CHAPTER SEVENTEEN !

MUDBLOODS AND MURMURS
( chamber of secrets)

_______________

FINN SAT WITH HERMIONE AND RON AT THE QUIDDITCH FEILDS EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. Hermione insisted they get up early to watch Harry practice. He was munching on one of the two pieces of toast he had brought out with him when he saw Harry finally come out from the locker rooms.

  "Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

  "Haven't even started," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast in Finn's hands.

"Wood's been teaching us new moves." he said.

Finn noticed this and before Harry could take off on his broom, he stopped him.

"Hey, here. You need it." Finn said handing him the other peice of toast he had, knowing Harry probably hadn't eaten all morning.

Harry smiled a small thank you and took the toast , happily eating it before he mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air.

  "What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.

  Finn looked into the stands and giggled. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

  "Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

  "Who's that?" said Fred.

  "No idea," Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

  "What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

  "He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly.

  "And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.

  "What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.

  "Because they're here in person," said George, pointing.

  Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

  "I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the field for today! We'll see about this!"

  Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.

"Uh oh. Come on let's go see what's going on." Finn said and he, Ron, and Hermione began to get up and walk towards all the commotion.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape."

"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker."

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps"—he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives—"sweeps the board with them."

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion." Finn, Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass, finally reaching them.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?" He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron and Finn gaped, open mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of them.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry knew what Malfoy said was bad since Finn stepped in front of Hermione putting an arm around her. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!"; and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Finn to Harry and Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the three of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still?"

"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Finn angrily. He Harry, and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

"Nearly there, Ron," said Hermione as the gamekeeper's cabin came into view. "You'll be all right in a minute—almost there—"

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid's house when the front door opened, but it wasn't Hagrid who emerged. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out.

"Quick, behind here," Harry hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Finn followed and then Hermione, somewhat reluctantly.

"It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!" Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. "If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book. I'm surprised you haven't already got one—I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good bye!" And he strode away toward the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then he and Finn pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was.

"Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me—come in, come in—thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again—"

Finn, Harry and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the oneroomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

"Better out than in," he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. "Get 'em all up, Ron."

"I don't think there's anything to do except wait for it to stop," said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. "That's a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand—"

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Finn.

"What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?" Finn asked, scratching Fang's ears.

"Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well," growled Hagrid, moving a half plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. "Like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle."

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts' teacher, and Finn and Harry looked at him in surprise. Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, "I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job—"

"He was the on'y man for the job," said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. "An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me," said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?"

"Malfoy called Hermione something—it must've been really bad, because everyone went wild." said Harry.

"It was bad," said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. "Malfoy called her 'Mudblood,' Hagrid—"

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

" He didn'!" he growled at Hermione.

"He did," she said. "But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course—"

"It's about the most insulting thing he could think of," said Finn. "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born—you know, non magic parents. There are some wizards—like Malfoy's family—who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure blood, I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all.

"And look at Neville Longbottom—he's pure blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up." said Ron.

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do," said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

"It's a disgusting thing to call someone," said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. "Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles we'd've died out." He retched and ducked out of sight again.

"Well, I don' blame yeh fer tryin' ter curse him, Ron," said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. "Bu' maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would've come marchin' up ter school if yeh'd cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble."

Finn would have pointed out that trouble didn't come much worse than having slugs pouring out of your mouth, but he couldn't; Hagrid's treacle fudge had cemented his jaws together.

"Harry," said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard you've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart. Finn was laughing as he knew Hagrid was kidding.

"I have not been giving out signed photos," he said hotly. "If Lockhart's still spreading that around—" But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

"I'm only jokin'," he said, patting Harry genially on the back and sending him face first into the table. "I knew yeh hadn't really. I told Lockhart yeh didn' need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin'."

"Bet he didn't like that," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin.

"Don' think he did," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?" he added as Ron reappeared.

"No thanks," said Ron weakly. "Better not risk it."

"Come an' see what I've bin growin'," said Hagrid as Finn, Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Finn had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

"Gettin' on well, aren't they?" said Hagrid happily. "Fer the Halloween feast... should be big enough by then."

"What've you been feeding them?" said Harry.

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone.

"Well, I've bin givin' them—you know—a bit o' help—"

Finn noticed Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. He had had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, he had the strong impression that Hagrid's old school wand was concealed inside it. Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but Finn had never found out why—any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

"An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?" said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister said," said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. "Met her jus' yesterday." Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. "Said she was jus' lookin' round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin' she might run inter someone else at my house." He winked at Harry. "If yeh ask me, she wouldn' say no ter a signed—"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry. Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs.

"Watch it!" Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Finn had only had one bit of treacle fudge since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat. They said good bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, "There you are, Potter—Black—Weasley." Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. "You will all do your detentions this evening."

"What're we doing, Professor?" said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall. "And no magic, Weasley—elbow grease."

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school.

"You, Black will be with me, helping me cleany classroom and office."

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," said Professor McGonagall.

"Oh no—Professor, can't I go and do the trophy room or be with you and help clean?" said Harry desperately.

"Certainly not," said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. "Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o'clock sharp, the three of you."

Harry and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression. Finn didn't think being with Mcgonnagal would be so bad. Both Harry and Ron felt they'd got the worse deal, though.

"Filch'll have me there all night," said Ron heavily. "No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap anytime," said Harry hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart's fan mail... he'll be a nightmare..."

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry was dragging his feet along the second floor corridor to Lockhart's office, Finn was walking with him,

"Hey, if you get done early just come help me with cleaning in Mcgonagall's classroom, and we can clean and talk together about how crappy this year has been." Finn laughed.

Harry smiled at him and watched sadly as Finn walked away to do his own detention.

• • •

HARRY NEVER DID COME TO HELP FINN WITH cleaning and Finn supposed it was because Lockheart kept him there all night. He had gotten finished helping Mcgonagal quicker than he thought, and she let him leave, and he headed to the common room.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. As Finn walked up to his dormitory, he opened the door to see Harry sitting with his pajamas on, and when Harry saw Finn, his face lit up.

"Finn! I've got to tell you something. You and Ron. We have to wait for him though." Harry said.

Ron wasn't back yet. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room.

"My muscles have all seized up," he groaned, sinking on his bed. "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off... How was it with Lockhart and Mcgonnagal?"

"It was fine with Mcgonnagal, but Harry has something to tell us." said Finn.

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry told Finn and Ron what he had heard.

"And Lockhart said he couldn't hear it?" said Ron. Finn could see him frowning in the moonlight. "D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it—even someone invisible would've had to open the door."

"I know," said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. "I don't get it either."