How can you stand it?”

“They’re just people,” Harry said, shrugging. “I’d rather be here than celebrating Halloween.”

Neville looked at him strangely. “Right.”

“Who was that girl Myrtle?” Ron asked as they left the party in a group. 

“Moaning Myrtle,” Hermione said. “She haunts the girls’ toilet on the second floor. She’s been flooding it all year.”

“That’s odd,” Harry said quietly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but snapped it shut. He began walking more quickly out of the dungeons, looking at the walls.

They stepped into the entrance hall, where the sounds of the feast echoed out.

Neville and Hermione peeled away and went into the Great Hall, talking amongst each other about pudding.

Harry started up the main stairs.

“What is it?” Ron asked, walking close to him.

“I heard that voice again,” Harry said, voice barely audible. “Saying stuff like she’s been hungry for a long time, she wants to kill…”

“She?”

Harry rubbed his head. “Yeah. I think—” he froze, then started running. Ron raced after him, all the way through the second floor until they reached a deserted corridor.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, squinting at something shining at the end of the corridor.

“We’re too late,” Harry said, walking slowly forward. “She said she smelled blood. I think someone’s been attacked.”

“We should go,” Ron said, reading the words that had been painted in large letters.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. 

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Harry stopped Ron from stepping in a large puddle on the floor.

“Where did the water come from?” Harry asked, looking around. “Are we near that toilet Granger mentioned?”

“What happened to Mrs. Norris?” Ron asked.

The scrawny cat had been hung by her tail from a torch bracket, petrified somehow. Her big yellow eyes stared blindly at the ground.

“We should get someone to help,” Harry said, reaching up to detach her. Just as he got her in his arms, they heard people leaving the feast, climbing the stairs, and crowding the passageways, talking happily. It all died down when they saw the message, and what had been done to Mrs. Norris.

“‘Enemies of the heir, beware!’ You’ll be next, mudbloods!”

Ron turned to see it was Draco Malfoy who had spoken, who was grinning at the petrified cat in Harry’s arms. Harry had a look of disgust directed at him. 

“You…” Harry started. Ron put a hand on his shoulder. 

“What’s going on here?”

Filch pushed his way through the crowd, sneering at the painted message. Then his eyes fell on Harry, and Mrs. Norris. 

“You!” he screeched. “You’ve murdered my cat!”

“I found her like this,” Harry started to say, but Filch wasn’t listening. 

“You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll—”

“Argus!”

Dumbledore had arrived, with the other teachers in tow. He paused, looking at Mrs. Norris in Harry’s arms.

“Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.”

Lockhart offered his own office, so Ron and Harry followed him, as well as Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, with Filch staring daggers at Harry.

“Someone had hung her up like this,” Harry was explaining. “I only took her down.”

Once they got to the office, Lockhart went around lighting candles.

“Set Mrs. Norris on the desk, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said. “I’d like to examine her.”

Harry gently laid the petrified cat down and backed away, looking conflicted.

Dumbledore and McGonagall leaned over the cat, while Lockhart rambled about possible curses that may have killed her, supported by his dozens of nodding photographs, Snape smirked in the shadows, and Filch looked like his entire world had ended.

After some time, Dumbledore straightened. “She’s not dead, Argus.”

“Not…dead?” Filch said, swallowing roughly. “But why’s she all…all stiff and frozen.”

“She has been petrified—”

“Ah! I thought so!” Lockhart interjected.

“—but how, I cannot say.”

Filch turned on Harry. Ron saw, to his horror, that Filch was crying. “Ask him!”

“No second-year could have done this,” Dumbledore said firmly. “It would take Dark magic of the most advanced kind.”

“I would never do anything like that to Mrs. Norris!” Harry said, looking like he was about to cry himself. “It’s horrible!”

“It’s because I’m a squib!” Filch said. “You saw what he wrote on the wall!”

Harry shook his head. 

“Harry isn’t like that,” Ron said. “We found Mrs. Norris, we didn’t do anything to her. We wouldn’t even know how!”

“If I might speak, headmaster,” Snape said, stepping forward. “Potter and Weasley may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren’t they at the Halloween feast?”

“We were at Sir Nicholas’ Deathday party,” Ron said. “His 500th.”

“Any of the castle ghosts could tell you,” Harry added. “Lady Helena told us it was getting close to curfew so we were going back to our common room.”

“But why not join the feast afterwards?” Snape asked, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?”

“There was food at the party,” Ron said. “Neither of us wanted to go to the Halloween feast anyway.”

“Why not?” Snape asked. “I didn’t think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.”

“I didn’t want to go to the Halloween feast because my dad died today,” Harry said harshly, glaring at Snape. “And they do have food for living people. We asked Sir Nicholas for it because there wasn’t any last year.”

There was more argument. Snape suggested Harry be taken off the quidditch team as punishment for some unspecified reason, Filch demanded justice and wanted to exact it from the both of them, they discussed brewing a restorative from the mandrakes the second-years were currently raising in Herbology, and finally Ron and Harry were allowed to leave. 

It was past midnight by the time they got to their dormitory. The other boys had fallen asleep, so Ron and Harry climbed onto Harry’s bed to have a hushed conversation.

“That thing I heard must have done it,” Harry said. “The Chamber of Secrets…that’s a Slytherin thing, right? The Heir of Slytherin?”

Ron nodded. “We could ask the Baron about it. If he’ll tell us anything.”

“We asked him about Salazar Slytherin before, and he said he didn’t want to talk about him.”

Ron sighed. “Filch is a squib. That explains why he never uses magic to clean.”

“I feel bad for him,” Harry said. “Poor Mrs. Norris. Imagine if she had fallen off the wall…”

Eventually Ron went to his own bed and the two boys drifted to sleep. Ron’s thoughts circled around chambers and petrified cats, Harry hearing voices and a monster in the walls. 

It had been a long night. 

As days passed people talked about little else besides the attack on Mrs. Norris. Rumors started flying around about the Chamber of Secrets, Slytherin’s monster, and the heir of Slytherin.

Ron and Harry had explained to their housemates what happened that night, that they were just the people who found Mrs. Norris first. Some people gave them wary looks, but Ron and Harry were merely two second-year Ravenclaws, at the top of their class, who largely kept to themselves. Rumors started going around about Neville too, since his absence from the Halloween feast hadn’t gone unnoticed.

No matter what Filch tried, nothing would get the message off of the wall.

Luna and Morag were particularly upset by Mrs. Norris being attacked. While she wasn’t exactly an innocent cat, she was still just a cat. Harry thought she had also been in the wrong place at the wrong time. While most people had a grudge against Filch, not many would stoop to taking it out on his cat.

They had tried to find the Baron and question him about the Chamber, but he was avoiding them, and everyone it seemed.

“Dumbledore would ask him, right?” Harry said. They were sitting next to the Black Lake one day after lunch, looking out over its dark waters. Custard the duck paddled by. “Lady Helena’s been around just as long. They might know where the Chamber is. They can travel through walls.”

“Why would Slytherin tell them?” Ron asked. “If it was a secret, for his heirs only. To purge the school of muggleborns.”

“He was barking,” Harry said angrily. “We’d have died out ages ago without muggleborns.”

“I know,” Ron said. “So maybe the ghosts don’t know, or were made not to say anything if they did. There could be some kind of spell to keep ghosts out.”

Harry wrapped his arms around his legs, laying his head down and looking at Ron. “Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth.”

“And the symbol for Slytherin is a snake,” Ron said. “I’ve never heard of a snake that could do something like that.”

“Medusa had hair made out of snakes,” Harry said. “When she looked at people they turned into stone.”

“Who?”

Harry frowned. “She’s from a Greek myth. I don’t know that much about it.”

“If It’s a snake,” Ron said slowly, “that means that’s the voice you’ve been hearing. But Slytherin lived almost a thousand years ago. What sort of snake lives that long?”

The library had been cleared of most books on magical creatures, as well as every copy of Hogwarts: A History.

“We could ask Hagrid,” Harry suggested on their way to the first game of the season, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

“Wouldn’t Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey have asked him?” Ron said.

They had got Morag to theorize what kind of creatures might have petrified Mrs. Norris, but were wary of specifically bringing up snakes. Not only was it kind of obvious the monster would be one—maybe even too obvious—but they didn’t want people to seriously start associating Harry with the attack. At any rate, Morag was only twelve and didn't know every magical creature, or everything about them, and the types of creatures she talked about killed people. They didn’t petrify. 

Ron and Harry settled in the stands to watch the game. Ron didn’t think there was much hope for Gryffindor. Alicia Spinnet was a decent seeker, but Draco Malfoy was better, superior broom notwithstanding. Neville was, at best, an indifferent chaser. From what Fred and George said, Neville treated being on the team like an obligation, not a privilege. At least the other members made up for it with their enthusiasm. Ron expected Ginny would eventually get on the team, maybe as seeker.

Harry grabbed his arm. “That bludger keeps going for Longbottom.”

It started to rain, but they used magic to keep themselves dry. Fred and George circled Neville, protecting him from the bludger that kept coming back. Slytherin was up fifty points. Angelina and Katie couldn’t make most of their plays without their third chaser. Alicia desperately circled the pitch while Malfoy flew mockingly around her. 

A timeout was finally called, but they soon went back into the air. The rain started coming down harder, and Neville did his best to outfly the bludger while Fred and George went back to protecting the other players.

Neville wasn’t fast enough. The bludger slammed into his head, knocking him off of his broom, and he crashed onto the mud below in a pile. The bludger kept coming for him, slamming into his leg with a sickening crack. Finally, Madam Hooch realized the bludger was out of control and forced it into its box. The other players landed, Malfoy having caught the snitch while everyone was distracted by Neville. 

The professors swarmed the field while the students watched. McGonagall grabbed Lockhart to stop him trying to do something to Neville, levitating the Boy Who Lived herself and clearing a path as she hurried to the castle.

“So,” Harry said as the remaining teachers corralled the students back inside. “Looking forward to our first game?”

“Hey, Cedric,” Ron said when they walked onto the pitch. It was late November and the weather was cold, but thankfully dry that day.

A few days after the terrible Gryffindor match, which had Neville in the hospital wing for a week recovering from his head injury as well as several broken bones, a student had been attacked and petrified. It was a first-year Gryffindor named Colin Creevey, who Ginny was friendly with. She was devastated by the attack, carrying Custard around with her everywhere like a shield, or possibly a weapon. 

Colin was a muggleborn, and while some people rationalized pureblood students, and hopefully halfbloods, were safe, few took comfort in that. The first-years traveled in packs, and people were buying all sorts of ridiculous talismans and amulets. Luna was spotted wearing a beaded ring in the shape of a beetle, and the trend swept through Ravenclaw. Some people even glued actual beetles to rings, taken from their potions ingredients, as an effort to ward off the monster.

It was a relief to take a break from all of that for a day. Cedric seemed bemused by three of his neighbors playing against him, especially by the glare Samantha leveled at each Hufflepuff player.

Luna had drawn a scribbly eagle flag and was waving it with surprisingly fierce determination. Hufflepuff had scant support from the magical families of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Harry had a sort of sick expression when he looked at Cedric, who gave him an encouraging smile in return.

Ron stepped closer to Harry and whispered, “Are you okay?”

Harry jerked, eyes focusing on Ron. “Yeah. I just need to get the snitch.”

Ron cracked a smile. “It’s our first game. I’m nervous too.”

“It’s not that,” Harry said, glancing at Cedric again. “I don’t—”

“In position!” Samantha called out. 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and they rose into the air. Cho grabbed the quaffle and they were off, arrowing through Hufflepuff’s formation. Ron didn’t have time to pay attention to Harry, who had his own game to play. Ron knew Harry could outfly Cedric. Ron trusted him.

Penelope was a demon, swinging her bat with a terrifying precision that kept the Hufflepuff chasers too busy dodging to pull off any plays. Harry was a blur, racing around all of them, until suddenly he stopped. 

It was as if Harry’s broom had stopped working. He was in freefall, people were screaming, likely worried that yet another game was being meddled with by outside forces. But Harry wasn’t panicking.

A few feet above the ground he leaned forward and shot across the field in a blur. Cedric realized too late what had happened, and the Ravenclaw stands rose in a wave as Harry flew up with the snitch in hand. 

When they landed Ron was the first off his broom, running over to Harry and lifting him up.

“It’s only the first game!” Harry shouted over the cheering, hanging onto Ron’s neck as he was swarmed.

“You’re insane!” Samantha said, joining them. Penelope walked up slowly, staring at something in the Gryffindor stands with a grim smile. Roger seemed to be having some kind of spiritual moment. The rest of the team acted a little more reasonably, but a fun game was something they’d all needed to lift their spirits. They all lost their heads a little that afternoon.

It didn’t last for long.