The Very Secret Diary
Gus remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumours about his disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays because of course everyone thought that he had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of him that Madam Cutburn took out her curtains again and placed them around Gus’s bed, to spare him the shame of being seen with a furry face.
Luz and Willow went to visit him every evening. When the new term started, they brought him each day’s homework. “If I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d take a break from work,” said Willow, tipping a stack of books onto Gus’s bedside table one evening.
“Don’t be silly, I’ve got to keep up,” said Gus briskly. His spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from his face and his eyes were turning slowly back to brown. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?” he added in a whisper so that Madam Cutburn couldn’t hear her.
“Nothing,” said Luz gloomily. “I was so sure it was Boscha,” said Willow, for about the hundredth time. “What’s that?” asked Luz, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Gus’s pillow. “Just a get-well card,” said Gus hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Willow was way too quick for him. She pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:
“To Mister Porter wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Jonh De Plume, Order of Azura, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.” Willow looked up at Gus, disappointed.
“You sleep with this under your pillow?” But Gus was spared answering by Madam Cutburn sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.
“Is De Plume the smarmiest bloke you’ve ever met, or what?” Luz said to Willow as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Lilith had given them so much homework, that Luz was sure she would be in the sixth year before she finished it.
Willow was just saying she wished she had asked Gus how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a Hair Raising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears. “That’s Jenkinmeyer” Luz muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.
“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” said Willow tensely. They stood still, their heads inclined toward the caretaker’s voice, which sounded quite hysterical. “—even more work for me and my children! Mopping all night, like we haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Bump—” Her footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.
They poked their heads around the corner. She had clearly been manning her usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Ark had been attacked. They saw at a glance what the caretaker had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
Now that Jenkinmeyer had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls. “Now what’s up with her?” said Willow. “Let’s go and see,” said Luz, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored it as always, and entered.
Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.
“What’s up, Myrtle?” said Luz. “Who’s that?” glugged Myrtle miserably. “Come to throw something else at me?” Luz waded across to her stall and said, “Why would I throw something at you?” Myrtle emerged with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. “Don’t ask me, here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…” She shouted
“But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” said Luz, reasonably. “I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?” She had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, “Let’s all throw books at Myrtle because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!” Luz felt a rush of cold every time Myrtle passed her hand through her body.
“Who threw it at you, anyway?” asked Luz. “I don’t know… I was just sitting in the U bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at them. “It’s over there, it got washed out…” They looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Luz stepped forward to pick it up, but Willow suddenly flung out an arm to hold her back.
“What?” said Luz. “Are you crazy?” said Willow. “It could be dangerous.” “Dangerous?” said Luz, laughing. “Come off it, how could it be dangerous?” Willow had a serious look on her face.“You’d be surprised,” said Willow, who was looking apprehensively at the book.
“Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated Dad’s told me—there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And—” Luz stopped her, she got it.
The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy. “Well, we won’t find out unless we look at it,” she said, and she ducked around Willow and picked it up off the floor. Luz saw at once that it was a diary, the date on the cover, as well as the name on the first page, was ineligible. But someone had placed a tag on it with the name and date.
“P.O. Wittebane. 1940s.” Luz read “Someone put this tag recently.” Willow had a puzzled look on her face “I know that name… I remember polishing something about a P.O. Wittebane in detention” Willow focused for a few moments “It wasn't a Quidditch Cup, I would remember that… maybe it was special services for the school?” Luz peeled through the pages.
“It’s completely blank, not even a single trace of writing in it. Neither from Wittebane nor whoever put the tag on it… maybe is a collector item?” Luz asked, but Willow shook her head “Never heard of Wittebane before, it’s not a famous family” Willow said “I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?” she said curiously.
Luz turned to the back cover of the book and saw the nearly faint printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. “He must’ve been Muggle-born,” said Luz thoughtfully. “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…” She pocketed it and they left.
Gus left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and fur-free, at the beginning of February. Back in Gryffindor Tower, Luz showed him P.O. Wittebane’s diary and told him the story of how they had found it. “Oooh, it might have hidden powers,” said Gus enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.
“If it has, it’s hiding them very well,” said Willow. “I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it, I wouldn’t mind knowing how Wittebane got an award for special services to Hogwarts either,” said Luz
“Could’ve been anything,” said Willow. “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a student from the giant squid…” But suddenly something clicked inside the trio’s heads. “The Dead Man’s Hall was open fifty years ago…” Luz started.
“That’s what Boscha said” Willow agreed slowly “This diary is fifty years old,” said Gus, tapping it excitedly “If my math isn't faulty, it adds up” Willow said almost in a trance.
“If the person who opened the Hall last time was expelled fifty years ago and P.O. Wittebane got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago…” Gus started “Wittebane could have got his special award for catching the Legatee of Slytherin” Willow continued.
“His diary would probably tell us everything—where the Hall is, how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it—the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want that lying around, would they?” Luz concluded. “But there is nothing written in his diary.” But Gus stretched his arm and Emmiline turned into staff form.
“It might be invisible ink!” he whispered. He tapped the diary three times and said, “Aparecium!” Nothing happened. Undaunted, Gus shoved his hand back into his bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser. “It’s a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley,” he said.
He rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened “Maybe Wittebane just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.” Willow said gloomy. Luz couldn’t explain, even to herself, why she didn’t just throw Wittebane’s diary away. The fact was that even though she knew the diary was blank, she kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story she wanted to finish.
And while Luz was sure she had never heard the name P.O. Wittebane before, it still seemed to mean something to her, almost as though Wittebane was a friend she’d had when she was very small and had half-forgotten. But this was absurd. She’d never had enough friends to be able to forget one before Hogwarts, Andrea had made sure of that.
Nevertheless, Luz was determined to find out more about him, so the next day at break, she headed for the trophy room to examine Wittebane’s special award, accompanied by an interested Gus and a not-so-convinced Willow, who told them she didn't see anything about why he got the award when she polished it.
And she was right. Wittebane’s burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet and it didn't carry the details of why it was given to him. However, they did find his name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.
The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Amelia and Nearly Headless Nick, and Professor Milo was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.
“The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again, and after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Ark back in no time.” Luz heard him telling the caretaker kindly one afternoon.
Perhaps the Legatee of Slytherin had lost their nerve, thought Luz. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Dead Man’s Hall, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years.
Marco Diaz of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Luz was the guilty one, that she had “given herself away” at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn’t helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing “Oh, Luz, you rotter…” now with a dance routine to match.
Jon De Plume seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Luz overheard him telling Professor Muncullos so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration. “I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Herman,” he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking.
“I think the Hall has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on them… you know, what the school needs now is a morale booster. Wash away the memories of the last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…” He tapped his nose again and strode off. De Plume’s idea of a morale booster became clear at breakfast time on February 14th.
Willow hadn’t had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, when she hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. She thought, for a moment, that she’d walked through the wrong doors.
The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. But even worse, from the pale blue ceiling, heart-shaped confetti fell over the students. Willow went over to the Gryffindor table, where Gus was sitting looking in complete shock, and Luz seemed to have been overcome with giggles.
“What’s going on?” Willow asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off her bacon. Gus pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too stunned to speak. De Plume, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced.
From where they sat, Luz could see Eda grinning from one ear to another. Lilith looked as though someone had just fed her a large beaker of Skele Gro. “Happy Valentine’s Day! And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn’t end here!” De Plume shouted.
De Plume clapped his hands and a dozen students got up. But they were dressed in white robes and carried little harps. “My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed De Plume.
“They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!” De Plume turned to the teacher's table.
“Why not ask Professor Clawthorne to show you how to whip up a Love Potion? And while you’re at it, Professor Muncullos knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!” Professor Muncullos buried his face in his hands. Lilith was looking as though the first person to ask her for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.
“Please, Gus, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-six,” said Willow as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Gus suddenly became very interested in searching his bag for his schedule and didn’t answer. All day long, the cupids kept delivering valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers some of the cupids used the opportunity to interrupt classes and embarrass their colleagues.
Late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the students, Spikemuth of all people, caught up with Luz. “Luz Noceda”. Frozen in place, Luz remembered hearing that all of the valentines Spikemuth delivered were singing – apparently, she was using the opportunity to train for the choir next year.
Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line of first years, Luz tried to escape. Marnie, however, cut her way through the crowd and reached her before she’d gone two paces. “I’ve got a message to deliver to Luz Noceda in person,” she said, twanging her harp in a threatening sort of way.
“Not here,” Luz hissed, trying to escape. “Stay still! I have others to deliver” grunted the girl, grabbing hold of Luz’s bag and pulling her back. “Let me go!” Luz snarled, tugging. With a loud ripping noise, her bag split in two. Her books, parchment, and quill spilt onto the floor and her ink bottle smashed over everything. She managed only to keep her staff from hitting the floor – she didn't need to damage it any further.
Luz scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the cupid started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor. “What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Boscha Troisoeil with Amity Blight and Skara Tunewright right behind her. Luz started stuffing everything feverishly into her ripped bag, desperate to get away before Boscha could hear her musical valentine.
Losing her head, Luz tried to make a run for it, but Spikemuth’s Palisman – some weird two-coloured rodent – brought her crashing to the floor. “Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Here is your singing valentine:
Her eyes shine like amber,
Her hair, a beautiful disaster.
When I think of her, it cures my apathy,
The hero who conquered his Majesty.”
Luz would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, she got up, as some prefect did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth. “You have a beautiful voice,” Luz said to Spikemuth, doing her best to hide the anger and embarrassment. Spikemuth gave a bow and walked away, polling a list of her next victims from her tunic.
“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” the prefect said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Trois—” Luz, glancing over, saw Boscha stoop and snatch up something. Wittebane’s diary. “Give that back,” said Luz quietly.
“Wonder what Noceda’s written in this?” said Boscha, who obviously hadn’t noticed the tag and thought she had Luz’s own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Amity was staring from the diary to Luz, looking terrified. Skara had one of her hands covering her mouth.
“Hand it over, Troisoeil,” said the prefect sternly. “When I’ve had a look,” said Boscha, waving the diary tauntingly at Luz. “As a school prefect—” but Luz had lost her temper. She pulled out her staff and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and just as Lilith had disarmed De Plume, so Boscha found the diary shooting out of her hand into the air – that one worked, more or less as other students, including Luz herself, also found their things flying over their heads.
Willow, grinning broadly, caught the diary and the staff before they hit the floor. “Luz!” said the prefect loudly. “No magic in the corridors. Can you stop breaking rules for one bloody minute?!” But Luz didn’t care, she was one up on Bocha, and that was worth five points from Gryffindor any day.
Boscha was looking furious, but when Amity suddenly ran off to their next class, Skara and Boscha followed her both confused. Skara gave them one last look, her eyes filled with worry and confusion before they turned around a corridor.
It wasn’t until Luz and Willow had reached Professor Eda’s class that Luz noticed something rather odd about Wittebane’s diary. All her other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it.
Luz went to bed before anyone else in her dormitory that night. This was partly because she didn’t think she could stand the twins singing, “Her eyes shine like amber” one more time, and partly because she wanted to examine the diary again, and knew that Willow thought she was wasting time.
Luz flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then she pulled a new bottle out of her bedside cabinet, dipped her quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary. The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.
Excited, Luz loaded up her quill a second time and wrote, “My name is Luz Noceda.” The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without a trace. Then, at last, something happened. Oozing back out of the page, in her very own ink, came words Luz had never written.
“Greetings, Luz Noceda. My name is Philip Wittebane. How did you come by my diary?” These words, too, faded away, but not before Luz had started to scribble back. “Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.” She waited eagerly for Wittebane’s reply.
“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.” A new message appeared “What do you mean?” Luz scrawled, blotting the page in her excitement.
“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Luz wrote quickly “That’s where I am now, I’m at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been happening. Do you know anything about the Dead Man’s Hall?” Her heart was hammering. The reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.
“Of course, I know about the Dead Man’s Hall. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Hall was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened it and he was expelled. But the Principal, Professor Dippet forbade me, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, to tell the truth.” It was a long text, the wrote itself and faded quickly, Luz had to really focus to not lose any part.
“A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.” Luz nearly upset her ink bottle in her hurry to write back.
“It’s happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who’s behind them. Who was it last time?” Luz didn't expect to receive the answer she got. “I can show you if you like, you don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.” came Wittebane’s reply
Luz hesitated, her quill suspended over the diary. What did he mean? How could she be taken inside somebody else’s memory? She glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When she looked back at the diary, she saw fresh words forming. “Let me show you.” Luz paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters. “OK.” The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June.
Mouth hanging open, Luz saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a minuscule television screen. Her hands trembling slightly, she raised the book to press her eye against the little window, and before she knew what was happening, she was tilting forward; the window was widening, she felt her body leave the bed, and she was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of shadows.
She felt her feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking. It seemed she had fallen into a storyboard for a cartoon – there was no colour on the walls or floor only the colour of the old diary’s pages, and everything was made of thick, brute and dark ink lines, all on the verge of spitting and transforming everything in a big black stain.
She knew immediately where she was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Bump’s office—but it wasn’t Bump who was sitting behind the desk. A silhouette made out of pure black ink was reading a letter by candlelight. Luz couldn't recognise it, but it wasn't Bump, the silhouette sat straight and it appeared to be bold, with no sign of the horns of the Imp.
“I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “I didn’t mean to butt in—” But the silhouette didn’t look up. It continued to read, frowning slightly. Luz drew nearer to its desk and stammered, “Er—I’ll just go, shall I?” Still the wizard ignored her. It didn’t seem even to have heard her. Thinking that the person might be deaf, Luz raised her voice.
“I’ll go now, sorry I disturbed you,” she half shouted. The silhouette folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Luz without glancing at her, and went to draw the curtains at the window. The sky outside was blank as the pages of the diary, nothing but a vast amount of pale yellow. The silhouette went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled its thumbs, watching the door.
Luz looked around the office. No Hooty the Clawthorn—no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Wittebane had known it, meaning that this unknown person was the then Principal, not Bump, and she was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.
There was a knock on the office door. “Enter,” said in a feeble voice, the old wizard – Professor Dippet. A boy of about sixteen entered – not another silhouette. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Luz, but he, too, had brown hair but much longer than hers, tied in a ponytail.
“Ah, Wittebane,” said the Headmaster. “You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said the boy. He looked nervous. “Sit down,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.” He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.
“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?” The answer came quickly “No, Hogwarts is much better than that—that—” Wittebane frowned a bit.
“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously. “Yes, sir,” said Wittebane, reddening slightly. “Muggle-born?” Wittebane shook his head “Half-blood, sir, muggle father, witch mother.” Dippet seemed surprised and confused. “And are both your parents—?” He asked kindly.
“Mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me— Philip after my father, Obron after my grandfather.” Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“The thing is, Philip, special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…” he sighed. “You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Wittebane, and Luz’s heart leapt, and she moved closer, scared of missing anything.
“Precisely,” said the principal. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow anyone to remain at the castle when the term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er— source of all this unpleasantness…” Wittebane’s eyes had widened.
“Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—” Suddenly the entire place shook and ink started falling from the roof, but Luz seemed to be the only one to notice it “What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair.
“Wittebane, do you mean you know something about these attacks?” Dippet asked “No, sir,” said Wittebane quickly, but Luz was sure it was the same sort of “no” that she herself had given Bump. Dippet sank back. “You may go, Philip…” Wittebane slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Luz followed him.
Down the moving spiral staircase, they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Whenever Wittebane moved the ink behind Luz melted and formed new structs ahead of them, as though that was a limit to how much the ink could cover.
Wittebane stopped, and so did Luz, watching him. Luz could tell that he was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Luz gliding noiselessly behind him. Not wanting to know what would happen if she fell on the inkless behind her, she forced herself to match the quick steps of the boy in front of her.
They didn’t see another person, well silhouette until they reached the entrance hall when a tall one called to Wittebane from the marble staircase. “What are you doing, wandering around this late, Philip?” Luz recognised the wizard by its voice. He was none other than a fifty-year-old younger Bump.
“I had to see the principal, sir,” said Wittebane. “Well, hurry off to bed,” said Bump, and Luz could bet he was giving the same exact kind of penetrating stare she knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…” He sighed heavily, bade Wittebane good night, and strode off.
Wittebane watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Luz in hot pursuit.
But to Luz’s disappointment, he led her not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which she had Potions with Lilith. Near the Slytherin common room. Wittebane stood outside a closed door, he took a deep breath as if he was about to give a lecture in front of the class.
He stormed inside the room so quickly that Luz couldn't get inside, she tried to open it as she heard voices coming from inside, one somewhat familiar, but the doorknob melted in her hands. She kneeled down and peeked through the keyhole.
Inside there were only three things worth noticing. A large wooden box on the opposite side of the door, a huge silhouette and Wittebane, though Luz could only see the right side of him since he was pressed against the door “Evening, Rubeus,” said Wittebane sharply.
“What yer doin’ down here, Philip?” Wittebane stepped closer. “It’s all over, I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop,” he said. “What d’yeh—” But Philip continued.
“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—” This time, he was the one interrupted. “It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed chest. From behind him, Luz could hear a funny rustling and clicking.
“Come on, Rubeus, the dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…” said Wittebane, moving yet closer.
“It wasn’t him! He wouldn’! He never! Yeh need to trust me” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “Stand aside,” said Wittebane, probably drawing out his Palisman, because he then shouted “Cistem Aperio” and a jet of silver light hit the chest.
The huge boy also pulled out his Palisman, a large dog, that was about Luz’s size. But he couldn't react in time. The chest burst open as if a bomb exploded inside, sending the upper part flying. And out of it came something that made Luz let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone.
A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers— Wittebane shouted “Arania Exime” and a jet of silverish blue light shot towards the thing, but he was too late. The thing had made its way to one of the walls and escaped through an enormous crack. The spell narrowly missed it, leaving a scorch mark where it hit.
“NOOOOOOO!” the huge boy yelled, falling to his knees and as he did the whole world shook, the ink that formed the walls, roof and floor started to converge where Luz stood becoming a giant stain beneath her feet and like a geyser, it shot up.
Luz felt like a rocket bursting towards space, she closed her eyes as she rapidly approached a giant red square. Suddenly she stopped, and for a moment she felt as though she was floating in midair before falling back to her bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, the diary lying open on her stomach.
Before she had had time to regain her breath, the dormitory door opened and Willow came in. “There you are,” she said. Luz sat up. She was sweating and shaking. “What’s up?” said Willow, looking at her with concern.
“It was Hagrid, Willow. Hagrid opened the Dead Man’s Hall fifty years ago.”