Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (17 page)

      “But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?”

      “Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing —”

      “But, Professor,” piped up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —”

      “Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —”

      “But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

      “That will do,” he said sharply. “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!”

      And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron told Harry and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. “But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve got the train straight back home…”

      Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn’t say anything. His stomach had just dropped unpleasantly.

      Harry had never told Ron and Hermione that the Sorting Hat had seriously considered putting him in Slytherin. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, the small voice that had spoken in his ear when he’d placed the hat on his head a year before: You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…

      But Harry, who had already heard of Slytherin House’s reputation for turning out Dark wizards, had thought desperately, Not Slytherin! and the hat had said, Oh, well, if you’re sure…better be Gryffindor.…

      As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy went past.

      “Hiya, Harry!”

      “Hullo, Colin,” said Harry automatically.

      “Harry — Harry — a boy in my class has been saying you’re —”

      But Colin was so small he couldn’t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, “See you, Harry!” and he was gone.

      “What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wondered.

      “That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” said Harry, his stomach dropping another inch or so as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.

      “People here’ll believe anything,” said Ron in disgust.

      The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

      “D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asked Hermione.

      “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be — well — human.”

      As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened.”

      “That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Ron muttered.

      They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

      “Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

      “Scorch marks!” he said. “Here — and here —”

      “Come and look at this!” said Hermione. “This is funny…”

      Har      ry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

      “Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione wonderingly.

      “No,” said Harry, “have you, Ron? Ron?”

      He looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run.

      “What’s up?” said Harry.

      “I — don’t — like — spiders,” said Ron tensely.

      “I never knew that,” said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times…”

      “I don’t mind them dead,” said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. “I just don’t like the way they move….”

      Hermione giggled.

      “It’s not funny,” said Ron, fiercely. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick…You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…”

      He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh. Feeling they had better get off the subject, Harry said, “Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up.”

      “It was about here,” said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch’s chair and pointing. “Level with this door.”

      He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned.

      “What’s the matter?” said Harry.

      “Can’t go in there,” said Ron gruffly. “That’s a girls’ toilet.”

      “Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione standing up and coming over. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.”

      And ignoring the large OUT of ORDER sign, she opened the door.

      It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

      Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”

      Harry and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

      “This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing Ron and Harry suspiciously. “They’re not girls.”

      “No,” Hermione agreed. “I just wanted to show them how er — nice it is in here.”

      She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

      “Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed at Hermione.

      “What are you whispering?” said Myrtle, staring at him.

      “Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “We wanted to ask —”

      “I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead —”

      “Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione. “Harry only —”

      “No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

      “We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

      “Did you see anyone near here that night?” said Harry.

      “I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m — that I’m —”

      “Already dead,” said Ron helpfully.

      Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

      Harry and Ron stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle….Come on, let’s go.”

      Harry had barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.

      “RON!”

      Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face.

      “That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What were you —?”

      “Just having a look around,” Ron shrugged. “Clues, you know —”

      Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley.

      “Get — away — from — there —” Perry said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner —”

      “Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

      “That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled, I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business —”

      “You don’t care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy —”

      “Five points from Gryffindor!” Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. “And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I’ll write to Mum!”

      And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron’s ears.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework. When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 shut. To Harry’s surprise, Hermione followed suit.

      “Who can it be, though?” she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwart’s?”

      “Let’s think,” said Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?”

      He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

      “If you’re talking about Malfoy —”

      “Of course I am!” said Ron. “You heard him — ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’— come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him —”

      “Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” said Hermione skeptically.

      “Look at his family,” said Harry, closing his books, too. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.”

      “They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!” said Ron. “Handing it down, father to son …”

      “Well,” said Hermione cautiously, “I suppose it’s possible…”

      “But how do we prove it?” said Harry darkly.

      “There might be a way,” said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect —”

      “If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?” said Ron irritably.

      “All right,” said Hermione coldly. “What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”

      “But that’s impossible,” Harry said as Ron laughed.

      “No, it’s not,” said Hermione. “All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.”

      “What’s that?” said Ron and Harry together.

      “Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago —”

      “D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” muttered Ron.

      “It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.”

      “This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me,” said Ron, frowning. “What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?”

      “It wears off after a while,” said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. “But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.” There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher. “Hard to see why we’d want the book, really,” said Ron, “if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions.” “I think,” said Hermione, “that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…

      “Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,” said Ron. “They’d have to be really thick…”

THE ROGUE BLUDGER

S
ince the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.