"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE? WHAT'S GOING on?"

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked.

His popping eyes fell on Harry and Harper, who nervously shuffled back upon seeing the pure rage on his face.

"You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

"Argus!"

Harper sighed in relief when Dumbledore arrived on scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Harper, and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Mr and Miss Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

"My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free . . ."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass and the four of them followed Dumbledore to Lockhart's office.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harper saw several of the Lockhart's in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back.

Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Harper exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris' fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: it was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her—probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her . . ."

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs Norris, his face in his hands. For a moment, Harper pitied him. He truly loved Mrs Norris and it must be hard to lose someone or something you loved.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

" . . . I remembered something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," Lockhart said and Harper would have done anything to let him shut up for a moment. "A series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once . . ."

"Can't you just shut up?" Harper said, having heard enough of his stories. "I don't think anyone here cares about your stories."

Lockhart's cheeks burned up and Snape lips twitched up for less than a second.

Did he just smile?

At last Dumbledore straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

"Not dead?" Filch chocked, looking through his fingers at Mrs Norris. "But why's she all—stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," Dumbledore said. "But how, I cannot say . . ."

"Ask them!" Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry and Harper.

And gone was the pity.

"No second-year's could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced . . ."

"They did it! They did it!" Filch spat, his pouch face purpling. "You saw what they wrote on the wall! They found—my office—they know I'm a-I'm a—they know I'm a Squib!" he finished.

"We never touched Mrs Norris!" Harry said loudly and Harper nodded in agreement, crossing her arms. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" Filch snarled. "They saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape said from the shadows. "The Potters and their friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time." He glanced shortly at Harper before turning back to Dumbledore. "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?"

The four of them all launched into an explanation about the Deathday Party.

" . . . there were hundreds of ghosts, they'll tell you we were there . . ."

"But why not join the feast afterwards?" Snape said, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor?"

Hermione, Ron and Harper looked at Harry. Harper knew they couldn't tell them about the voices or they'd think Harry had gone crazy.

"Because—because—because we were tired and wanted to go to bed," Harry lied.

"Without any supper?" Snape said, a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face. "I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties."

"We weren't hungry," Ron said loudly just as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

Snape's nasty smile widened as he looked at Harry.

"I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest."

"Really, Severus," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There's no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

Dumbledore was giving Harry and Harper a searching look.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly.

Snape looked furious as he glared at Harry. So did Filch.

"My cat has been Petrified!" He shrieked, his eyes popping. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in, earning a glare from Harper. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep . . ."

"Excuse me," Snape said icily, "but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

I'd rather have a potion from Snape than from that idiot, Harper thought. At least Snape knows what he's doing.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to the four of them.

They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.

Hermione, Ron and Harper exchanged a worried glance as the three of them looked at Harry.

"D'you think I should have told them that voice I heard?"

"No," Ron said, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world."

"You do believe me, don't you?" Harry asked, casting a glance a them.

"Of course we do," Harper automatically said.

"It's just weird," Hermione added.

"I know it's weird," Harry said. "The whole thing is weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber has been opened . . . what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it rings a sort of bell," Ron said slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once . . . might've been Bill . . ."

"And what on earth's a Squib?" Harry said.

"Well," Harper  replied, glaring at Ron who sniggered, "it's not funny really—but as it's Filch . . . A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggleborn wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch's trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much."

A clock chimes somewhere.

"Midnight," Harry said. "We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tried to frame us for something else."

• ✧ •

     FOR A FEW DAYS, THE SCHOOL COULD TALK of little but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's mind by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back.

Harper had seen seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever in the stone.

When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out as unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy'.

Ginny seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris, something that didn't go unnoticed by Harper. When she asked Ron about it, he told her Ginny was a great cat-lover.

"But you hadn't really got to know Mrs Norris," Ron told her bracingly. "Honestly, we're much better off without her."

Ginny's lip trembled and Harper glared at Ron. "Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Ron continued, noticing her glare. "They'll catch the nutter who did it and have him out here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking . . ." he added as Harper began hitting him to shut him up after Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for her to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Harry, Ron and Harper get much response from her when they asked what she was up too, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short . . ." Ron muttered, glaring at his History of Magic homework, "and Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny."

"Where is she?" Harry asked, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

"Somewhere over there," Harper replied, gesturing along the shelves as her homework was already done, "looking for another book. If she continues like this, she'd have read the whole library before Christmas."

Harry told them about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him and Harper frowned. Justin has always been kind to him, why would he want to avoid Harry?

"Dunno why you care, I thought he was a bit of an idiot," Ron said, scribbling away, making his handwriting as large as possible. "All that rubbish about Lockhart being so great . . ."

Hermione emerged from the bookshelves, looking irritated and at last seemed ready to talk to them.

"All the copies of Hogwarts: A History have been take out," she exclaimed, sitting down next to Harper. "And there's a two-week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

"Why do you want it?" Harry asked.

"The same reason everyone else wants it," Hermione replied, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What's that?" Harry asked quickly.

"That's just it. I can't remember," Hermione said, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else . . ."

"Hermione," Ron spoke up and Harper wasn't even sure he had been following the conversation, "let me read your composition."

"No, I won't," Hermione replied, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it."

"I only need another two inches, go on . . ."

The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering as Harry and Harper glanced at each other.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their timetable. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting things that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he'd hadn't noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff-room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming round long enough to copy down a name or date, them falling asleep again.

Harper was sketching an I-don't-even-know-what on a random piece of parchment when suddenly, Hermione shot her hand in the air. Bewildered, Harper looked at her and stopped the sketching.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

"Miss—er?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione said in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown's head came up off her arms and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked and Harper leaned forward, eager to know what he had to say about it.

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June 3rd 2022
I hope you enjoy it & tell me what you think of it! :)