Rise of the Riddles

Chapter 12: The Writing on the Wall

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by Weasley'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. And his popping eyes fell on Harry then slid to Draco. "You!" he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"
"Argus!" Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. Harry was worried. He doubted Dumbledore would believe his innocence. In seconds, Dumbledore had swept past Harry and his friends and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. "Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You all had better come along as well."
Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Harry didn't notice the guilty look in Violet's face. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape. As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry and his friends 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's 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. Every once in a while she would look up at Harry and his friends with an odd look. Professor 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 countercurse 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. Much as he detested Filch, Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for himself. If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure; Dumbledore may even expel his friends. 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 remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou," said Lockhart, "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..." The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net. At last Dumbledore straightened up.
"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly. Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.
"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all — all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore.
"Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart.
"But how, I cannot say..."
"Ask them!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry and his friends.
"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced —"
"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found — in my office — he knows I'm a — I'm a —" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he finished.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Professor McGonagall from the shadows, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased; he did not like her tone. "Mr. Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," she said, a slight sneer curling her mouth as though she doubted it. "But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? I specifically recall seeing Mr. Potter and his friends leave the Halloween feast early."
"That was my fault, Professor McGonagall." Everyone turned to look at Hermione.
"Miss Granger?"
"The Bloody Baron told us about the deathday party, and I convinced everyone to have a look. After all, how often do you get to go to one while still alive? It was fascinating."
"But why not re-join the feast afterward?" asked Professor McGonagall, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Why go up to that corridor? I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties." Draco and Hermione looked at Harry.
"Because — because —" Harry said, his heart thumping very fast; something told him it would sound very far-fetched if he told them he had been led there by a bodiless voice no one but he could hear.
"It's alright, Harry, you can tell them." Harry turned to Luna, aghast. How could she possible think it was all right? However, before he could stop her, she launched into an explanation.
"Harry tries to take care of me, it's so cute. The food was ghastly at the party, and it gave me something of a stomachache. My friends were kind enough to offer to take me up to the hospital wing, but along the way, I thought I might be sick, so we made a detour here, towards the nearest loo. I'm feeling much better now though. The sight of poor Mrs. Norris drove the illness from my mind, and I've been away from the smell of that food long enough that it's no longer bothering me as I think about it." Professor Snape turned to Luna, concerned.
"Are you quite positive you are feeling better, Miss Lovegood?"
"Yes, Professor, thank you." Professor McGonagall took a good look at Luna's serene face.
"I suggest, Headmaster, that Mr. Potter and his friends are not being entirely truthful," she said. "It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges until they are ready to tell us the whole story. Perhaps Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy should be taken off the Slytherin Quidditch team until they are ready to be honest."
"Really, Minerva," said Professor Snape sharply, "I see no reason to stop the boys playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Mr. P-Potter has done anything wrong. Where is this sudden menace emanating from? You have never seemed to have a problem with Mr. P-Potter before." Dumbledore was giving Harry a searching look. Harry could feel the prodding at his mind and made sure to allow the swirl of confusion he was currently feeling to be felt by the headmaster as well.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Minerva," he said firmly. Professor McGonagall looked furious. 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," said Dumbledore patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep —"
"Excuse me," said Professor Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school. It falls within my jurisdiction to make the Restorative Mandragora Infusion." There was a very awkward pause during which Harry smiled at his head of house.
"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry and his friends. They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor down from Lockhart's office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends' darkened faces.
"D'you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?"
"No," said Vince, without hesitation. "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." Something in Vince's voice made Harry ask, "You do believe me, don't you?"
"'Course I do," said Vince quickly. "But — you must admit it's weird..."
"I know it's weird," said Harry. "The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened... What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know, it sort of rings a bell," said Draco slowly. "I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once... might've been my father..."
"And what on earth's a Squib?" asked Harry. To his surprise, Draco, Vince, and Greg stifled a snigger.
"Well — it's not funny really — but as it's Filch," he said. "A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Like the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. Since Filch is 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." Draco gave a satisfied smile. "He's bitter." A clock chimed somewhere.
"Midnight," said Harry. "We'd better get to bed before McGonagall or Filch come along and try to frame us for something else." It was a sign of just how wrong McGonagall's behavior had been that Hermione did not correct Harry for not calling her Professor.
***RotR***
For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone's minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn't guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like "breathing loudly' and "looking happy."
Violet seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate for some odd reason.
"Honestly, Lettie, we're much better off without her," said Harry one day.
"Stuff like this doesn't often happen at Hogwarts," Luna assured her.
"They'll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he's got time to Petrify Filch before he's expelled. I'm only joking —" Vince added hastily as Violet blanched. Alexander gave Vince a glare and hugged Violet close to him.
The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Harry and Draco get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out. Harry had been held back in Potions, where Professor Snape had wanted to ask him about his parents. After a hurried lunch, Harry went upstairs to meet his friends in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward him. Harry had just opened his mouth to say hello when Justin caught sight of him, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.
Harry found everyone at the back of the library, measuring their History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three foot long composition on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards."
"I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short," said Greg furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. "And Hermione's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny."
"Where is she?" asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.
"Somewhere over there," said Luna, pointing along the shelves.
"Looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas," said Draco fondly. Harry told his friends about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.
"Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot," said Vince, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. "All that junk about Lockhart being so great —" Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them.
"All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out," she said, sitting down between Harry Draco. "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?" asked Harry.
"The same reason everyone else wants it," said Hermione, "to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What's that?" asked Harry quickly.
"That's just it. I can't remember," said Hermione, biting her lip. "And I can't find the story anywhere else —"
"Why don't you send for it? You can use one of the school owls." Hermione turned to Luna beaming.
"Luna, that's it! You're brilliant. How could I have forgotten?"
"Don't worry about it Hermione. It's not second nature to you yet. You're not in the same world you grew up in, so you didn't think of muggle post, but owl post is still relatively foreign to you. Give it time," said Draco consolingly. Hermione rewarded him with a dazzling smile.
"Hermione, let me read your composition," said Greg desperately, checking his watch.
"No, I won't," said Hermione, suddenly severe. "You've had ten days to finish it. Why weren't you working on it with the rest of us?"
"I only need another two inches, come on." The bell rang. Greg and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering. Harry made sure to walk Luna down the hall to Charms first, and caught up with his friends just before class. History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he 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 as 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 to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand. 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," said Hermione in a clear voice. Pansy Parkinson, who had been sitting with her mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of her trance; Daphne Greengrass's head came up off her arms and Theodore Nott's elbow slipped off his desk. Professor Binns blinked.
"My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, "In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers —" He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again. "Miss Grant?"
"Granger, sir. And don't legends always have a basis in fact?" Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Harry was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.
"Well," said Professor Binns slowly, "yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale —" But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns's every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest. "Oh, very well," he said slowly. "Let me see... the Chamber of Secrets...You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution." He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued. "For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. When Slytherin and his wife Hufflepuff started..."
"His what?" asked Blaise Zabini.
"His wife, Mr. Zansibar. Salazar Slytherin was married to Helga Hufflepuff, just as Godric Gryffindor was married to Rowena Ravenclaw. As I was saying, Slytherin and his wife started a yearly tradition that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw soon joined as well. They took summer trips to faraway lands searching for new knowledge to pass on to their eager students. During these trips, the four friends amassed a large wealth of knowledge, both magical and mundane. Slytherin, ever cunning, realized just how much power came with the knowledge they had amassed. He realized how dangerous the combined knowledge could make someone who was not pure in his or her intentions, so he tried to convince the other founders to hide the knowledge away and never let any one student learn it all." Professor Binns paused and took another look at the class before him. He seemed incredibly surprised to see them still hanging on his every word.
"Now, Slytherin especially warned against those students who showed an interest in learning all of the information, as he mistrusted the desire for so much information from ones so young. These eager students were typically muggleborns who were, most likely, just trying to learn more about the new world they were part of." At this point, Hermione raised her hand. Professor Binns nodded to her. "Yes, Miss Ginger?"
"It's Granger, sir," she said. "Is that how Slytherin got the reputation of hating muggleborns?"
"Yes, most likely. Excellent deduction. Now, when the three other founders refused to hide the information, and instead started to make plans to make it available to all, Slytherin left the school, unwilling to stay where he was unable to protect the students from themselves."
Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. "Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said. "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin protected the knowledge by building a chamber that the other founders knew nothing of. It is said he protected this chamber with a deadly creature, only controllable by his true heir. The heir alone would be able to find and unseal the Chamber of Secrets, tame the creature within, and gain the knowledge concealed within the chamber to become the most powerful witch or wizard of the age." There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed. "The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible." Hermione's hand was back in the air.
"Sir — what exactly is the creature within the Chamber?"
"It is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice. The class exchanged nervous looks. "I tell you, the thing does not exist," said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."
"But, sir," said Greg, "if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"
"Nonsense, Boyle," 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 Millicent Bullstrode, "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 Cowalker," 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 Pansy Parkinson, 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.